tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27014287013244742582024-02-20T21:16:03.871-08:00Tara At RandomAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-40239418553678122442017-01-24T18:23:00.004-08:002017-01-24T18:23:43.858-08:00Sisters Should Do It For Each Other, TooWhen I was in high school we had a debate in History class. I forget the specific topic now, but it had to do with race. I was debating an African American classmate who said that my ancestors had oppressed hers.<br />
<br />
Furious, I countered that in fact while her ancestors were being enslaved in America, <i>my</i> ancestors were in Ireland being oppressed by the British, and how dare she make such an accusation. I thought I'd really made my point.<br />
<br />
Technically I was correct: my maternal grandparents arrived in America in the 1930s, my father in 1960. I don't know of any earlier ancestors of mine being here at all. But that wasn't the point. <br />
<br />
I was wrong. <br />
<br />
I didn't see it then. I only looked at the literal argument and not the larger context. In my offense at the suggestion that I and/or my ancestors had benefited from being white, I had dismissed the point my classmate was trying to make about the generations of difference between our experiences as Americans. <br />
<br />
I don't know if that classmate remembers that exchange, but I think about it a lot. It's embarrassing to me that I said something so short-sighted and defensive.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to today. After last weekend's marches all over the world, the takes have been coming hot and fast: first we celebrated the unity, the activism, the peaceful protest. Then other voices piped up: those who pointed out that <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/before-you-celebrate-the-zero-arrests-at-the-womens-march_us_588617e4e4b0e3a7356a3ee4" target="_blank">police don't react to protests the same way, </a>that <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/an-unpopular-opinion-on-the-womens-march-on-washington_us_58862435e4b0d96b98c1de43" target="_blank">women of color</a> and trans women felt excluded. <br />
<br />
And a lot of us didn't like hearing that. Feminism, controversial in general for reasons I will never understand, has its own internal controversies as white women forget to include others in our movements when we should be working together.<br />
<br />
But we need to confront that: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BPkbwNrFbUU/" target="_blank">will we be at the next BLM march?</a> <a href="http://www.vox.com/first-person/2017/1/24/14369914/donald-trump-womens-march-sign" target="_blank">Can we own that white women voted over 50% for Donald Trump? </a>Will we listen when trans women, women of color, disabled women speak about the issues they face? <br />
<br />
Unless we can say an enthusiastic "YES!" we're burying our heads in the sand just like I did in high school. <br />
<br />
If we really want a movement that makes change, we can't just expect that everyone will come together and sing with joined hands while we state the terms. We need to listen. We need to show up for them the way we expect them to show up for us. We need to confront our own biases and learn from our mistakes. <br />
<br />
I don't believe in letting the perfect be the enemy of the good. And I think the Women's March was a good thing – the sight of women coming together all over the world was incredible and inspiring and I spent all day wishing I was there instead of at work and thinking about what I can do to be a part of the change I want to see in the world. It wasn't perfect – but what that means is we have the chance to be better. We can listen, and we can learn. And we can be better. <br />
<br />
Because if we want to be taken seriously as voices for progress and change, we need to stop being held back by our own fragility and privilege. We need to face the hard truths and stop shutting down criticism because it ruins our good feelings. And honestly, if we want to really get anywhere, we need to listen to the people who have been struggling against systemic problems for generations already. They probably know what they're talking about. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Post title bastardized horribly from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=drGx7JkFSp4" target="_blank">the Eurythmics and Aretha Franklin.</a></i></span> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054954150164137708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-9711251818454153952016-11-17T14:42:00.002-08:002016-11-17T14:42:51.509-08:00An Immodest ProposalThis is going to come as a surprise to a lot of you. It will seem like a total betrayal of my views, but I've had some time to reflect and I just can't ignore the simple moral equation at work here any longer: <br />
<br />
I firmly believe that we should stop providing funding for insurance or research of erectile dysfunction aids in all forms. <br />
<br />
I know, I know, that seems drastic. But as you know I'm a person of great faith and I just can't square my conscience with this subversion of nature! God created man and women to work exactly as we do – and if God decided that your penis shouldn't work anymore, than who are you to defy the will of God? This nation is on a downward spiral right into Hell and we can't keep putting our own will above that of the Almighty. Perhaps you think it's your right as a man to procreate, but I say this to you: God has made another choice. <br />
<br />
It is the height of selfishness to expect me to allow my
tax dollars to pay into any insurance program or research of a product
that so strongly goes against my values. In this melting pot of a
nation I should never have to be accepting of anything that is not
personally within my own standards. <br />
<br />
And speaking of selfishness, erectile dysfunction largely affects... let's say men of a certain age. Don't you think you should be more responsible? How can you be so short-sighted as to possibly father a child you may not be able to provide for until adulthood? Is society supposed to bear that burden for you just because you want to retire before the age of 80? <br />
<br />
What's that you say? You think you have a right to have sex without the sole focus being the conception of a child? Absurd. This is exactly the kind of morally devoid thinking that is sending this nation straight to Hell! Perhaps you should keep an aspirin between your knees and give some thought to your choices instead of running around corrupting everyone's daughters with your filth. You're probably some reckless gigolo; do you expect us to approve of that type of behavior? To make it easier on you? How dare you. <br />
<br />
This is the problem with allowing men to run wild: you get these ideas about what you <i>want</i> being acceptable instead of just following the norms of a polite society. Who are you expecting to have all this sex with, anyway? It's not as though women are going to risk bearing your children when you're so immature and entitled. Clearly all these dangerous erection drugs are altering your ability for reason. <br />
<br />
And do we really need men getting any more emotional, anyway? Who can keep up with the mood swings? Your silly sports team makes a mistake and you're shouting and carrying on, and the next minute you're laughing again! Can you really be expected to handle your disgusting "sexuality" responsibly when you can't even control your emotions? <br />
<br />
Now I know what you're thinking. You think this is all terribly unfair and I just don't understand. Please calm down. You're just not thinking clearly, as usual. You're getting all hysterical again. If you can just be rational you'll understand that these drugs are dangerous for you and for society as a whole. <br />
<br />
Sorry, men. But we simply cannot allow you to pollute our society any longer. And this is without even mentioning the deeply unfair concept of asking half the nation's population to fund a product we will never need! I think it's best that you should have to raise the exorbitant price for these drugs yourself, which will force you to think about the consequences of their use rather than just having free erections all willy nilly. And if you can't afford them, then it's for the best as you couldn't afford a child anyway, and as I said before, that's the only good reason to have sex, ever. <br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
If any part of this offended you, yay! That was the point. Now please consider that these are all things women are told constantly about why we shouldn't have access to birth control. Even women who need it to treat health issues, even women for whom pregnancy would be a health risk, even even even. And that shouldn't matter anyway. You want the abortion rate down? Birth control. You want welfare costs down? Birth control. Or we could keep slut-shaming women in a society that teaches men they are literally entitled to sex though for god's sake I can't figure out with whom since women aren't supposed to have sex <i>ever</i> unless it's for babies. <br />
<br />
Just know what you're buying into when you put your two cents into that jar. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054954150164137708noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-21599581459958172102016-11-16T15:11:00.004-08:002016-11-16T15:11:56.337-08:00Good IntentThere's about 150 think pieces right now about whether <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/14/fashion/safety-pin-ally-activism.html?_r=0" target="_blank">wearing a safety pin</a> is a great show of solidarity or an empty gesture of the privileged. This is not one of those, although the safety pin movement did set the train of thought out of the station. And look, wear a safety pin or don't; I'm not here to judge you either way. We all have to do what we think is right and helpful. <br />
<br />
That said, the safety pin movement made me realize how much we love our symbols. The yellow ribbon magnet on the car. The safety pin. The temporary Facebook profile pic overlayed with the flag of whichever nation (of white people) had a recent calamity. Whether we do anything concrete or not, we feel the need to advertise our good intent. <br />
<br />
And mostly that's fine, except when it gives us the little feel-good charge of having helped without actually <i>helping</i>. Then it's the activist equivalent of taking off our shoes at the airport – nice theater, but pointless in practice. <br />
<br />
I'm as guilty of this as anyone else. I retweet voraciously, I Facebook fervently. But my concrete actions are fewer: I donate to an animal shelter and a local NPR station every month and volunteer at the same shelter. And... right now, that's about it. <br />
<br />
So I'm not willing to pin on a safety pin and pretend I've done something. The country – and possibly the world – became less safe in a very real way for a lot of people last week. (And by the way, if you deny that or think protesters are just "whining," you'll probably be happier unfollowing me now because I'm not shutting up any time soon.) <br />
<br />
Like I said, I'm not here to throw stones at anybody from my glass house. I'm just saying that it's easy for us to get caught up in our symbols and forget that without action behind them they mean very little. That's something I forgot. And I was raised by activists, so I have no excuse for my complacency save the fact that my life has been mostly comfortable and easy. <br />
<br />
I'm still trying to figure out where I'm going to focus all the animus in me. But I know that my complacency has to end, because I have friends and loved ones that need more than symbols right now. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Post title courtesy of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XjNlpe7hII" target="_blank">Kimbra.</a></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054954150164137708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-79550111382827608132016-11-14T12:13:00.000-08:002016-11-14T12:13:09.382-08:00The American Jesus<br />
“I like your Christ; I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”<br />
<br />
That quote is attributed to Mahatma Gandhi, though my research seems to dispute its veracity somewhat. But whether he said it or not, it's a truth. <br />
<br />
American Christians, we need to talk. <br />
<br />
The conservative politicians in this country claim to be our last bastions of Christian morality against the Godless liberals who want to have orgies in the streets with ISIS. Let's examine that, shall we? Because I was raised by some pretty old school Catholic parents and I was never taught the things you hear from these "moral leaders." <br />
<br />
Let's start with the guns. We Americans sure love our Second Amendment. "A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free
State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be
infringed." <br />
<br />
Leaving aside the fact that a "well-regulated" militia has no bearing on whether every private citizen has the unconditional right to a personal arsenal, it's always been weird to me that the American right bangs this drum so hard while professing America to be "a Christian nation." <br />
<br />
Really? You think Jesus would be into your guns? "Thou shall not kill," remember that? <br />
<br />
While we're on the topic of killing, let's talk about abortion. Because the same people who will vehemently defend every person's right to own a device designed solely to kill things will tell you that abortion should be absolutely outlawed in every circumstance because it is murder, and a moral evil. <br />
<br />
And to a Christian that's true. But I have some trouble reconciling that outlook with the worship of guns, and the promotion of the death penalty ("Thou shall not kill!"), and the bloodthirsty zeal with which we espouse war. <br />
<br />
That's not pro-life. That's pro-birth. To be pro-<i>life </i>is to be concerned with life at all of its stages, which means letting go of your bloodthirsty worship of death. But boy, we love our death. <br />
<br />
Oh hey, that brings me to something else. These American "Christians" want to tell you that we should get rid of "entitlements" like welfare and education assistance and affordable housing initiatives and healthcare. Pro-life, remember that. Pro-life until you're born, and then you're on your own, you lazy whiner. <br />
<br />
Let's see what the Bible says about that. <br />
<br />
"In <a href="http://www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=11728">truth</a> I tell you, in so far as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it to me."<br />
<br />
Doesn't sound like Jesus is super into our American "I got mine, screw you" philosophy. Remember the Corporal Works of Mercy, Catholic kids? Feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, shelter the homeless, visit the sick, visit the prisoners, bury the dead, give alms to the poor. Not a mention of bootstraps to be found. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile when the President works to give healthcare to people who need it, he's fought tooth and nail by the "moral" right. The very idea of raising the minimum wage or making education more affordable is seen as pandering to the lazy and undeserving, even in an economy where quality jobs and education are ever harder to obtain. Refugees fleeing horrific conditions are excoriated as a threat we should reject out of hand. We're a "Christian nation" (by the way, no we're not) who looks at helping people as repugnant. We look down on our fellow man. We think those who are poor, or in danger, or disenfranchised deserve their fate. <br />
<br />
It's been a long time since my Saturday morning CCD classes and I'm not the Catholic my parents would have liked me to be, but I'm still pretty sure none of that has a damn thing to do with a single teaching of Christianity. In fact it flies right in the face of the Jesus we claim to adore so reverently. <br />
<br />
America, if we really want to be a nation of selfish, cruel, death and money -worshipping, scared children then I guess that's our choice. But it's time we leave Jesus out of it and admit that we actually don't like him that much. (He was a socialist Jew, after all.) Because we are not the people he teaches us to be, which gives us no right to invoke his name. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Title courtesy of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12kcpP-8jfM" target="_blank">Bad Religion.</a></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10054954150164137708noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-21395489757933867442014-01-31T09:25:00.000-08:002014-01-31T09:25:17.542-08:00Tough Love Marvel, we need to talk. <br />
<br />
You know I love you. I've watched <i>The Avengers</i> about 400 times (three times in theaters, approx 398 between DVD and Netflix), I've pleaded with you to <a href="http://taraatrandom.blogspot.com/2012/08/an-open-letter-to-mr-joss-whedon.html">give my favorite character some love,</a> and so on. I've even tried to deal with the fact that <i>Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.</i> is kind of disappointing (though there's a related issue there that we'll get back to in a minute). And I couldn't possibly be more excited for <i>Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier</i>. Which is why we need to talk about this poster: <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4zIfrG28Q_rKbT15gMVKtgBbODoTHCi6yIzpnliqZNyz-unYEXE4zUZ2uaIDj1dzfwt15oDp6zS4fEtcMfspQnzFClNFnCbmtBo2Oa0vwuzPW6upXxTPWoimc5g6F0_oLbxOFqRQueg/s1600/79031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4zIfrG28Q_rKbT15gMVKtgBbODoTHCi6yIzpnliqZNyz-unYEXE4zUZ2uaIDj1dzfwt15oDp6zS4fEtcMfspQnzFClNFnCbmtBo2Oa0vwuzPW6upXxTPWoimc5g6F0_oLbxOFqRQueg/s1600/79031.jpg" height="640" width="448" /> </a></div>
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<br />
This thing is a hot mess. But we're not even going to talk about the <a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/OrangeBlueContrast">orange and blue-ness,</a> or the fact that an aircraft is careening straight for Robert Redford, or the general ADD-chihuahua-on-meth business of it all. We have bigger fish to fry. Two pretty big fish, in fact. <br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<b>Problem One: The Black Widow blow-up doll. </b> <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqxlfTuqOna7p5AufJ-IDbXT4R_5P6nJOjCqNaYhYO0RvlQqvWO_huRFa_cQ6eBFbQRCvBbI6oZ2b7xxnfHWyEjOdAm2YxCnnEb5nmSbFY3XCxr_yvcbGYor-5SwzaKfwkJAfuk_qH5k/s1600/article-2549125-1B17551500000578-58_306x575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqxlfTuqOna7p5AufJ-IDbXT4R_5P6nJOjCqNaYhYO0RvlQqvWO_huRFa_cQ6eBFbQRCvBbI6oZ2b7xxnfHWyEjOdAm2YxCnnEb5nmSbFY3XCxr_yvcbGYor-5SwzaKfwkJAfuk_qH5k/s1600/article-2549125-1B17551500000578-58_306x575.jpg" height="320" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how Scarlett looked <br />in <i>Iron Man 2</i>.<br />How is this not good enough?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Scarlett Johansson is basically perfect, aesthetically speaking. And that's certainly part of the reason she was hired to play the Black Widow – the target demographic here isn't really any secret (though I think it's more diverse than the marketing would suggest, but that's another post for another day). And part of the BW character is certainly her beauty and balletic grace. But she also happens to be a superspy assassin who we've seen beat dudes up while tied to a chair, take out multiple hostile aliens with their own weaponry, and take out a whole facility worth of heavies before Tony Stark's bodyguard even got passed one dude. <br />
<br />
So it's a bit upsetting to see her in a completely non-action pose here, laid out like a centerfold in a "look at my digitally-enhanced breasts!" stance. It's even more upsetting that her skin looks like plastic, her eyes look lifeless, and her breasts and waist have been "adjusted." <br />
<br />
Cap and Nick Fury look like badasses. Black Widow looks like a swimsuit model. Now this isn't a new thing in comics, of course. The internet is filled with jokes and angry rants about the difference in the way male and female characters are presented and the gap between the powers that be and female fans. (Don't even get me started on <i>Marvel Divas</i>, it gives me rage blackouts.) But wouldn't giving such a badass character a featured role in a movie about the American Dream incarnate be the perfect place to not fuck that up? Apparently not. <br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Problem Two: The missing Falcon.</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB-Rod77bZgAYuJ3oI8aLxOyxrvdhYCLysOOuMRyZ0N0IS_sVi2j3nqhX9CQv2RM-Y2W6hgBXxWQxLQbz9dDHsEcZDoBR116lCumLcjRjV3uuV52GORAF43DWXRhEl9-sp9ZHjZF358s/s1600/captainamerica-wintersoldier1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB-Rod77bZgAYuJ3oI8aLxOyxrvdhYCLysOOuMRyZ0N0IS_sVi2j3nqhX9CQv2RM-Y2W6hgBXxWQxLQbz9dDHsEcZDoBR116lCumLcjRjV3uuV52GORAF43DWXRhEl9-sp9ZHjZF358s/s1600/captainamerica-wintersoldier1.jpg" height="302" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could only find concept art of the wings; they'll probably be CGI. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Did you know that the Falcon is going to be in this movie? <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1107001/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1">Anthony Mackie</a> is playing him. He's even rumored to be in <i>Avengers 2</i>. And he looks pretty badass in the pics released so far. <br />
<br />
But you wouldn't know any of that from this poster, because he isn't on it. Robert Redford is tucked in there, and the antagonist is, (which makes sense since he's in the title), but no Falcon. The character has shared plenty of comic book covers with Cap, but he didn't make the poster? <br />
<br />
This might seem less bad without the fact that any black character on <i>AoS</i> has wound up either a victim, or an antagonist, or both. (Told you we'd get back to that. Though it does look like Michael Peterson will be back– <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deathlok">SPOILER ALERT</a> as to how – so maybe that's a step forward there.) It's starting to look like if you're black and not Samuel L. Jackson, Marvel doesn't have a whole lot of use for you. And that's a pretty big problem. <br />
<br />
Now it's true that the filmmakers don't have much control over the trailers and promotional materials once a film is finished. But I have to think that Marvel does have a final say over their product and how it's being presented to the world. And right now the message Marvel is sending is: girls, your job is to be pretty spank bank fodder, and minorities, we don't need you unless you're Samuel L. Jackson or can do kung fu. <br />
<br />
That's a pretty big problem. Because comic book fans aren't just little white boys. Women read comics. Minorities read comics. And we want to be represented as more than accessories and sidekicks. Marvel is putting out some really high-quality product these days, and they've played a huge part in making comics mainstream again. They could use that platform to help move the industry forward. And would it even be that controversial to show Black Widow looking like a badass or to show the Falcon <i>at all?</i> These aren't things that would tank the marketing. But they might make the whole experience more welcoming for a big part of the audience. It's time to let go of the idea of the old boys' club of nerd-dom, because the rest of us busted down the doors years ago. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-67329652815804206862014-01-25T17:39:00.000-08:002014-01-25T17:39:07.508-08:00The IslandA terrible thing happened today. <br />
<br />
It didn't happen to me, but it's touched a lot of people I know. Someone much beloved by many of my friends is gone and he left in a terrible, difficult to understand way. <br />
<br />
I'm not going to tell you about my feelings because this isn't my tragedy. I never met Justin. We spoke once or twice in the RDA chat, but that's about it. I'm not going to claim ownership of this pain though I sympathize with that of his friends and family. <br />
<br />
Instead, I'm going to talk about pain. The kind of pain that exists inside you like some terrible island on which you're marooned alone with someone who hates you and knows all your soft targets. <br />
<br />
Maybe you don't know that place. Maybe you can't even imagine what kind of pain could make somebody want to take their life. I hope you don't. <br />
<br />
I've written about depression a lot here. I've written about my personal battle with it, which is one I still fight every day. And the circumstances of my life of late – which I won't go into here – have left me in that place more than once lately. That horrible, "please don't let me wake up tomorrow, they'd be so much better off without me, I can't take it anymore" place. <br />
<br />
What gets me out of that place? Different things. Sometimes a friend helps me, sometimes my family. Sometimes I just ride it out and hate myself for it. But part of me is always stuck on that island. Even on good days, the Smoke Monster* is lurking somewhere in that jungle waiting to reflect all my greatest failures back at me until I crack. <br />
<br />
If you don't know that place, it's hard to even fathom it. Even if you do – if you live there yourself – it doesn't fully make sense. I know why <i>I</i> should be gone, but anyone else? It's insane. <br />
<br />
And it is. It's insane. But it's also real. <br />
<br />
Some of you do know that place. Some of you are there right now. And to you, I beg: don't suffer alone. Don't let that monster inside you who hates you be the only voice with whom you converse. Talk to someone. Reach out to a friend, or to family, or to a hotline. Because however hopeless it seems and however alone you feel, somebody in this world loves you. Somebody wants you here. Somebody will be devastated to lose you. <br />
<br />
Don't get caught up in trying to get off the island for good. If you're like me, you'll wind up back there many times in your life. But what I've learned is that getting back there isn't failure – you just have to know that it isn't forever. <br />
<br />
A lot of days right now my situation seems too much to bear. A lot of days I wake up only able to look forward to going back to sleep. I know how it feels to look down the tunnel and see no light. But I also know that my brain hates me and I can't always trust it. I know I have to ask other people for help sometimes. I know that if I can find it in me to fight it can get better. <br />
<br />
If any good is to come from this, it's in the people who loved Justin (whether as a friend or as a personality) learning from the loss of him. <br />
<br />
Don't suffer alone. Don't hide. Don't let it win.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Sorry. Once the island metaphor happened, a <i>LOST</i> reference became inevitable. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-50050769983794938542013-10-06T18:24:00.000-07:002013-10-06T18:26:10.407-07:00Catherine the Great<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszuD9-8wgE5h08H-gMvnKFbMfiqH9FuOY0HR84O9OAXa-7YazHr8xtAr1QwO_l9wsTnEzFtZPUtTHas5APhbFhL8kbEZZoTWtYf-od0VrsmET7EwstIrkf-WdwIw8bfJjsIsuRIFjvm4/s1600/IMG_3745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszuD9-8wgE5h08H-gMvnKFbMfiqH9FuOY0HR84O9OAXa-7YazHr8xtAr1QwO_l9wsTnEzFtZPUtTHas5APhbFhL8kbEZZoTWtYf-od0VrsmET7EwstIrkf-WdwIw8bfJjsIsuRIFjvm4/s400/IMG_3745.JPG" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catherine Deenihan, 1941-2013.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My mother passed on Saturday, on what my sister Nancy says were her own terms: privately, with her loved ones nearby. She left to the sound of her grandchildren laughing outside, one of her favorite sounds in this world.<br />
<br />
After a hard-fought year of unsuccessful treatments for the leukemia in her bones, and even after ceasing treatment and handing her life over to God, she still found the strength (and perhaps the stubbornness) to do it her way. <br />
<br />
That was my mom. She was both fiercely independent ("Don't 'should' on me!" was one of her mantras) and made of grace. And she died the way she lived – with quiet resolve.<br />
<br />
Mom (Kitchie to close friends and family, otherwise Catherine – <i>never</i> Cathy) was born in Islip, NY in May of 1941, the youngest of her parents' four children. Being the youngest child of a widowed mother who worked as a nurse taught her the value of service and hard work, and as an adult she became a social worker. (Independent even then, she rebutted my father's proposals of marriage until she could finish her degree at Misericordia University.) She worked in family services for years before spending most of my life working as a substance abuse counselor, first in county clinics and then in the county jail.<br />
<br />
She had a special combination of hard and soft that made her able to do her job – my mom was one of the toughest people I have ever known, and I can barely recall her ever fearing much of anything. But she also possessed a heart filled with compassion and kindness and a faith that could fill a church on its own.<br />
<br />
When Mom first got sick, I was beside myself with anger. It's so unfair, I said to her. You've barely had time to deal with losing Dad. Couldn't God give you a break? I'll never forget her reply: she told me not to be upset, that she was grateful for her many blessings.<br />
<br />
"I only ever asked for the strength to take care of your father," she said. She told me that she had gotten that, and trips to Maine and Ireland after his death, and that she was going to be getting excellent care.<br />
<br />
That was my mom too. No matter how bad things got, she was always grateful for what she had. And she always had faith that things happened for a reason, and that God would keep her on the right path. "God provides," she'd always tell me.<br />
<br />
Mom taught me so much that I still carry with me, and so much more that I try to emulate with middling success. She raised my sisters and I to be ladylike but strong, to be compassionate and always consider the feelings of others, to be self-sufficient but charitable. She taught etiquette and decorum with such effect that to this day I cringe to see what most of my friends consider old-fashioned norms eschewed. (I'm the ninny who insists on covering my shoulders at a church wedding no matter how liberal the parish, because if I don't <i>my mother will know.</i>) If my mother knew you, she knew your birthday, anniversary, and any other pertinent occasions, and would make every possible effort to properly commemorate them and make sure you felt special. <br />
<br />
And she was <i>fun</i>. She had a quick and often wicked sense of humor. She loved to laugh – and no one could make her laugh like her grandchildren, who she prized above any possible treasure this world could offer.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xBLSkX5GBd7fKXMQfZEEjfhLZ5Ai8tabZGj0vPq4h5yW2gLI_XQs9QilBp57FUmOx5QH4rZot8ACt2PJ5MoOBLplhyphenhyphenhE-FAitIWrKVWxawInFWsh86jehvg9CtD3FIwotblROAfL8xI/s1600/IMG_2509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xBLSkX5GBd7fKXMQfZEEjfhLZ5Ai8tabZGj0vPq4h5yW2gLI_XQs9QilBp57FUmOx5QH4rZot8ACt2PJ5MoOBLplhyphenhyphenhE-FAitIWrKVWxawInFWsh86jehvg9CtD3FIwotblROAfL8xI/s400/IMG_2509.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom with her four favorite people: <br />
Holly, Patrick, Keira, and Dan. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's funny the little details you remember of a person. I remember riding in the car with my mom years ago – I've long since forgotten where we were going, but I remember her singing along to the Big Bopper's "Chantilly Lace" on the oldies station. I remember how much fun she had imitating the Bopper's deep voice. <i>And a ponytail, hanging doowwwnn...</i> <br />
<br />
The past year was a trial for her. But what's struck me more than anything is how calm, how strong, how grateful she remained all along. She didn't give up and she didn't linger in despair. Instead she gave thanks and clung to her faith for strength. She took comfort in her family and friends, and fought every second to live with dignity and grace to her last breath. And she left on her own terms, at peace with her life and with her death.<br />
<br />
Watching her has made me want to follow her example. I try. I don't know if anyone can ever truly fill my mother's mold, but the best way I can think of to honor her is to try. And to always be thankful for the many blessings life has given to me.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-5191921193035509802013-05-21T15:31:00.001-07:002013-05-21T15:31:12.838-07:00The Show Must Go On!It really must! <br />
<br />
Last year many of you were generous enough to support my IndieGogo campaign to buy equipment to start my own webseries. With that money I got a camera, software, a microphone, and some other accessories. (I already have a green screen and am trying to figure out what one does with footage shot in front of it.)<br />
<br />
Since then a lot of you have asked me when the show will be up and running. And the answer is... I hope very soon. <br />
<br />
I could tell you that I started a new job a month ago and have been adjusting to a new schedule, and that I'm trying to do home repairs and eventually move, and that there have been various other distractions. And all of that is true. But the simple truth is that the hold up boils down to one thing:<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I have no idea what I'm doing. </span></b><br />
<br />
I've never done this before! I've never used a camera this advanced, or edited footage beyond that one vlog that one time, or used a green screen, or converted screencaptures to footage, or, or or... and it's all sort of intimidating and overwhelming. And when I get intimidated and overwhelmed I have this awful habit of procrastinating. Aaaaaaand that's really what's been going on. I've been looking at all this stuff and tinkering with it and then going OMG SCARY! and backing off. <br />
<br />
Which is pretty silly, isn't it? There's only one way to figure out how to do this, and that's by doing it. <br />
<br />
So I'm making a game plan. I'm making up a list of dumb questions to ask the producers I know. I'm reading user's manuals (exciting!). I may do some off-the-cuff livestreaming to try and tinker at some point. <br />
<br />
And with any luck this will yield a web series for all of you to heckle and/or enjoy pretty soon. My goal date is to have something to show you by the 4th of July. That gives me a month and a half to do some studying and make something. And maybe that something will even be half decent! <br />
<br />
I also have about six or seven blog posts kicking around my head that I haven't written because I don't spend nearly as much time at the computer as I used to these days. (And yes, the meatspace <i>is</i> scary. But sometimes it's also fun and sometimes it also pays you money. Sometimes both.) But I'm going to try and update this little corner of the internet more often as well. <br />
<br />
All of that said, thank you again for your generosity and patience. I shall endeavor to make it worth your while in as many non-porny ways as I can muster. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-40841053280151022532013-03-09T18:41:00.002-08:002013-03-09T18:41:29.993-08:00Oz is so pretty, oh so pretty... vacant.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9N0JmXYC9WKuFAjfaUPaXY70zs2M6A0ANLpiP-Pf4rMAywC18qFIqdfGEBLiuKrd2uRAgHakWrx-2JuvAwTMqY2VQIS2kKRV3a16-7z8m003LNh6i9OI1F3R5Qi9AQNLCFzirpMXolU/s1600/Oz-The-Great-and-Powerful-Spot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9N0JmXYC9WKuFAjfaUPaXY70zs2M6A0ANLpiP-Pf4rMAywC18qFIqdfGEBLiuKrd2uRAgHakWrx-2JuvAwTMqY2VQIS2kKRV3a16-7z8m003LNh6i9OI1F3R5Qi9AQNLCFzirpMXolU/s400/Oz-The-Great-and-Powerful-Spot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
"We're off to see the witches, the wonderful witches of Oz," I sung to myself as I settled in for an opening night showing of <i>Oz, The Great and Powerful</i>. And there were witches... but not much wonder to be had. <br />
<br />
It's rare for me to go to a movie and not enjoy something about it. I'll happily re-watch movies I know to be terrible because they're aesthetically interesting to me (see: <i>Hannibal</i>), or because the lead actor makes great eye candy and there are some great performances wrapped in crap (see: <i>Wolverine: Origins</i>), or because they're just ridiculous and fun (see: <i>Shoot 'Em Up</i>, <i>Bring It On</i>, <i>Transporter 2</i>). Most of the time I can find something about a movie to enjoy. So it was a weird feeling to be sitting in that theater last night feeling completely disconnected. Bored, even. The Land of Oz should never be boring, and neither should anything involving Sam Raimi and/or Rachel Weisz. But this movie somehow manages to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. <br />
<br />
From here on in there will be spoilers, so consider the page break your warning. Follow the yellow brick road at your own peril...<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
There are a few problems with this movie. There's the feminist problem, <a href="http://jezebel.com/5989268/why-oz-the-great-and-powerful-is-a-major-step-back-for-witches-and-women">which Jezebel articulates better than I could.</a> I do have a few thoughts on this, but I'll get to that in a minute. Because it's not my primary complaint. My greater issue was that the whole thing was so... joyless. The visuals – which are gorgeous, and shiny, and impeccably rendered – mask an empty shell of a movie that is as cynical as it is nonsensical. There's no wonder, no fear, no... anything, really. Just very pretty pictures. <br />
<br />
Then there's the protagonist. James Franco was reportedly not the first choice for the lead (rumored above him on the list: Johnny Depp and Robert Downey, Jr.), but he's actually sort of perfect for the type of character the Wizard is here. He's a smarmy con man who uses people (women, mostly) and cares for no one but himself. He says himself in the first ten minutes that he <i>could</i> be a good man... but he doesn't want to be. He answers all problems with a snake oil grin and a cruel joke, and though he stumbles into doing the right thing, there's never any sign that he's grown as a person or developed any sense of ethics. Even when he saves the day, he only does it to yield the accolades and spoils. He's unlikeable, and you really don't care if he wins or loses or disappears entirely. You can make an unlikeable protagonist work... but not if you want your audience to rally behind him. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN3av_100HwXny7EtQLnQVEiQFvB7FTwsvPFHJ6m_6jB5yK3oeRbdKKgStChBzgsSIpicrSMFBZRuQ0F-xBj4APcXnta3yTUW9JMFVA4J9Wc3eDfaz0yaqDociQavUupJez_8fHkRKPA/s1600/oz-the-great-and-powerful-witches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN3av_100HwXny7EtQLnQVEiQFvB7FTwsvPFHJ6m_6jB5yK3oeRbdKKgStChBzgsSIpicrSMFBZRuQ0F-xBj4APcXnta3yTUW9JMFVA4J9Wc3eDfaz0yaqDociQavUupJez_8fHkRKPA/s400/oz-the-great-and-powerful-witches.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Witches of Oz, reduced to fangirling. I'd go wicked too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And certainly not when your entire supporting cast spend your movie fawning over this unlikeable git like he's the second coming of Elvis. <br />
<br />
You've got Glinda, who is supposedly powerful, has popular support and a solid claim to the throne... but who spends the whole movie waiting to be saved by a man she knows to be a narcissistic charlatan and then ultimately gives him the crown he's never shown he has the responsibility to wield. You've got Finley the flying monkey, who seems to adore the Wizard in spite of his constant cruelty and abuse. And then you've got poor Theodora, who isn't so much a character as an assemblage of "things the plot needs to have happen" wrapped in pretty costumes and Mila Kunis. <br />
<br />
Theodora is a big problem. She shows up, falls hopelessly in love instantly and for no reason at all, hints at a backstory that is never addressed again, and then flails around helplessly before taking a villain turn all because the man she knew for <i>one day</i> broke her heart and her mean sister is mean (for reasons also never explained). There's no character arc. There's no character. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumSuEgQMjPNhpoDcoPZZUfI7i3rqtUFSHrFftODwilJAnFHt7-_-xhSmlPoHtl5oxE012BF2bBP8BORhFw-HX-zOIrq6pQSp7zYtCjQFXuQiVbzBgeaG1p26Vr7XdVltr7oVJSICYJ7A/s1600/new-oz-great-powerful-stills-clip-10-jpg_183520-620x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumSuEgQMjPNhpoDcoPZZUfI7i3rqtUFSHrFftODwilJAnFHt7-_-xhSmlPoHtl5oxE012BF2bBP8BORhFw-HX-zOIrq6pQSp7zYtCjQFXuQiVbzBgeaG1p26Vr7XdVltr7oVJSICYJ7A/s320/new-oz-great-powerful-stills-clip-10-jpg_183520-620x.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best character in the film doesn't even have a name.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In fact the character who inspired the only real emotional response from me was the entirely animated Little China Girl. The effects work on her is really pretty breathtaking, and she's voiced really well. But it says something when the actors onscreen are outdone by an animated character who has limited facial movement. <br />
<br />
I guess that's sort of a good metaphor for the whole movie, though. The visuals are stunning, but anything beyond of that is sort of a big mess. There's nothing that makes you really care about who wins or loses, and there's nothing that makes any of the main characters' actions make any real sense. In a world filled with powerful women possessed of real magic everyone stands back and wrings their hands helplessly until a con man awes them with smoke and mirrors (literally). And he only saves the day because he wants the reward, so he ends the movie utterly unchanged. <br />
<br />
The whole thing is a heartless exercise that winds up being exhausting when it should be exhilarating. But it sure is pretty. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Post title paraphrased from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHo233RntO4">this Sex Pistols classic.</a></span></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-5974588125466820752013-02-13T15:16:00.002-08:002013-02-13T15:19:52.030-08:00Irish Fairy TalesI mentioned <a href="http://taraatrandom.blogspot.com/2012/11/been-away-too-long.html">in an earlier post</a> that I took a trip to Ireland late last year. If you're lucky enough to have been to Ireland you know what a beautiful place it is. But even if you haven't visited you're probably aware of Ireland's rich history of folklore and storytelling. And it just so happens that on our trip, we created a few stories of our own.<br />
<br />
I promised my mother I would write these down for her. I've been slacking on doing so. So, Mom: sorry this took so long! I hope I did justice to these fun anecdotes from our trip.<br />
<br />
<h3>
The Gruber Ghost of Adare</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTttruvolQT7DVdBrM0I1ofUJ806kuKMPOBwtzY9I8kSX5zNqYym3KT6ZlhANfhgtfl7_knwQ5XgZuknBSGf5RBnFXCKTpj12JbWlbWhRTWemvNxwcIXBp42XQ-hJjUD997QN_23G6of8/s1600/IMG_2026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTttruvolQT7DVdBrM0I1ofUJ806kuKMPOBwtzY9I8kSX5zNqYym3KT6ZlhANfhgtfl7_knwQ5XgZuknBSGf5RBnFXCKTpj12JbWlbWhRTWemvNxwcIXBp42XQ-hJjUD997QN_23G6of8/s320/IMG_2026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The cemetery is very old, and sits in a quiet little section of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adare">Adare</a> away from the tourist destinations and shops. The church around which the graveyard sits has long since crumbled to ruins, and for years the place was overgrown with brush and greenery.<br />
<br />
Only recently has the old cemetery been cleared – and that is, perhaps, how the Ghost escaped.<br />
<br />
You wouldn't expect a German ghost in a small Irish cemetery. And though you'll hear many stories of how he came to be there, no one person can say for sure. All that is known is that on one grey, windy day, the tumbled tombstones inside the crumbled church were disturbed.<br />
<br />
It was quiet enough at first that you could easily think you had imagined the sound, or that the wind had rattled something and caused the noise. But soon the quiet mutterings grew louder and there could be no mistake. Something was awake inside...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRFXfExg6A9oNsRqf6WJqXqZ7F_C6fRAJ990yw1xNDwiwVDT1leL9NsgJVzGrUCrWc5KKf2WHzlxtIVuj9EKtcF9d5bK1qQa6fAw-A4cvN5JP5ZCF3fwINM86_FyPRdbLOiGqsJ7eVEU/s1600/IMG_2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRFXfExg6A9oNsRqf6WJqXqZ7F_C6fRAJ990yw1xNDwiwVDT1leL9NsgJVzGrUCrWc5KKf2WHzlxtIVuj9EKtcF9d5bK1qQa6fAw-A4cvN5JP5ZCF3fwINM86_FyPRdbLOiGqsJ7eVEU/s320/IMG_2020.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>
The clouds darkened, and the wind whipped, and a lonely face appeared between the stones of one long-fallen wall.<br />
<br />
"I'm a long way from home," you might have heard him say, if you were close enough. (Or you might not. The voices of ghosts are soft and easily carried away on the breeze.) "How will I get out of here?"<br />
<br />
And the Gruber Ghost began to climb. He tested each wall, until finally he found a very tiny opening that spilled out onto a very tiny path. <br />
<br />
And the Gruber Ghost began to crawl, and to squeeze, and finally he tumbled to the ground. <br />
<br />
And had you been there, you may have seen the clouds part just the slightest bit. You may have seen the sun break through for a few seconds between drizzles of rain. You may have felt the gusts calm to a quiet whisper of a breeze carrying a lost traveler home. <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<h3>
The Burglar of Ballybunion</h3>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnABq2utqeoJPkNe63REu0RucopIVEIV0X4hSlmQybjsOzqYODRknB63delz7U0XSrHVi9NVE6_J3J17Z9pqfJTqs5S29PVWagZqdK9c4klpdVAFJ7LWqFLdACcgBIQ97ABzb9FtFCk_s/s1600/IMG_1932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnABq2utqeoJPkNe63REu0RucopIVEIV0X4hSlmQybjsOzqYODRknB63delz7U0XSrHVi9NVE6_J3J17Z9pqfJTqs5S29PVWagZqdK9c4klpdVAFJ7LWqFLdACcgBIQ97ABzb9FtFCk_s/s320/IMG_1932.jpg" width="238" /></a><br />
Some say that the creature known as the Burglar of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballybunion">Ballybunion</a> is a descendant of the Gruber Ghost. He has such skill at slipping in and out of small spaces, they say, that surely he must be cut from the same cloth. But no one has ever been able to ask him him – he's much too fast to catch – so none can say for sure.<br />
<br />
He's called the Burglar of Ballybunion, but the name is not entirely accurate as he isn't known to steal much (unless you happen to leave some chocolates where he can reach them). In fact he's quite neat, making sure to remove his shoes after slipping inside your windows and cleaning up any mess he's left behind. Sometimes the only way to know he's been there is to hear his impish laugh as he scurries away into the dark Kerry night. <br />
<br />
By day he is believed to hide amidst the waves at Ballybunion Beach. He splashes and plays and laughs until night falls, when he seeks the comfort of a warm bed and fire. He is especially fond of the tourist houses – the windows are easily opened and visitors often have the best food.<br />
<br />
If you should encounter the Burglar of Ballybunion, have no fear. He will do you no harm. But try to catch him and you'll find yourself disappointed. There is rumor that he was captured once by a powerful Earl and thrown into the dungeon in his castle. The Burglar's cries of anguish at being so confined could be heard through the night... but come morning, the dungeon was empty. None could explain how he escaped, and no one has managed to catch more than a glimpse of him since. <br />
<br />
<h3>
The Red Owl</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNo1psW74ulKbbqjnA0jtNFYfiNnGYgOCB4WlxFw7zwMPr1BOaQn2_qhRxFipvF9wb3EOBDEffxylUWydTlh6JQDqif-GZFILqbJkw81liuakXKXTHsxfRaBKumHXBEMR-AWhYHayw-0/s1600/Madagascar+Red+Owl.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNo1psW74ulKbbqjnA0jtNFYfiNnGYgOCB4WlxFw7zwMPr1BOaQn2_qhRxFipvF9wb3EOBDEffxylUWydTlh6JQDqif-GZFILqbJkw81liuakXKXTHsxfRaBKumHXBEMR-AWhYHayw-0/s320/Madagascar+Red+Owl.gif" width="216" /></a></div>
"I know why you sleep so late," said the little boy to his aunt. "It's because you're an owl!"<br />
<br />
<i>Your aunt is a real night owl,</i> someone had told him. She stays up all night and that's why she can't get up in the morning!<br />
<br />
"That's right," the aunt replied, shaking copper bangs out of her eyes with a laugh. "I'm tired in the daytime because I spend all night flying around!"<br />
<br />
Incredulous, the little boy looked at his aunt with wide and quizzical eyes. "You can't really fly!"<br />
<br />
"Oh, but I can! When the sun goes down I turn into a great red owl and I fly all over! My night vision is excellent."<br />
<br />
"If you were an owl, you would eat mice!" the little boy said.<br />
<br />
"Mice are <i>delicious."</i> <br />
<br />
The little boy laughed, sure that his aunt was spinning another of her crazy tales. Dinner was eaten, teeth brushed, and the little boy went to bed. He stirred ever so slightly in his sleep at the sound of the great red owl's talons closing around the branch outside his window. But he did not wake to see her watching over him for a few minutes before soaring into the night. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-3915285424748492582013-02-12T08:58:00.001-08:002013-02-12T08:58:48.279-08:00A Brief Interlude<span class="userContent">I do not like you, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifty_Shades_of_Grey">50 Shades</a>.<br /> There are far superior marital aids. <br /> <br /> I do not like your hacky prose,<br /> In fact I think it really blows. <br /> <br /><span class="text_exposed_show"> And though I would like slimmer hips,<br /> I doubt I'll get them by biting my lips. <br /> <br /> So take this <a href="http://www.fitday.com/fitness-articles/fitness/is-the-fifty-shades-of-grey-workout-right-for-you.html?utm_medium=Email&utm_source=ExactTarget&utm_campaign">"workout"</a> thing and shove it – <br /> even if the sheltered housewives love it. <br /> <br /> I do not like you, 50 Shades of Grey,<br /> When oh when will you go away?!</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">(Actual content coming later this week. Promise.) </span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-56712605592704370242012-12-13T13:08:00.000-08:002012-12-13T13:08:29.253-08:00And I'm ready to suffer, and I'm ready to hope.This last week has been a total roller coaster. And while I'd love to go into specifics, since writing about things is sort of how I process and organize them and make sense of this big crazy world as best I can, pretty much everything going on is of a nature too private for blogging. (I know this seems like a weird thing to say given that I've written several detailed posts about the state of my mental illness. But there are some things even I won't broadcast to the open internet. Plus those posts had the capacity to incite helpful discussion, where going on about my current state of affairs would really just be airing dirty laundry.) Suffice to say I've hit some euphoric highs and some crushing lows, and it's all been sort of mentally exhausting, especially coupled with working retail at The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.<br />
<br />
And all of that sort of got me thinking. 2012 has been a rough year. I have this ridiculous apocalypse phobia – always have. Since I was a kid I worried senselessly about seeing the End of Days and being crippled with fear as the skies go black and the seas boil. (I was a melodramatic kid.) So you can imagine how awesome all this Mayan calendar business has been for me. And since I am also blessed with an advanced case of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apophenia">apophenia</a>, every time some lunatic shoots up a public place or a massive hurricane devastates some place or someone starts making nuclear threats the shiny red CRAZY button in the back of my head gets hit. <br />
<br />
There's a point to this rambling, I promise.<br />
<br />
Is the world ending? Probably not. But in a lot of ways, my personal world as I knew it ended in 2012. I lost my father. The end of my marriage was finalized. Other little things along the way. 2012 was a year of (often painful) endings for me. <br />
<br />
So with that in mind, Ive decided to approach this "phoenix in the ashes" style and make 2013 a year of beginnings. I've taken a few hits and been surprised at the fact that I was able to pick myself up and dust myself off. But before my <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-yfS2J6ehg">standard of living somehow gets stuck on survive,</a> I want to take charge a little. There are things I want to do. There are things I need to do.<br />
<br />
I've never been big on New Year's Resolutions. There's no real reason for this; I'm not morally opposed to them or anything. I just don't do them. So this isn't a list of New Year's Resolutions. This is just... a wish list of sorts, I guess. But it's the kind of wish list where no one can really give you the gifts on it but yourself.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Tara's 2013 Wish List (in no particular order)</h3>
• I need to write more. Since my father's death and the post I wrote for him, a lot of people have asked me "why aren't you a writer?" The answer is simple and silly: I have no idea how one becomes a writer. But I'm going to write more and see if I can figure out some way to maybe claim I'm a professional at it.<br />
<br />
• I need to move! I'm too far from my family, and that needs to change. This one involves a lot of work, but it's time to get to it.<br />
<br />
• I have a web series to get off the ground! This one terrifies me, as I know not the first thing about scripting, filming, or editing such a thing. But I've got tons of support of which I shall endeavor to prove worthy. First step is learn how to use this cool-looking camera I now own...<br />
<br />
• I need to be a better daughter/sister/aunt. Family, I love you. I don't see you enough, or help you enough, or call enough. You've all been there for me when I needed it and I can never really tell you how grateful I am to have you. But I love you immensely and aim to be better at showing you that.<br />
<br />
•••<br />
<br />
There are more things, but it gets all weird and way too personal and detailed and it's mostly stuff the open internet wouldn't care too much about anyway. The long and short of it is this: 2012 put a period on a lot of things for me. I'm looking to make 2013 the start of the next chapter.<br />
<br />
There's a particular <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1D5PtyrewSs">Counting Crows song</a> that I always tend to listen to a lot this time of year. It suits the frozen melancholy of a New England winter really well, and in my most depressed of states it speaks to a certain wistful hope for a better future. But it's also a bit passive. So this year I'm going back to my girl Florence. (You can never go wrong with Florence. This is a great truth of my life.) This song lifted me up during some of my darkest moments this year, so it seems a more fitting theme going forward:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WbN0nX61rIs?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
It's also where the title of this post comes from. <br />
<br />
Whatever kind of 2012 you had, I wish you a successful, awesome, and scary in the best of ways 2013. That's the kind of year I'm aiming to have. <br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-12399576994402655062012-11-25T13:58:00.000-08:002012-11-25T14:20:19.995-08:00I'm (Not) A Slave 4 USo I've already covered <a href="http://taraatrandom.blogspot.com/2012/11/merry-shopmas.html">some helpful tips</a> for making the holiday shopping season a less stressful experience for everyone. That was the nice version. This is the slightly less nice, perhaps a little bitter version. <br />
<br />
Somewhere along the line it became acceptable – at least in the States – to treat retail and other service workers as somehow <i>less</i> than ourselves. I blame the "customer is always right" mentality. This business strategy has led us to a point where the consumer knows that he or she can literally abuse the employees and rules of any given business and never face any retribution, because heaven forfend that business cost itself a sale or suffer a negative online review. You can complain about almost anything, however ludicrous, and expect to receive an apology and probably a coupon or free item. You can return items past the return date stated on your receipt, or without a receipt, or items that an employee saw you steal, and expect to get a refund. Because if we say "no," you might not shop with us (or steal from us) again.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying everyone abuses the system. I'm not saying everyone is a bad customer. But my experience has shown me that an appalling number of people have become so accustomed to being coddled that even the kindest souls simply seem to forget that retail workers are <i>human</i>. So get ready to check your behavior – and if you're guilty of any of these things, think hard about how you'd feel if someone did any of them to you or about the hell you'd raise if a service employee acted similarly toward you.<br />
<br />
Let's get into it.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<h3>
Don't touch me! </h3>
I sell cosmetics for a living. I spend a lot of my day swatching colors on my hand to show to the customer. This is not a problem; I have access to makeup remover and simply clean up between customers. But the fact that I have drawn a bit of eyeliner or lipstick on my hand to show to you does not make it OK for you to grab my wrist and twist it around to see how that color moves in the light, or bring it closer to your face for a better look, or to draw on me yourself. It is certainly not acceptable for you to grab my arm as I walk by you to get my attention, or to grab a piece of my hair to see if it's "real." <br />
<br />
Honestly, where do you get off? In what other situation would you feel it acceptable to treat a stranger this way? Would you grab the wrist of someone you pass on the street to get a better look at her watch? If you did, would you expect said stranger to be OK with it? (If so... look into an etiquette book, STAT.)<br />
<br />
Unlike strippers, retail employees don't have a bouncer to beat you up if you treat us inappropriately. In fact if we complain our manager will probably apologize to you for it and reprimand us because you felt put out by us calling you on your rude and inappropriate behavior. But the fact that you can get away with it doesn't make it OK. <i>Don't touch me.</i><br />
<br />
<h3>
I am not your whipping post.</h3>
It is not OK to yell at me, talk down to me, or imply that I am stupid because you don't know what you want and I can't read your mind. It is also not OK to yell at me because we are sold out of an item you want. Life is full of little disappointments; learn to deal with them. <br />
<br />
I often feel like there are people who – whether consciously or not – get some little thrill out of abusing service employees. Maybe your boss is a domineering blowhard, or your kids scream all day, or a million other things that leave you with all manner of pent up frustration and looking for an outlet. And here I am, paid to smile at you no matter what you hurl my way. I'm sure it's tempting to take out all your frustrations on me, knowing I have to take it. But it makes you a jerk. Stop it. <br />
<br />
<h3>
If your time is so precious, use it wisely.</h3>
You're in a hurry, you say? This line is too long? Well, while you were waiting in that line, did you use that time to fish your wallet out of your coat or purse, maybe have your coupons ready? Or did you stare off into space muttering about how slow we're moving?<br />
<br />
Did you wait until you got to the register to go through your items one-by-one, dithering over which ones you want? Did you throw a crumpled pile of disorganized bills onto the counter? Did you not pay attention and shove your credit card in my face when there's a pinpad right in front of you?<br />
<br />
Congratulations, you wasted your own time. You also wasted the time of everyone in line behind you, who is also going to yell at me about it. <br />
<br />
<h3>
Your mother taught you manners. Use them. </h3>
If I greet you with a smile and say "hello," and you glare at me and storm by (sometimes only to return to huffily ask me a question), you're the one who is rude, not me. Think about how you would like to be treated by the people to whom you speak on a daily basis. Act accordingly.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Other customers matter as much as you do.</h3>
I can't believe how often this happens. I'm actively helping a customer, and someone walks up and starts peppering me with questions or demands as though no one else is there. They will blithely talk right over me or the other customer and expect me to abandon someone else to help them. This leaves me moderating an uncomfortable situation, as I try to either help you both at the same time or explain to you (over your objections) that I am busy but will happily be right with you.<br />
<br />
You are not more important than anyone else. Wait your turn. This is a skill learned in kindergarten, for goodness sake.<br />
<br />
<h3>
It's not my job to watch your kids.</h3>
I have friends who have heard a mother tell their children to stay in a store while she leaves for the day; that "the lady will watch you." First of all: no, she won't. That's not her job. (She may call the police and report you for child abandonment, though.) Second: you are leaving your children with a stranger. Good job, Mom of the Year.<br />
<br />
And even if you don't do this... <i>watch your kids.</i> Don't ignore them while they destroy our store because you're too caught up in your shopping. Don't yell at me when I ask your child to please not run/climb/eat things, it's dangerous. Don't let your infant chew on merchandise and drool all over it and then hand it to me because you never intended to buy it. (Yes, I have had this happen more than once. "You break it, you bought it" is not a policy anywhere anymore and everyone knows it.) Don't expect anyone to parent your child but you. And don't subject us to their bad behavior because you refuse to parent them yourself.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Clean up after yourself. </h3>
Again, kindergarten. I don't want your empty cups, dirty diapers (really?!), used tissues, or other refuse any more than you do. Find a garbage can. Would you leave this stuff lying around someone's home and expect them to clean it up?<br />
<br />
<h3>
If I had a degree in family therapy, I wouldn't work here.</h3>
No, I will not tell your daughter she's too young for makeup or that her jeans are too tight. (Again... parent your own child.) Nor will I settle a marital dispute over how much money is reasonable to spend on a gift. I will not take a side over whether that shirt is red or orange, and it is not acceptable to tell your small child that "the lady" will yell at him if he acts up. (I won't, and you'd only complain to my manager if I did.) <br />
<br />
I'm not your therapist or your referee, and I am not paid nearly enough to listen to you fight with one another. But thanks for trapping me so that I can stand there awkwardly while you do so. <br />
<br />
<h3>
I AM A HUMAN. </h3>
That's basically the main point of all of this. The American service industry has created for itself a model in which it is acceptable to treat its workers like little servicebots devoid of feelings or agency. And that's a damn shame. But the fact that such a culture exists doesn't mean you can't rise above it. Stop and think about how you would feel if you were treated the way you're treating someone serving you. If you think you would be offended, change your behavior. Just because we can't tell you off doesn't mean you're not wrong. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, I took the post title from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mzybwwf2HoQ">a Britney Spears song.</a> No, I'm not proud of it.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-8498825943419638102012-11-22T10:09:00.003-08:002012-11-22T10:09:44.816-08:00Merry Shopmas! <i>This is reposted from my now-dormant fashion blog. Happy Thanksgiving!</i><br />
•••<br />
<br />
I'm baaaaaaack!<br />
<br />
Well, that's the plan anyway. I
work retail and it's late November, and that means my soul will belong
to the mall gods for at least the next month, but my intention is to
pull this blog back from the netherworld and get back to it.<br />
<br />
And
I mention the timing not just to make a blatant play for your sympathy,
but also because it's topical! Black Friday is staring us down and
soon many of us will be fighting the crowds in search of gifts for our
loved ones. So in the hopes of making everyone's season a little more
merry and a little less Grinchy, I give you:<br />
<br />
<h2>
<b>Care and Maintenance of Your Retail Associate: A Handy Guide for a Happier Holiday</b></h2>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNi_lebuDJVRuZ7CiMfiCNBOh5QsHWz8JzGynVa2CP-iqjx3QE5kqiXZgnWliRqPJeZrC97HwhObr55YzPJdqJRcFq_VFs6Zj7M1Na7k6u9IcAtccUIJYFzsVAvlcyMBANVrjJnAs2t62c/s1600/reetail.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNi_lebuDJVRuZ7CiMfiCNBOh5QsHWz8JzGynVa2CP-iqjx3QE5kqiXZgnWliRqPJeZrC97HwhObr55YzPJdqJRcFq_VFs6Zj7M1Na7k6u9IcAtccUIJYFzsVAvlcyMBANVrjJnAs2t62c/s400/reetail.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, this is not the new Romero movie. This is your local mall. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Before I start, let me say that this
list is not just intended to be the grumpy rantings of a retail
salesperson. These tips will make your life easier too. Some of them
are common sense, some of them are common courtesy, but they're all good
things to keep in mind. That said, let's get into it:<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<h3>
<br /></h3>
<h3>
<i>1. Know what you want.</i></h3>
This
isn't always possible, of course. Sometimes you need help finding a
gift and you really don't have any ideas, and in those cases it's fine
to ask a worker for some guidance and ideas. That's not what I'm really
talking about here. What I'm talking about is when you <i>do</i> know
what you're looking for – you saw this particular item in a magazine or
on Dr. Oz or on the news, and you or someone else really wants it, but
damn if you can remember what it is.<br />
<br />
Don't be that
guy. Write it down. Tear our the print ad. Employees at major
retailers can't possibly know every published appearance of every
product we sell, and if you just tell us it's that thing that Anderson
Cooper mentioned yesterday we won't be able to help you because we were
probably at work and not watching Anderson Cooper (which is a lamentable
situation in itself). This will wind up wasting your time and ours as
we walk you to every item in the store that could possibly be what
you've described and you tell us it's not the right thing. You'll think
we're idiots. We'll think you should have written it down.<br />
<br />
If you know what you want, make it so that we can help you get it. Which brings us to...<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>2. Be prepared and aware.</i></h3>
It's
going to be crowded. It's going to be hot as the seventh circle of
Hell. There are going to be long lines. Your children will be bored
and hungry and screaming for you to buy them everything in sight. And
let's not even talk about parking.<br />
<br />
But the thing that
too often gets forgotten when people are shopping and hyped up and
grumpy from all these things is that the employees not only didn't
create this situation, but we're powerless to change it. We can't
control our store temperature, or tell everyone else to please shop
later because you have somewhere to be, or make that out-of-stock item
magically appear. We're as miserable as you are. In fact we're
probably more miserable because while you can say "screw it" and go home
and shop online if you want, we have to be here no matter how bad it
gets and we've had people yelling at us all day about things we can't
control. But still we smile, and apologize, and tell you to have a nice
day. Because that's our job.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying we're
infallible. But there's going to be a lot of annoyances that aren't our
fault, and we'd really appreciate it if you'd take a second to take a
breath and realize it's not our fault before you take out your
frustrations on us. (And saying "I know it's not your fault but..."
before yelling at us anyway doesn't count. I still can't figure out why
people do that.)<br />
<br />
If there's really a problem that's
flagrant or out of the ordinary, ask for a manager or the store's
corporate customer service number. You'll get to talk to someone who
can actually fix your problem, and isn't that better than wasting your
time yelling at a powerless cashier?<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>3. Be an informed consumer.</i></h3>
There
are some questions to which you will simply never get an honest answer
from a retail employee. This isn't because we mean to be disingenuous.
It's because it's our job to sell you things. That means we can't tell
you if such and such an item is just an overpriced gimmick and you can
get it cheaper elsewhere or that those jeans are out of style and that's
why they're on clearance. Well... we could, but if our managers heard
us we'd catch hell.<br />
<br />
Yes, we can advise, and yes, it's
our job to steer you toward the best product for your needs and
desires. But ultimately, we can't tell you that a product we sell sucks
even if it does. The best we can do is suggest a better product.<br />
<br />
This
is where you can do yourself enormous favors by taking advantage of the
internet. You can find almost any information on almost any product
with some simple Googling. You can find online forums and reviews that
will answer your questions with a lot more honesty than we can. And
then you can have a more clear picture of what you really want. (And
once you do, don't forget to write it down!)<br />
<br />
That said, please don't think I'm saying you can't ask us questions. There are a <i>lot</i>
of things with which we can and will be happy to help you that will
help you in the long run. Ask us for a gift receipt. Ask us about our
return policy. Ask us prices. Ask us if we've tried a product and/or
what we use. Ask us if an out-of-stock item will be replenished or is
available through our online store. Ask us if there's an item we sell
that's better suited to your needs. Ask away! Just ask us things we
can actually answer honestly and be aware of what homework you need to
do on your own.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>4. Give yourself time.</i></h3>
Remember
when I said there would be lines and no parking? I wasn't kidding.
The time to shop is not before that party you need to get to or your
child's school play or on the way to your boss' cocktail fete. We can't
(and won't) bump you to the head of a line just because you don't want
to or don't have time to wait. No one else wants to wait either. This
goes back to kindergarten, people. Everyone has to wait their turn. <br />
<br />
Also,
if you shop on a weekend – which if you work a 9-5 you'll probably have
to and for that I'm sorry – please be reasonable about it. Everyone
else who works a 9-5 is also shopping. That means the stores will be
exponentially more crowded and there will be lines. Scolding the
greeter at the door because the line is too long at 1pm on a Saturday in
December when you can plainly see that every register is open and
working is pointless and sort of petty of you. We're obviously doing
everything we can. You're shopping at the busiest point of our week.
What did you expect?<br />
<br />
Leave yourself time and have
realistic expectations. We'll both be happier for it. And if you can,
shop at off-peak times like during the week or in the morning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>5. We're not mind readers. Please act accordingly.</i></h3>
We've
all done it: we're thinking something and we forget that other people
don't live in our brains and so we get sort of confused when they don't
know exactly what we're talking about or what we want. So I'm not
saying doing that makes you a jerk. Just don't be angry at us when we
don't follow your train of thought. Let us ask the questions we need to
ask and answer them as clearly as you can.<br />
<br />
Also,
please don't take it personally if an employee you know has helped you
before doesn't remember you or what we sold you. We see so many people
that we just can't remember every face and interaction. If you're a
regular customer, of course we'll do our best to be mindful of your
preferences and visits. But give us a little patience if you can.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>6. Please, please, PLEASE treat us like humans. </i></h3>
I
can't tell you how many times I've had people walk up to me and shout a
single word, whether it be a product name or a noun or something like
"returns!" And yes, it's my job to fill in the rest of that sentence
for you and direct you to what you surely meant to ask me for in a
polite and grown-up way. But having to do that is sort of demoralizing
and dehumanizing. Ditto for mindlessly thrusting your credit card in my
face at the cash register, refusing to speak to me at all, seeing that
you're in my way and my arms are full of product and going back to what
you're doing without giving me even an extra inch of space, using your
child's stroller as a battering ram (I have honestly seen people do this
and it boggles my mind), or expecting me to follow you around holding
your items while you ignore me and/or shop for you after you've thrust a
list at me.<br />
<br />
We're people just like you. Yes, it's
our job to help you. And yes, the American service industry has evolved
to be such that no matter how poorly you treat us we're required to
smile at you and apologize for not being subservient enough. But none
of this is an excuse for you to forget everything your mother taught you
about common courtesy and manners. Retail employees are not machines.
We have limitations, and feelings, and yes, other customers. Please
remember this. Speak in full sentences. Say "thank you" if someone is
helpful to you. Understand that there are customers besides you who may
need help too. Basically... be nice. (Unless we really give you a
reason not to be nice, of course, in which case I refer you back to the
end of point #2.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>7. Pay attention!</i> </h3>
Know
your surroundings. Is there a credit card pinpad right in front of
you? Then don't hand the cashier your card. Is said pinpad giving you
directions? Follow them. Is there a sign that says "line forms here?"
Don't start a new line and expect to be served.<br />
<br />
This is really a basic life survival skill that an alarming number of people seem to lack. Just <i>look around. </i>In
a retail setting, we want to make your experience as efficient as
possible. This helps you be happy and come back, and it helps us serve
more customers and make more money. But this requires you to be aware
of your surroundings. I know it's crowded and your kids are screaming,
but please just use some common sense here. <br />
<br />
Also,
please for the love of God get off the phone if you're at a cash
register or expecting service. You have no idea how annoying and
impossible it is to help somebody who isn't paying attention to you or
listening to anything you say. And yes, texting counts.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>8. Clean up after yourself.</i></h3>
Ever
walk into a store and think, "what a mess?" Did you then leave the
clothes you tried on in a heap on the fitting room floor, or leave a
used tissue on the beauty counter, or finish your soda and leave the cup
on a sales fixture?<br />
<br />
Congratulations, you're part of the problem!<br />
<br />
Seriously.
Please don't do that. I'm not asking you to clean our store for us,
but just don't make our job any harder than it already is. If your mom
didn't teach you to clean up after yourself then your kindergarten
teacher probably did. Remember those lessons. Look for garbage cans
for your trash. Bring your tried-ons to the fitting room attendant. If
you break or spill something, tell someone.<br />
<br />
And <i>please</i>
don't change your child's diaper on an inappropriate surface and/or
leave dirty diapers lying around in stores. We don't want your child's
excrement anymore than you do. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>9. Watch that kid!</i></h3>
Children
are great. They're cute and they're precocious and they laugh when you
make faces at them. But they're also big fans of making a mess, and
they don't know not to break things that aren't theirs, and they tend to
run off and cause a panic when you can't find them.<br />
<br />
Please
watch your child. Don't ignore him or her while you shop and s/he
wrecks our store. Don't dump them in a toy store and expect that the
employees there will watch him or her. Don't let them wander off and
get lost. Don't let them play with or chew on anything you aren't
planning to buy. Don't yell at us when we politely ask little Scooter
to please stop climbing on that fixture because he could get hurt.<br />
<br />
In short... be a parent. We can't do it for you because we have other things to do. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<i>10. Help me help you.</i></h3>
The
cash register experience ain't what it used to be. These days every
store has either a rewards card or a credit card, and a customer service
survey (which you should really take the time to take because it
improves your service and often comes with perks), and a thousand other
little things. I know that can be annoying. But I promise if you're
patient we'll give you all the information you need and we'll take the
best care of you that we can.<br />
<br />
Let us ask the questions
we need to ask you. Answer them. Ask us questions you have – but
please not while we're trying to talk to you. With a little patience
and listening from us both we can get you helped and out the door more
quickly and efficiently. Just let us do our jobs. We're here for you,
after all. <br />
<br />
•••<br />
<br />
This is all a really
long way of saying one thing: be smart and considerate. Everyone is in
this together, and the people working at your local mall or stores are
working really hard. Please keep that in mind while you do your holiday
shopping and everyone will be a lot happier. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-23615493448580122752012-11-14T23:01:00.005-08:002012-11-15T10:44:44.001-08:00Nature abhors a vacuum but what's between your ears?I have a crush on <i>The Newsroom</i>. <br />
<br />
The <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zqOYBabXmA">first few minutes</a> went live on the web before the first episode aired, and I was quickly intrigued. I was a huge fan of <i>The West Wing</i> and its "smart people talking really fast about smart things" formula, and I was excited to see this applied to broadcast journalism.<br />
<br />
(Full disclosure: I minored in journalism in college and considered a career in the industry. I went a different direction partially because of exactly the media issues addressed by <i>The Newsroom</i> – I say at the risk of getting ahead of myself – and partially because I wanted to do something more artsy.)<br />
<br />
So that first clip is really well-known. But the clip that reaches inside my chest and wraps its hand around my beating heart is this one: <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PuXDK46P9bM?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
YES YES YES. It's the speech I imagine my college journalism professor – a fantastic and smart man who taught his students to be diligent and meticulously ethical – would want to see on television news. It's the speech I would love to see, and the speech that would get me watching a news show religiously (should I ever own a working TV again).<br />
<br />
The show does fall victim to some trademark Sorkin pitfalls: the male lead is a genius prodigy with daddy issues, there is angst aplenty about co-workers who can't admit they're in love, everyone is a super genius who talks a mile a minute, etc. And the liberal bias is deep enough that you need a snorkeling mask. But beneath all that, the show makes some very important points about the state of American journalism.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfS3J0BzE16mzYdJTFYhkM109TDKtWkV8i9oUbz00mwwzieoo5BkvhJtjVNMiwZ9TQZhirMmkkFY1LqMfrvvZ2T5t_02q5ZEVpbbl1qtMlKPH97qqY8V6SbVr11lW7HXIpQiR_0ZEa1o/s1600/181410_10151757112605471_640331654_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfS3J0BzE16mzYdJTFYhkM109TDKtWkV8i9oUbz00mwwzieoo5BkvhJtjVNMiwZ9TQZhirMmkkFY1LqMfrvvZ2T5t_02q5ZEVpbbl1qtMlKPH97qqY8V6SbVr11lW7HXIpQiR_0ZEa1o/s320/181410_10151757112605471_640331654_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The graphic at the left circulated on Facebook not too long ago. It's one of those "laugh because it's funny; cry because it's true" things for me.<br />
<br />
I'm a self-confessed CNN junkie. When I had a working TV or when I'm somewhere where I have access to and control of one, I'll happily leave CNN on all day. I like seeing the different ways a story is presented based on the time of day and the demographic audience at that time, or the way the presentation is changed between daytime and prime time and the weekend. But mostly I like a steady stream of information. (It's the same reason I feel naked without my smart phone now – I can't stand feeling like there's something going on that I don't know about. Maybe that's why I studied journalism.)<br />
<br />
But I feel a little guilty for my CNN obsession, because I know that even though it's not as clearly biased as Fox News or MSNBC, it's still not presenting the highest form of discourse or anything close to a complete picture of the news. (There are a few exceptions to this. Fareed Zakaria has a <a href="http://globalpublicsquare.blogs.cnn.com/">Sunday morning show</a> that deals with a lot of international news that the network at large ignores or under-covers... but it's hidden away on Sunday morning.) I could listen to NPR or watch C-SPAN, but I don't. I call myself a purist, but instead of going to the organic farmer's market I happily swallow the processed, preservative-laden canned vegetables from the local chain grocery store. <br />
<br />
So how do you fix the state of journalism when even those who love it fall into the trap of style over substance? I don't know. It's too late to put the advertising worms back in the can, so whether we like it or not, news and its presentation are a business. Print journalism weakens with every passing day. And while the rise of blogs and the internet provides a wider range of sources for information, it also skews the signal to noise ratio heavily.<br />
<br />
For now, I'm content to get lost in Sorkin's idealistic little world once in a while and resolved to begin seeking different sources for my news fix. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Post title is a line from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kgO0plAPeUM">this R.E.M. song.</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-25644315612838902192012-11-10T00:26:00.000-08:002012-11-10T00:42:34.533-08:00Been Away Too LongWell hi there, blog. Remember me? I don't really blame you if you don't. I haven't visited much lately. Sorry about that.<br />
<br />
I started this blog because I wanted and intended to write more. This was partially because thanks to <a href="http://thatguywiththeglasses.com/videolinks/teamt/nash/wtfiwwy">certain online shenanigans</a> I sort of have an audience now, but mostly because I like to write. It's how I process things sometimes, it's how I express myself, it's how I'm most articulate. And lord knows I've had things I wanted to write about the past few months... but I either didn't have the energy or the time or both, and I sort of lost the plot in there somewhere.<br />
<br />
Anyone who reads this blog knows that my father passed away over the summer. That, while not unexpected, was a tough time. I still miss him a lot and I think about him all the time. (When my car acts up I catch myself going, "OK Dad, I hear you. I'll check the oil.") For a while other things seemed less important in comparison.<br />
<br />
I didn't write for a while because I didn't want the post I wrote about my dad scrolling off the page. Or because I didn't think I could write anything else as good as I was told that post was. But the number of people who told me I need to be writing suggests to me that the greater error would be letting myself stagnate.<br />
<br />
So, here we are.<br />
<br />
What's up with me? Some of the same, some new. My depression got really bad for a while, which is another thing that kept me from writing. I got to a point where I felt totally overwhelmed by my life. I felt trapped and alone and terrified and I didn't see a way out. And then the weirdest thing happened...<br />
<br />
I took a trip to Ireland with some of my immediate family. Our family there had arranged a memorial mass for my dad since not all of them could come to the funeral. The day we left I was hanging by a thread mentally and had no idea how I was even going to get through the week. But something about that trip – maybe just being away from my life for seven days, maybe seeing family I never see, maybe being in such a beautiful place – helped me turn a corner. When I came back I was amazed at how <i>good</i> I felt. How calm and happy and weirdly zen. It was like I just forgot to pack all the anxiety and melancholy that had been weighing me down and left it overseas.<br />
<br />
For a few weeks I tread carefully, waiting for that high to dissipate, but it hasn't. It's like someone ran an anti-virus program on my brain and gave me a fresh start. Yes, I'm still on my meds. Yes, I still need them. But I'm in a better place now than I have been in a long time.<br />
<br />
I feel stronger somehow, too. I've spent a lot of time apologizing and/or carrying crosses that weren't mine to bear. I feel more able to give that up now. I feel like I can stand a little taller and look the world in the eye without flinching. I feel better equipped to face my own problems and to not make anyone else's problems my own.<br />
<br />
I don't know how or why it happened, but it's a pretty good place to be.<br />
<br />
There's been a myriad of other things since then – family emergencies, car trouble, a million of the other random things that make up day-to-day life and would usually send me into a tailspin. But I've been good. I credit a lot of that to my mother, who has recently given me incomparable lessons in strength, dignity, and grace. Some of it, though, I think is progress I made on my own. <br />
<br />
Anyway, that's sort of the State of the Tara.<br />
<br />
I'm going to make an effort to write more, even if it's just silly pop culture crap. In the coming year I'm starting a web show – a prospect which terrifies me, but about which I'm also very excited. I'm sure I'll have things to write about that process as well.<br />
<br />
I feel like I've finally gotten (mentally, anyway) the fresh start I've been seeking for so long. There are still a lot of things I need to work out, but I feel a lot better about where I am than I have in a long time, and I'm incredibly grateful for that. Right now I'm trying to channel all of that into progress. And that includes this blog.<br />
<br />
So in short, I'm back. Nice to see you again! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Post title stolen from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeBjhpw_Ee0">the new Soundgarden song.</a> Did you miss Soundgarden as much as I did? </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-9517763087396774162012-08-22T00:05:00.004-07:002012-08-22T00:05:45.117-07:00An Open Letter To Mr. Joss Whedon<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Dear Mr. Whedon, <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1FwVtbS2hgZZ3CVDLEk4m79vIdoPKlzGu5__oKCCw43nozoKWArkXdtauRKA_lrCyGMsjCKzeD_QhZSuM5bGfJBuZAnfCfL-SVKYy7GMdQuu3DttBE1oT5UNi8XnC_FSLbbqb-xOsZ4/s1600/1096684-33_firestar_1_02_super.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1FwVtbS2hgZZ3CVDLEk4m79vIdoPKlzGu5__oKCCw43nozoKWArkXdtauRKA_lrCyGMsjCKzeD_QhZSuM5bGfJBuZAnfCfL-SVKYy7GMdQuu3DttBE1oT5UNi8XnC_FSLbbqb-xOsZ4/s400/1096684-33_firestar_1_02_super.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Firestar #1</i> cover art by Stephanie Hans</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Since you're now officially on board to direct the sequel to <i>The Avengers</i>, and since you've mentioned how <a href="http://insidemovies.ew.com/2012/05/10/the-avengers-sequel-should-another-female-join-the-superhero-squad/">you'd like to add more female characters to the mix,</a> I thought I'd take this opportunity to reach out into the internet ether to advocate on behalf of one of my favorite characters. <br />
<br />
And so I submit for your consideration: <a href="http://marvel.com/universe/Firestar">Firestar.</a> <br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />
Let me start with a little background: when I was a kid, my sister loved the Lynda Carter <i>Wonder Woman</i> TV show. (Who didn't?) Not being a comics fan until much later, Carter's Diana became the image in my mind for what a female superhero looked like. Then I saw an episode of <i>Spiderman and His Amazing Friends</i> and was introduced to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHL8jFGIJ-A">Miss Angelica Jones.</a> I was instantly enamored – a fellow redhead! With superpowers! This, to my child self, was the coolest thing ever. <br />
<br />
Years later I would discover a chewy nerd center beneath my ginger shell and would come to realize that while about 2% of the real world's population are redheads, about 40% of the comic book world's population are redheads. But my sentimental attachment to Firestar remained. <br />
<br />
She's not the most appreciated of characters. She's spent most of her career relegated to the background, a supporting character to the "real" heroes. And since she was only ever a short-term Avenger, I'm not saying she needs to be added to the principal team. She'd work well as a supporting character – someone on the level of a Maria Hill or (dare I suggest it?) a Phil Coulson.* <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8cE11WBc-9W9PGR_tAy7coZwiKONbW6lIceK5hv5I7NovEe6FkvwOncczxiNlSg9a7LP2IpNlJbAWeNFr8LUfk__y3hX9D0RTkkGg_PHJU4VASZhO1P07hwLCeuVHDy-W10ZxE5zWdA/s1600/Firestar004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8cE11WBc-9W9PGR_tAy7coZwiKONbW6lIceK5hv5I7NovEe6FkvwOncczxiNlSg9a7LP2IpNlJbAWeNFr8LUfk__y3hX9D0RTkkGg_PHJU4VASZhO1P07hwLCeuVHDy-W10ZxE5zWdA/s320/Firestar004.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please don't hold the disco windbreaker <br />costume against her. She's a modest girl...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In fact, given that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firestar#Powers_and_abilities">poor Angel never developed a natural immunity to her abilities,</a> you could even pull a Coulson on her and have her go down with radiation poisoning as a result of having to use her power during some random attack on S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. (Because come on, we all know there's gonna be an attack on the HQ.) That way she gets to do something cool, make a graceful exit in Act II, and perhaps drive the action of the principal team forward. <br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
I could go off on a tangent about how she could probably relate well to Bruce Banner as she'd share his reluctance to be a superhero and relate to the involuntary nature of his condition, or how she could provide a contrast to characters like Iron Man and Captain America for the same reason. Or about how a <i>Guardians of the Galaxy</i> movie is confirmed and her ex-fiancee <a href="http://marvel.com/universe/Justice_%28Vance_Astrovik%29">might be a bit connected to those guys.</a> But that would make it seem like I've put way too much thought into this, and I wouldn't want to look like a crazy fangirl. So we'll just skip all that business. <br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
Now I know what you've been thinking this whole time: Firestar is a mutant, which means she's technically an <i>X-Men</i> property, which means she's owned by Fox, which means a Disney-Paramount owned property like the Avengers can't touch her. And this is true. But let's be honest here... I doubt Fox is itching to put her in <i>X-Men: Days of Future Past</i>, and nothing says you couldn't work around it by just referring to her as a "scientific anomaly" or something. It's not like you'd be asking to pilfer Charles Xavier. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgW2XywPTRzu9L_mzYQx_TRJxS87uu-seIKFQfoBj-UATYcKuYpOb3ToPGvk4tK5IHb8U-85dxNTVdmgFxBXiLG1S8AKT2cQBHLLftbyJl0qpLgUF3RPLA55MKibXheWrK3OD7eZfzkAc/s1600/firestar6b8a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgW2XywPTRzu9L_mzYQx_TRJxS87uu-seIKFQfoBj-UATYcKuYpOb3ToPGvk4tK5IHb8U-85dxNTVdmgFxBXiLG1S8AKT2cQBHLLftbyJl0qpLgUF3RPLA55MKibXheWrK3OD7eZfzkAc/s320/firestar6b8a.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and she didn't want to wear this.<br />(It's my favorite of her costumes, though.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is also the question of canon, of course. Firestar's involvement with the Avengers team comes along pretty late in their existence, and the movies have just picked up at the team's origin. But if we were going to get that pedantic then the first movie would have involved Ant-Man and the Wasp instead of Black Widow and Hawkeye.** Plus we'd be talking about Scarlet Witch right now which would bring us right back to that Fox problem anyway. <br />
<br />
And I realize that I keep going on about Angelica Jones, while technically the movie universe lines up with the <i>Ultimates</i> titles, and Ultimate Firestar is Liz Allan. Call me a purist; I'd much rather see the original article up on the big screen. <br />
<br />
But back to the pitch. <br />
<br />
Angelica Jones/Firestar is the sort of character you don't see much in comic book movies. She's quiet and modest. Faced with the events of <i>Civil War</i> she chose to retire and lead the quiet life of a student. She'd fit in well as a second-tier S.H.I.E.L.D. agent – someone who feels a responsibility to use her unique abilities to help people but who isn't interested in the spotlight. She's the sort of character who would create a spin on the superhero genre you don't see very often. Instead of someone who seeks out a certain destiny, she was handed a set of circumstances and chose to bloom where she was planted. She's not dark or edgy, but she's still got potential to offer a fresh perspective on the definition of a hero. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntkGTXQHe21tFJ0xXUET12EidrxqHw4G3K0elR0BhQWF1aEfAET45f_NfvV7LpthFF3raTlJjoeoIDSH-R6sP-X9U__C83kocIgDFVKXek4Iin7MYlMMCjq7ut7XXl0UCuoHBdL5xGyw/s1600/PhoenixCostume_10.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntkGTXQHe21tFJ0xXUET12EidrxqHw4G3K0elR0BhQWF1aEfAET45f_NfvV7LpthFF3raTlJjoeoIDSH-R6sP-X9U__C83kocIgDFVKXek4Iin7MYlMMCjq7ut7XXl0UCuoHBdL5xGyw/s320/PhoenixCostume_10.11.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I might have some level of investment <br />in ginger Marvel heroines...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Plus, it would really help salve my rage after that whole <i>Marvel Divas</i> thing. But I don't expect that to sway you overmuch. <br />
<br />
One of the things people discussed most about <i>The Avengers</i> was the way it managed to focus on the personal interactions between the characters without skimping on the action. If you ask me, adding a character like Firestar helps this along, especially in the (assumed) absence of Coulson. She's as close to an Everyman as you're likely to get in a super-powered heroine. Added to the supporting cast, she could add some dimension to an already well-developed stable of characters. <br />
<br />
And so, I write this overly long and perhaps too-researched diatribe in the vain hope that my old sentimental favorite will get her chance to shine on the silver screen. I realize it's a long shot. But heck, superhero movies are supposed to make us all gooey with wide-eyed wonder and belief, right? You can't blame a girl for dreaming. <br />
<br />
So... Viva La Firestar! And if you just want to use her as a glorified extra, I don't really have much in the way of acting experience, but I do have some limited experience with superhero-styled spandex. Which I don't add in to be pathetically fangirly <i>at all.</i> <br />
<br />
Love and Kisses,<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Tara</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ginger Fangirl At Large</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I'm still a little mad at you for what you did to Son of Coul, Joss. That was <i>cold. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">**But since we brought up Hank Pym, he did design the costume that would eventually protect Angelica from her radioactive powers, and there's rumors he'll be added to the next film... just sayin'. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-30056143396353186062012-08-10T13:47:00.000-07:002012-08-10T13:47:10.473-07:00Fumbling Towards ByzantiumI haven't posted in a while. Sorry about that. But after writing about my dad, it's been a little hard for me to make myself post anything that will cause his image to scroll further down (and eventually off) the page. Something about it just seemed... <i>wrong,</i> somehow. Like if I could just keep writing and let that post move through the queue I'd be erasing him or something. <br />
<br />
On the other hand, that post got such a response (both online and out in the meatspace) that I feel like I need to write more. I've ignored that, whether out of lack of inspiration or out of fear of letting Dad's post go, or something else entirely. But I want to get back into it. <br />
<br />
Some of what you may see here will be mindless drivel. Or me babbling about pop culture, or me whining about why the Mets can't just play consistent baseball, or me scheming on how to get Firestar into <i>Avengers 2</i>. Some of it will be higher quality content when the inspiration and ability strike me. <br />
<br />
And some of it will be continuing to talk about mental health. I promise this is not going to become Tara's Depression Blog. Pinky swear. But some of you have said my posts on that topic really helped you, and writing things out always helps me to organize them in my brain, so I'm going to stick with that while trying to interject some other stuff as well. <br />
<br />
In a way I feel like I owe this to my dad a bit. A lot of people at his wake and funeral asked me why I'm not a writer and I didn't have a good answer. The best I could come up with was, "I don't really know how to be a writer." But I'm reminded of the advice Neil Gaiman says he always gives to young writers: "Write. Finish things." So that's what I'm going to try to do. Maybe it'll go somewhere, maybe it'll just help me keep my head organized and allow me to connect with all of you who read these things. Either way I feel like it's a win. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Post title is an unholy mashup of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxguTqA32yk">this Sarah McLachlan song</a> and <a href="http://www.online-literature.com/frost/781/">this William Butler Yeats poem.</a> Don't you judge me; I'm a complex woman. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-44393123003050742512012-07-08T16:24:00.003-07:002012-07-08T17:25:26.443-07:00The Big Fellah<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqc38EaJzmSstw9C2DQd2nkWFJOQRw0PX3zxvvLWiaAm3awx3bzls5M7MT3JrOUu-oYkXeUujo_Fyk1HuxWxjJCKXYzRvVpSvmoa3vPBog1BN_Uo-ELAYiVkEMMsLLODIQVEvuOfw5RE/s1600/Dad09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqc38EaJzmSstw9C2DQd2nkWFJOQRw0PX3zxvvLWiaAm3awx3bzls5M7MT3JrOUu-oYkXeUujo_Fyk1HuxWxjJCKXYzRvVpSvmoa3vPBog1BN_Uo-ELAYiVkEMMsLLODIQVEvuOfw5RE/s400/Dad09.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP Patrick Deenihan, 1931-2012.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My mom called this morning. "Dad's gone home to Heaven," she said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Dad would have been 81 next week. He's struggled with Alzheimer's, heart troubles, asthma, and a host of other ailments for years now. He passed peacefully in his sleep; a blessing given how frail and disoriented he'd become. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My dad was born in Ballybunion, Co. Kerry, Ireland in 1931. He came to America in 1960, and he and my mom were married in 1967. I think it was hard from him always being so far from his family. He and my mom worked very hard to make sure my sisters and I felt connected to our Irish family as much as we did our family in the States. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Mom used to tell us, "All the kids think their dad is Superman. Yours really <i>is</i>." He was a brick wall of a man with what my friend Josh coined "Popeye arms," a former boxer who had worked farms and construction his whole life and could lift 50lbs. in each arm the way most of us could lift a baseball. He was a titan with a thick Irish brogue and a voice made gravelly from years of smoking. My friends would call the house and hang up in fear if he answered, and would stare at him with a mixture of fear and awe when they met him. But once people got to know him they were always charmed by his witticisms ("Don't get smart, stupid;" "A shut mouth catches no flies."), his kind heart, and his generous nature. He was a teddy bear wrapped in a grizzly's body. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Which isn't to say he wasn't tough. But he possessed the very Irish dichotomy between gruffness and sentimentality. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">One of the most important things I ever realized about my father was something I learned after <a href="http://taraatrandom.blogspot.com/2012/05/all-stars-baseball-nostalgia-and-little.html">he took me to my first baseball game.</a> Every kind of food that walked by in a vender's hands got bought and handed to me. And I realized that while my dad wasn't always great at expressing himself verbally, he'd let you know he cared in other ways. I spent 35 years listening to my dad bark at me about how I don't eat enough, and "I can see light through 'ye," and I'm probably starving to death up here in Connecticut without him to cook for me. But that was how he showed love. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qPBlDbdI_HFWNkNPd7SJo_K1ioUk1M7bxMjDri7nmLN-KykKmim7bdv0JLGeTBikAdd8_fMh8Z0BeYnoMg6BZi3yw-wsDsvwp9ijv5pJsqcW45abC7joxpZRSDIBPFl4SxTdUSm-Q2E/s1600/photo(13).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qPBlDbdI_HFWNkNPd7SJo_K1ioUk1M7bxMjDri7nmLN-KykKmim7bdv0JLGeTBikAdd8_fMh8Z0BeYnoMg6BZi3yw-wsDsvwp9ijv5pJsqcW45abC7joxpZRSDIBPFl4SxTdUSm-Q2E/s320/photo(13).jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dad and me at my wedding in 2001. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">He loved that top hat.</span></td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">He and his best friend Mr. Clancy were the primary cooks for every event at the Central Islip Fire Department where he volunteered for years. (He was made an honorary chief two years ago and served for 48 years.) He made the very best potato salad, baked ham, and sausage stuffing I will ever have had the privilege to eat in my life. He was constantly worrying over whether those around him had eaten enough – to the point that "Didja eat?" became a running joke among our family. If my dad ever cooked for you or fed you, he loved you. He cared about you and wanted to take care of you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Dad was stubborn, and as I've gotten older I've realized just how much like him I am and how it affected our ability to communicate with each other. I inherited his depression, and we both get wounded easily and can tend to lash out when we're hurt. We both have a tendency for histrionics but neither of us has ever been much good at truly burning bridges. He and I had our fights, and I wonder a lot whether I disappointed him by not becoming a lawyer like he wanted or by getting divorced or by being flaky and weird. But I know he loved me. I hope he knew how much I love him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We knew this was coming. Dad had been steadily declining for the past few months. But nothing really prepares you. My dad has always been a sort of demigod to me; it doesn't seem right that the world should be without him. He should be immortal. But when I saw him last week he was so frail I could barely reconcile it as reality. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My mom said today, "God gave us all we could ask for," and she's right. We all got to see Dad before he left us and he went peacefully. And we always knew we'd been given a gift of time with him anyway. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ten years ago, Dad had an abdominal aortic aneurysm ("triple A"). This kills most people before they ever see a surgery table, and Dad was the picture of a bad risk. But after several weeks in ICU he pulled through and remained strong as an ox ("Strong as a <i>team of oxen</i>," his doctors would tell my mother in awe). He got to see three more grandchildren born and watch all four of his
grandchildren grow and develop their personalities. He got to play at teaching
them to box and let them play with his dentures, to our dismay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ten extra years, and a peaceful death. We can ask for no more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My mother has shown exceptional grace in the face of all of this, and I listen to her in wonder. She speaks of gratitude and peace with a strength I can only hope to possess half of someday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I said already that there's a lot of my dad in me. There's a lot of my mom too. And though the cliche says you're supposed to dread turning into your parents, I find myself smiling when I do something I know comes from either of them, even if it's a bad habit. I smile because my parents are truly good people whom I admire and I know I am lucky to be their daughter. Because they've always given all they had and more, and worked hard to raise my sisters and I to be kind, strong people. They taught us to cherish our heritage and value our family, to work hard, and to treat others with respect and generosity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I've been crying on and off all day, but I'm still not sure the reality has sunk in yet. A world without Pat Deenihan in it just doesn't seem real or possible to me. It doesn't make sense. I feel like if I call home he'll still be there to scold me about car maintenance or my eating habits or driving late at night. But he won't. I can't make sense of that yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My brother-in-law said that heaven has a great new chef today. I hope the Guinness and Johnnie Walker are flowing as he's reunited with his parents, brother, and sisters. I hope he's at peace after a life of hard work and sometimes difficult daughters. I hope wherever he is he knows how loved he still is and what an impact he made on so many lives. And I hope that everyone who knew him carries a piece of him with us for the rest of our lives, so that the titan can truly be immortal. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhLoUwuvg6pO4PT9I38kozMjaf6m6D0xFrXIIF_CS3TQoN6ebrqjt3JJIf-3d4X2cDs0D2wE7h7lD6ZtrrHVb8tGsBSeaiM5RR-2kB-OTvNL73hNSuqf8ru47C6eB7QgAMV2BsYCK-Jc/s1600/Deenihan2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhLoUwuvg6pO4PT9I38kozMjaf6m6D0xFrXIIF_CS3TQoN6ebrqjt3JJIf-3d4X2cDs0D2wE7h7lD6ZtrrHVb8tGsBSeaiM5RR-2kB-OTvNL73hNSuqf8ru47C6eB7QgAMV2BsYCK-Jc/s400/Deenihan2011.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My parents, sisters, me, and my nieces and nephews.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Post title is from a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8BKgmw6rhC4">Black 47 song</a> about Michael Collins.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-17215971460716430142012-06-20T22:49:00.000-07:002012-06-20T22:49:20.320-07:00Running Up That HillSo my <a href="http://taraatrandom.blogspot.com/2012/06/and-its-hard-to-dance-with-devil-on.html">last post</a> didn't yield much of a response, which made me skeptical about continuing. But someone suggested I keep going, and to be honest the process is sort of interesting to me, so I'm hoping that this doesn't get too boring or preachy or what have you. <br />
<br />
My intention writing these things is absolutely not to suggest that I'm an expert on mental illness of any type or how to deal with it. I'm really only a journeyman at dealing with it myself. But I've made concrete, trackable progress over the past year of which I'm very proud, and if what I've done and experienced can help anyone else, then I'd be thrilled. If not... well, then I hope you don't mind too much reading what goes on in my addled little brain. <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
In the last post I discussed that all-important first step – the hardest one, if you ask me. Once I was able to get past that hurdle I found it easier to make progress. Here are a few of the things I've learned:<br />
<br />
<h3>
You're going to have setbacks. </h3>
We're all works in progress. And navigating the minefield of a disordered brain is no small feat. There are still days when I feel fatigued, or anti-social, or unmotivated. There are still days when that little voice in my brain just won't cease fire and I spend half my energy defending against it's relentless attack. There are still some days when I lose that battle. <br />
<br />
But losing a battle doesn't mean losing the war. I had to learn to forgive myself for not always being up to the fight. I had to learn not to let myself spin the failure to beat that voice down into an even greater snowball of self-loathing. I had to learn to keep perspective. Pitfalls happen, and I had to learn to accept them and not let them undo any forward motion I'd attained. <br />
<br />
Which sort of brings me to the next thing that's been important to me...<br />
<br />
<h3>
Having a system helps.</h3>
You don't need to go all <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Memento_%28film%29">Memento,</a> but for me I've found that having devices in place when mental crisis hits help me hold the downward spiral at bay. I think of it like little failsafes I keep in place for when my brain just isn't cooperating. <br />
<br />
A few examples: <br />
<br />
<i>I self-medicate – harmlessly.</i> I always have almonds, or something containing almonds (I'm a big fan of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Nature-Valley-Granola-Almond-6-Count/dp/B000EMK4DC">these granola bars</a>) with me. This is partly because I tend to get low blood sugar and nuts help with that, but also because I have a hefty anxiety bend to my depression. Almonds are high in magnesium, which helps with anxiety. I admit that the immediate effect is almost certainly psychosomatic, but it does help. Even just the act of sitting still and eating a few almonds, one by one, calms me down when I feel shaky. <br />
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<i>I write.</i> It's not usually public, but if I'm really in a state I've found that just the act of purging the poison from my head can be really helpful. Sometimes people respond, sometimes they don't. But the helpful part is the act of writing out the thoughts in my head and getting them <i>out</i> of my head. I also find it helpful to go back and look over things I've written when I'm feeling more rational, so I can break down the way my mind works on itself and learn to better combat it. <br />
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<i>I reach out.</i> My instinct when I hit a depressive rut is to cocoon and hide from the world. It's also the worst thing for me. I've learned to force myself to reach out for contact – even if it's just texting a friend to make small talk, a little human interaction helps me. It distracts me from my own thoughts, or gives me a chance to ask for help if I need it. I used to sit and wallow, thinking that people didn't reach out to me because they didn't care. What I was failing to understand was that my friends can't read my mind – they're happy to help me, but they need to know I need it. <br />
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These things work for me. What works for you will probably be different. The important thing is figuring out the devices you can use to compensate when and where you need it. <br />
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<h3>
Meltdowns don't have to be nuclear. </h3>
Sometimes, no matter what I do, the meltdown comes. I cry, and I think awful, self-destructive things, and I want nothing more than to wallow in my misery. I used to beat myself up for this (which is a really effective way of making a bad thing worse), but I've come to realize that sometimes it's better to just let the wave come and pass rather than swimming against it. <br />
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Would I rather never have these episodes? Of course. But sometimes the energy spent trying to fight it off would be better used reaching out for a sympathetic ear once the worst of it has passed, or getting some much-needed rest, or otherwise recovering. Sometimes my mind just needs to have a freak-out. I think of it like a pressure cooker: sometimes too much steam builds up and it just needs to be let out. And that's really unpleasant when it's happening, but it can be a relief once it's passed. <br />
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That said, I do my best not to let this happen when I'm around other people. I don't like subjecting those around me to my frailties if I can avoid it. But if I'm alone, and can afford to just ride it out, I find sometimes some of the weight comes off my shoulders once I come out the other side. <br />
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<br />•••<br />
<br />
Again... this is all stuff that I've learned about myself. And it's come after years of confusion, self-analysis, hard work, and battling. But it might be completely irrelevant to your situation. The only thing I can really say with certainty is that it's important to know yourself. Know what things tend to set you off and learn how to compensate. Know what things help you feel better or cope. And if you have anything you'd like to add to what I've put down here, I'd love to hear it! <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Post title stolen from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wp43OdtAAkM&feature=fvwrel">Kate Bush</a>.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-34656669147535388682012-06-07T11:32:00.001-07:002012-06-07T11:32:58.521-07:00And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off.After my last post (which got an amazing response, by the way, and I'm really grateful for all your kind words) someone asked me to write about how I deal with my depression. I'm a little hesitant to do this for a few reasons:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>1) I don't love giving advice.</b> I catch myself doing it, but I don't like it. Unless someone specifically asks for my opinion I feel like it's not my place to assume I know better than they do what they should do – or that I know better about anything, really. <br /><br /><b>2) I'm still a work in progress.</b> I've come leaps and bounds over the last couple of years, but I still have my ups and downs and I don't want to give the impression that I've got some kind of a miracle answer or that I've reached some great revelation of zen. <br /><br /><b>3) Everyone is different.</b> What works for me may not work for you. Every brain works differently, both chemically and psychologically, and the medications or devices that do great things for me might do terrible things to you. </blockquote>
But bearing all that in mind, maybe I can still give some insight into what works for me and you can take it with a tablespoon of salt and adapt it to your own situation. So here goes nothing...<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
You know that saying, "the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step?" (Do you already regret reading this since I opened with a cliche? Stay with me...) What they don't tell you is that step is a huge and difficult one. So get your comfy shoes on...<br />
<h3>
Step One: Don't hide yourself in regret; just love yourself and you're set.</h3>
Sometimes that Lady Gaga <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wV1FrqwZyKw&ob=av2e">really knows what she's talking about.</a><br />
<br />
I spent a long time trying to be someone I wasn't. I tried to be who I thought other people expected me to be. I tried to be someone I thought other people would like or accept. And I was miserable, and I wasn't gaining the approval for which I was tying myself in knots anyway. I hated myself and I couldn't connect with anyone because I wasn't being honest with them or with myself. In the process of trying to be more acceptable to others I had put myself on an island. <br />
<br />
In hindsight I really think all the progress I've made in the last couple of years tracks back to one thing: accepting myself. It wasn't until I was willing to deal with who I <i>am</i> instead of who I kept telling myself I <i>should be</i> that I was able to get anywhere. Once I got there I became willing to fight for that person – the real person. And that's when I started seeing changes. <br />
<br />
Now I'm not saying you need to go all <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ldAQ6Rh5ZI">Stuart Smalley</a> and start spouting fortune cookie tropes. Nor am I saying you should throw up your hands, say "this is how it is," and forsake the idea of progress. We're all works in progress. We can all be better, and we should always be striving to grow and learn and change. What I am saying is that before I was able to get anywhere, I had to be able to look myself in the psyche and reconcile with what was there. I had to look at who I was and be OK with it. <br />
<br />
Because it's OK. It really is. <br />
<br />
None of us are perfect, and we all have our bags of rocks we carry every day. And it's OK. <br />
<br />
Think of it as raw materials: this is the stuff you're working with. Who you are now is the clay from which you can build anything you want. And there's a world of possibilities in that. But the key is to sculpt with the truth – learn to listen to yourself and care about your own point of view. Decide you're worth fighting for (because you are). <br />
<br />
It's scary. Not long ago I felt like I had a choice: try to be who I really am and risk losing everyone I love, or keep trying to be who I thought they wanted me to be and risk eventually falling apart. I chose to take a leap of faith and fight for me. In some ways it paid off, in some ways it didn't. But in the long run I think I'm in a much better place for it. I have a stronger foundation on which to learn to stand. I know that I <i>can</i> fight for myself. I know that I want to. And that's something I never thought I'd have. <br />
<br />
I can't tell you how to get there. For me it took reaching a really low point from which I thought there might be no return before I started looking to claw my way out. And then, gradually, I started wanting more than tolerance based on learned behavior. I started wanting acceptance and love based on truth. Eventually I wanted that enough to go after it. It was a process, and it was a painful and scary one. But it was well worth it. <br />
<br />
And that was step one. <br />
<br />
I don't know what your experience is. I don't know if you're hiding the way that I was, or if you wear your heart on your sleeve. What I do know is that before I was able to get anywhere in the battle with my brain I had to accept that it was a battle and I had to be willing to fight. So if I would give any advice, it would be this: take a long look at yourself. It will hurt, but do it anyway. Decide that you – the real you, beneath anything you put on to protect yourself or others – is OK. Decide that you want to fight for it, build from it, improve upon it in ways that will fulfill and satisfy you. Look at yourself and let go of all your "shoulds." Accept what <i>is</i>. And then decide where to go next. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Post title stolen from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbN0nX61rIs&ob=av2e">my alter ego.</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-77307933039089935772012-06-06T00:05:00.000-07:002012-06-06T00:15:56.374-07:00Broken BridgeCall this sort of a PSA if you like. I've mentioned before that I have major depressive disorder. I try to be pretty open about this and to be honest and public about how I deal with it and how it affects me because I feel like there's still such a stigma around mental illness (and such a belittling of depression in particular) that if I can do some small part by sharing my experience, I want to try.<br />
<br />
So I'm passing along <a href="http://www.mnn.com/health/fitness-well-being/stories/why-do-some-people-blame-themselves-for-everything">this study</a> that I stumbled on tonight:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div>
Crushing guilt is a common <a class="external" href="http://www.livescience.com/19724-blood-test-depression-stimga.html" target="_blank">symptom of depression</a>, an observation that dates back to <a class="external" href="http://www.livescience.com/10107-freud-incest.html" target="_blank">Sigmund Freud</a>.
Now, a new study finds a communication breakdown between two
guilt-associated brain regions in people who have had depression. This
so-called "decoupling" of the regions may be why depressed people take
small faux pas as evidence that they are complete failures.</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Guilt plays a <i>huge</i> part in my depressive episodes. I convince myself that the lives of those around me would be greatly improved by my absence, that every fight is my fault, that every mistake I make is a monumental failure. And then I hate myself for being so narcissistic as to think I could have such an effect on the world around me. I have my vicious cycle of self-loathing down to an art form.<br />
<br />
The problem is figuring out scope: everyone makes mistakes, hurts someone's feelings, scratches on the 8 ball. But it's hard for me to figure out sometimes which setbacks are worth my anxiety, especially if someone is angry or disappointed with me over them. So it's weirdly comforting to learn that there's a concrete reason for that. It's even more comforting to see this:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div>
"It's likely to be the sign of something that happened because of learned experiences, plus, of course, biology," Zahn said.</div>
<div>
</div>
That means there is hope that people prone to depression could learn to
overcome their guilty tendencies. Zahn and his colleagues are now
collaborating with Jorge Moll, a scientist at the D'Or Institute for
Research and Education in Rio de Janeiro, to try to train people's
brains. </blockquote>
<br />
That's pretty amazing. The brain, even when broken, is an astonishing thing. <br />
<br />
It's hard to explain depression to someone who doesn't have it. It's
hard to make someone with a functioning brain understand how much you're
<i>constantly</i> fighting your own. How no matter what you know
rationally, there's always that nagging little voice that sows doubt.
How every failure is multiplied exponentially and every success is
minimized. How your own brain becomes your enemy. I told someone that it's almost like having an alter ego inside your brain who hates you. A little tiny version of yourself, who knows your soft targets better than anyone, and has pinpoint precision when aiming for them. <br />
<br />
I've come so
incredibly far and I'm fighting every single day. I've seen concrete
progress of which I'm incredibly proud, especially over the last year. Yes, my brain is still disordered and sometimes I fall victim to it. That will always be the case. But
most of the time I know how to compensate for it and/or bring in
external help if I can't combat it on my own. I've come to think of it like my bad knee: I had to do PT to build up the muscles around my knee to compensate for what the joint can't do. I've learned that I can deal with depression the same way. When my brain starts to work against me, there are devices upon which I can call to pick up that slack. It doesn't always work. But as time goes on I find I'm able to make it work more and more. <br />
<br />
A few years ago the things that have happened to me over the last year would have killed me – psychologically if not literally. Now I feel like I'm much more able to handle things as they come. I still have my meltdowns. But I've come to accept that sometimes that's going to happen, and that if I let it in and let it pass, I won't waste energy trying to fight it off that I'll need later on. <br />
<br />
But
it's hard to make someone who doesn't have my brain understand that
progress. It's hard to explain to my family what an
accomplishment it is that I don't call out of work or cancel plans
anymore just because I can't face the world. It's hard to explain why I
get so worked up over every little criticism or setback, even when I
know it's irrational.<br />
<br />
So when I see something like this, I
spread it around. Because every little bit of information helps. Maybe
it'll help someone who doesn't understand why they feel the way they
do. Maybe it'll just help the people around someone like me understand
that we might not win every battle, but it doesn't mean we're not fighting. <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I've come to embrace those parts of my mind that are peculiar and broken. I understand now that's what makes my mind special." -Walter Bishop, <i>Fringe</i></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Post title stolen from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNo34VyBQSA">this song.</a> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-60351268168200864812012-05-16T12:04:00.000-07:002012-05-16T12:35:12.581-07:00All-Stars, baseball, nostalgia, and a little bit of regret.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bMisnuTYbfj-OJ1YJT6a7aulGSAqRukKExzJsSg_dnHlarwMf8C_x4ZnHIEIWJS4YXk35otUzHGmWtBtn5qdUUtBovfIOf6_t5wswEuo3mCHR4SAiLunrmGgxfj6qqU8JzN6CGUXOLA/s1600/CitiField.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bMisnuTYbfj-OJ1YJT6a7aulGSAqRukKExzJsSg_dnHlarwMf8C_x4ZnHIEIWJS4YXk35otUzHGmWtBtn5qdUUtBovfIOf6_t5wswEuo3mCHR4SAiLunrmGgxfj6qqU8JzN6CGUXOLA/s640/CitiField.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttyOMOzmgZhLSpebs2BBGfW8XCt08HYJRpr_lg_kLlNGGolzcEIFZ2BtfkYD3WRilNVYdg7GDV1-UqiejUI9V2Mt7m02JC8jgBxTmtzQXPJp1vMIoNy71rPkDm0g0Op-zgIW_3LJVbUs/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttyOMOzmgZhLSpebs2BBGfW8XCt08HYJRpr_lg_kLlNGGolzcEIFZ2BtfkYD3WRilNVYdg7GDV1-UqiejUI9V2Mt7m02JC8jgBxTmtzQXPJp1vMIoNy71rPkDm0g0Op-zgIW_3LJVbUs/s320/image.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't get it – that other team doesn't even have David Wright.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A press conference was held this morning at NYC's City Hall to announce that <a href="http://gothamist.com/2012/05/16/photos_mets_and_citi_field_will_hos.php#photo-7">the 2013 MLB All-Star Game will be held at Citi Field.</a> This is pretty exciting to me as a life-long Mets fan who gets exhausted watching everyone in the free world tie themselves in knots with adoration for that <i>other</i> NY baseball team who shall remain nameless. <br />
<br />
This means that next July, all of baseball will be abuzz about <i>my</i> team for a change. For this reason I'm extra glad that the Wilpons (Worst. Owners. Ever.) have listened to fan rage and made changes to City Field in the past couple of years to make it a real Mets park instead of the Brooklyn Dodgers memorial it was when it first went up. Do I wish it was called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_Murphy_%28announcer%29">Bob Murphy</a> Stadium? Sure. Do I think they should retire the numbers of guys like Carter, Hernandez, and Piazza and honor some of the team's more recent history? Absolutely. But I like seeing the old, battered Home Run Apple outside the main gate, and I like that they built a Mets Hall of Fame inside the stadium. And as sentimental as I remain about Shea Stadium, I do like seeing home games in a place that isn't a total dump.<br />
<br />
But I am sentimental. Most baseball fans are, for varying reasons. Mine has mostly to do with my dad.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqc38EaJzmSstw9C2DQd2nkWFJOQRw0PX3zxvvLWiaAm3awx3bzls5M7MT3JrOUu-oYkXeUujo_Fyk1HuxWxjJCKXYzRvVpSvmoa3vPBog1BN_Uo-ELAYiVkEMMsLLODIQVEvuOfw5RE/s1600/Dad09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqc38EaJzmSstw9C2DQd2nkWFJOQRw0PX3zxvvLWiaAm3awx3bzls5M7MT3JrOUu-oYkXeUujo_Fyk1HuxWxjJCKXYzRvVpSvmoa3vPBog1BN_Uo-ELAYiVkEMMsLLODIQVEvuOfw5RE/s200/Dad09.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Dad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My dad took me to my first baseball game when I was 12 years old. It was my present for graduating elementary school on the Honor Roll. This was a big deal, because usually it was my mom who took us places – not because my dad wasn't involved with us, but he worked a lot and was active in the volunteer fire department, so most of our social calendar was handled by my mom. <br />
<br />
But this time it was just me and Dad and the Mets. I borrowed my friend Jessica's jersey since I didn't have my own. It was hot and sunny, and the Mets lost horribly to the St. Louis Cardinals, but I didn't care. I got to see Kevin Elster hit a 2-run home run (and see that apple rise in person!), ad Doc Gooden broke his wrist. The guys behind us got kicked out for getting drunk and mooning the crowd. It was <i>awesome. </i><br />
<br />
That was also the day I realized for the first time just how much affection my dad expresses through food. There is no greater tragedy to my father than someone not having enough to eat. He constantly worries for whether his daughters are well-fed, and at that game I think he literally bought me every kind of food that walked by in a vendor's hands. I ate pretzels and hot dogs and ice cream and had sips of my dad's beer. I had mustard on a hot dog for the first time. I probably gained five pounds in three hours.<br />
<br />
That day is one of my favorite memories of my childhood and of my dad. And in a weird bit of symmetry, the Citi Field All-Star Game is tentatively scheduled to take place on his 82nd birthday. My first thought was, "Oh wow, I have to save up so I can take Dad to the game!" Because I'd love to repay him for that experience, and for giving me a love of baseball.<br />
<br />
But my dad isn't in great health, so it probably isn't a realistic dream. It's too bad. He still smiles when I talk about how the Mets did last night when I see him. He still watches the games. I think if he were up to it, he'd have a lot of fun.<br />
<br />
A friend of mine suggested I make a little mini-All Star Game for him at home – get vendor-type food, a few cheesy souvenir cups and/or foam fingers, and watch the game with him at home. That might be a good idea.<br />
<br />
Whether I get to watch the game with my dad or not, I'm definitely looking forward to a week's worth of baseball festivities focused on my team. I hope David Wright enters the Home Run Derby again. I hope the National League wins, and that the World Series is at Citi Field too. And I hope one way or another I get to experience all that fun with the man who made me the fan I am today. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA97dgozvSl87I6TaywGdm6MnX27C1avArlgwfeFP1slWleMN0tryKmIHuQe4wx4FQd1rWduPdCAlNkuCYWOANZqVIRSjo8MrBTLUN1TfrViqgAD5jxc4LaZtz0eOknzH8yqlq7fg2AUg/s1600/2012_05_metsasg4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA97dgozvSl87I6TaywGdm6MnX27C1avArlgwfeFP1slWleMN0tryKmIHuQe4wx4FQd1rWduPdCAlNkuCYWOANZqVIRSjo8MrBTLUN1TfrViqgAD5jxc4LaZtz0eOknzH8yqlq7fg2AUg/s400/2012_05_metsasg4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mayor Bloomberg and the Mets ownership announcing the 2013 All Star Game with Mr. Met.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com1Danbury, CT, USA41.394817 -73.454011141.299523500000006 -73.6119396 41.4901105 -73.2960826tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-49468272023576039232012-03-24T20:37:00.001-07:002012-03-24T20:37:54.975-07:00Walk Unafraid... and Unstupid.*I've mentioned before that I work retail. More specifically, I work retail in a mall. This means that I spend an awful lot of time dealing with crowds of people. This means that I spend an awful lot of time being really really frustrated at the appalling percentage of people who have no idea how to conduct themselves in public. Somewhere along the line little things like etiquette, situational awareness, and the capacity for simple thought went out of vogue. I miss them.<br />
<br />
But today's rant/helpful guide is focused on one specific thing: walking. Sounds simple, right? One foot, then the other. But my day-to-day has taught me that an appalling number of people are either unaware or unconcerned with the greater nuances of walking in a public space.<br />
<br />
And so I bring you:<br />
<h2><span style="font-size: x-large;">How to Walk In Public Without Being a Moron</span></h2><h4>Rule #1: Watch where you're going, dammit.</h4>Does this seem obvious? I thought so too. But experience has taught me otherwise. Do us all a favor. Put your phone down for a second (or at least don't get mad when we laugh at you if something like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPW8xmI4w6U">this</a> happens to you). Stop reading the receipt from whatever you just bought or searching through your purse for your keys or whatever the hell you're doing and look at where you're going and what's around you. We'll all be happier for it and you'll be less likely to wind up in a fountain.<br />
<br />
If you need to do something that diverts your attention for more than a few seconds, stop walking. Which brings us to... <br />
<br />
<h4>Rule #2: Watch where you're STOPPING, dammit.</h4>Places that are not OK to just stop suddenly and have a conversation/look for your keys/drool on yourself:<br />
<br />
• entrances, exits and/or doorways of any kind<br />
• the middle of the sidewalk<br />
• any aisle or walkway not wide enough for people to easily get around you<br />
• the top or bottom of the escalator<br />
• right outside the elevator<br />
<br />
Would you just stop your car in the middle of an intersection? No. Because your car would get hit and you would wind up in a neck brace paying for someone else's car repair. But the fact that pedestrian collisions don't (usually) end in fiery balls of twisted metal is no excuse to act like an idiot. Take a few steps out of the doorway or past the end of the stairway. If you're in the middle of a mall, step to the side of the foot traffic area. In short, <i>get the hell out of the way.</i> Other people have places to go and having to suddenly change course because you are unaware that other people exist isn't fun.<br />
<br />
<h4>Rule #3: It's a small world.</h4>You're out with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ix5z1bRz4Sc&ob=av2e">your five best friends</a>.** You're walking. You're each about a foot away from one another and you're weaving together and apart like some sort of semi-sentient giant amoeba. You're doing this at a glacial pace. I HATE YOU.<br />
<br />
I know we all like our personal space, but sometimes you have to suck it up for the sake of not being a jerk. Other people will want to move around you, and you taking up as much space as possible and moving to and fro in weird, unpredictable ways makes that annoying, if not impossible. Be aware of how much space you're taking up. (There's actually an old <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=goofus+and+gallant&um=1&hl=en&safe=off&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&biw=1519&bih=729&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi&ei=xI1uT-v2BaHu0gGwxPC-Bg">Goofus and Gallant</a> strip that deals with this, but I can't find it. Oh well.)<br />
<br />
By the way, this goes for those enormous monstrosities we call strollers nowadays, too.<br />
<br />
<h4>Rule #4: Watch your kids.</h4>Kids are fast. Kids do not understand (or much care for) logic. Kids, while aware that other people exist, often don't give a shit because they're laser-focused on any one of 400 other things at any given time. So if you're in charge of a kid in a public place, keep them close. Hold their hand. React in some way when they dart out in a random direction suddenly, trip someone, or just up and run away from you. (Honestly, I wonder how more kids don't wind up kidnapped or accidentally falling into meat grinders with the way parents seem to ignore them, but that's another post for another day.)<br />
<br />
Sure, you're not going to catch them every time. But even trying means that you're teaching them how to exist in public, and that would really do wonders for the next generation since so many adults ambling around now are basically a lost cause.<br />
<br />
<h4>Rule #5: Passing lanes aren't just for drivers.</h4>There's sort of an unwritten rule of escalators: walk left, stand right. Some people like to walk up or down the escalator for extra speed. Some people like to coast. Obeying this simple rule makes both kinds of people happy.<br />
<br />
Do you like to walk slow? Do you just mosey along, letting your mind wander as you saunter along? If so... well, I just don't understand you. But more importantly, be aware that not everyone shares your zen world view and open schedule and please get to the side.<br />
<br />
Are you a speed demon? Do you zip to and from your destinations like you're training to be the first carless NASCAR champ? (This is more like me.) If so, be aware that not everyone is in such a rush. Look for courteous opportunities to pass slower walkers, and don't bump people as you zip by because you're too busy rushing to pay attention (remember Rule #1!).<br />
<br />
<br />
There are probably a million more ways we can all be less annoying to our fellow bipedals, but these are sort of my top five. These are the things about which I mutter under my breath while zipping and weaving through the crowds on my lunch break. Got any other suggestions/pet peeves?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*Post title is a bastardized <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGeq5v7L3WM">R.E.M. song title.</a> I'm sorry, Michael Stipe. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>**You clicked that? You fool! You're welcome for the earworm.</i></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701428701324474258.post-22558423389847086042012-02-06T14:39:00.000-08:002012-02-06T14:39:08.625-08:00Hi!I haven't been posting much, have I? I need to get back to that. Sorry. My life of late mostly consists of working, worrying about money, sleeping, and procrastinating on cleaning my apartment. It's very exciting. <br />
<br />
But in the interest of giving you something to smile at...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://poorlydrawnlines.com/comic/tiny-hippo-and-the-tiny-train/">This</a> is the best thing you will see all day. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14997540452876291649noreply@blogger.com3