I just found out that a guy I was good friends with in elementary school shot himself. He was one of the nicest guys I knew then. We drifted apart after elementary, and we didn't really ever talk in high school or after, except for once when we ran into each other some time about a year or two after we graduated. My memories of him are fuzzy.
I don't quite know how to react. He hasn't been part of my life for ages. But it's still shocking and disturbing. And I still don't know, and may never know, why. That's hard.
Because of my gestures toward anonymity, I won't put his name up here, but if you knew me then and want to know who it is, I can send you an email. RIP.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Two things
Two unrelated quick hits:
1. It is unheard of that I could agree with Morton Klein, president of the Zionist Organization of America, about anything. I hope that this can be the first such occasion: "Mr. Obama’s remarks 'may well signal the beginning of a renunciation of America’s strategic alliance with Israel.'" I think he and I may differ slightly on whether or not this is a good thing.
2. A depressing glance into my psyche: the quickest way for a man to lose my respect is for him to demonstrate any physical interest in me. What does that say about my self esteem?
That's all for tonight, folks. We are having an awesome conference that I will write about when it ends.
1. It is unheard of that I could agree with Morton Klein, president of the Zionist Organization of America, about anything. I hope that this can be the first such occasion: "Mr. Obama’s remarks 'may well signal the beginning of a renunciation of America’s strategic alliance with Israel.'" I think he and I may differ slightly on whether or not this is a good thing.
2. A depressing glance into my psyche: the quickest way for a man to lose my respect is for him to demonstrate any physical interest in me. What does that say about my self esteem?
That's all for tonight, folks. We are having an awesome conference that I will write about when it ends.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Filth
Today I listened to part of a radio broadcast from a morning show that airs in Sacramento, that perennial seat of culture and enlightenment. I did not listen to the entire broadcast because I was physically unable to. I cried and nearly threw up.
This is the broadcast. I warn you--it's so far beyond offensive that it makes any clever metaphor I could envision trite and useless. I didn't even get up to the worst parts, of which I've read some excerpts and summaries at Pam's House Blend and the GLAAD blog.
I don't have words for this kind of transphobic, abusive, disgusting, utterly indefensible behavior. I can't repeat what they say; it turns my stomach. I can't remember the last time I heard anyone say anything that made me feel like this. The only other stimulus that has provoked this response in my body is watching scenes of torture in movies and TV shows.
But this is real life.
The intersection of thinly-veiled misogyny and advocacy of child abuse with the most hate-filled transphobia I've encountered just adds an extra layer of filth. I can feel my dinner coming back now. I need to stop writing about this.
This is the broadcast. I warn you--it's so far beyond offensive that it makes any clever metaphor I could envision trite and useless. I didn't even get up to the worst parts, of which I've read some excerpts and summaries at Pam's House Blend and the GLAAD blog.
I don't have words for this kind of transphobic, abusive, disgusting, utterly indefensible behavior. I can't repeat what they say; it turns my stomach. I can't remember the last time I heard anyone say anything that made me feel like this. The only other stimulus that has provoked this response in my body is watching scenes of torture in movies and TV shows.
But this is real life.
The intersection of thinly-veiled misogyny and advocacy of child abuse with the most hate-filled transphobia I've encountered just adds an extra layer of filth. I can feel my dinner coming back now. I need to stop writing about this.
Monday, June 1, 2009
George Tiller
George Tiller is dead. Murdered in cold blood during church.
The internet is full of far more eloquent elegies and polemics than I can pen; check out this post on BitchPhD for one excellent take, and this one for links to other excellent takes.
I have very little to add, other than to express the undoubtedly somewhat contentious point that it seems fitting to me that the church was the site of this vicious, brutal attack. I know that many, many, many religious people are wonderful, moral, decent human beings (like Dr. Tiller himself); some of them are my very good friends. But I can't shake the feeling that the widespread reactionary perversion of various stripes of American protestantism had something to do with the crazies who attacked Dr. Tiller, both fatally and, earlier, constantly, non-fatally.
Rest in peace, George Tiller. You have earned it so many times over. May there always be more like you, and may they not have to suffer what you suffered for believing in women as autonomous human beings. Medical Students for Choice
The internet is full of far more eloquent elegies and polemics than I can pen; check out this post on BitchPhD for one excellent take, and this one for links to other excellent takes.
I have very little to add, other than to express the undoubtedly somewhat contentious point that it seems fitting to me that the church was the site of this vicious, brutal attack. I know that many, many, many religious people are wonderful, moral, decent human beings (like Dr. Tiller himself); some of them are my very good friends. But I can't shake the feeling that the widespread reactionary perversion of various stripes of American protestantism had something to do with the crazies who attacked Dr. Tiller, both fatally and, earlier, constantly, non-fatally.
Rest in peace, George Tiller. You have earned it so many times over. May there always be more like you, and may they not have to suffer what you suffered for believing in women as autonomous human beings. Medical Students for Choice
Silence is golden?
My voice is gone. I couldn't even make the "mmm" sound when my breakfast was delicious (tofu fried in olive oil, cinnamon and cumin, over a bed of leftover vindaloo rice). This is not a problem today, as it's my day off, but it will rapidly become a problem the rest of this, the last week of the quarter. I am supposed to sing in seminar on Wednesday. I am supposed to hold office hours and teach and train a data entry party and celebrate National Donut Day and various other things that require a voice.
And since the Incident of the Mysterious Disappearing Honey, there is no throat-soothing tea sweetener in our apartment. I must put my sick self together enough to walk to the farmers market and get some more. This involves things like getting dressed, washing myself, and other activities that my sniveling self pity doesn't want me to do.
Bah. I must be off to the market; the missing honey shows no signs of returning in a blaze of glory. Woe is me. I am woe.
And since the Incident of the Mysterious Disappearing Honey, there is no throat-soothing tea sweetener in our apartment. I must put my sick self together enough to walk to the farmers market and get some more. This involves things like getting dressed, washing myself, and other activities that my sniveling self pity doesn't want me to do.
Bah. I must be off to the market; the missing honey shows no signs of returning in a blaze of glory. Woe is me. I am woe.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Spectacular
On Tuesday, I met a man whose name, for the purposes of this blog, will be Jim. Jim and I had seen each other in passing many times, but we'd never been formally introduced, and on Tuesday afternoon we officially met, shook hands, he asked where my accent was from, the whole deal.
Yes, people always ask where my accent is from. No, they never guess right. Yes, they always think I'm Canadian.
Anyway, Jim and I both volunteer with Vote For Equality, and have been doing so since before the election. He's probably about 70-75 years old, and he does every kind of office work we have at VFE, always with a smile. That's about the limit of what I knew of Jim until Tuesday.
That night, we both were at the big rally protesting the California Supreme Court's expected reprehensible decision. I was there sans glasses, as only one temple (that's the arm-like bit) was still attached, and I felt that the middle of a large mob of people milling about on pavement was a very bad place to have precariously-perched eyewear. Jim asked me about my glasses; I explained that they had self-destructed, and he offered to let me try his. Miraculously, the prescription was close enough to mine to (mostly) function! I, of course, declined to steal the glasses off his face, but instead wandered fairly blindly around the rally.
Today, after a trip to the optometrist (my glasses remain in the care of Specs Appeal), a wild bus detour around Obama's unexpectedly-blocking-major-roads security detail, and a day at school, I went back to VFE. What did I find awaiting me? A bag of six pairs of Jim's spare glasses.
I met him yesterday, and he's giving me glasses. This is why I love the people I meet in Los Angeles.
Oh, one more thing. They look like this.
Yes, people always ask where my accent is from. No, they never guess right. Yes, they always think I'm Canadian.
Anyway, Jim and I both volunteer with Vote For Equality, and have been doing so since before the election. He's probably about 70-75 years old, and he does every kind of office work we have at VFE, always with a smile. That's about the limit of what I knew of Jim until Tuesday.
That night, we both were at the big rally protesting the California Supreme Court's expected reprehensible decision. I was there sans glasses, as only one temple (that's the arm-like bit) was still attached, and I felt that the middle of a large mob of people milling about on pavement was a very bad place to have precariously-perched eyewear. Jim asked me about my glasses; I explained that they had self-destructed, and he offered to let me try his. Miraculously, the prescription was close enough to mine to (mostly) function! I, of course, declined to steal the glasses off his face, but instead wandered fairly blindly around the rally.
Today, after a trip to the optometrist (my glasses remain in the care of Specs Appeal), a wild bus detour around Obama's unexpectedly-blocking-major-roads security detail, and a day at school, I went back to VFE. What did I find awaiting me? A bag of six pairs of Jim's spare glasses.
I met him yesterday, and he's giving me glasses. This is why I love the people I meet in Los Angeles.
Oh, one more thing. They look like this.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Decisions, decisions
Today is officially the Day of Decision. Tonight the rallies begin again.
If you're looking for something to do this evening, come on by the corner of Santa Monica and San Vicente. I'll be there. I'll be the really gay looking one. You can't miss me.
If you're looking for something to do this evening, come on by the corner of Santa Monica and San Vicente. I'll be there. I'll be the really gay looking one. You can't miss me.
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