I'm tired

I called another senator today. I've called so many these past years, I've realized-I can't remember who I actually called, perhaps, let alone, why.

I have friends who are younger than me. Fury motivating their activism and it is absolutely awesome. I see them, straight, white, and still fighting for equality for those not in their socio-economic strata. In fact, they're blessed/cursed with white privilege and that they use to get people to listen to them. They march. They call. They stand.

It's awesome.

Seeing them fight so hard for people like myself and my community, I feel I have to match them on every level.

But I notice that the breaks between the activism gets longer and longer.

I mentioned earlier, in my previous blog post, I'm the accidental tourist here. I did not chose to be so blessed with being queer, but, garshdarnit, I'm going to be it. I will scream my pride, I will fight for my rights, and I will see my community survive.

But as the name implies, I'm accidental here. Just because I was born into it, doesn't mean I want to do it. An argument could be made that I HAVE to do it, but as for want? No. I remember my mother wondering why I kept hanging out with other gays--since we were fighting for equality, it shouldn't matter who I hang out with. But I had to explain to her, there are times, many times, when I just wanna be gay. I don't wanna have to explain what's going on in my head and heart, when I don't want to elaborate on the nuances of a fickle and wonderful community.  I should not have to explain to people why what they are doing is wrong or hateful or spiteful.

Sometimes I want to just be gay.

Recently, we were talking about my coworker's granddaughter had to be isolated in an ICU due to a sickness and she elaborated on how it felt like when she saw victims of the AIDS crisis in the late 80s. I began to talk about volunteering at those hospitals, and how I hated myself, because I didn't have the money to donate-so I just could volunteer time but I, even then, we weren't exactly sure of the details of the disease and how angry I was at myself--I knew I didn't have to wash my hands repeatedly, but I kept doing it.  And....

....her jaw went slack.

"You were there."

"I was young, but yeah, the guy I was dating, his boyfriend, his ex boyfriend, was dying and I started doing volunteering in a wing and..."

I realized at that point that, yes, maybe I didn't have cash, nor the verbal clout to argue with the idiots outside on street corners, but I had the time. And that? That is what I gave, whenever I could.

I volunteered. I did it there, wrote for the community newspaper from the rainbow center, and attended any non-disco event (any place where a fat kid didn't have to take his shirt off and dance, which, by the way, is very, very different now, if there are bears involved...) I could find time for. I kept it secret, which was probably not the best idea-fighting for equality while showing my shame at the same time-but I can't go back in time.

So when I watch these amazing friends of mine fight for my rights and the rights of others, I feel like I'm not doing enough. If they can do it, I should be doing it to. I should illustrate that I'm worth finding equality with.

But I also realized, at this point, I've been doing this for a long, long time.

I had the college push--arguing with the Churchies at my Christian college why they can't be offended by a local paper's anti Christian comedy strip one year. That it was free speech, and, it would be better to laugh, get the joke and then fight against the stereotype, then to lynch the artist.

That fell on Deaf ears.

When my friend decided to hurl himself out of the seven floor window from the dorm when his father refused his coming home after coming out of the closet? Yeah, I was there. I didn't know what to say, so I just tried to eat lunch with him and ask if he wanted free movie tickets when I could. (when he eventually returned from the hospital...worked with him too)

All of these memories are surfacing because, yeah, here I am, still, yelling. Sitting. Talking.

Posting on the internet.

Okay, that's new.

So, yeah, maybe I'm an accidental activist, but I have to admit.

I'm tired.

I can't help thinking that's what this current government wants. They're having a rousing success with exhausting everyone with constant media barrages of annoyances, and they're expecting us to just stop off and let them be...and get what they want. Like the kids throwing such a well timed tantrum.

And I'm exhausted.

I think of those activists before me, how they never rested and I reap the benefits-and I hate that guilt manipulating my behavior. But it's true. Marsha P. Johnson? She did not get tired? Or was that the tiredness that helped her spark the riots? Did Harvey Milk ever imagine an end to all this fighting? Probably not. That's why he ran.

I am wiped out.

But I am not dead yet. My mother, in all of her wisdom, pointed out something. She was a single woman in the 70s. Not exactly an ideal time to be doing so. And, sometimes, she was barely keeping it together. She pointed out to me, that, yes, when you are merely surviving, as long as you are existing against the odds, that, in and of itself, is an act of courage. She didn't run out and get remarried. She didn't move into her family's home. She stood it out.

She also pointed out the hated my step father endured. His commanding officer would twist his 'hook nose' for being Jewish, until it bled, screaming anti Semitic epitaphs at him the entire time. He survived. He never filed a report, never did the advocacy thing. But he stood it out. And, as such, fought back by his very nature.

If they all can do it....I can to. So this? This is here for us.

I'm angry at the government, but one thing that my friends have noticed? My outward anger is merely a wimper by comparison. I used the sad-but-true comment, "this, too, shall pass."

I know it sounds awful with this current regime, but remember what I went through. The Reagan years. Even Clinton's. And W's anarchy. Did I die? Damn close. But we prevailed and took some baby steps.

I remember this same conversation, again, at work, and they were shocked. I live and work in the Old South. They've never had any opposition or people work with them who thought any different or saw things from outside their church community. My mere existence, again, is a shock. And act of heroism, perhaps, yes, in the laziest form imaginable. When they talk about their activities with their husbands, I feel it's my right to talk about going on my date to Disney World this weekend too, and the silence? You can feel it.

I'm surprised that it still happens.

Peace? Peace. This, too, shall pass. This tiredness. This regime. This stupidity. This celebration. We can do this. Just keep being real.

Things I can Offer Advice On

There's a story making the rounds now about an entitled employee who is a writer. In the tale (The actual article) where the author a particular article misspells the term "hamster" (as in 'like a hamster in a wheel') with the term "hampster." As the youth submits the article, the editor corrects it, and several other mistakes, and the young author loses composure. Literally cannot even.

She cannot accept the advice she is being given.

I am not that much of a schmuck. Writing for periodicals, I've developed the habit of handing works over to others and letting them edit them and tell me I'm stupid. I don't take it personally.

I probably should.

But, I've had several superiors look at me, "well, you're handling this well."

No. I'm handling it like I'm supposed to be. Those others aren't writers.

Advice, really, is for the willing, truly. And it's difficult. In accepting advice, we have to admit to ourselves that we aren't confident in our abilities, or that our piece of very personal works is, somehow, flawed. Big steps for the even the most self-assured. I have found when I do get bothered by unsolicited advice, I have to pause and reflect-it is saying more about my perception than the actual advice.

So it comes to this point I look to areas of my expertise that I feel I have assurance.

And I feel that there are a few I am not very confident on.

MOVIES:

Oy yes. My first real, outside of babysitting, jobs was as a video store clerk. And it is amazed me how many people have no idea how to entertain themselves. They would arrive without any concept of what they wanted.

I was amazed how they could feed themselves, outside of some kind of futuristic paste.

So there I was, a nosy teen asking personal questions to find out what they liked, didn't like and I realized, given my penchant to lose myself in movies, I had a knack for figuring something out that was remotely correct. I'm sure I lost the ability over the years, given everything, but I noticed that, at times, watching my nightly TMZ and E! News Daily, editing their thoughts or elaborating for the husOtter.

Heck knows, I even know shit about movies I haven't even seen.

And this is something I've also caught myself being hostile about-when my friends who run blogs are given free tickets to the latest Disney production and use adjectives like, "terrific!" and "excellent!"

Hurts my heart.

EDUCATION:

Strangely, I keep finding that my chosen profession has given me more academic clout than I realized. Yes, yes, yes, I have a degree and all that, but due to a bad location for work, where I was treated poorly, like some unforgiven rabble, I never really thought about what I was doing, making work, rote, negative, and something I turned off when I got home.

Then?

I got a new job where I was used less as a teacher, but more as a specialist, creating adaptations and providing proven research for learning curves for students of less fortunate standing.

People listened.

And, suddenly, I had confidence.

It goes in several directions, too. Surely, an emphasis on my students of which I direct concern, but also, advice related to student loans, reading acquisition, English as a second language, and classroom methodology for both humor and working with adaptations.

Where the fuck did that all come from?

FIGHTING:

No, not, like debating.

Like MMA and Boxing. I'm terrible at the specifics. Names? I can't remember names in real life.

But the actual fight itself.

My friend, when I was single and swinging for the fences, snagged some tickets for a college boxing match and I noticed something. I could read the pattern that was going on on the canvas. The violence was reduced to a chess-match, I could get what they were planning on doing and their energy levels.

This was iterated again when I was at another friend's home (the husOtter is not a fan of hot men pounding the living stuffing out of one another) and he slapped on an Octogon experience and I found myself involved on a level I had not expected.

"He's trying to get him to floor. Look at the legs. He's better at leg grappling. The blonde is overconfident and baiting, but he might have something."

Such observations came from a stranger's mouth.

I've several chances to teach kickboxing and I noticed as I worked with boxers and say to these young ladies, "don't be afraid, breathe, you're afraid of hurting me, don't worry, I have insurance, now hit the mitt...."

THE POWER OF ART:

I'm not a painter, but I'm married to one. My mother was a dancer; my brother a musician.

Fuck he would play the same eight notes over and over again while creating lyrics.

UGH.

But I couple it with my writing.

I get art. Having so many deparate parts of the creative process floating around me for such a prolonged period of my life, I noticed something. I'm not very good at writing--but I'm very good about process.

The process of creation.

No. I don't mean making babies.

I mean the power of art. I have found this approach reaches more of my students than teaching them about grammar and the structures of reading and writing, structures they have failed for another reason or another.

However, when I approach it as art? The whole item changes. Now it's about meaning. Now it's about expression.

That goes for everyone. They can sit and understand the concept, "I'm not understanding what you are trying to communicate. Could you say it a different way?"

And this has helped students, but it has also helped me. I now search for the strengths of the artwork being presented and go from that standpoint.

TECHNOLOGY:

No, no, I'm not a tech head in any way. And, part of my confidence in this area is I've moved to an area that is massively emotionally stunted (Confederate flags, anyone?) but I spend so much time telling everyone, even people I don't regularly working with, how to find the internet. How to Google a response. How to watch a YouTube video.

Tech, tech, tech. But it isn't so much of me knowing branding, but merely being patient enough to figure out the basics before something is really bad. Now, if I had to go with a brand? It's interesting. I used to have a BlackBerry, but, really, before that? A Palm. These two combined showed me how to be flexible with technology. Coming from those two? I moved to my first Android phone...and then my laptop was stolen.

And a friend gave me a Chromebook.

I suddenly knew ALOT about the Google. There I was, my friend basically handing me a computer, and I had no idea what cloud computing was, what all this shit was about.

And then, a few weeks later? The district decided to migrate to an entire Google platform.

My life suddenly gathered meaning.

We're talking rudimentary stuff. But, at the very least, the ability to problem solve and do so, calmly.

THINGS I'M NOT SO GOOD AT:

LGBT COMMUNITY

I didn't choose to be queer. Gay was bestowed upon me for some reason. And after years, if not centuries, I refuse to read, to understanding, to accept my reality.

I did come out in stages and one of my first stages was my geek self. I sat and read the nonfiction tales and the famed tales that were out there in the early to mid 80s. That should tell you something about my perception. And then reading microfiche about the AIDS crisis.

Things were different then.

But I found out, as I grew up-I'm just as screwed up as my non-gay peers. But the main thing was that since this was given to me by some strange fate, my responses on homosexuality were guttural, not learned. Not well thought out.

And that's not always a good thing. My personal experience is only one perspective and I have to admit, I kinda think I had a charmed life in that department, comparatively speaking.

MONEY AND FINANCE

Yeah, any game that involves money? Like Roller Coast Tycoon, Parkitect, Monopoly? You name. I lose. My checkbook is a wonderful mess. Thank FATE for apps and immediate access. That's actually helped on several levels. But, yeah, no. Don't ask me about this stuff.

________________________________________

As I work on this list, I came to the conclusion, really, I don't know much. Or, better, I know something to the point of it being second nature. We all know how to drive. But if you were to ask for the specifics of it? I couldn't tell you.

Had an incident yesterday, as a matter, of fact, where I had to use my bilingual skills with a native signer in ASL. I spoke with the gentleman, a random conversation about a common Deaf program we both participated in and he said something thatI will carry with me.

"Are you sure you're not Deaf?"

I don't know why I would fake my hearing status at this point in my life, but this left me to ask him, "why do you ask?"

"Cause you sign like a Deaf person."

A compliment, indeed, and such flattery might even get you a date. But I realized, too, at this point-I had no idea to even put 'sign language' on this list. I don't KNOW sign language, as in, I don't know the famous people involved in it's institutionalization. But I can communicate it with it. So, yeah, even then, I didn't know that I knew something.

You? What do you know?

Peace

Things I'd like to learn by next summer

I can see the end of the summer before and I'll being an new year of school teacher. This is a good thing, cause it'll be my 10th year at this specific district and that holds a certain weight. It means I like SOMETHING there, but sometimes it must be a bit obscure.

But the summers, since moving to Florida, have taken on a new character, something I didn't experience in the wilds of the mountains of Colorado. Here? The spirit of renewal is potent, which is weird. Normally, such things are linked to the seasons, the visible, if not downright tangible, series of events that affect us on a daily basis. Here? I'm stuck seeing time pass by the school years, something most adults don't have. No seasons, there. So the summer time is when I reconnect with my identity, my spirit, and my goals in life.

I decided after my Master's was completed that I was done with schooling in its traditional forms. I caught both mono and walking pneumonia those last three months and dropped over 52 pounds. I would teacher, write, sleep, write, grade papers, write, suddenly remember to eat, and...come closer to death. I also went through a symbolic divorce at the time and, well, the whole event ended sour, even if it was quite an accomplishment.

But I never stopped learning, I'd like to think. I noticed that when I finally moved to Florida, I was able to drop weight with sheer force of will. I was about to finish writing books. I was able to focus just a bit better on what was important.

That, friends, is learning, or, so it is, in my interpreting.

Right now? I find that I'm learning what is pulling me away from center, but that, friends, isn't the stuff this blog is made of.

But there are things I still dream of learning. Now, for this brief writing, I'm not going to pick on things that I actually, you know WANT. That's material. That's a different blog entry. Cause they don't go away. I'm still human.

And I like fun stuff.

IRISH:

This makes NO sense.

I'm a polygot. I'm already at full fledged comprehension of ASL; I like to think I have passing conversational French. I can understand it, when spoken, and can respond in English-but if there's depth or proper nouns? Nope. I can't continue.

But when you study languages, you start to see and understand patterns and it becomes increasingly easy to add further and further languages. People are really impressed by this, since their mastery of English is sketchy to begin with.

((SIDENOTE: As an English teacher, nothing tickles me more than someone insisting that another person learned English. "YOU FIRST YOU COWBELL-HUMP-TWAT."  In other words? English is FUCKING hard to learn. So, like, if it were easy, and we expect people to know it, yet no one else can use it appropriately, fuck them.)

But I want to learn Irish. I can't figure it out. Perhaps since it is in my blood or something. But when I hear the old-old Chieftain music, using old Irish, I sing along, but the there's something stirring, something magical about it.

It wasn't even written down. Like the Native American tongues, it is just merely spoken and learned and English letters are used to flesh out something of the sounds.

Who will I speak it with? There's no Irish here. I don't even drink.

That was a horrible, horrible, racist, stereotype.

COOKING:

The fact is, I suck at cooking. After years of fighting the label, I've given up. I can't bake, saute, or even read, apparently. I can only make comfort foods or no bake shit that tastes like manna but sucks when you're husOtter is a diabetic.

I've requested, frequently, to be schooled by said husOtter, but, for him, the whole concept of the kitchen is profoundly different than mine. My stereotypical family showed love through food. This meant that it was always the heart. Any party MotherUnitPrime would have, there were ten to twenty people in her tiny kitchen, cooking, chatting, dancing around each other with measurements, temperatures, and spoons of taste.

I described something of porn for myself.

And for my husOtter? He's strong English stock and his parents were Brits by blood and bakers in due kind.

Have you ever tried British baked goods? Nom. Not only that, think about their cuisine. Pasties? Baked. Pot pies? Baked. HusOtter's family turned that cuisine into a business, into the core of their lives.

Basically sucking the joy out of the aromas and chocolate chips that flowed freely within their grasp.

So for him to teach me to cook is like asking him how breathing came so easily for him. He constantly guffaws and ruminates on how he can knife me in the back, finish his sandwich and leave to go see what else is on YouTube.

Every year, Disney World has the Food and Wine Festival. And every year they have expensive classes. This is probably not the best venue, because having the famous cooks could mean that I'll start to focus on the final product instead of the process.

But local classes are far and few between. But something. Something simple.

Like boiling water.

MARTIAL ARTS:

One of the better choices I made in my life was kickboxing. I took a few classes with a local gym that my friend of a friend of a friend owned. He wanted to start something more of a cardio class, with no contact, but he had no idea. I got to basically train with his kickboxing men and then, they would leave and he would have one on one training.

I was addicted. And in the best shape of my life. I could even do splits.

It was glorious. Then I got married. Then I broke a toe. Then I had stomach issues. And life happened.

I've tired to get back in, but no one does what this class did. I noticed a place down in south of county that does the boxing stuff, not necessarily the kickboxing stuff, without the contact but with the punching bags, the jump ropes, the yelling but massively hot coach and all that is inbetween. We just beat the shit out of one another.

But it is 45 minutes away. You should drive more than 15 minutes to exercise, otherwise you lose, what, two hours, two and from, from that location? Can't do that. Yeah, rounding up. And I'm bad at math.

That being the case, I'm opening up my eyes and ears. I know there's a Brazilian Jujitsu place but they emblazon their logos with crosses and make a point of saying on their website, "we don't justify those Eastern mysticism."

As a Taoist and a Buddhist, this bothers me. Of course, I could actually be offended, but it's more like they are trying to get wealthy white Christians into their doors.

What is interesting to me.

Kendo. I'd like to to learn that. I know, I know, I just talked about my purchasing habits and my lack of want for 'things' and, if there was a martial arts that is totally based on prop usage? There you go.  Totally contradicting. But what have you. I contain multitudes.

But there's a concentration there I think I might enjoy. Of course, I won't know until I learn a bit more than what I read in books. But to focus, to the point of just three moves? That's something. It looks...facinating.

LOCKPICKING:

In my quest to find something for my ailing father to do, 'reweaving' was brought up. That's where a tear in a fabric is hand sewn back into one larger piece. My own Grandfather used to it when he couldn't get out of the house and still needed to make money. He loved it.

My father would hate that. But my buddy who I was talking with brought something he had discovered that was similar and I was beginning to look into it.

Lockpicking. This, too, involves props, and it's something like a super Swiss Army knife. And you basically, well, fidget with padlocks. And doorknobs. And deadbolts. There's tutorials, YouTube videos and the like.

Screw my Dad, but this is interesting.

(SELF) PUBLISHING:

Maybe it's fucking time.

PODCASTING/YouTubing:

This is more of my husOtter's urging. He noticed that I use YouTube for the short snippets, a gift that comes with no commercials due to my premium membership. He thinks that I could the same. My complaint?  The market is saturated with what I can report. He thinks I just do a window recap of Disney Stuff with a queer perspective, but, honestly, I don't think that's in the cards. It's been done before.

So he usually points out that it might be a good idea, then, to turn in some kind of podcast-movie reviews that are under five minutes. That would mean, yes, dear, we'd have to spend money and see movies ALL THE TIME.

I kinda already do. But, since I once wrote for a newspaper, and would have to see a movie on Thursday night, drive to the press room computers, type, get everything to the night editor and the be published by five am on Friday morning...understand my lack of want.

I know I wouldn't have to THAT rushed. But the media I've noticed? Those are the ones that putting out stuff as frequently as possible. In order to do that, I'll have to push something aside. Let's say I'd have opening week. That means I'd have to the movie pronto-and then get something viable and edited...all done by me....within that first week to get it into rotation.

Then why add it to the list?

I'm not an idiot.

Okay.

I am an idiot, but not a huge one.

Okay, fuck that too.

No, but here's the thing. I need to work this one out. Cause, yeah, the husOtter does actually have something. My naysaying aside, I suppose I could do something, but, again, what viable? So it's under  discussion.

And there. Something to ponder.

But what's not on this list? The esoterical stuff that goes without saying. Of course, of course, OF COURSE, I want to learn how to find peace with those who wish to do me harm for my mere existence. Of course, of course, OF COURSE, I want to learn how to be better to myself, my family, my community, and to society. But those learning curves are built on my ability to accept growth in my life and continue to expand my mind-instead of just sitting back and whining. I'm getting better, I like to think. In those departments, I'm not writing chunks. I like to think those lessons, while profound and vital, can only be elaborated on by a select few for whom language is much for viable.

I am not that person. For me, these truths? They're, truly, self-evident.

Peace, my friends. Never, ever stop learning!!!!

Things you bought and regretted.

Hating is such a strong word. I try my best not to. Even when things sour, I mention a dislike. Even when it comes to talking about the current government, I won't say, in particular, that I HATE it. Only because, well, that'd be what everyone else is doing at the moment!

So to say I hate something is to suffer from a severe buyer's remorse. I mean, to really, well, you know, strongly dislike, would mean that I had to accept a certain amount of loss, a certain amount of dissatisfaction, to the point where I would give up, totally.

I don't impulse buy. I like to think that it's an aspect of selflessness, some deep meaning, whereas I'm so connected to my faith that I askew all material existence and, truly want to give up things and live in a hovel in the woods, pooping in an outhouse and meditating.

Yeah. Right.

But there's a half-truth here. I'm just not one for things. My grandparents on my father's side were hoarders. As a grand kid? It was incredible. They always said they were into 'antiques,' and, for many of my aunts and uncles, they let that be the excuse and allowed us to run around the filthy home for hours. I read my uncles old magazines, played with my father's tinkertoys, and puzzles my aunts had left in the bedrooms years ago.  There were paths that led from room to room, piled high on either side with various detritus and games of hide and seek with the neighborhood kids would go for hours.

My mother noticed my minimalism as a teen.  Frequently she would find piles of whatnot, tossed from my above garage add-on, find little comfort in the old yearbooks, cool souvenirs from various trips, and books that I had reread. Personally, I don't recall those exact moments as she described them, but, something was for sure. When I got my apartment. Art was on the walls. The furniture was cheap. And I tried to keep buying at a minimum. I probably would not have even moved up to the digital age if it weren't for my need to pen a Master's thesis.

But it is with this attitude I approach buying. Everything fun I tend to get is a gift, increasing it's worth and need. The only time I see myself going bonkers is when I'm away from home. It's like the bank vaults are unlocked and I loose all composure. Thank Fate I moved to Florida. It got to the point that we would bring an extra suitcase with spare space to bring back the wangadoodles I would hurl in there.

That wasn't truly me.

But I loved everything I bought...there. No regrets.

However, to say there were a few fuckups? I can't deny.

SONY MINIDISC:

I was not an Apple person. I was a blood educator. I couldn't own nice things, not because I didn't want, but, well, I was living on an educator's salary. So as the world was running to purchase their iPods, which, to me, changed the world of music forever, I had to wait and count my pennies. With the computer, I elected to get this device and the program called Rhapsody. I had to, basically, sit in front of the computer, download the music I wanted from my own CDs. I suppose I could have just used the CD Walkman, but it would skip!

So this had to do.

It took forever. Basically, now I had 5 CDs on one mini disc. I had to exchange the medium for the songs I wanted to hear. And that mean carrying more of these strange cartridges to play tunes with. And then forgetting the playlist and having to just click, listen, click, listen...and since I couldn't hook it up to my Dodge Neon? Yeah, it would jsut play on the seat next to me.

Fuck Podcasts.

But the minor distractions proved to me that, maybe, just maybe, the iPod was the way to go. So I started to save and actually treated myself to the iPod iTouch, which changed the world for me. Games. Music. And, most of all, to this day...PODCASTS.

PIONEER LASERDISC

I knew when I was on my own, with the amount of movie watching I was going to do, I had to really be particular on what I choose as my media. I knew I had to have cable, that meant delaying furniture. And that meant a decent TV. Second paycheck.

But I had grown up addicted to VCRs.

I waited. I noticed that Laserdiscs were the thing of the moment in 1993, and I was hooked. There were three rental places in Colorado Springs and I was going to be set.

Within three years, puft, they were gone. DVDs had flooded the market.  Here's the thing, I kept noticing, given the larger size, they had bigger memory, and the movies were a bit clearer, and the sound was still, by far, better. And it could play CDs, which was cool, since I had not bought anything like that, yet.

But they were Laserdiscs. You had to flip them over halfway through the video. And not all titles were available.

And no porn. Especially gay porn. So, yeah, there was that.

I survived as best I could, but, after awhile, after starting to date and being unable to watch a movie we wanted in my loathsome apartment, I snagged a cheap DVD player, and the LD became the CD players. Had to be done.

JORTS

Jean shorts. Now a faux pas, and, you know, fuck it, I'm fine with faux pas. I love my cargos, they were designed for theme park attendance anyways. I know we queers have always been jokingly referred to as getting the hair gene, the interior decorator gene, the style gene, the fashion gene.

I got the hair gene. I got the culture gene.

I didn't get the fashion gene.

Maybe it's because I live in RedNeckVille, but I just can't fall into fashion trends.

But even then, I knew that jorts were a nightmare.

I noticed that I would wear them in my home.

In Florida.

In the air-conditioning.

But when I went anywhere?

They were removed.

It's hot down here, if you've not figured it out.

And jorts? That's just not going to work. I noticed I would get sweat only where the shorts were located.

FITNESS DVDs:

I realized this early on. I was massively aware of my weight and had a hard time attending to the gym. So I thought this would help my self-esteem and, at the very least.

I started in my apartment.

And the way the floor shook, I'm surprised my neighbors below didn't have a meltdown.

But, also, my heart rate was nil. If there was a chance to cheat, I would take it. I could not establish any kind of routine. I tried different ones, and variations.

What made me think I would follow through? It was then that a friend asked me to attend a class with her at the gym with both joined.

And things changed. Having that teacher, alive, changing the pace, giving me the interactions, I liked that. She could interact with me, but also, like, leave me the fuck alone. And since I didn't want to look at anyone in the class, I could remove myself from the situation, much better, making time go faster.

Seriously, what was I thinking?

Has it been so long?

Another title being used, again.

Has it been over a year? To my credit, I was working on a novel, and, when lightening strikes, I needed to follow through. I also have been terrific this working year to journal on a daily basis. That, alone, probably helped me ponder on the page more than usual this year. I take the daily time to list my aggravations, but, once upon the page, I see how short the list is.

I have been wanting to write since I finished the novel, but, alas, inspiration has been far and few between. Strangely, I've noticed, without the book hanging over me, I'm able to read a bit more and I'm consuming media at a different rate than I normally do, watching Netflix and Hulu without the guilt that floats in the back of mind that I should, in fact, be doing something in relation to writing.

As for today? I have a topic for the day on the journals, but I'll go ahead and make the comments, here, in public, to put pen to paper and to get the words a bit more flowing. The coffee is strong, so that helps.

MOVIES THAT DESCRIBE WHO YOU ARE:

This is an interesting topic, and let's go with it. I'm fully aware that I'm a different person for friend I have. You have your likes and your dislikes, and I, of course, have mine. You may have yelled at me in the past about something mundane, so my choices are colored and tainted. We may share an opinion or two.

So the movies I'm choosing here? They're titles of two stripes. One? Movies that didn't necessarily like (I've posted those elsewhere on this listing, besides), but more like I see something I can relate to or I feel is something I should or do reflect. Or, and this is due to my beloved husOtter, there are things that your significant other know about you that you just don't. They can go into a store and buy that one thing you wanted that you didn't know existed. From that? When they say things like, "that's so like you," I tend to listen. His terrific perspective is vital and deep, so even when his comments are flippant, I take heed.

SIDEWAYS
*)  There's some stuff right off the bat about the lead character in this movie. A teacher who is still stuck in the tedium of being a teacher, but has passions beyond the four walls of a his profession. Stifled creatively, he seeks solace in those pastimes and therein lies someone I can relate to.

The only thing I don't have in common with the writer/teacher is, well, basically, he's a wacko, losing control on too many aspects of the reality around him, and suffers from screaming fits because of it. THis? That is not me. But I do believe the writing, if not necessarily the performance, is something I can relate to. Just someone who is searching, and, in his case, a muse to get the writing flowing. Of course, he gets more than he bargains for when love is the result, but, still, this is incredibly close to someone I can see myself as.

CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD

*)  The movie that got me into teaching with my current population. No, I'm not a speech teacher, like the antagonist, but there are several aspects of this superior piece of filmmaking that I can personally relate to, even before I became a teacher.

For one, the Deaf exist in a world that was, at that time, wholly their own. The lead character, James Leeds is very aware of it, and jumps in and out of that world, long before meeting the love of his life, played incredibly by Marlee Matlin. At the time, I was accepting my own place in a very unique culture, so the parallels were immediately evident. The hearing world and the Deaf world are, like, every other community, essentially the same. Filed with hopes and joys, but also pettiness and resent. Cultures do that. They find a common ground and language. I saw those parallels for my 17 year old self and wasn't accepting them, but the evidence was there on the big screen. I was also already an avid signer, so that helped me connect to that culture.

And now? I still have many Deaf people I'm more culturally Deaf than I am, because I'm completely aware of the struggle, even if I am not totally part of the culture. Just like Mr. Leeds.

There's also something else really unique about the teaching aspect of this movie I find I still do to this day and it was not something I've seen in other movies about the profession. Deaf kids aren't stupid. These kids in this movie? They're not stupid. Not exactly thrilled, but, heck, they're teens. And? With that? There's a huge amount of humor in the scenes with teaching involved. Not this heavy handed, "awww, those poor Deaf kids!" Not at all. In fact, they come off as every other kind of teenager--and with a huge amount of comedy.

That's me. I LOVE teaching and I believe, strongly, about find comedy in what I do with my students, because THAT makes learning bearable. We have to do it. This teacher, forced to teach speech for proud Deaf students, uses speech to make the unwanted (and, in this day and age, unneeded, really) topic much more approachable. And the comedy isn't mean, either. Like telling kids about communicating with sign but you're doing a handstand; or learning how to pronounce swear words.

This is my job, folks.

KUNG FU PANDA

Look.

Something not about writing. Enjoy. It shall be short-lived.

I have enjoyed these movies so much. They actually really do address the ancestral faiths of the Far East and China in a way that is so subtle, that I actually see them as terrific ways to teach Buddhist faith in the fact that there are no accidents; that the Tao naturally seeks realignment whenever it is jarred or thrown offs; that history is worshiped and studied in ancestral worship, so that it is succeeded and not repeated.

These are some thematic elements that are blatantly symbolized in the film.  All three faiths make an appearance in each movie in some form. And, while I don't necessary go to the nearest temple, I take the messages of these three faiths to heart.

I am, basically, Po...which loosely could mean spirit.

Po is upset when Fate shines upon him, but he is giddy at the violence because he wanted to be part of that so much so (see? Taoism, great fear with happiness). Also Taoism? He takes sacred items and debases them, showing that lack of need for reverence in all faith.

"One does not wash one's pits in the Great Pool of Reflection..."

Things like that flow throughout the picture. And he is scared, to be sure, but the horrid increased burden, but he is thrilled with the potential of the adventure.

I like to think I am Po on many levels.

Chubby, even.

But it's more like I can learn from Po on how to be.

BRIGHTON BEACH MEMOIRS

There's a great scene where young Eugene, lounging on the front porch where he was banished to by his mother, while his mother chats with his aunt, and the mom says, without so much as a pause, "Nah. Don't worry, Eugene will do it."

The youth balks.

This has been my life. So much so, that when I saw the play (the movie is basically a filmed copy of the stage play of Neil Simon's famed autobiography), mother leaned over at this moment and whispered, "I know, I do that."

And, of course, that never stopped her.

Even moving to Colorado, the horrible stereotypes of being in a Jewish and Irish and have Italian family friends never escaped me. I cannot completely complain, in that, such struggles, while potentially harmful, had moments that provided for our well being. We ate like a small nation, but that thematic representation left the comedy at the door and I knew the spread was illustrating that food was, indeed, love. That being sensitive to sensitive topics was alright and not shame, it was to make sure everyone was comfortable.

I'm thinking of the comedic scene as they whisper about a cousin's bout with cancer. "Why are we whispering," Eugene asks and is shushed.

Eugene is also a writer, so natch. And, later, after his notes are discovered, the family takes him to task about the things he notes and scolds him about the importance of writing. All ethnic groups find a profound depth in the arts and take it very, very seriously and this comes to place in the show and, yes, something I, too, learned with a mother who was a dancer and a brother who is a musician. Come to think of it, TWO brothers who are musicians.

Eugene's humorous misery is probably the closest to the realities I grew up with, even in suburban Colorado. The manipulative guilt, the constant haunts ("My father and us realized he were about to have a few hundred refugees arrive from Germany, and we had to clean the bathroom), the unspoken but omnipresent awareness that you are appreciated, and that comedy heals.

All of these things Eugene experiences and to see that echo brought the film to my attention.

And, because of this, I have to bring up, YET AGAIN, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. It's so true. I experienced every little bit of that movie as it happened. I asked my husOtter to marry me, but I thought something small, something between us in the living room with a few friends. Clip out the vestiges of a huge stressor of a family. 

But then Ma found out.

 But like Tula did in the movie, only when I embraced what my family was did the whole celebration truly become something to be reckoned with.

STRANGER THAN FICTION

No, no, no, I'm not a fictional character.

Wait.

That I am aware of, that is. I've heard the repeated evidence that we're living in some kind of Matrix-world as it is, and we Buddhists tend to believe that this plane of existence is really just a trial-ground for souls and that we truly exist, you know...elsewhere... and that was a fucking tangent.

I'm referring to Karen Eiffel, the author who discovers that one of her characters is actually living.

There's a few things going on here. No, I'm not like her that I need a constant companion to monitor my self-abusing habits. That's me, taken to an extreme. For me? It's more of her tiny little beats that I felt connected to. As a horror writer? There's a fix in authorship-this weird need to wax off specific characters for the sheer sake of waxing them off. To hear and see characters as real people with wants and needs and then to deny myself that they are, in many affects, indeed, real people (that exist in my head, but...fuck, that is Matrix-y, isn't it?).  And yes, I do tend to find character in the real world. For example, there's a older gentleman, with a recently coiffed 'do across from me at the coffeehouse. Blazing emaciated, he still elected to wear a tight tshirt to some some of dialogue he's having right now with someone that arrived late. There's no wedding ring, and he is sitting back, away from his counterpart and...and...and.....yes, characters are born that way, and this is just like Ms. Eiffel does it in the film. She creates characters so real, they become so.

It's a skill I seem to have forgotten.

What isn't here?

MODERN FAMILY:

While I LOVE the show, I find that they bicker more than I feel a couple should, because, well, as we know, conflict is comedy.

But for me? It makes me uncomfortable.

QUEER AS FOLK:

There is a huge part of the community who live for the night. It's fun, it's exciting, there's dancing.

And it hasn't changed since 1982. I found this show focused on people I kept wanting to wash my hands after meeting. They were mean to each other, which I suppose is what a soap opera is all about, but I didn't ever want to see anyone live from that show.

TALES OF THE CITY:

A GREAT BOOK.

AND A GREAT PROGRAM.

But this thread is to discuss where I see myself. If I had their abs, paychecks and opportunities, I would feel so inclined to point this tale out. I absolutely LOVE this show, truly. But that's because it is quite excellent. Not something I can relate to in any way.