Like Trying to Hide the Daylight From the Sun

I'm sitting at my favorite musical perch of all time – a small, concrete abuttment at Stubb's in Austin, Texas, watching G-Love, Special Sauce, and the racial divide of the country play out in front of me. I should have known from my arrival: out of work and in search of free parking, a homeless man helped me parallel park a few blocks up. “Thank you,” I told him, shaking his hand through the passenger side window.

“Thank you for not spitting on me and calling me a nigger.”

I blinked. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Plenty of folks take it upon themselves. Probably because I'm homeless.”

“Well, fuck that.” We live in an ATM world, so I handed him a twenty. “Thanks again, and please: go do something that makes you feel good,” I tell him, echoing the words of the friend who'd bought me the ticket to the G-Love show: please, go do something that you think is fun.

( And yes, the G-Love show is definitely fun... )

I may have mentioned in the comments to my last post that I live with Major Depressive Disorder (recurring), and that at times when the laughingstock that is the cultural treatment and understanding of depression, I can't help but take on the onus of education. It drives me nuts when people, especially people who've known me since before I received my diagnosis, need power point presentations to explain that no, the pills are not going away, then be told "well, it's that can't attitude that's a self-fulfilling prophecy."  And I'm going to cut for a trigger warning now because just reliving that conversation in my head is enough to make me... well, I'll explain.

( Longwinded discussion about depression... )

fish_echo  is, that's who. 

Back in Halloween she dressed up as Delirium-Who-Was-Once-Delight, in particular, the design from my icon. 

I just got a package from her.  It contained

One (1) card in an enveloped marked "To: [Morag] Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas (much belatedly) P.S. open presents before the card (card contains spoilers)" with many stars on

AND

One (1) boomerang from Australia (I'm hoping she wasn't intending this as a death threat ala Scandal in Belgravia, but then I remembered I can't even make a yo-yo work, there's no way I'll actually get a boomerang to come back

AND 

Twelve (12) crocheted and knitted fish of many varieties.

So, if I find a cheap old black leather jacket, here in meatspace, I can actually look like I do on the internets.

As I said, who is made of awesome-sauce?  fish_echo is, that's who.  Thank you, sweetie, I love the presents and you too.

Psych #1: Why is the first word you always use to describe yourself "short"?
Me: Because it's the obvious one. "Look for the short chick." People pick me out of a crowd every time.
Psych #1: You seem to focus on being small, it comes up almost randomly in conversation. Why is that?
Me: Because it's not something I ever have a chance to forget about.
Psych #1: Why? Do other people always bring it up? Because you seem to be the one always bringing it up in our conversations.
Me: No, it's because... well, being as short as I am is really tedious.
Psych #1: I don't understand. How is being short tedious?
Me: Like when I cook, if I need something in the pantry, I have to climb up a stool to grab it. God help me if I forget to grab everything I need in one trip, otherwise it's back up the stool. And standing in grocery aisles, waiting for someone, anyone to show up to grab something for me. People are always nice about it, but I'm still the one always stuck there waiting for them.
Psych #1: Huh. I never thought of it like that.

Hi. I'm Morag! There's a number of new people about (I'll get to that in a minute), and it's been awhile since I posted anything that wasn't, well, porn (there's an explanation!), so an intro/update post isn't uncalled for. I've been doing a lot of tumblr-ing too, which has added think-y things, as well as thesis-ing, so more thinking. But yeah, first thing to know about me: I'm 4'9", short enough for it to be annoying, not quite so short that people ask if it's a symptom. Also probably a good giveaway up there: the necessity of numbering my psychiatrists and psychologists.

( Knitting, porn, philosophy, fic, and more disturbing insights... )

Sometimes the fruit's hanging too low even for me.  Picture of Rick Perry taken from this bigoted, false piece of trash (which they forgot to turn off the "like/dislike" option - so feel free to press that thumbs down).  Picture of Ennis Del Ray... well, y'know.



If you're making a o_O face, look a little closer at the jackets. 

And one of you vidders should really take the time to set this add to "The Wings" from the Brokeback Mountain OST.  Maybe something about being able to quit him.  Like I said: rarely do they hang the fruit this low.

Just got back from seeing the new Muppets movie with my nephew.  I quite liked it (in particular, Camilla the Chicken's routine alone was worth the price of admission - although I suspect 3/4s of the audience didn't know what the hell was going on - which is a good thing).  The songs... well, you can tell that Bret McKenzie wrote them, but that's not a bad thing.  My nephew remains adorable and says he liked the movie too. He then promptly passed out in the car, where he was adorable and quiet.

Meanwhile, my mother linked me to My Daguerrotype Boyfriend and now I'm having cognitive dissonance.  I'd never thought that I'd be able to say, "No, I'm not sure JGL is good-looking enough to play this character."  But as it turns out, in addition to being an assassination magnet who disavowed his grief-crazed mother and an evil labor oppressor who authorized Pinkerton detectives to fire on striking mine workers, Robert Todd Lincoln was really, really, ridiculously good looking.  



I feel torn and therefore, on LJ, this entry will have has a poll.  For real now.  Just stare at the handsome men for five minutes while I put that together however long you want and then vote!

Last night, the Penn State Board of Trustees met and fired University President Spanier and Coach Joe Paterno. effective immediately.  Paterno had announced his intention to retire at the end of this season earlier in the day following the indictment of his long-time assistant coach and one-time heir apparent, Jerry Sandusky, on forty felony charges associated with molestation of at least 8 children since 1996.  Sandusky's known victims, many of whom were sexually molested and assaulted for years, ranged in age from seven to fifteen during the abuse and were all participants in The Second Mile, a charity that Sandusky founded to assist at-risk youths.   Said Paterno on Sunday: "...the nature and amount of charges made are very shocking to me."   CBS News reported last night that, "The legendary football coach was said to be stunned by his firing. Said the source, "You give your life to this place, and that's how you're treated."

Yes, Paterno, you miserable piece of slime, that's how you're treated.  No, you don't get to leave on your own terms.  No, I don't give a shit that you won 409 football games or that you're a "legendary coach".  No, I couldn't give two shits about how disappointed your seniors are going to be at the Nebraska game this weekend.  You may shut up and go enjoy the remaining time you have left before the Federal government indicts you.

(  And the worst part is that you're pretending not to understand why. That's what makes you slime. )

My family and I were supposed to go out to dinner last night.  Around 4pm my Dad disappeared into the basement - we figured to get some nicer clothes on.  Finally, as 6pm came and went, my mother and I now feeling more than a little hungry, I went downstairs to check on the old man.  "You ready to go?" I asked.

"Dan Wheldon died in a crash at the Indy race today," my Dad said.  He kept folding laundry and cleaning off his tool bench while he watched the after reports on television - replays of flaming wreckage flying through the air, conciliatory words, the usual cliches of grief and pre-emptive speculations into cause.  I walked upstairs in my little black dress and told Mom that I'd go get some take out instead.  When she asked why, all I could do was shrug and say, "Racing death."  She made that hideous sigh of complete sorrow and incomprehension that she usually only makes when GOP candidates allege that homosexuals are responsible for the downfall of the American economy, set down her purse, and went downstairs to try to comfort Dad.  The lady behind the register at the Chinese place asked if I was okay.  "Just fine, thank you."  I added a dollar to her tip.  But I wasn't fine, my Dad's still a little shaken today; it's never fine, and somehow, it keeps happening.

And I still love racing.

( Even if I sometimes wonder why... )

S is my cousin.  He's also one of my best friends.  S lives in Chicago these days but thanks to modern communications technology, he never feels very far away.  At least once a week, he will randomly text message me something, generally absurd, sometimes a quote, often while drunk, but always something that makes me smile.  It's gotten to the point where my text inbox is so full of my favorite saved messages from S that I have no choice but to delete some of them, which makes me sad.  So I've decided to preserve them here, because the internet is forever and after the last few posts I've made, something happy that isn't actually fiction will make a nice change.

( Read more... )

Salaam hadritak,

It's been a long thirty years.  I know we've had our differences -- I always thought that you were a semi-competent goon thrust into power by the untimely death of Anwar Sadat, which did make me sympathetic to your superstition that kept the vice-presidency vacant during the next thirty years -- marbruk to you for finally getting past that, by the way.  But I'm here to tell you, old comrade, that the day has come, the apricots are blooming, and you've really lost touch and the time has come to step out of power, retire to that Caribbean villa that we all know you've put together somewhere.

How do I know this?  Ah, Hosni, you have always been a kidder.  I'll give you two pieces of evidence I think that we can agree are incontrovertible.

1) You ask, "Incontrovertible"?  Yes, Hosni, because at this point Naawal as-Saadawi and Muhammad al-Baradei have come together to say that you have to leave office now. Given that these two people would normally have trouble coming to a consensus on statements such as "The sun is shining," or "Cancer is a bad thing," each of them taking opposing positions based on the principle of being stubborn bastards who don't much like each other, I think we all must agree that the two of them agreeing on the need for your speedy exit is incontrovertible proof that it is necessary, and possibly, a sign from God (Yes, you're right, I don't believe in God, but even I am forced to accept the existence of miracles when they're right in front of my eyes.)

2) The demonstrations by the anti-government protesters have been, for the most part, civil and highly peaceful after the initial exuberance wore off last week.  It wasn't until after you and your supporters bused in several grumpy young men on horses and camels (are you not comping them for their time even though their bosses told them they had to go in and do this?  Tsk, tsk) that the protests turned violent.  Every news source I look at, from CNN to al-Minar is stating that the "Pro-Government forces are looking for a fight."

(I'd tell you what Fox News is saying, but I refuse to give their hit counters a bump.  Though rumor has it Bill O'Riley sided with the protesters while you've got Glenn Beck as an ally.  Frankly, when choosing between devils, that's not how I'd like the split to come out for me, but I guess we'll all have to look to Rush Limbaugh as the tie-breaker.  You could try sending him any spare prescription pain-killers you have to sway him to your side, but you're likely to just get condemned as a seedy drug dealer.  Rush is so darn fickle!) 

Anyways, as I was saying, in what universe did this sound like a good plan? Instead of making the protesters look like thugs (by the way, your big speech?  Made you come off as something of a prick.  I've never been a fan but my mom was decidedly on the fence until the speech, and now she thinks you're a prick too.  And she's not nearly as nice as me about keeping these things to herself.) instead you've established that not only are you a prick (whoops, sorry, Mom's a bad influence), but that those Egyptians who support you (or who are unlucky enough to work for people who support you) are also thugs and pricks.  You may have been seeking the traditional values vote by only sending menfolk, but those menfolk are throwing rocks at women and small children as well as the usual mob of unemployed young men that you've failed to improve life for in any demonstrable way for the last thirty years.

In short, it's time to go, Hosni.  You've had a terrible run.  The Bahamas are lovely this time of year, I hear.  As a last piece of advice, though -- take a cue from the Marcos': if Suzanne has an out-sized collection of shoes, spend the extra fifty bucks for another bag and take 'em with you.  That will save the rest of the world from having to hear about it for the next twenty years.

Cheers,
Morag