Posts tagged i haz a sad
Posts tagged i haz a sad
One of the worst things about depression is that you can’t—or at least I can’t—see it as a valid reason for anything. This morning I’ve woken up feeling even more horrible than usual (& that’s saying something), & I really don’t want to go to my doctor’s appointment, but it’s not like I can call in sad for it. If I suddenly had developed a cold or automotive issues, those are valid reasons for rescheduling my appointment, but just feeling overwhelmed and incapable is not a viable explanation for me not making it there. As long as mental illness isn’t perceived as severe and debilitating as physical illness, this isn’t likely to change any time soon, no matter how much it has been proven to be a physical illness.
So I’ve called in and said I overslept, which makes me look irresponsible and flaky, but they were very nice about it and asked if I could come in at two today instead. Because of my bullshit upbringing that compels me to be friendly and cooperative even when I feel like shit, I agreed. I know that my mood tends to improve as the day goes on so I might feel capable of handling it by then, but right now it feels like a stay of execution.
Christopher Boatwright, 1985
photo by Tom Zimberoff
I get a sinking feeling whenever I see a portrait of a young gay man from the mid-’80s, because I know that more than half the time the first thing I’ll find when I research them is an obituary dated from the ’90s. Sadly, this was the case with Christopher Boatwright, an extremely talented classical dancer who died of AIDS in 1997, aged only 42.
Please take a moment to appreciate his talents. If you’re anything like me you’ll need a tissue and a hug afterwards.
I have the EXACT same problem. As well, when I go to the Castro, it’s impossible not to notice how there are relatively few gay men of a certain age (in their 40’s-60’s); an entire generation was virtually wiped out. And yet HIV infection rates among gay men are now on the rise. *smh* Like that toxic potpourri of hatred, fear & ignorance hasn’t wrought enough heartbreak & destruction already?
If he had lived, my friend Jamie would be in his late fifties today, How different the past nineteen years would have been if he had been here…and how much I don’t want anyone else to lose a beloved friend who was like the kind, funny gay brother they had always wanted.
I had no idea that Frank Silva (~Killer Bob) was Native American and died from AIDS in 1995. :(
“I’m tired of people asking me to smooth my name out for them. They want me to bury it in English so they can understand. I will not accommodate the word for mouth. I will not break my name so your lazy English can sleep its tongue on top. Fix your lips around them. No you can’t give me a stupid nickname so that you can replace this gift of five letters.” - Hiwot Adilow (linked above, performing the quoted piece)
“Give your daughters difficult names. Give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. My name makes you want to tell me the truth. My name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right.” - Warsan Shire
pictured above: Entitled white woman Jenny Johnson in all her ethnocentricity. I grew up with women like her, they were my teachers, classmates. They resent any self-possessed “other” as “arrogant” for attempting to access the same common courtesy and respect they might allow those as vanilla as themselves. These women view it as their birthright to decide what is “weird” and “obscure” from within a niche limited to “white women named Jenny.” They blame their linguistic inadequacy on our parentage while resting on the privileges of their own. These women never amount to anything beyond an ignorant bully forever isolating themselves from incredible people with spectacular names.
our insistence that you pronounce our names correctly = “arrogance”
your insistence that our names are too difficult for you & that we should just deal w/the way you mangle them = ????? (the answer is white supremacy)
My senior design professor had an amazing Trini accent. People could barely understand him when he got excited and spoke quickly (who cares tho, handsome and brilliant 80+ year old engineer in a 3 piece suit every day? Yes and thank you).
On the first day of class, we all had to introduce ourselves. Many students were foreign and had varied names from their native languages. My professor would repeat everyone’s name after they said it. The Chinese students would say their Chinese names and the professor would struggle to repeat them.
The Chinese students would say, call me Tim or Susie, and the professor would get angry. NO, I WILL NOT. OVER ONE BILLION PEOPLE CAN PRONOUNCE YOUR NAME CORRECTLY. I CAN’T. THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME, NOT YOUR NAME. Now, teach me how to say it properly.
Although I am seriously judgmental towards White parents who give their kids really ridiculous names, it takes a special kind of asshole to refuse to properly pronounce someone’s name once you’ve been corrected.
The sweet Vietnamese man who does my nails insists that I call him, “Michael.” I’ve tried to get him to tell me his real name, but he won’t, and it breaks my heart.
For some reason, the longer that George is gone, the more emotional I become about him and his music. I liked this video a lot when it first came out—the effects are pretty stupendous for 1987, though on a par with Godley and Creme’s usual brilliance—but over time its simple, persistent hook has become more resonant for me…particularly since George left us.
Forever and always my favorite Beatle.
So sad to hear of the death of John Ingle. When he first started playing Edward Quartermaine on General Hospital, I was highly skeptical—having grown up watching David Lewis in the role—but he brought so many new layers to Edward that he became much more than just a grumpy old patriarch. He was funny, contemptible and heartbreaking by turns; I wasn’t surprised to learn that he had originally been a drama teacher at Beverly Hills High School (for Richard Dreyfuss and Sean Penn, among others), because he had the gifted academic’s grasp of how a one-note character need not be played with just a single note.
It’s so true what they say about how one loss brings up the pain of your other losses, too, because I had just been thinking about Anna Lee after watching her with Connie in The Passing of the Third Floor Back last week. She’s someone else whose loveliness never deserted her—inspiring more hope about my own ever-more-advancing age—and I find myself ineffably saddened that now both she and Mr. Ingle have taken their leave of us.
My mom died three years ago today. I seem to miss her more as time goes by, though I also know that the person I miss was gone long before she physically left this earth, thanks to the dementia.
On the back of the first photo, she wrote, “Fat-face (our surname).” I’m sure you can see as well as I can that her face isn’t remotely fat at all—it’s all too indicative of her self-esteem that she would make such a comment. The dress she’s wearing in the bottom photo still hangs in the closet; it’s one of the few articles of her clothing that my sister and I couldn’t bear to get rid of. I know neither of us will ever wear it, but somehow we’re not ready to let it go yet, either.
Rest In Peace
Deb and I bouncing around her living room in Tallahassee while blasting this song…thanks, MCA, for this and a whole lot more. You made the world a better place, and you are already missed. ♥
“Another thing that is absolutely fascinating is this idea of tell a presence. When you fly an ROV [a remotely-operated vehicle, video robot], after the first few minutes and really for the subsequent hours at a time, you completely forget your physical human existence. And you become that vehicle; it’s almost like you can feel what it’s feeling.” — James Cameron
This just kills me.
I think the images that absolutely gutted me were rather strangely the shoes just dotting the ocean floor. Shoes that people lived and walked and danced in. Just sitting there.
The shoes are what get to me, too. I wonder who they belonged to, if that person lived or died, & if they were packed away or being worn that fateful night. While I largely agree with the movement to leave everything else on the Titanic alone as a permanent memorial, I still can’t help wondering if the survivors’ families would like to have a physical memento, some personal item that had belonged to their relative on the Titanic; I guess because I’m so lucky in that we have many family heirlooms—things that belonged to my great-grandparents & the like—that I feel they should have that kind of connection to their family’s past as well.
Dresden, Germany in 1945
(Source: , via amoelbarroco)
*sigh* I was going to go see this today—my first chance to see Conrad Veidt on the big screen!—but my kitty Fergus really needs to see the vet, & I can’t rationalize putting that off just because Mommy wants to git her Connie freak on.
Awww…I just realized that Mrs. Norris looks like Tyler, our Unofficial Fifth Cat (though really, he’s more of an Occasional Feline Visitor). I saw him yesterday for the first time in over a month, & I was so glad I could give him a big helping of Wet Stinky Food (which he scarfed down in minutes). I worry so much about the little fella, especially on days like today when it’s snowing, but he’s managed to survive life in the big piney woods for over two years now; in any case, though, my brother’s Seal Point Abyssinian is sadly reaching the end of her life, so whenever he loses her, I’m hoping I can get him to adopt Tyler, since the wee pookie is hella overdue for getting a Person and Forever Home. He’s a bit shy, but very sweet, & loooves to be petted—his little spine always arches the instant he feels my hand on his back—& I only wish that my two incredibly territorial male cats wouldn’t chase him off all the time (as they most assuredly do).
*sadface* So many kitties. I wish I could help them all, even though I know that I can’t.
John Charles Dollman, A Very Gallant Gentleman, 1913.
Exactly one hundred years ago today, the noblest of men walked into a blizzard, sacrificing himself in hopes that his companions would have a better chance of survival without him. Last November, the actor who played this very gallant gentleman unexpectedly passed away, and I’ve been putting off writing this post ever since…as if I could somehow forestall the truth simply by not writing the words.
Today I grieve for them both.