Happy New Year 2020

In lieu of a Year in Review, here's a Douglas Adams quote. Whole mood, plus brain medicine.

“For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much—the wheel, New York, wars and so on—whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man—for precisely the same reasons.”

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Some Blogs I Didn't Post in 2019 (Happy New Year)

First there's the round-up of "Shittiest Twitter Takes," where I post tweets displaying the dumbest shit I have ever heard in my life. Like when Donald Trump Jr. threw himself into the Pocahontas attack on Elizabeth Warren by feigning wonder (unconvincingly) as to why people aren't protesting Disney, too. He was trying to push the idea that Disney is just as offensive as president Trump because Disney made an animated story of Pocahontas. Then there's world class boneheads Diamond and Silk, defending their idiot president on the matter of racist terms he used. These two clowns are suggesting that the dictionary must also be racist then, as it contains the same words that Trump used, so they'd like to challenge us based on "Is the dictionary racist, too?" There's about ten more of these shitty takes, but five or six of them are related to our embarrassment of a president, and I don't want to waste my time with words about him. So I didn't write that "Twitter Shittiest Takes" blog post.

Another blog post I didn't write is my round-up summary of all the ways people use Facebook and how there's one particular style of Facebooker that I find interesting. It's all the people who rush to write a post every time some little thing goes wrong or is inconvenient, it's like they cannot WAIT to tell us all about their hardship (they got the wrong coffee order, or the car needs a new tire) and these outrages are often marked by an exuberant FML or TFW. Everything else is a piece of news, a sweet photo, an adorable anecdote, or a lovely memory. These are like micro newsletters.Taken all together, their posts comprise an authentic micro-blog. Coming back to Facebook, I see how much I've missed. I didn't know Adam and Maureen got married. I didn't know Brian moved to LA. I didn't know Lisa switched to a new job, or has a podcast. I didn't know Walter has become slim as a blade! Inspirational! I didn't know Max has had poems published, how big Archer has grown, or that Cynthia has a new book out. I didn't know Amy is baking amazing breads. Scrolling back through posts, it's a composite, authentic sketch of how your friend has been doing. It's not practical to sit and write letters back and forth to each other...we are not permitted that kind of time anymore. Facebook posts take the place of correspondence, and I find it a bit nice. So now I'm torn about deleting my account as planned. Fucking Zuckerberg. I'm having a moral dilemma over walking out on this twerp?

I didn't write the blog post about returning to therapy last May and all that entails. As it turns out, I still need help. I'm on a new medication since October, actually on two new ones...three if you count trying out Prazosin. That one's for nightmares. It didn't seem to work for me at all, so I stopped taking it. There's been a lot going on with my mental health this year. I miss my brain. I'm tired. I'm broke. I can't focus, I can't work. I need help.

Finally, I was thinking of writing a blog post about Family. Lack thereof, more specifically. My grandmother Maggie had eleven siblings which would have been my mom's aunts and uncles, and they all had kids who would be my mom's cousins, who have kids who would be my second cousins, who have kids who would be my second cousins once removed if I understand how that works. In theory there's a big rollicking family on my mother's side who don't know who I am or that I even exist. As a child I had met few of them. But as I sit here, I don't know their names or where they live. Why didn't I get to have that family? I don't know the answer to how did that happen? Isolation from the family has never been adequately explained to me. I feel robbed of this thing I never had. In addition to that, then there's the two fathers and their families, these relations I can't even begin to explain. Most I have never met. More recently, there has been Joe's family, who don't really like me all that much, but at least they go through the motions, more than I can say for the vast family who didn't know me, didn't want me, never attempted to even try. Before this expanse of relations, I stand alone and confused and wonder if there's anything I could have done about it, but fret what would that have possibly been? 👪
Image: coloringpagesfortoddlers.com

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Dog Days

*not actual dog

So for two weeks I'm pet-sitting for some oldest/dearest friends. It's one dog and two cats and I'm staying at their house. It's in Brighton, not that far from my house in Allston, so I get the 57 bus and go "visit" Joe every couple of days, making food and hanging out for awhile until it's time to go back to the pack of furfaces currently in my care.

The smoky gray cat has decided he's my bestie. He likes to headbutt me, purr and knead me and then curl up and sleep on me. That's understandable as his usual Humans are both slim, and I am a nice floofy cushion. Cats love to lay on me, that's a fact from previous Cat Situations. The Mary Tiger striped cat hasn't slept on me yet. She lets me chuck her chin and stroke her head, but overall she is not as affectionate, mostly appearing for breakfast and dinner and to give me judgey looks of general disapproval.

The dog is amazing. She's a Pharaoh Hound, not a breed you see very often. She's the color of honey in sunlight, a slim blade of a thing, fleet of foot and playful, playful, PLAYFUL. I got here on Decemer 20th, and that whole first week the dog was in heat, meaning I was reading articles such as "How To Care For A Female Dog In Heat." Let me tell you something: Heat is awful. I know the dog pretty well, it's not my first time caring for her. I know she likes me, but for six days she ran from me, barked at me, paced and whined and whimpered. I had the impossible job of trying to get her into a diaper because of the let's-not-discuss-it, and getting her into her kennel when I leave the house was ridiculous. She didn't seem to have much of an appetite, and she had to pee quite a lot. But YAY, she feels much better now. Last night she curled up against me to sleep and get strokes while I watched a movie (with bestie cat on top of me) and I texted her Humans a photo captioned "Pinned down by furfaces." Today she brought me her red rubber bone and we played Fetch, all tail wags and silliness. She's still a bit whimpering, but getting back to her old self.🐕
* Photo not the actual dog.

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An Uneasy Glance Inside My Fraught Head: Nightmares

Thursday is normally when I see my psychotherapist, but this is a holiday week so instead I'll have to tell you guys about my nightmares. If you hate when people tell you their dreams, please click away. If you love picking part what dreams may mean, then you'll love this; it's about my recurring nightmares evolving and merging into one. I am plagued by two dream "themes." These aren't the only kind of dreams I have, but these two are frequent. When I'm in the nightmare, it's fucking terrifying. I think I need to ask my therapist about a different medication, one that can maybe give me some less terrifying nights.

My Two Recurring Nightmares

One of my recurring nightmare themes involves deadly water. Tidal waves, tsunami, raging floods, hurricanes, rising seas, crashing waves. It takes different forms, but there's one that keeps coming back. There's a shore, with a boardwalk and walkways. There's a sea wall, with a stairway on either side that people use to access the beach. In my nightmare, I'm on the beach when the sea suddenly turns from calm lapping to rising, churning and crashing against the sea wall, and I'm trapped by the rapidly rushing water, unable to clamber up and out because it's too powerful. I am pinned against the sea wall. Waves keep taking me under, and I'm trying to pull myself over to the stairs but finally I see that they've been washed away, leaving just a sandy slope that's being eroded by the pounding surf. It is impossible to get a grip on anything. People are around but they're a faceless, screaming clamor and nobody sees me going under. There have been nights when I'm drowning all night, and I wake up exhausted and tearful.

Another recurring nightmare is that I'm in a room that isn't mine, and it's filled with stuff...racks of clothing packed tight, so tight I can't tell what anything is (a coat? A dress?) until I pry it out from the racks. There's stacks too, and lots of boxes containing even more stuff. Sometimes the room is dark and I can barely see, just the light under the door and lots of voices carrying: I have to get out there but I can't because I don't have anything to wear. My dream-self keeps looking, pulling out item after item trying to find something to wear, and I'm panicked because outside the door there's a whole party of people waiting for me. It's dire that I get dressed and go out the door, but I can't find what I need. Sometimes the thing I'm looking for is my real-life bag and the little red wallet I wear that contains my ID, bank cards, library card etc. I need it or I can't leave the room. I can't find it, nothing fits me and I can't go out there naked. There've been nights when I feel like I'm frantically searching the room all night long, and I wake up exhausted and tearful.

Last Night

I dreamt I was in a room where people have been gathered together for some kind of event, and it's time to take a group photo. I look down and see that I'm wearing an unfamiliar outfit. The skirt is furry like a "fun fur" wardrobe item, and I like the way it looks. I have on some boots and a clingy top and my dream-self wonders where I got these strange items, and then dream-self remembers the dark room with all the clothes. I reason (in the dream) that I found something acceptable to wear even though it's unlike anything I own. Then my mother comes in and a person gathers us all...me, my mother and a bunch of other people...onto a long couch where we are to sit, and I come to realize we're about to get our picture taken. Then the person in charge says in a loud voice, "Not you, Michelle, could you move?" and I am sent from the room. My mother doesn't look at me. I leave the room and go outside, and I'm on the shore where there are walkways. The walkway I take goes over water down below and I think it's a nice place. On the path in front of me I see a dead sea creature of some kind, it's like a cross between a squid and a starfish. I go over to it and see that it's not dead, it's alive but barely. I decide I can save this creature, briefly wonder if it's safe to pick it up, but then I just pick it up. It's heavy, and feels dry to the touch. I need to get this creature back into the water, so I run with it and drop it over the side into the water down below. I keep walking, hoping the creature will be safe now. I find a pathway that leads to a sea wall, and there's a structure built on the ledge that juts out over the water. I enter, and that's when I notice that the water is starting to rise and crash against the structure. It's all glass and I think "Surely it must be strong enough to withstand..." and that's when I see a gargantuan tidal wave coming. There's no time to react before the massive wave overtakes the structure. The water rushes over the structure and for a minute, the windows hold, it's like looking into an aquarium because the structure is fully immersed in sea water. For some reason I look into the inky black water and look for the squid/starfish that I just saved, then all the windows crash through and I'm drowning.🌊

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“It’s hard to fully understand the motivation of the president.”

“It’s hard to fully understand the motivation of the president.” Yeah, I think we can all agree with Tom Kiernan, chief executive of the American Wind Energy Association, who told the Washington Post in August that Trump is absolutely full of shit when it comes to his bewildering battle against wind energy. I mean, Ted Kennedy (RIP) hated the offshore wind turbines too and fought against them because they'd "ruin the view" of the sea from the Kennedy compound, a specious argument as most people find the modern design quite beautiful. That was annoying. But this latest Trump rant against wind power is full tilt boogie, mind-bendingly BONKERS. My regular readers will have noticed that I don't write about the motherfucker anymore, in the interest of self-care for my broken brain, but the speech he gave this weekend is a whole new level of astonishing word casserole with a side of WTF pie. The president was speaking to the conservative student group Turning Point USA on Saturday and the transcript is a bizarre tirade even more bonkers than his wild claim that "windmills cause cancer," and then he'd make that weird "WEW WEW WEW" sound with his stupid mouth. This is the lunatic ranting of a bloviating old fool who isn't qualified to run the White House gift shop. I assume there's a gift shop. I've never visited the White House. 🤡

I never understood wind. You know, I know windmills very much. I’ve studied it better than anybody I know. It’s very expensive. They’re made in China and Germany mostly—very few made here, almost none. But they’re manufactured tremendous, if you’re into this, tremendous fumes, gases are spewing into the atmosphere. You know we have a world, right? So the world is tiny compared to the universe. So tremendous, tremendous amount of fumes and everything. You talk about the carbon footprint—fumes are spewing into the air, right? Spewing. Whether it’s in China, Germany, it’s going into the air. It’s our air, their air, everything, right? So they make these things and then they put them up. And if you own a house within vision of some of these monsters, your house is worth 50 percent of the price. They’re noisy. They kill the birds. You want to see a bird graveyard? You just go. Take a look. A bird graveyard. Go under a windmill someday. You’ll see more birds than you’ve ever seen ever in your life. A windmill will kill many bald eagles. After a certain number they make you turn the windmill off, that is true by the way, they make you turn it off. And yet if you killed one, they put you in jail. That is okay. But why is it OK for windmills to destroy the bird population?

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Throwback to that time I put my husband's bare butt on my party invite

Here's a pile of pictures

There's a story behind how I even got this photo. It's from September 2015 after our Mel Torme 90th Birthday party. #AfterTheParty

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That Would Make A Good Band Name (ongoing post)

The Russells Brand
Slow Turkey
Clueless
My Pants Turned Two
Old Men Waiting
The Ones
The Rewarded
Pat the Dog
The Wondering
gNot

Spider Material Scientists

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BLOCKED ON TWITTER: I Finally Made It?

They say when someone blocks you on Twitter, it is some kind of honor. People out here bragging about "I got blocked! I made it!" Having experienced getting blocked for the first time, gotta say, that's not what it feels like at all. Maybe it feels good if it's a certain kind of Twitter personality. In that case I think mine is a dud.

Here's what happened. This young woman posted on the topic of UnFriending over Politics. Her very strong stance is that, if you UnFriend due to difference in political opinion, that means you are, and I quote, "an imbecile." She insists that "Political opinion doesn't define character."

Oh dear. Well. I've recently written on the topic after much thought, and my thing is that we have to stand up for what's right. We're in a time when there need to be consequences. Friendship has to matter. If you place value on the idea of Friendship, presumably you think yours is worth something. Your time, attention, care and kindness...those matter. I wanted to say, "I used to be like you" and then share what I have learned over the years. I thought, a possible teachable moment in action. Once you cruise past the age of 40, they give you the Experience Card and you can pull it out and lay down some sweet Elder Magic. The disconnect is that, while you get to pull your Experience Card, that doesn't mean shit to Arrogance of Youth, on social media or anywhere else in life. I know it didn't mean shit to me when I was young and arrogant. Well sometimes, but not in most cases—I rolled my eyes at certain advice from older women that, boy howdy, do I wish I'd taken. So I get it. 

I replied, "Political opinion does in fact define character. In rather large part, actually. You're young, you will learn. Took me awhile too. It matters, kiddo."  Okay, I could've been less of an Old Auntie with the "kiddo" but I was feeling it just then. Still: THAT gets a block? What I'm feeling now is, after she blocked me, is...Hey kiddo, you just posted with a great urgent insistence, doll-face, that a person who can't simply disagree with another opinion is an imbecile, buttercup. Take a selfie, champ, that's a photo of a person who doesn't know how to disagree politely, love. Trust me. Honey.

Alright, that's out of my system. As you can see, I was a bit hurt.

But can we discuss the irony of being so quickly blocked. If stepping away from a Friendship because of "political opinion" means you're an imbecile, then what are you for blocking a total stranger for suggesting there might be some validity to it...I mean...?

I have been singed and suffocated by the heat of the exhaust from the energy expended trying to remain friendly with terrible, awful racist, self-centered assholes who call their bullshit "political opinion" and just call everybody else rude names. I'm done. The whole "He's my friend, not my fault" stance, well it's hard work for me, not for them. They get to be simply terrible, while I have to keep working to burn fuel keeping the peace, keep making excuses for their awfulness. Years, I did this. Then, I got some self-respect and simply stopped making excuses for keeping these people as friends. What for? We have to stand up for what we believe in. It matters. Stand for something, or sit the hell down. One thing this Trump beast has done is bring them all scurrying out into the light. I learned I don't have to stand by and abide "Friends" behaving in this terrible way, trying to "other" and marginalize other people. So, political opinion very much does, in fact, define character. We ARE our politics. In my opinion, it matters. ∎

Related: Yes, I UnFriended You

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Penny Fox is just about finished

See some in-process photos on Instagram

I make thrift store "upcycled" dolls often starting with a baby onesie and building from there. I use kids clothes, fabric scraps a NY friend sends, broken pieces of vintage accessories, beads, yarns etc. Again, silk neckties are great for these characters. 

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In Other Words: You're Posting Wrong

It is November 27th 2019, and I've re-activated Facebook after one full calendar year. To the day. Know what I've noticed? It's still a mess. Having said that, I've missed almost everyone. I wish the platform hadn't gotten so revolting. It seems there could have been a sustainable business model that didn't require vanquishing the very soul of the nation, but Zuckerberg gonna Suckerdrag. Truth is I'm better without the bitch, so I'm only back briefly. I'm giving myself six weeks to gather contact info for Friends I want to keep in touch with, and then I am deleting Facebook. But while I'm here...

Among the lesser trials of having Facebook in one's life is watching in real time the devolution of written communication. Can you believe how lazy everyone's getting about...well, words? People out here subbing out words for other words that aren't the right words...and worse, making up new meanings. I saw someone say something is "timely" and only through careful consideration of her post did I realize she meant "time sensitive." Girl. You don't want to mix those up. People using words and expressions they don't understand gets me right in the gonads. You guys, can we be more sure about what we're saying?

"Hear, hear!"

Don't type "Here! Here!"  "Hear, hear!" is the missive you're looking for when in strong agreement with a Friend's post. "Here, here!" doesn't make any sense. You can look it up or you can trust me, I'm a writer. To wit: "Everyone deserves clean air, water, affordable nutrition and health care as a human right."
"Hear, hear!"

For all intents and purposes 

This speaky-speak qualifier is what I call "junk" and as editor I'd cross it out hard. But if you're gonna use it, at least use IT, not its muddy inbred cousin "for all intensive purposes." For all intents and purposes, the clause modifies the content of whatever you just said, presupposing every possible intent and purpose. Don't say "for all intensive purposes." What would that even be.

All of a sudden

The first person I ever heard say "all of the sudden" was my then-future husband Joe, but I have since heard it from other people. Not a lot of people. But enough to show me it wasn't a Joe-only thing or a New Jersey (where he's from) thing. I don't know if "All of the sudden" is grammatically incorrect, it just sounds weird, doesn't it? The sudden what. Implies there's only one "sudden."

By accident

I theorize as follows: people who say something happened "on accident" do so because they're using a certain prepositional logic: because we say "on purpose" when we purposely cause an event, surely  it's "on accident" when we blunderbuss our way to disaster. Dude, no. It's "by accident" and "on purpose."

 

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Stop what you're doing, Jane Fonda said a thing

According to everyone older than me, every living individual is required, right now apparently, to be outraged, because by Boomer logic: Jane Fonda.

JANE SAYS!

Jane Fonda has been happening for my entire life. I can't help but wonder what the young people must be thinking every time Jane  trends. "You mean the bony one from the old lady show?" That would be Grace and Frankie (Netflix) and yes, that's her, kids. Hey, old guys? Jane seems like a nice enough woman, she makes me laugh, she is a right proper movie star, and she is entitled to voice opinions. You're just mad because she's famous and happens to be right and you hate that, don't you, Guys Who Want To Own Water and Sell It Back To Us at a Premium? No. We DO need every person to have clean water as a human right, and all of us should rally behind climate change, thank GOD Jane Fonda is amplifying this message. What is wrong with these mostly-old-men hating on Jane Fonda my whole life. Boomers being angry. Boomer angry. Chill out, Boomer-angs. ∎

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Amanda Fucking Palmer

Right now on the Internet there is an Amanda Palmer hatefest.
Another one, and it's a doozy. As a onetime music writer and promoter, I don’t know what to make of the truculent, sneering Amanda, or her weird, brill fame. This latest wave of #AmandaPalmerIsACunt started I guess with a muckety muck at The Guardian having an odd sort of go at Amanda on Twitter, and once there's a splash of Palmer blood in the social network seas, forget about it—Frenzy. My eyeballs can actually feel in a physical way the super-cool drawl of the Boston scenesters trying to out-casual each other as everybody competes with how early in Amanda's rise to fame they hated her. One person tried to win with "I hated her upon sight having never heard a single note of music." A surprising number of tweeters replied with "Same." Well...weird, I guess. I will come back to this later when I feel more Write-y. Or at least more Amanda-y. Love her or despise her "on sight," I tell you what, the chick can trend. 🦈

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13 "Cunts" on a Monday

In my experience, older ladies (retired, grannies) are the ones who lose their minds when you use the word "cunt." Men and younger women (practical, busy surviving) don't even blink. So this one is for the ladies. My message is simply this: cunt happens. It just does, I'm sorry if you're offended, but what should offend you, ipso facto, is cunts—not the word used to talk about cunts. If I am talking about a cunt and I use the word cunt, then trust me, I'm a writer. I know what word to use. I'm like a surgeon with the things. The word exists because cunts exist. Cunts are...well, cunts are dicks but worse. Cunts are such dicks that we have this super-specialized word to describe, encapsulate and convey their extra-special flex of dickishness. It's a good word. Supercharged. The word so good that here you are clutching your pearls when presented with the word itself. Cunt happens. Don't be a Karen about it. 🙋

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When the Veil is Thinnest

I have stories. Here's one.

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RIP Ric Ocasek

"People tell me all the time that I look forbidding or aloof. That doesn't bother me much - I am fairly private, withdrawn, and... distant, I guess. But, um, I think that's okay."
- Ric Ocasek  
(March 23, 1944 – September 15, 2019)

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Hallowhat-the-hell-is-that?

You guys, should this year's Halloween costume just be this Trader Joe's fortifying face mask I'm trying for the first time? Am I even doing this right. It says to peel the mask apart from the adhesive and smoosh the mask onto your face. I'm paraphrasing. So far? Well. It's...wet. It says after removing the mask, rub the "serum" into your skin. Well...gross. I guess it's not the kind that dries. I don't get it, then, what's the mask apparatus for? Right now it's making me feel like my face is shaped weird, because it doesn't cover my schnoz, and who the hell's wide-set eyes is this made for? I have to sit like this for twenty minutes. It's so wet I feel like it'll drip if I walk around, also it is quite slimy and it smells like jizz. The next joke writes itself. ∎

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UnPoPuLar OpiNioNs (Things That Are Not For Me)

Sex while swimming
Nope. Here's a thing that only works in fiction. In real life, having sex in water is terrible on several levels. The physics of intercourse mean you've got water squelching into your va-jay, which washes away the natural lube that makes sex feel good for both of you. It's just no good. Plus WHAT KINDA WATER OH MY GOD? Lake? Ocean? Hot tub? Swimming pool? It doesn't matter, none of that is sanitary. I don't want any of it up in my hooch.

Breakfast in bed
Talk about stuff that only works in fiction! When your loved ones wake you up by delivering a fancy breakfast tray and everybody's all happy. For one thing, don't wake me up. If you're waking me up, something had better be on fire. You can ask my husband, who came up with a general rule he calls "Don't Wake The Sicilian." Plus, I need to pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, and all I want is silence and coffee. And finally, who are these people who want food all up in their beds.

Flip flops
My bewilderment over people who wear shower shoes in the city, as though these loathsome things are real footwear, is well-documented in my current and past blogs. Use the Search.

Beer
As a person who struggles mightily with weight, boy am I glad that I never did develop a taste for beer! Thank God for smallest of blessings!

Pranks / "Practical Jokes"
I always give this example when asked why this "fooling people" brand of humor escapes me. This one time, a friend in LA messaged me with palpable excitement (many exclamation points) with a story about how one of his guitar heroes had complimented his playing. I didn't actually have any excitement myself, but it's polite to respond in kind. If I say "And?" then I'm an asshole. So I replied, "That's great! I'm so happy for you!" Then he replied that he and his girlfriend are cracking up over how "gullible" I am...huh? So...nobody complimented your playing? Okay. I find this to be the perfect example for this brand of humor because it lets me ask this question: what's supposed to be the joke? I guess I don't get it. Every prank-styled "joke" sounds this way to me. Person A says "Thing" and Person B reacts, and then everyone points and laughs at Person B because "Thing" was a lie. I guess I need more brain in my funny, I dunno what to tell you, man. ∎

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Two Cunts on a Friday

I legit felt joy that someone took time out of their day to tweet this. So does anyone have any questions for the mental patients about what we are anxious and depressed about? My Comments are open. @ me all you like.

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SuperLowBudge Radio: The Pete Weiss One

I made you guys another mix tape. Please support local music and art!

Pete Weiss / Tomorrow Sounds
Pete Weiss / Lovin' Wonder Drug
The Gentlemen / Show Me How You Rock and Roll
The Peasants / Forty Lines
The Cavedogs / Tayter Country
Slide / Whipdang!
8 Ball Shifter / Party at the Bottom of the Swamp
Holy Temple Of The Mystic Eightball / 1994

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SuperLowBudge Radio - The Leslie & the Lys One

I made you a mix tape. Please enjoy responsibly.

• Leslie and the Lys/ Tight Pants (Body Rolls)
• Larry Banilow/ Sundae Smile
• Irritating Rainbow/ Goodnight Brewster
• Boeing Duveen & The Beautiful Soup/ Jabberwock
• The Dresden Dolls/ Coin Operated Boy
• Randy Newman/ It's a Jungle Out There
• TMBG/ Your Racist Friend
• Lach/ I Love America (But She Don't Love Me)

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Thrift Stories: the upcycled dolls edition

When I bring home an old cast-off doll to transform into something new and weird, I like to show Joe what I found and tell him what "spoke to me" about the doll. He gets a kick out of the ordinary dolls I find for a buck or two, and what idea I might have for her future life. I go a few different ways with design. Often my up-cycles are pure horrorshow. That's when I turn them into zombies, mummies, vampires, nuns...there's a fair number of nuns, actually. I made a "machine hag" when I found a Barbie who had seen better days, in a pile of thrift store junk, cheerfully sporting one hand., the other hand a ragged stump. She was bald, and had a pretty deep gash on her head. Lawnmower death? I dunno what happened to that gal. Excellent raw material, though.

But they're not all Barbies, often there's just some random cheap knock-off or even figurines that were originally decorative, for holidays or events.

And they're not all converted into horrorshow. I also do a lot of up-cycles that evoke spirit dolls, poppets, witches and banshees. I make use of that nylon doll hair, which can be inked and teased to look like feathers or fur. I'll often pad a doll with cotton to change her shape. Think of the original doll body as armature in these types of creations, built anew using a fabric scraps, yarn, trim, buttons and bits of old broken costume jewelry. I got a lot of awesome jewelry parts, buttons, and beads from my mom when she retired and closed her vintage boutique, and people send me bits and pieces they think I could use. I love to use neck ties, which are often silk, wildly-patterned, and sometimes brand new. Once well-meant dad gifts, now packing a thrift store rack for $2 and half-off on discount days, it's delightful to upcycle those ties into gorgeous gowns, robes and trim.

Today I found a right proper freaky-deaky doll. She cost way more than I generally want to spend on a doll for up-cycling: FIVE dollars. FIVE! But when I got her home and showed Joe, he said, "Jesus, you don't even have to do anything." That might be true. Just clean her up, do her hair and that's all that's needed.

This is already a creepy doll. What the hell is this thing. Anybody know?

There's also the character dolls. These ones start with a baby onesie. That's the little one piece garment that goes on the baby, over diaper and under clothes. It looks very cozy. For my dolls it makes a great starter body. Once I start stuffing the onesie and shaping it with baby clothes, felt and fabric scraps, it always starts to look like something. The "character" emerges based on whatever materials I happen to have on hand.∎

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SuperLowBudge Radio - The Specimen 37 One

I made you a mix tape. 
Please enjoy responsibly. 

• Specimen 37/ Randy and the Gogzies
• Small Faces/ Itchycoo Park
• Bryan Bowers/The Drunk Scotsman
• Primus/Winona's Big Brown Beaver
• Hurra Torpedo/Total Eclipse of the Heart

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Tits the Season

It's not the teat, it's the humid titty. Be kind to the 'neathage, ladies!

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ACOSTA FAMILY: Are these girls okay?

When I typed "Acosta..." into Google, the auto-fill came up with "...family." That means I'm not the only one who went searching online to verify the authenticity of this photo from the day Trump Labor Secretary Alex Acosta took his oath of office. Because look at it. Are these little girls okay? The tight body language, the dark circles, the blank eyes, the severe haircuts...and look at the mother! People, look, this is not a joke. These girls and their mother appear pale and stricken. What in the name of Caucasian fuckery is this family enduring in the household ruled by this man who doesn't care if billionaires are raping middle-schoolers on an island. Something is wrong. ∎

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Music: They Might Be Giants, Your Racist Friend

 

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I made the hell outta this tuna steak

Tonight I made tuna steak topped with nectarine salad over baby mixed greens. It's simple, summery, tasty and under 500 calories. Star Market had frozen tuna steak on sale, so I bought one without a plan for how I was gonna cook it. I looked up a few recipes online and came up with this dish. First I diced two ripe nectarines, a handful of fresh basil leaves, and half a red bell pepper in a bowl, drizzled olive oil, balsamic vinegar, added a few squirts of lime juice. I did that first so all the flavors had a chance to get cozy while I prepared and cooked the fish. I rubbed the tuna with a smidge of olive oil, and a little salt and pepper. A tablespoon of vegetable oil in a hot pan, and then I seared the whole piece of fish. There are YouTube videos that show how to cook a piece of tuna just right. On the plate I put down a bed of baby mixed greens, then the tuna (sliced to share with Joe) and topped it with the nectarine salad. I'll make this again for sure. ∎

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The Destructive Myth of "I Don't See Color"

I wandered into the TV room where my little brother was splayed out on the rug watching Miami Vice. I had just turned fourteen and my room was newly decorated with pulpy pages from Tiger Beat, and me and my friends spoke of "cute" guys, which fascinated my little brother and led to lots of questions like this one: which guy was cuter, Crockett or Tubbs? My answer was Tubbs. "Which one is Tubbs?" Mike asked. "Phillip Michael Thomas," I replied, to which Mike said, "Which one is he?" I don't remember the rest of the exchange, but that's not important. What's important is that I knew Michael was trying to see if I would say "the black guy." I didn't, because I wouldn't, because I thought we couldn't say "black guy." Why not? Out of respect! We were taught that describing people that way was wrong and racist. Well that sounds good, until it doesn't anymore.

Only white people say "I don't see color." White allies seem to think it demonstrates that they're simply lovely towards all people regardless of race. They very well may be! Wouldn't it be a wonderful world if every self-described colorblind white person is pure in their intent! But let's not fool ourselves, that's far from reality. Starbucks CEO Howard what's-his-face said it recently, didn't he? As his stores are currently super-disappointing our black friends? Jesus, man, read the room: you need to SEE that you sound like a big fat racist fool right now. These are the folks who were shown the picture of all differently-toned eggs with the "we're all the same on the inside" platitudes and figure they more-or-less "get it" about race relations.
Spoiler Alert: they don't.

You Are "Not Seeing Color" Wrong

"We are all the same" is dismissive of a tremendous planet teeming with humans. And that tidy, pat brand of race talk has never worked, and now we have Donald Trump.

I pause here to say I hate these terms. I really do. I feel stupid even saying "I'm white" when speaking about race relations, but these are the terms we're given. As a hard-boiled Sicilian, I've got a little African blood in me, and a little Arab, and an unsettling amount of Norwegian, but if you want to talk in terms of "skin color" then I'm kind of a splotchy pale pink. Like a piglet. In L'OREAL TRUE MATCH terms, I am Nude Beige W3 which is, in plain words, severely lacking in melanin. A guy at work once referred to me as so pale I'm "almost clear." Thanks, Grant. I know, buddy, it's just how it is, man. #BornThisWay


"Black" is not an insult!

I mean, does this need to be said. I didn't realize until adulthood how lucky I was to be raised in the city, by really young parents. My mom was amazing and made sure she didn't raise fools. She loves R&B and Motown, went  dancing, danced with us, took us to see concerts (Stevie Wonder. the Commodores!), watched Soul Train Sunday mornings. We had fun. I wouldn't know until hindsight but my world was delightful for black culture regularly. Thank God my parents got that right. 

Okay, so we know our parents didn't want to raise race-ignorant people like THEIR parents had been (we are Sicilian and good lord, do I have stories) and so they worried that the world would take us wrong if we were to call a black guy "a black guy." That's where "I don't see color" was born.

White allies teach their kids respect. But however well-meant, it made us feel ashamed every single time we noticed blackness, as though "black" was some sort of taboo subject. This has ill effects and stifled any sort of natural exploring of racial differences in any meaningful way. Socially. In a school with a mix of kids from all different families, being ordered to "not see color" felt like we weren't supposed to acknowledge race at all, ever. Treat everyone equally, yes okay, but we can't talk with each other in relation to each other? Can't discuss our ideas, our hair, our shoes, our music, our mom's cooking, our family life...? No? But how come? That's why when I was fourteen I thought the "right" way to live graciously was to ignore blackness as an inherent quality, like in my example of Phillip Michael Thomas where I contorted my language every which way in an effort to avoid saying "the black guy." I didn't want to set a bad example for my little brother, who was looking to me to find out how to describe Tubbs as opposed to Crockett. But it bothered me, to the point where I'm still thinking about that day all these years later. Why must I rob Phillip Michael Thomas of his blackness? I should have been able to say "The black guy, Michael. That right there is a beautiful black man."

If forbidden to acknowledge race and all the things that make us all different, we can't properly share experiences, we can't express anything. They wanted us to avoid a racial divide, but making the subject taboo only served to deepen it. Once in grade school, Mrs. Jones said something during music class about how all the black kids in our class could sing, and she said that singing beautifully was commonly a talent that black people have...I remember to this day the rush of embarrassment...we're not supposed to notice blackness, Mrs. Jones! That's racist...isn't it...? That being said, all the black kids in our class COULD sing beautifully soooo...? you see, our elders had us all twisted up in our world view over race relations. Even if you were raised with the mindset that every person is worthy of respect, love, adoration, rights, here's the thing. Claiming to not "see color" feels like yet another way of erasing blackness.

Every time I start to wonder why as a country we're still trying to figure out how to talk about race relations, I stop wondering when I remember we never learned how in the first place. The best our elders could do back then was "don't see color" which was a way of saying "you are all the same." Well we're NOT the same, and there's been a lot of life since 1984, and now I'm here to say we should be seeing color. We should be seeing and loving blackness. We should be seeing, loving and respecting blackness. We should all of us be seeing, loving, respecting and celebrating blackness. I think it's important, primarily because too many white people who "see color" and react NEGATIVELY (like trigger-happy cops for example?) are out here being straight-up assholes, and I don't see how keeping silent is helping. Speak up. Black is beautiful, talented, smart. Black is amazing, y'all. DO see color. See that it's awesome.

My hope is that Generation X is the last generation to try the whole "I don't see color" thing thinking they're helping to advance and improve race relations. "I don't see color" may be well-intentioned, but it is harmful, disingenuous and insulting. 

Some tips, white people:

If you really want to help, quit saying you don't see color. Maybe just be a normal freakin' person about race relations—use your head, use your damn privilege for that matter. Educate yourself. Listen more. If you didn't grow up in a mixed-race life, maybe it's all new to you, and it's okay if you don't know how to fix your narrow world view. You could ask how to start, though, did you ever try? You may not have had to think about the vast complexities in race relations in your life at all. Guess what. There's not a black person alive who hasn't had to think about it every single damn day. Learn that, for starters.

• You're gonna have to re-learn some American history. Read black writers and recommend books to your friends! Those in my age group (Gen X) were woefully kept from black writers in school. Crack those books they never told you about! 

• Tune in to black podcasts and TV shows. I've been with Desus and Meru since YouTube and love their Showtime show. Speaking of YouTube stars, I can recommend Roland Martin if you want to learn with some straight talk. There's a lot of black media if you seek it out, and by the way, if you turn on the mainstream news for analysis and you see all white faces, find another source. Everyone in America should know the names Kimberly Atkins, Zerlina Maxwell, Karine Jean-Pierre, Yamiche Alcindor, Eddie Glaude, Malcolm Nance, Maya Wiley...of course the Rev. Reverend Al Sharpton saves my sanity everywhere he shows up on TV and other media (when does Rev sleep!?).

• Speaking of media, you know you can watch anything you want on BET and other black media, right? I'm amazed at white people who unilaterally ignore certain movies and stuff because they don't feel like it's "for" them. Dude, you're missing out.

• When a black person is speaking (or tweeting) their truths and something about "white people" comes up in the narrative, don't you dare start in with "Not all white people..." If ANYONE understands the feeling of being lumped in with a whole entire group wrongly in any way, it's a black person, so don't even try with "not all white people" right now. Just listen and learn something for once.

• When talk turns towards black community issues, such as the question of reparations for the descendants of slaves, and you think you know what you're talking about, you don't. ("But I--") No. ("But my--") No. You can't possibly, it doesn't matter if you come from Irish, Italian or any other group that arrived in America and were also persecuted...it's not the same at all. Sit down.

• Don't ever look for any pats on the back. It's not easy to explain how gross it is when white people claim some sort of glory because they have that "black friend" and rarely does this sort of self-congratulatory posturing ever add to the narrative. Don't do it. OMG DON'T USE BLACK PEOPLE AS PROPS.

• Never excuse any hint of "us" versus "them" coming from your white friends or family. ANYONE. Ever. People are shocked to find there are certain family ties that I cut long ago because of toxic racism. Older folks who were raised with the adage "blood is thicker than water" have tried to shame me using the ideological cudgel that family is family, no matter what. That's bullshit. It's actually, “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” The "covenant" here is: no racists. 
• Stop reading THIS, I'm a old ass white lady. It doesn't matter what I think about it. Listen to black people with your ears open and your mouth shut. The end.∎

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Yes, I UnFriended You "Over Politics"

No, I Do Not Feel Bad About UnFriending

Okay, I've been sitting on this one for years, partially due to the PTSD, troubling lack of focus and struggle with writing in general, and partially due to uncertainty on whether or not I'm even right. But no...I'm right. I was wrong to question myself about this, but first thing first: what do we mean by "over politics" anyway?

In the parlance of our times your "politics" comprise and embody your beliefs and principles as they pertain to governance, both abstract and in particular. In the abstract, your support for "small government" makes you "conservative" by definition and on this hill you stand strong. You may hold beliefs that government has no business messing in your personal life, citing "it's a free country" and so forth. In particular, maybe you believe you shouldn't be forced against your will to sign up for any health insurance, or vaccinate your children, or if you want to keep a cow on your land and drink her unpasteurized milk every day, the government has no say in the matter. Perhaps you object to the idea that government should foot the bill for shoring up the lives of poor, sick or disabled citizens by providing any sort of nutrition, medicine or housing because of the astronomical cost. Maybe you lay awake at night worried about the national debt because, sure, let's go with that. Weird. But you're endowed by rights to support whatever body politic aligns accordingly.

Your politics reflect who you are as a voting member of the national populace and as a human being, whether or not you self-identify as "conservative" or "liberal" or any other recognized political party. Put aside these hasty labels. Take "party" out of it entirely! It doesn't matter what label you apply to your politics, but it does matter what your politics make you say and do, how you make me feel, how you act towards neighbors, towards strangers, what harm you're inflicting with your "politics." It's not me who decides if you're Friend or UnFriend. You're the one doing that, so if we're UnFriends now, that'll be because you said and did things that made it crystal clear: you're not My People.

Not My People

Here's who I simply don't care to know. Greedy people. Mean people. Nasty people. Manipulative people. Selfish people. Hurtful people. Small-minded people. Cheaters. Liars. Thieves. Bullies. Pretenders. Gaslighters. People who are always right no matter what. People who conflate their private, personal beliefs with laws of the land and then cry persecution when the other billion people around them don't participate in their twisted little game of Simon Says. Intolerant people. People who aggressively take part in "Othering" and then want extra points for "a black friend" or a gay co-worker. Racists. People who enable racists. Did I say Liars? Misogynists. Dicks.

The nice white folks who freaked out when their twenty-something son fell in love with a woman from Ethiopia. "Is she BLACK?" and "Don't you dare bring a black girl to dinner" were some of the things they said. In later years, those white people would deny they'd ever said those things. This is gas-lighting at its most brazen, until the day came they had to own up. Even then, no reversal nor  apology. To wit, "...yeah but then we met her and we liked her!" Congratulations, you're racist. To be so aggressively against a person without having met her, based solely on the only information you had about her is the literal definition of what "racism" means. You get zero points for "but then we met her and we liked her." Zero.

The loud white man who married a brown-skinned woman who bore him a brown-skinned child. He votes for Trump, he defends the hateful immigration bans and rounding up and detaining of brown-skinned people who may or may not be "legal," then proceeds to finger-wag his liberal friends, taunting and calling them idiots and "libtards" who want "open borders." Congratulations, you're not only racist, you're also super-confusing. No points.

The suburban mom who thinks "voting for a racist doesn't make a person a racist" and feels good about it. Zero points.

The girls from high school who looked down their noses at classmates who didn't happen to be born into land-owning, wealth-hoarding families and are still the stuck-up, entitled people today that they were when we were teenagers, posing with Trump signs in Trump tee-shirts and posting about "them" in negative terms. You're still "othering' people as adults? Well, I'm "them." Your privilege is still ugly. Gross. You get NEGATIVE POINTS.

My People

Here's who I call Friend. Nice people. Good people. Kind people. People who keep trying to become nicer and better and kinder. People who read. People who listen. People who carry love in their hearts. Compassionate people. Curious people. People who learn. People who appreciate other people. Struggling people, successful people, sad people, happy people. People who help, people who ask for help, people who care. People who get mad, people who get sad. People who make mistakes, people who apologize. Devoted people, humble people, proud people, confused people, thinking people. Honest people.

Someone That I Used To Know

It's possible that you've always held these troubling opinions and I'm only just finding out because of Facebook. It's possible that we weren't even Friends in the first place, in which case, don't sweat it. It's also possible I miss you, but it's more like I miss the idea I used to have about who you were before, in which case, when you tell our old funny stories, and you can say we're UnFriends because we've moved on. Think of it like a divorce due to Unreconcilable Differences. Tell your new Friends I'm someone that you used to know. It's also possible that you're a huge disappointment right now, so I guess let's just be civil when we see each other. But that depends, honestly, on how much of an asshole you are; you could be the literal worst. In which case, in the parlance of our times, bye Felicia. ∎

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Library Bear

When in doubt,
go to
the Library.

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My First Bible; I f*cking found it.

I knew that I would find it. For years I've been browsing second-hand shops for this specific bible, The Children's Bible, because this bible, you see, was my first bible. This is where they started us wide-eyed, plaid-claid whelps at St. Margaret's in the 1970s, talkin' about God and George Washington with the exact same measure. I had questions then, and I still have questions. Now that I have finally gotten my hands on this book, I will be pushing up my glasses at you about some important bible-related stuff. ❌

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Breakfast, etc

Don't worry, Diary of a Low Budget Superhero won't morph into a boring food blog. I just need to remember this later for tracking purposes and I already have this platform, so: Breakfast was at 10am, and I made a bowl with 1/3c barley, 1/2c mixed berries, and a Chobani "less sugar" yogurt. And coffee with 1 tbsp powdered creamer, which at some point I'll omit because it's all chemicals, but I need it right now. Thank you. ∎

Update July 01 (9pm'ish)
I downloaded LoseIt, the nutrish app. This morning I linked Apple Health—that's what I use to track Steps—to Loseit. This has made me extremely happy. Here's the thing: I tried Loseit years ago, and I mean like on-my-Blackberry-years-ago. I must say I'm impressed at how much smarter Loseit has become to date. I have a ton of respect for balls-out splendid development and these guys rocked it. For example, I thought it'd be a one-way feed from Apple Health into LoseIt. Nope—better. LoseIt feeds back to Apple Health too. And Loseit integrates my Apple Health steps, meaning the Steps aren't merely visible, that data impacts the LoseIt data.That's a wildly smart innovation from a UX perspective. It could be game changing for a lot of folks, myself included, whose struggle includes being great at keeping tidy notes for six or eight weeks and then PPPPTTTHHHHhhhhhh. With Loseit's elegant features I can't see how the process could be any simpler. Plus, they're making it super-incentivizing to upgrade to Premium with extra features, including tracking blood sugar, whaaaat. Can't swing the upgrade right now. It's not too much $$ for people who work, but for poor-ass me battling PTSD and not working, it's too costly. My existing bills going unpaid contribute to my anxiety. But still. Game changer. ∎

Update July 03 (11:30am)
Okay MAYBE I will keep blogging about food, either here or I'll use another platform.
It's been five days since seeing a whole new kind of doctor, a miraculous unicorn of a nutrition expert, weight loss medicine scientist and counselor. I have lost six pounds since Friday. I told Jenny, I told Joey, I told my therapist all about it and together we marveled: this is amazing, why didn't anyone tell me. Next week (Wednesday) I start a new medicine that, did I say miraculous, I can actually afford. I specify that, because my endocrinologist has tried to get me on a med that'll help me along with weight loss, but it cost more than a car payment even with insurance. I have a different/similar prescription now. I won't need to be on it forever, just a boost to get me past the long-standing hurdle. If I can drop one pound every week, my goal is achievable, even now as I'm struggling with PTSD. I'm grateful, hopeful and cautiously determined. One pound a week. That's all I need to do. And I have a team now. These women (therapist, wellness/weight loss doc, and poor endocrinologist who has been so patient with me and all my problems) are the team I have needed and didn't know it. ∎

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"There used to be food at the grocery store." Spalding Gray

I'm paraphrasing the late Spalding Gray. I forget which of his monologues contains the bit about trying to get healthy and eat right and realizing how much junk is in everything. Today I texted Jenny from the grocery store, tediously reading label after label, "Is there anything more despairing than the first Shop after a weight loss doc. FFS!"

Goals

So last month at my annual physical I asked my doc if he could refer me to our local Center for Weight Loss. He did. Last week I went and, to my puzzlement, that doc was a surgeon. Surgery wasn't what I was after...more like I was seeking a boost in some other way. Um, a magic pill maybe? I'm dealing with so much, I suck at this, never could sustain exertion, and these days I can't handle too much at once. 

There is no magic pill, but there's science

I guess surgery is the magic pill for lots of folks who've struggled with maintaining diet and exercise, but..."I go in here (pointing to my tummy) and here, cut away most of your stomach and off it goes to Pathology..." said this surgeon. His enthusiasm was almost macabre, but I believe he wishes the best for fat people who have been struggling to become fit. I told Joe about it when I got home and he said, "Um...that's not for us." Don't you love how he says "us." He's my favorite person in the whole world. And he's right. Though it seems to "work" quickly, it's not for me. I need to lose all this weight without a scalpel and all the problems associated with most of my actual stomach being literally cut out and thrown in the cremation fire. Though the surgeon did have a good schpiel about obesity and its role in myriad health issues, I knew all that and that's how come I am looking for HELP. Even so, his schpiel got me to go make an appointment with a different doctor entirely that nobody had ever mentioned before and I sure wish I'd known about her. That appointment was yesterday, and, long story short, it went great (of course I cried) and I'm on a program now. I have goals, and the continued help of a new doctor who knows her science. I'm thinking I can do this all of a sudden.

"There used to be food at the grocery store."

Food can be poison or it can be nutrition. There's a quote knocking around the web that goes "Eat food. Mostly plants. Not too much." Basically the whole middle aisle section of the grocery store? There's scant stocked there that I should be eating. MY food is at the perimeter: the produce, the proteins. Today's shopping took forever because of all the label-reading, but I made it back home with my haul, the first with extra-tight focus on lean, fit and healthy foods. What's awesome is that me and Joey already love the Mediterranean diet, it's just that I have been lazy about portion control, and serving far too much rice or potatoes or corn, using too much sauce-y stuff and lately I've been too heavily reliant upon "convenience" foods like packaged, frozen stuff from Trader Joe's. It starts with a convenience food here and there, then before you know it, there's too much going into your body that was made in a factory or lab. My own Rule 33 says not to eat that. I got lazy. Deep breath. Making some changes.

Tonight I made pan-seared salmon with a barley salad. I did the salmon with ginger, lemon and balsamic (skin on), and the cooked barley I tossed with lemon juice, grape tomatoes, seeded/diced cuke, and five diced walnuts, and a couple handfuls of baby spinach, served warm alongside the fish. We were both full and Joey prescribed the plate "So summery and so tasty!"  I made the whole box of barley so I can just scoop it the rest of the week into salads. Technically a serving for me is 1/3 cup. Got my measuring cups out and will be using them for portion control. IT'S ON, DUDES. ∎

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I Cannot Tell These Two Women Apart

Sarah or Mercedes?

"This actress shows up in so many shows I like!" I said, watching re-runs of The Finder and Person of Interest...um...as it turns out I have been enjoying the TV dramatics of two different actresses entirely, whaaaat? According to the imdb, Texas native Sarah Shahi was born Aahoo Jahansouz to an Iranian dad and Spanish mom, and Swedish actress Mercedes Mason immigrated to the US at 12 and became a citizen in 2016 and she's married to that guy with the beard from that thing. They're not even from the same part of the planet.∎  
(Click here for Answers. How did you do?)

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