The sunbeams were crazy awesome tonight.  Like the sun was grasping desperately before being dragged down into the underworld against his will. Or something less demonic. Whichever.  Adjusted in #snapseed

I’m in the midst of cracking shit open right now. The cauldron of my psyche is boiling and shit’s bubbling up to the surface that I never knew or consciously realized. I feel like I’ve been in that dark forest that a hero is supposed to head into to fight the monsters and I’m finally finding my way to the caves where the monsters live instead of just hiding in the darkness, too overwhelmed with all the new sensations to move.

I think my writing style is to throw as many metaphors into as small a space as possible with the intent to dizzy my prey readers into thinking I’m a better writer than I am?

Ahem.

As a child, I definitely had perfection issues. If I created something and didn’t like it, I considered it a failure. More often, if I created something and never finished it, I considered myself a failure. But when I was around middle school-age I started noticing imperfections in others around me and I saw that they could be beautiful. Messy handwriting, a botched-then-fixed art project, an unconventionally-beautiful body shape. And the more I began to notice imperfections, the more I began to realize that perfectness is bullshit. So I let all that shit go.

Except. Just a few weeks ago I realized that for the past few years I have been clearly and consciously, and very seriously, trying to choose what my character flaw will be. Will it be my flakiness? That’s adorable and forgivable. Maybe it’ll be my various superstitions – eccentricity is quirky and cute. It could even be my anxiety. I fucking love my anxiety. It defines me and I don’t even know who I’d be without it. The anxiety has to stay. (To be clear – there is actually zero sarcasm in that last point. Which is probably super fucked up.) But I cannot allow my other flaws – my desperate need for constant approval, my inability to be there for people when they need me sometimes, the fact that I sometimes miss jokes if they are too dry – those things have got to go.

So. Um. Maybe I still have perfection issues after all?

I have a fear of failure that I have been unknowingly nurturing and nourishing in the dark recesses of my mind. Coddling it and encouraging it to grow by secretly promoting this perfect me I wanted to create. The more I focused on becoming perfect in all the ways I felt needed to be perfect, the more anxious I became. Trying to hold it all together like a 1960′s Tonight Show guest with a few too many spinning plates, running more and more frantically between them. It’s exhausting.

I imagine that perfection is a goal that my Child of a Hoarder self set for me. From one extreme, I believed I needed the other.

I am pretty open about my various traumas, but I am seeing now that there are things I am still unwilling to talk about, at least until I feel I have a more perfect understanding of them, or a more perfect control of them, or a more perfect acceptance of how imperfect they are. I’m afraid to talk about dating in case a guy might not like me and my friends realize that I’m unlikeable, I’m afraid to show my personal creative writings to friends in case they find out I’m no good at it. I’m afraid to ask too much of people in case I become a burden and they stop loving me.

But obviously this keeps me imprisoned with only myself as cellmate, and I’m not always nice to me, or reliable in the things I tell to myself. And I don’t want that life. So I am forcing myself to write about things and talk about things. Transparency keeps me sane.

Those character flaws I considered keeping grew bigger and stronger, became my jailers, pacing back and forth in front of my cell all night long (and all my days were nights). I remember at one point last summer, in my deeply religious fear of Murphy’s Law, I nearly panicked when I dropped something and commented, “Dammit, gravity!” For a moment, I was literally afraid gravity would hear me and, just to prove a point, stop working and everything would float away. I immediately caught the ridiculousness of the thought and laughed it off. Mostly. A kernel of that fear lingered.

It is because of that general thought process, I think, that my entire spirituality has been shattered. Caught between the atheistic beauty of the tangible world and the metaphysical mysteries that also ring true for me, I couldn’t orient myself. And I was afraid to publicly stand for something that might not be understood by everyone. So I turned to science because no matter what science is unfailingly there and real and right. But in the process I lost my faith. After all, if there is no bigger message in the world, than what are the gifts I have been given? Why was I granted sanity when my mom wasn’t? If there’s no ultimate purpose, then maybe I am just a spoiled child? I still don’t know any more than I did before about what my spiritual thoughts and leanings are, but at least I can now see the pieces on the floor for what they are and I can take time to put them together in new ways to see what fits for me.

But I honed the good traits until I was crazy, too. My desire to see all sides of every story is a beautiful and important trait to have, but it grew so strong that I could no longer see which side was my side. Like a tulip made of glass mirrors, each petal was broken and on the floor, reflecting every thought I might have on a subject. I had no sense of north, again with no way to orient myself. I couldn’t find me anymore, lost in a sea of concern for balance and justice that was more important than having an identity of my own.

Over the last couple of years I’ve stopped talking and writing. All of these things were growing like weeds and muzzling me. Sometimes I was too afraid to speak, but sometimes I just didn’t know where to begin. Interestingly, over the last year, I’ve become physically weaker, I’m in more pain, I hardly sleep, my depression and anxiety are through the roof, I’ve been sicker, and I’ve gotten fatter. By coincidence (or divine intervention?), I got the chance to participate in an interview for an upcoming series on NPR about the ACE study. I met with the doctor here who has been working on this for close to 30 years, and we talked about how childhood emotional trauma can affect our physical selves as adults. Science has found a link. It’s there. It’s clear. But because it’s so intangible, I tend to discount it. I feel like it’s crazy to find connections like that, despite the fact that, apparently, they are there. Despite the fact that I have seen connections like that over and over in my own life and body, I still wonder if I’m making up excuses (probably, hilariously, a leftover trait of my childhood trauma. How appropriate).

I don’t know what science might have to say about Louise Hay’s book, Heal Your Body, but I looked up “feet” because I’ve been having various problems with mine – from internal pains to the fact that I cannot stop dropping things on them. The suggestion was that feet problems can mean that you are standing, or lingering, in grief. AND HOLY FUCKING HELL AIN’T THAT THE TRUTH.

All of this has come up in the past few weeks. And a lot of these words came out of my fingers tonight in the past tense, suggesting that I am healed from this Crazy. The truth is that I probably have more to travel on this particular trip into the dark corners of my psyche. Hell, the last few days have been a whirlwind of emotional highs and lows. But I do feel like a major shift has happened. Like I’ve got a map, or a flashlight, or like at least I know the monsters I have to fight on this journey.

I can’t ever stop talking or writing, you guys. It’s dangerous, both psychologically and physically. Now here’s hoping that pain in my foot goes away. You hear that, Psyche? I’m leaving the grief behind.

Filed in Children of Hoarders, Delving into the Psyche, Depression/Anxiety, Onwards, Spirituality, The Zebra

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person person meh

Yesterday I was stricken with some mysterious fatigue. Probably it was my body’s intuition that the SCOTUS had done another horrible fuckass thing and I should just make a point to stay in bed and not try to join in the human race yesterday. But tiredness isn’t a clear enough language so I got up anyway, read the news, and then decided to go back to bed.

So that’s basically why I didn’t post yesterday.

But here are some thoughts I have after having read and maybe participated in discussions/debates on the topic on various friend’s Facebook pages. (Sorry, various friends. I really tried to limit myself as much as possible.)

1. People kept saying, “But people can CHOOSE not to work for these corporations!”
I think the people who said this are probably simply innocent and merely lacking the facts here. Obviously they have slept through the last 15 or so years and entirely missed the economic news. We should speak quietly and get them some coffee. Once they catch up, they’ll understand that people can’t just pick and choose which jobs they want. This isn’t the 1950′s anymore. Shit’s fucked, you guys. People stay unemployed for months and months or even years and then when they finally get a job they are gonna take it and not even care if birth control is covered because at that point the fact that they will be able to buy frivolous items such as “food” will take precedence. Anyone who says people should just work for those corporations that hold their own personal views (and by “personal views” I mean “provides basic human rights such as health care”) simply have no clue what the world actually is like. And good for them, I guess. Either they slept for the last decade and a half or they live in their own little protective bubble (or they don’t, but they hold views that go against their own personal lifestyle), but they just have no clue. Here’s a tip: grow some empathy. Think outside of your own brain for a moment and try to imagine how it is for people less privileged than you are.

2. People kept saying, “The government can’t just step in and tell a private corporation what to do!”
Except. That last I checked, the government enforces rules about making a job safe and possible for people with disabilities. And the government has rules set in place which don’t allow private companies to discriminate against people of other races, genders, or sexual orientations. So, dudes? The government does, in fact, butt in when it comes to protecting those who need it. You know. Except women.

3. People kept saying, “Birth control isn’t a basic human right!”
Well, aside from the whole Catch-22 attitude wherein women are forced to not have birth control, not have abortions, not have health care to support them through their pregnancies, and not have financial help for a child they weren’t ready for. I don’t know if that kind of birth control is a basic human right, but I’m willing to argue that sex is.

The bottom line here is that their science is bad. At BEST they grossly misunderstand how these contraceptives work. Preventing an ovary from releasing an egg is not, in fact, the same thing as abortion by any means. The fact that the Supreme Court backed up this pseudoscience bullshit is, at the very minimum, absolutely terrifying.

3a. Someone even said, “Health care is a privilege, not a right! People should make the choice to find a job that provides them health care!”
This is the part of the day where I just zoomed right off the plane, way out into outer space. Because if health care is a privilege you are LITERALLY saying that only rich people should be able to be healthy. You are, IN ACTUALITY, saying that poor people should just all die. I mean. You didn’t even bother to pretend very hard that you don’t feel that way. You very clearly feel that way. And you know who very clearly did not feel that way? JESUS.

3b. People kept saying, “But Hobby Lobby is still providing most birth control, just not these ones they don’t believe in!”
But you know what? That doesn’t mean they aren’t blocking birth control. Cause they are. It may not be every kind of birth control, but some women need specific kinds which may be one of those banned. What it comes down to is that a woman and her DOCTOR, not her EMPLOYER, should be the ones to decide what contraceptive a woman needs.

4. People kept saying, “But these forms of birth control cause abortions!”
OK. Let’s talk about the morning after pill. That form of birth control does NOT end a pregnancy. It inhibits ovulation just like regular birth control pills do. Without ovulation, there is no pregnancy. It ONLY works if the woman takes it before she’s ovulated, otherwise it’s useless. The pill RU486 is the pill you are probably confusing the morning after pill with. RU486 is a pill that causes an abortion. But it is called a medical abortion, not a birth control pill.

Doctors have created a distinction between abortifacients and contraceptives. Contraceptives do not end a pregnancy – they prevent one. There is a distinction. And it’s a distinction that seems to be grossly misunderstood by the majority of people who claim to support Hobby Lobby, and in this case, the SCOTUS upheld this bad science which is fucking terrifying.

So. You made Jesus cry. And you made the rest of us turn into rocket ships in our rage. Hope you’re happy.

(I was going to draw you a picture of me, as a rocket, leaving the planet, but I’m bad at drawing and all my rockets just looked like dicks which, I think, is against the spirit of this post. Next time I leave the planet I’m leaving in a vulva-shaped ship.)

But here are the facts: This law doesn’t protect corporations from having to provide other medical care that they feel is against their religion. Companies run by Jehovah’s Witnesses are still forced to provide blood transfusions, Christian Scientists are still required to provide for vaccinations. If this was actually about protecting religion, this would cover all medical-related things that all religions avoid. But it doesn’t. Because it’s not about religion.

This law also continues to provide for such medically unnecessary things such as Viagra or a penis pump. It is literally only the things that apply to women that are included in this. Go ahead. Tell me how we don’t need feminism. Tell me how this isn’t misogynistic. Go ahead and tell me how women receive equal rights. Say it. I dare you. This is nothing but means to control women. Why the hell else would someone ever care what I do with my own body?

Filed in Ranting and Raving, Social Justice, This is a Woman

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oak leaves

For most of my life, I didn’t actively choose my life’s direction. I have often described it as allowing myself to be carried by the current of my own personal river, or by following the strong, yet subconscious, pull of my own Oak Tree. I don’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing, to just allow myself to be passive about where I went. Is it even passive? Or is it highly intuitive? Is it a result of having been raised in an abusive home? That I had to let go and just go wherever Life took me? Or that my conscious mind shut down and allowed my intuition to guide me? My inner core of self-hatred would tell you that I’m just lazy and undriven. I don’t know what the real reasoning is or whether it is a good or a bad thing – and right now in my life, I’m right on the cusp of fully believing either (or both). Although I may have some regrets and, if I had the chance to re-do some things in my life, I might find that tempting these days, ultimately I do acknowledge that every thing I’ve done had led me to where I was supposed to be.

peaceful river

But I’m a grownup now (it took me longer than most people) and I felt like I should make some decisions about where my life should go. Last year I made some major changes and intentions for what I wanted my life to be and where I want it to continue to go. And this past year has been really, really hard. I feel like I’m suddenly swimming against a very strong current in my River. And I can’t help but wonder if that means that The Universe doesn’t want me making my own choices. I resent that idea. I want to be able to choose my own life now. I want to go to school and find a career and maybe not be broke someday.

And then how much of this is a desire to JUST BE NORMAL FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE? A side-effect of growing up in a hoarder home is that I’ve always been desperate to live in a way that at least appears to be a regular middle-class lifestyle. As I write this I am realizing this is also tied directly to my intense need to always be liked by everyone. My self-worth is the same as my appearance or the appearance of my home. (This is why I need to never stop writing. Remind me, okay?) So maybe The Universe feels I need to live an unusual and quirky life, and it’s trying to steer me from the life that isn’t supposed to be mine?

Fuck if I know.

I just wish I knew what I’m supposed to do next. What my direction should be, or whether I should stop trying to pick a direction at all. When I decided to get divorced, I was heading into a long tunnel I couldn’t see all the way through, but even then I felt more sure of myself than I do now. At least a tunnel only has one way to go. These days I feel more like I’m lost in a misty forest – I can see a lot of way to go, and I can guess at some of the outcomes, but I don’t know which path is mine or if I’ve even stayed to the one path or if I’ve skipped around, confusing the issues at hand. Does anyone know where the manual to my Life is? Can I get another copy from my manufacturer? I think I’ve lost mine.

(If you can count and navigate all those metaphors, you win a cookie. But a theoretical cookie. Unless you’re local and I’ll see you soon in which case just remind me and I’ll bring you some cookies. There are these really good gluten-free ones at Costco these days.)

Filed in Children of Hoarders, Delving into the Psyche, Depression/Anxiety, The Zebra

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Thoughts on Yosemite

view of the whole valley from glacier point

Google Maps might tell you that Yosemite is about 6 1/2 hours away but that is a dirty lie. Yosemite is actually 6 1/2 light years away and when you add in three or so breaks at about 20 minutes each you won’t arrive at your campsite until exactly 10 hours after you left the house at six am. And you’d want to stab all the people when you finally arrived except that YOSEMITE and you have actually zero desire to stab anything all all.

If you find a gas station in the middle of nowhere for surprisingly cheap it’s probably because you’ve fallen back in time to the only gas station left on earth that doesn’t accept any form of plastic as payment. Just save time and go to the overpriced Chevron down the street.

Bakersfield is, indeed, the armpit of California. I hated it. So much. And we didn’t even stop there. I could just tell I hated it from the freeway.

In the area there is a street called 7th Standard Road. Even Bakersfield hates Bakersfield.
(ALTHOUGH. When googling the road name to fact-check myself, Google asked if I wanted to know about “7th Standard Road Ghost” so it just became slightly more interesting.)

There is a town called Fish Camp. There is a town called FISH CAMP. THERE IS A TOWN CALLED FISH CAMP.

In Fish Camp there is a creek called Big Creek. Really.

Other names that might need reconsidering: Mosquito Creek, Avalanche Creek.

yosemite valley

I may or may not have cried when we turned the corner and got our first glimpse of Half Dome and El Capitan. The thing about these enormous rocks is that there is no way to fully capture their power and beauty in a picture. Even Ansel Adams, clearly the god of Yosemite photography, could not honestly convey how incredible Yosemite Valley is. You have to be there. To turn that bend and catch your first glimpse of the valley is a spiritual moment that neither words nor film will ever be able to convey.

Untitled

People yell “Elmer” across the campground all evening. Really.

Bears like soap. Bears like Chapstick. If you need Chapstick at 4:45 am you will have to leave your tent and fight an actual bear for it. Bears are clearly assholes.

Here is the thing about bears. When researching this trip, I found this on the Yosemite official website:

what bears eat

So, basically, don’t have any crumbs in your car or you will probably die and kill everyone around you with bears. That is the message I took from that. And, to be honest, I don’t even think I am stretching what they are saying too far. Luckily, I knew that bear sitings were fairly rare since the bears are pretty people-shy, so I wasn’t too worried. Until I arrived and signed my bear contract (seriously) saying that I promised to follow the bear rules and while we were discussing this, the ranger told me they’d had bears in the campground every single night for the past two weeks. Naturally then, I saw a bear. It was right outside my tent at 4:45 am, looking through the neighbor’s (empty) boxes on their picnic table. Probably looking for Chapstick.

Because I am an emetophobe, the bear was still less upsetting than the kid with the stomach flu in the next campsite over. I did not sleep at all that night.

On Monday I had the kind of day where I dropped everything I touched (usually onto my feet) and I tripped over huge logs that were not at all invisible and I had a really hard time with Capri Suns.

and then this deer asked for a picture with my humans

Animals we have seen (in order of size):
Bear, stag, deer, coyote, ravens, blue jays, woodpeckers, squirrels, chipmunks, squirrel babies, massive ants, slightly less massive ants, regular ants.

margie took this

The problem with learning to skip stones is that once you plunk it in the water it’s gone. And who has the time or patience to go looking for more skipping stones? NOT THIS CHICK.

On the other hand throwing stones as far as you can is fun.

panorama along the road to glacier point

Pros to being the driver on twisty mountain roads: Having control over not allowing the car to go careening down a cliff ending in the death of everyone on board.
Cons to being the driver on twisty mountain roads: Not being able to see the scenery while you carefully watch the road so that you don’t send the car careening down a cliff ending in the death of everyone on board.

reflection swimming in rivers

The trick to being in icy rivers is just to wait until all your extremities are too numb to feel anything. At that point it’s quite comfortable.

Rain in Yosemite is beautiful and I’m so glad I got to enjoy it. I’m slightly less amused having to lug home a wet tent and camping chairs.

it rained on the last morning

Los Angeles can have traffic at any hour of any day. But it will definitely have traffic at 9:30 on your way home after an exhausting trip. Especially if you were kept awake all night the night before by a crying baby at the site next to yours. Related: I feel somewhat stabby to those parents who walked their crying baby outside my tent all night.

When you leave cats alone for like five days, by the time you finally arrive home their eyes will be all big like they’re afraid they might be hallucinating, they won’t stop asking you if you are real, and once they are convinced this isn’t a dream, they’ll automatically get crazy and climb all the walls.

My mom’s high school best friend went to Yosemite for a summer job and never came back. I can see why.

forest yosemite falls

If you want to see the rest of the pictures, you can find them at my Flickr album here.

us

I visited here with my grandparents nearly 30 years ago and it’s been a beloved and fairly clear memory ever since. I’m so glad I got to go back, and to share the place with my children, forming their own beloved memories in the process. I hope that the next time we go will be sooner than three decades on.

Filed in Just Life, Places We Go

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Blog post coming. Don't you dare comment on this until you've read my threat.

Ode to Hard Boiled Egg Peeling

Fuck you, eggs.
Fuck. You.

Sure, the Patriarchy is terrible, but can we talk about how awful the act of peeling eggs is? I’m writing this post to give us a place where we can gather together to rage and support each other through those emotional times when we are forced to peel eggs. It’s just the absolute worst.

This post is NOT a place to suggest “new” methods of peeling hard cooked eggs because, unless NASA has just released an entirely new method this week, I promise you I’ve tried every single idea ever and it’s still just the worst thing on the whole planet. If you find that you absolutely cannot avoid offering suggestions, I will be forced to put a curse on you and all your subsequent generations which will cause bunnies to explode whenever you come near them. This would be terrible. And embarrassing. When people would ask you why the fuck bunnies were always exploding when you were around you would be forced to say, “I offered unwanted advice about eggs” and you would become a social outcast. So don’t, okay? Save the bunnies.

But if you, like me, hate peeling eggs with the fire of seven thousand suns, feel free to leave a comment. Extra points for inventing new curse words I can save and use in case of road rage.

Filed in Cooking

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Sticks and Stones

The Universe recently celebrated the end of my school year by gifting me with free streaming episodes of Six Feet Under on Amazon Prime. I’ve missed the Fishers. So much. But I was watching the penultimate episode of the first season – the one where David comes out to his mother – and I noticed a thing. It’s a thing that happens every day in real life, a thing that we defend passionately without, perhaps, really considering the ramifications. It’s a thing that is as specific as this particular instance, and as vague as an old childhood rhyme.

In the story, a young man is beaten to death for being gay and having the gall to, you know, exist. The ramification in the story is that David begins to confront his fears surrounding his own sexuality and begins his journey out of the dark place he’s been forcing himself to live. It’s a painful but beautiful episode.

At the funeral of the young man, protesters show up. They are holding all those signs you know so well and screaming the same cruelties vocally. David, finally, is done with their bullshit and attacks them and a reporter comes up asking about a possible story.

The thing that struck me is that, had it escalated, David would have been the one in trouble for physically attacking them. But they were attacking first. And the thing about that is that sticks and stones may break bones, but words can destroy a psyche. And, yet, we support those who verbally attack a person, while condemning those who are pushed absolutely beyond what their souls can bear and, because they have only shrugs from those who should be supporting them, finally give in to the pain and physically attack.

What. Even. The. Fuck.

Obviously freedom of speech is vital to the freedom of a nation. And obviously physical violence can all too easily get out of hand and can end a life thereby eliminating any chance of healing (whereas, even a destroyed psyche has the chance to heal if given the right circumstances). So I am not advocating any changes to our actual laws. But it’s time to stop making them our own personal American religion.

Stop hiding behind freedom of speech. Your words are designed to hurt. That’s not okay even if it is legal. Stop telling kids that words don’t hurt, you’re only setting them up to accept abuse as an adult.

It’s so ingrained that two paragraphs ago I originally wrote “actual violence” instead of “physical violence” while I’m trying to make the point that emotional violence is at least as damaging as physical violence is. (This is deeply relevant to the new layer of healing that I am currently working through regarding my own childhood abuse. Even just writing that word “abuse” there is difficult. Because. I mean. I never got hit. So is it really abuse? YES. IT IS.)

We have to stop this. We have to draw attention to it and to disallow it. We have to speak openly about it. Because until we do, we’re only allowing abuse – both public and private – to continue. And worse, we’re putting the burden of it entirely on the abused, who aren’t allowed to acknowledge it and therefore aren’t allowed to heal from it.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I have more Six Feet Under to marathon.

Filed in Delving into the Psyche

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So I am not writing about this myself right now. Partly because I’m basically like Mrs. White in that one scene from Clue on this subject this week. Instead I’ve been sharing my favorite things that come across my various feeds on TIAW’s Facebook page, and on TIAW’s Tumblr. In an unrelated (except that it involves the patriarchy and sexism) issue I wrote this in my journal last night:

I am SO VERY STABBY about the patriarchy that I sort of want to grab a torch and just walk screaming and chanting down the street as more and more pissed-off women join with their torches until we become an angry mob marching all the way to actual Washing DC where Michelle Obama and her girls will grab torches and join us. And people actually have to listen to us because we are, in fact, more than half of the population and I guarantee you that when we all join forces we will be one big flaming mass of reckoning. And then we will drop all of our torches and will physically dismantle the patriarchy with our bare hands while screaming obscenities at the misogynists, cowering in fear in their rightful place in the corner.

Like. I want to LOSE MY ACTUAL SHIT over the patriarchy right now, I am so mad. And it makes me more mad to think that people will just write it off as feminazi shit, or “chicks are crazy, man.”

So I saw this article. And it’s a good one. But the title. The title. I am going to make myself a shirt that says “Furious Feminist” and wear it proudly and any time someone tries to brush off my rightful anger as “crazy” I’ll be all HELL YES I’M CRAZY WITH MOTHERFUCKING ANGER, YOU MISOGYNIST PIG. And any time someone tries to brush off my rightful anger by saying I’m “just an angry feminist” I’ll be all HELL NO YOU GOT IT WRONG, ASSMASK, I’M MOTHERFUCKING FURIOUS.

Filed in This is a Woman

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I loved Scrubs. I think it was the first sit-com that I’d really liked in a long time. I remember feeling like it was really different from everything I’d ever seen before. Maybe News Radio was the closest, made up of an eclectic group of quirky people, thrown together by their place of employment. But it had been a few years and Scrubs was refreshing with its wackiness and unique style of humor.

Even so I’m really bad at any TV that I have to remember to watch at a particular time on a certain channel and at some point – I think it was somewhere in season 8 – I started to lose track of it, catching only an episode here or there. I remember really disliking the first series finale (because, if you recall, Scrubs had a love-hate relationship with ending and, in total, wound up with three different series finales. Only one of which was any good. But HOLY CRAP was it good and I may or may not have been sobbing at it while exercising on my stationary bike last week). But the final season, after the show was un-canceled one final time, was really different and most of the people I knew didn’t like it. I tend to root for things that no one else likes just on the basis that somebody has to like it dammit, so at the time I remember defending it. And I’ll say there is still a lot to like about it. But there are some things that definitely didn’t work. Here are my lists.

The Bad:
1. The lack of characters we loved, including the, you know, main character. I’m sure there were probably some real-world conflicts that got in the way, and I understand that, in terms of story, things have to evolve. But dammit I missed Carla and Jordan and the janitor and wanted more of JD and Elliot.
2. The bromace between JD and Turk just wasn’t the same. I’m not sure if there was simply a lack of time to fully develop it, but it was, I felt, far too shallow and codependent in this season, rather than being the usual mix of charm and just plain guy love without any need for “no homo”.
3. For that matter, JD’s character seemed far more childish. Without any of his usual actual maturity to balance that, it makes for a less pleasant character. I’m sure it was because this season the focus was on the newer students so that we didn’t get to see into his head, or to follow his life as much, but it weakened him as a character and made him flat.
4. LIKE WHERE THE HELL WAS THE JD/ELLIOT WEDDING WE ALL DESERVED? FUCK WHOEVER SKIPPED THAT SHIT. WE PUT UP WITH THEIR OFF-AND-ON BULLSHIT FOR ALL THOSE YEARS AND WE DON’T EVEN GET A WEDDING? NOPE.

The Good:
1. Drew and Denise. I SO SHIP THOSE TWO.
2. Drew.
3. Denise.
4. Drew and Denise.
5. Cole. Strangely enough. I know. I’m just as surprised as you are.
6. Drewnise. Is that their ship name? I don’t know. I’m gonna go start a tag on Tumblr.

What did you think about this season? What did you think about Drewnice? (Clearly you loved them. That is the only acceptable answer.) Do you even remember this show? It was about doctors and they wore scrubs and had antics. To refresh your memory. I know. Doing a review four years later is weird. You’re welcome.

Filed in Review, Television

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You better believe I'm gonna take a selfie if I get eaten by a shark. That shit isn't gonna remember itself.

You better believe I’m gonna take a selfie if I get eaten by a shark. That shit isn’t gonna remember itself.

So I originally read this article a couple of weeks ago now and it was just one of a steady stream of articles I’ve come across recently that apply a hipster-level judgement to anyone participating in the year 2014. There’s your usual all purpose stop-using-the-internet message shared via internet, there’s this one commanding me to totes stop saying totes based entirely on my birthdate, there is just your general selfie hatred, and there’s that one I linked above condemning the newly christened “shelfie”. Here’s how they describe what a shelfie is: “It’s about gathering up ~significant~ objects and creating something that’s you.” What is this world coming to? Now people are creating still life shots that represent parts of their personalities or interests? Nooooooooo! *collapses dramatically from grief for the entirety of humanity*

Hey, judgey people? Don’t tell me what I can’t do. I mean. I make it a general life goal to never have anything in common with John Locke (from Lost, not the philosopher) (although maybe him, too) but in this case I can’t help myself. You say I can’t instagram my breakfast and suddenly I want to show you my same bowl of yogurt and granola every single morning.

But on a more cerebral level, every single one of these things is legitimately an interesting and relevant part of this world that I don’t want to lose.

I took part in the 7 Days project where we would meet quarterly for a week of self portraiture. It was fun, it was silly, and it was vitally important to my personal growth. Taking selfies taught me a lot about photography and I made new lifelong friends via the project. But the lessons I learned about myself were perhaps the most surprising aspect of what selfies are. Self portraiture taught me to see myself in a new way, it taught me to be photographed, it taught me to see beauty in a new manner entirely, and how to find it within myself. While I’m sure that there are people out there who take too many selfies take more selfies than you personally think they should, they may be learning these things, too. And these are good and important things to learn. You should try it.

But now there is this thing called “shelfies” which internet haters are hating on. And I just don’t get it. Like. Have you never been to a museum? Because like 90% of that is still life (percentages not verified by any source whatsoever) and I guarantee you those are nearly all staged. Do you think Edward Weston just happened across that sexy bell pepper out in the wild and grabbed a quick shot? Cause you’d be wrong. He staged it. And no one (except haters) talked shit about him taking pictures of bell peppers. Instead they put that shit in a book and called it art and now students have to study how awesome it is when they take beginning photography classes. It’s like when people say that fan fiction is “standing on the shoulders of giants”. Cause, in case you hadn’t noticed, much of literature is comprised of retellings or at the very least, allusions to older stories. Taking away the freedom to create the art that is inside us – in whatever form it comes in – is controlling and dampening and caging and wrong.

Language is constantly evolving. That’s what’s so awesome about language. You can post as many funny little images about how “irregardless” won’t ever be a word no matter how many times it’s used, but you could not literally be more wrong. (And I use that “literally” literally here.) If people use it, it’s a word. Period. That’s how words are born. That’s how words evolve. Admittedly, I enjoy the evolution of the world “literally” more than I enjoy the evolution of the word “irregardless” but I don’t deny that it exists as a word. There is a word that I picked up from some SNL character and it makes me giggle and I can feel it bubbling up from inside me, trying to become a permanent part of my vocabulary and I can’t hold it back much longer. So be prepared. I’m gonna start saying “tragesty”. (Admittedly, the frustrating part of evolving language is the autocorrect lag. No I do not mean travesty, Autocorrect.) But the point is that I am 36 and I can say “totes” or “adorbs” or “I’ll cut a bitch” and especially “feels” all I want. Because language is amazing. And I love watching it evolve. And I want to be a part of that. Finding new ways to communicate things is not a bad thing. It’s exciting! It is, in fact, totes exciting. And it gives me feels. So there. (See? Stubborn.)

In my creative writing class we had to do an exercise where we formulated a very short play. One person (whose writing I’ve always liked) wrote a scene between a grandfather and his grandson about how we should put down the phone and live life. And, sure. Sometimes we should. But I really wanted the grandson in this play to point out all the ways that technology is important to humanity, too. This slam poem has been making the rounds recently and I’ve tried to watch it on more than one occasion because I feel like it’s only fair if I give it a shot, but I can’t even get through it. I tried but my eyes rolled so far out of my head that I literally had to go to the ER (see: evolution of language). Again, I’m sure that there are times when this is advice that needs to be given. Sometimes people do get caught up in their technology and forget to pay enough attention to the world around them, myself included. But never forget how much that technology does to connect us. I am so different because of the internet. I’ve made friends who’ve taught me things, and taught me kindness, and taught me how to find out who I really am. Without those virtual connections I’d still be lost and scared and vastly more ignorant. Do not ever discount the importance of social media. Internet friends are still real friends.

But, even aside from all this, don’t judge people because judging people is shitty. End of story. You can try to open your mind and learn new things from the people you meet online, or from recently evolved language, or from selfies and shelfies – and I cannot recommend it enough! But even if you never do any of that, just don’t judge people. It doesn’t make them look worse, it only reflects on you. And, besides, as my friend Jen said in response to that Jezebel article, nothing will ever make me quit the internet.

Filed in Ranting and Raving

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The woman’s arms were laden with packages. Old cardboard boxes, rumpled at the corners, edges softened with years of openings and closings. They were long, flat rectangles. She wasn’t sure what was in them, but she assumed they were Christmas ornaments recovered from some attic or basement in an old home on the East Coast somewhere. She walked briskly through the museum trying to find a map that would lead her to her destination. The place, being comprised entirely of marble floors, walls, monuments, and statues, was bright and cool. Her children, chattering, orbited her in gleeful circles as she searched for him. Ted Kennedy had passed away a few years ago, but she was on her way to return these things to him – or to his grave, at least.

But the museum was massive and her path was convoluted. The maps were unclear, the guidance lacking. People milled about in the background, but they did not offer help and she did not ask it of them. The children had run off somewhere, or maybe left entirely, one could not be certain. Around and around the museum she wandered. Possibly in circles. There were other graves and memorials along the main hallway, and in little nooks here and there, but not the one she sought.

That was when things started to go very wrong. Everyone fled and left her was alone in the massive marble halls. She turned a new corner and wound up in some back area, with ramps for unloading new shipments of valuables. Even this utility hall was pristine, built with the same marble the viewing areas were. Fire engulfed the room and raged across her path to Mr. Kennedy’s grave. At the end of the flaming marble ramp, two velociraptors fought. And yet, with such danger around her, the woman stood at the doorway, observing detachedly, merely disappointed that she would never complete her mission.

Filed in The Zebra

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