August 2nd, 2011


The only true blasphemy is compromising your spirit at the request of another.

A friend was talking about a friend of his who gave up her writing when she married, something which had been very important to her. He was worried about the possibility of him doing the same thing if he ever got married, and asked me my thoughts. The following is my response, with some additions:

Well, I have always come first. I like helping others, I like making others feel good. I can be very oriented on another person. I am caring and compassionate, as well. But the moment they ask me to compromise who I am, that's it. I put my foot down. I don't care how much I like someone, it doesn't matter how much I love them or how long I've been with them. I will forgive them making such a request if they promise never to do it again. But if they insist on trying to change me, that's the deal breaker. I have not had to break it off with anyone because of such a thing, yet, but I know that I am the most important thing to me, and while I am willing to make reasonable accommodations such as chores and going places to do things that don't really interest me, I absolutely will not change any of the core components of myself for anyone but myself. Not only won't I, I don't think I could even if I wanted to.

Frankly, I cannot even comprehend why anyone would even consider changing themselves for someone else. The notion is absolutely alien to me. It'd be like asking me to cut off an arm or a finger for that person, just because they asked me to. Sure, I'd risk bodily harm to defend the life and physical well being of someone I loved. I'd even lay down my life if need be. But to mutilate any part of myself, spirit or body, just because someone else doesn't like that part of me... is anathema to me. The only thing in life I consider a true blasphemy is compromising your spirit to please someone else.

Crossposted from

Funny Harry Potter poem

A poem I wrote in response to someone asking who all the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers in the Harry Potter series were, and how they left.

Ohh... Quirrell was two-faced and master of trolling,
But Harry found out how that toerag was rolling
In self defense, burnt that dude to a crisp,
his face turning red just like lobster bisque.

Then Gilderoy Lockhart, of whom Molly1 was fond,
got his mind wiped by a malfunctioning wand.
Now he lives at St. Mungo's, still a bit dim,
But his fans still send many letters to him.

Next there was Lupin, who wasn't half bad,
except at full moon when he went howling mad.
He'd have done well in Hogwarts, for he was a peach,
but he resigned after slipping his leash.

Alastair Moody taught the class with a thunk,
Or so we thought till we looked in his trunk.
Fudge was upset when he found things amiss,
So gave the impostor one final kiss.

Mister Fudge took Umbridge with Dumbledore
For telling him Voldy had come back for more.
Dolores was racist, and called Bane a beast,
So they chased her away before end of year feast.

After years of wanting to teach the DADA,
Severus Snape got his chance, HA HA HA!
Things got surreal when he killed Dumbledore,
And ran off to rejoin Lord Voldemort.

And that's about it, since Lord Voldy's crew
Didn't teach *defense* against You-Know-Who.
I hope you enjoyed this queer little poem.
Now that it's over, I'm going home.

~ ~ ~

It didn't say we had to tell how they died, just how they left the position.

1 = Molly Weasley

Crossposted from