just bounce, baby

Life since Thanksgiving has felt like being on a trampoline. Every plan changes. Every day something has to flex, adjust, be canceled or rescheduled. Every outing is a calculation of risk. Staying home is the safest thing covid-wise but the deadliest mental health-wise.

We pulled off Hannukah just before the variant swept through, keeping the guest list tight, staggering 2 people here, then 3 people an hour later. Windows were open and distance was kept and the post-fete negative covid test was a relief.
Our family’s grand plans for a holiday together began falling apart a week before Christmas. Snow loomed in the forecast, all up and down the highway corridor we’d be traveling. Omicron meant our destination was implementing new restrictions on gatherings and updating them daily. One person got sick, then another. We ended up celebrating as we did in 2020, at our separate homes and on Zoom.
It’s a bitter pill in a year when it seems like that’s all we’ve had to dine recently.
*
To keep my spirits up, I’m still reading and enjoying media.
Shang Chi was the feature film for Christmas Day. It’s wonderful! Funny and intricately planned and paced, from the way information is released to the knockout action scene on a San Francisco city bus. I need to watch again so I can enjoy the spectacle.


I just finished Casey Plett’s Little Fish, about a trans woman in Canada who finds out her Mennonite grandfather may have been gay or trans. The writing is raw and courageous. Plett mentions Torrey Peters in the afterword and I think this is a perfect companion piece to Detransition, Baby. Both books address pain head on and like massaging a bruise, make it hurt a little extra so that together we come to a greater understanding.

Another gem is Janet Mock’s Surpassing Certainty: What my Twenties Taught Me. This memoir by an acclaimed writer and executive producer for Pose is a window into a trans woman of color’s experience getting jobs, marrying, studying journalism and finding her place in the very white, very male world of publishing.

As we inch closer to 2022 I feel relief--bye bitch--and anxiety. I’m looking forward to writing and books and love and friends and good times and delicious cocktails. Don’t let me down 2022.

snowpocalypse, again

Snowpocalypse 2021 is upon us again. A good four inches fell Christmas night and this time it’s staying cold so the side roads and sidewalks are treacherous. The snow and ice is pretty but my water pipes froze pretty much the moment the temps dipped into the 20’s. So BSP camped at home for a few days, lugging in snow in buckets, melting it on the stove so the toilet can be flushed (learned this trick on a few overseas trips).

But, 3 days of no water turns from adventure to annoyance pretty fast. It’s supposed to warm up to the 40s on Sunday. This PNW’er will be relieved.

retained!

Update to my earlier post: Kshama Sawant keeps her seat with a margin of just over 300 votes. Capitol Hill Blog has all the details.

It's an even thinner margin than her 2018 victory over Egan Orion and also trickled in a few days after Election Day. (Also note from Ballotpedia and CHS Blog that it's possible to post a photo of Sawant that doesn't make her look sweaty and unhinged. I won't post links but Seattle Times, I'm looking at you for this not-even borderline racist practice.)

A slice of joy for renters and working people to savor today.

omicron scrooge

 

memewhore

ushering in pandemmie times

It was a tentative pleasure to usher again for a beloved holiday drag show this year. Last year everything moved online which I appreciated, and also felt terribly sad about. So when the e-mail came in looking for volunteers this season, I hesitated. Is now really the time? Can they do it safely?

I’m not sure of the answer to either question but I did say a trepidatious yes, filling up my mini bottle of hand sanitizer on the appointed day, strapping on 2 masks and donning my share of sequins and comfortable boots.

The show was wonderful, with some new additions to the cast (absent Santa who is getting a graphic design degree).

The audience was less so. Most folks cheerfully complied with the ID and vax requirement (I should know, I was the designated checker) but a handful of people in my own demographic “forgot” one or the other piece of documentation. One showed me a photo of a prescription bottle in lieu of ID (I had to laugh). Another asked if their husband could vouch for them. (Now I was crying.) One particularly clueless group rushed the stage and stole a VIP table, refusing to move.

By the second half of the show fully 50% of the audience had their masks off. Afterward us exhausted volunteers and the stage manager picked up the wreckage. Spilled drinks and snacks, crumpled programs, even a makeup-smeared mask. Please PLEASE wear your masks, I begged three women of a certain age, blithely chatting away sans mask. They elbowed past me with a sarcastic, Thanks.

I got tested a few days later just to be cautious, and all seems fine.

I’m shook though. How are those serving the public day after day holding up? We must do better but I fear we won’t.

*

This Elie Mystal article about a trip to Florida is hilarious and depressing.

welcome back wallyford

Sea Monster Lounge returns

On my way to get my booster shot the other day, I walked through the Wallingford neighborhood and took some pictures. It's livelier than a year ago, for sure, although I'm still not dining or drinking inside a lot of folks seem to be. Sea Monster will be re-opening. Even the old Guild on 45th has an au courant marquee. 

vax to the future

not not winning

It's too soon to know for sure but Kshama Sawant appears to have defeated the right wing recall. This article in Capitol Hill Blog lays out all the maybes.

RETAIN

This recall is grossly racist, sexist and classist. Amazon has been trying to oust her for years. If you're a D3 voter, keep the socialist rabble rouser. In a town where half the population rents, we need her voice on the Seattle City Council.

it's all something

Last weekend I gallivanted with my person for a few days. We visited friends on an island and then along the coast, hung out with dogs, ate pizza and chocolate and vegetarian pasta, sat around a nighttime fire, smoked a little, drank a little, and looked at beautiful scenery.

Yes there were irritations. Some people in the small rich town were jerks (shoving past us in the market),  and some people in the small not-so-rich town were also jerks (parading around maskless at Swain's). But we tried to take it in stride, laughing at the holiday decorations in the rich town (they look like pooping crows) and going for a misty waterfront walk in the not-so-rich town.

I haven't been writing but I have been writing

You know how when you break up with someone and they say I'm not ready for a relationship and then a month later they're all cuddled up with somebody else and you realize what they meant was I'm not ready for a relationship with YOU.

Everything is timing and time and I'm being as selfish as I can with writing time. So, I haven't been writing here, but I have been writing. Another story accepted. More editing done on my big project. Yes.

 

the more things change the more things don't change

Don't miss Geena Davis' documentary on Netflix, "This Changes Everything." About the stranglehold men have had on TV and film for the past seventy years. It's intentional and despite the gains of the past few years, don't think the sphere of power is about to change. 

When the mens don't get their way, they cry, and everyone panics.

y'all ever be like

 

memewhore

what's up with white women: the book

A friend of a friend recently co-wrote a book titled, What's Up with White Women? Unpacking Sexism and White Privilege in Pursuit of Racial Justice. I watched the Town Hall event where Karena Smith interviewed the authors, Ilsa Govan and Tilman Smith. It's a lively and incisive discussion. I felt uncomfortable for most of it, because I had to interrogate myself. 

I've been that Karen, enforcing "the rules" set up by some white guy somewhere.  

Two days I go I was re-watching an old season of "Top Chef" and during the Restaurant Wars episode, the white guy chef who works front of the house is lauded (and is declared the week's winner) for his charm, the way he interacts with diners, smiling and laughing and managing, while the Black woman chef is scolded and sneered at for the way she interacts with diners, smiling and laughing and managing. 

Huh. The franchise is trying to do better but it's taken too long and these old episodes are hard to watch.

Watch, read, ask, learn.

pretty sure this isn't it

 Srsly? A very good reason to avoid Art Marble21.

listen to Roxane Gay talk about writing

So much goodness, honesty and wisdom, especially writing about trauma. At 37 minutes: it's gonna be horrible, all you can do is make it the least horrible as possible. 

decision-making during the pandemmy

Seen on a Metro KC bus

what I'm watching fall 2021 edition

Documentaries continue to bring me so much joy. They can be the visual equivalent of a memoir, I think, in the sense of bringing order to real-life events. Here are a few I've watched recently.

"Found," about three young women adopted from China as babies. They find each other through 23andme, and eventually travel to China to meet a genealogy researcher and even a family who'd thought one of the girls was theirs. None of the three find their birth parents, and there's a kind of tacked-on scene at the end where a different girl does, but I don't think the movie needs it. There's already so much insight and feeling and beautiful warmth. Here's a review. I need to watch director Amanda Lipitz's earlier movie, "Step."

I also watched "Finding Kendrick Johnson." This was an infuriating one to watch. I remember reading about this story when the young man first died, and thinking how could this possibly be accidental? The filmmaker, Jason Pollock, smartly weaves this story into the broader history of racism and white supremacy in America, and the American South. And, the young man is still gone, and there are no real answers for this grieving family.

 

The last movie I want to mention is fiction (I think): "Carmen y Lola." I've been waiting to see this, since it first appeared on HBO but in Spanish only. Finally, English subtitles are available. It's not breaking a lot of new ground but the film is shot beautifully and lovingly and I enjoyed learning more about Roma culture.

loving this light

 

rules and haters

My state’s vaccine rules are tightening and although I welcome this, and hope it bumps up the number of vaxxed citizens and ends this goddamn pandemic sometime this century, I feel for the underpaid and over-stressed front of the house folks who will be taking the brunt of the anti-science crowd's unhappiness.  

I welcome it because I’m still not comfortable dining indoors, or riding a crowded bus, or being among a lot of unmasked people for very long. Too many of my friends have had breakthrough infections and I’m getting along fine ordering takeout or having a drink on an outdoor patio or doing a walk-and-talk around the neighborhood. 

But I already know of one teenage worker who got yelled at for asking for proof of vaccination. I saw an unmasked jabroni stomp into the Longhouse Deli in Discovery Bay Saturday, past TWO signs that masks were required, sporting a t-shirt that said, “I wanted to be a liberal for Halloween but I couldn’t get my head far enough up my ass.” 

No points for subtley. Also, come on brah. Much of my family in the Midwest is not getting vaxxed and I can’t help but think this polarization hurts all of us, really, and helps—whom? The richy-rich’s getting wealthy off political donations and scream-media, I guess.

 

 

aggression and detective work

Last weekend I rented a car to hang out with some pups and go visit my cabin. On my drive south, near the airport, the drizzle grew heavier and interstate traffic slowed. A semi truck drove up behind me, headlights flashing, but I stayed in my lane at 65 mph.

Suddenly the truck swerved left, into a passing lane, and then laid on its horn, swerving back to the right directly into my lane. If I hadn’t braked hard, the truck would have rammed the front of my rental car. I sped up but the truck did too, laying on the gas and merging into the far left lane. My companion managed to snap two photos.

I looked up the TRAC number and found out some information but now what? I e-mailed TRAC and found the leasing company, Interpool Inc, but they have no online presence, no phone #, no way to be reached. It seems deliberate. 

Folks are aggressive these days, to be sure. On Saturday an SUV pulled a similar maneuver when I didn’t get out of the HOV lane fast enough. I’ve had my asshole days behind the wheel but this weekend I drove like a grandma. Returning the car safely and intact on Sunday felt like a victory.

 

mask up buttercups

Seen this week in Ballard at Conor Byrne and the Tractor.

 

numb

I read J.P. Brammer's book recently, "Hola Papi! how to come out in a Walmart parking lot." He's an insightful and very funny columnist and writer.

Now on Substack he writes about numbness. I know this well. The sense that not feeling is far preferable to the alternative. To feeling sad or lonely or anxious. 

I made my peace (sort of) with feeling anxious. It's a part of life and will never 100% go away. There are things that make it briefly cease--a live music show, hilarity with friends, hanging out with pets--but like an old social media post, anxiety never ever truly goes away. It's always hovering quietly in the background, awaiting its chance to slip back in.

And so: numbness. Yes. The negative space of feelings.

new work out: cathy's house

I have new work published today in Too Well Away. “Cathy’s House” is a creative nonfiction piece, a new world for me. Many thanks to Amber Thompson for her initiative and drive.

as a recovering baptist I want to love this

 

As someone who grew up extremely religious, it means something to read this. My parents taught us that happiness wasn't the goal. We weren't to try to do things that brought us pleasure. Our function was to please God and find contentment. Anything beyond that was an accidental bonus.

(I also grew up always waiting in dread for the other shoe to drop, because if I felt happy or experienced joy outside of church, I was probably sinning.)

Once, on a trip to Paris, I went to a restaurant that specialized in cassoulet. These were pre-vegetarian times for me, and I was beyond excited to sit down and order a pot of rich, bubbly beans and duck fat. The waiter came to the table, and I asked in my best French, if I could order. He was busy pouring a small aperitif, and slicing housemade sausage onto a plate. 

Premier, plaisir, he smiled. First, pleasure. 

And so I relaxed and sipped the aperitif.

tripping on tik-toking or 15 second movies

I'm having a great time browsing Tik Tok. Human creativity is amazing! I love how story telling can be stripped down to mere seconds and yet feels complete. 

Some gems:

@hannahjohnson927

Mama Mustache finds out about the mustache men’s romance! 🤠❤️🤠 ##comedy ##skit ##funny ##mustachemen ##mama ##sugar ##tea ##spillthetea ##sketch ##costumes ##characters

♬ original sound - Hannah Johnson

@ghosthoney

iced creams 😎🍦

♬ original sound - Alyoops

@enbiggen

Spirited Away

♬ original sound - lucylou.music

This last one is trippily wonderful, and there's even a how-to video:

@benlevinmusic

I feel normal

♬ original sound - benlevinmusic

the wisdom of tumblr

Seen.

On memewhore, about strict parents.

 

And on patron saint of shitposts, about bedtime fantasies.

Also, I kind of want this tent.
 

 

dreamtime

I've been re-watching "The Sopranos." This series was one of my favorites when it first aired. I was one of millions who screamed in disbelief at the series' closing credits.

Re-watching twenty-plus years later, a lot of the jokes and racist language seem less integral to the story than we all self-importantly believed back then. Ditto, the casual and very graphic violence Christopher wreaks on Adriana. There's also a heavy reliance on Tony's dream sequences, which I like less and less. Don't get me wrong, I'm a believer in dreams, in the old subconscious putting on unsubtle melodramas to try and get our attention. But here, and generally in fiction, TV, movies, dreams don't tell the audience much about a character that we don't or shouldn't already know. They're masturbatory exercises in writers and actors getting to do things the character never would do, within the confines of the show.

Anyway.

All that to say I've been having vivid, meaningful (to me) dreams. They're motivational. My mother and my grandmother made cameos. It's time to make some changes.

One, that a friend (DJ) died and their body was laid out in a room. I was trying to text the person's mother but couldn't get my phone unlocked. Then the Mom was there and my deceased grandmother sat next to me, all bright eyed in a fancy, silky shirt. The venue was a hotel in Spokane and there was an earthquake. The floor rippled but I wasn't scared. I hugged Gram. She felt so small and delicate. I'm just so glad you're OK, she said, and I knew she was referring to my mental health. Me too, I said. And I thought, I am free. I can do whatever I want.

Another: I dreamed that my job was chewing already-chewed food and vomiting it up. My boss, a cop, was being unethical. I was trying to jaywalk (one of my favorite pastimes) and I was told "The Major wants to see you." I went to talk to my boss, worried, and she tried to flatter and co-opt me. Then a dean at university flattered me too and promoted me and my mother was there. He pinched her butt as she left his office and I called him on it, outraged and he denied it. Then suddenly, I was moving into an apartment and it was an old restaurant and it was stuffed full. Someone had left all their work stuff in it--a desk, printer, office chairs, etc. 

A third: I dreamed I had 3 boyfriends. One a tall former-basketball player and bartender; another small and dark and affectionate. I can't remember the third. (When I told a friend, he said, "So just one person won't meet all your needs.") 

And then last night: I was driving a rental car and GPS confused me and I missed my turn. I was in Portland and the highway was littered with metal and body parts and big gaping holes. I was trying to navigate to a house but there was so much detritus I almost didn't make it. Then I was at the house and it was menacing and squalorous, possibly some abuse going on, a woman preventing me from leaving.

 

birbs, or the original contrarians

I was walking home from the grocery store the other morning and noticed a pair of crows cawing away on top of an apartment building. I imagined how their caws must have echoed down into the apartments below, and laughed to myself. Crows often perched on my chimney at an old apartment, screeching at each other, the sound vibrating into my living room. I'd light pieces of paper on fire in my fireplace just to make them fly away for a few minutes. But, they always returned and continued their avian conversation until they were good and ready to leave.

Watching this pair hop around was good fun, until I attempted to get a photo. One crow flew away as soon as I pulled my phone out. The other turned around. Shy, or contrarian. Or both.

writing lyfe

Here are three upcoming writer chats that I'm hyped about.

Tomorrow, friend and writing teacher Laura Kalpakian discusses her just-published (as in yesterday!) book on memoir writing. I studied short story writing with Laura at the UW. She's a wonderfully generous writer and reader and supporter of PNW authors. 

Then on Wednesday, as part of Seattle Reads, Brit Bennett will be talking with Jazmyn Scott about her book, The Vanishing Half. I read the novel a few months ago. It's as good as the hype. Better, probably. The characters are interesting and well-developed and complex, and I was so invested in the story that I didn't want the book to end. 

Finally, on October 10, I'm planning to check out another Seattle Reads event, the African-American Writers' Alliance Showcase. I've been interested in the community writing group and can't wait to hear and learn more.

there's rejection and then there's FU rejection

The more you submit, the more you hear no. This is a fact for anyone in the creative world and a certainty for unknown writers like me. At least as a writer, the no is delivered via e-mail, so I can read when I'm ready. I remember going to a friend's comedy shows and the squirming shared horror when his jokes didn't land, or he got heckled and was unable to adequately snap back.

While rejection always feels bad, and makes me question my credentials as a writer and even as a human daring to breathe air and exist, the way it's delivered matters. A lot. The rejection Tin House sent me this week was a reminder. A slap-in-the-face reminder. 

I'll note that I've mostly stopped submitting anywhere that charges a substantial fee. You could spend hundreds of dollars a month just submitting to journals. It's the ol' pay for play and I hate it. Recently a writer friend recommended I submit a project to Tin House and even though it cost $25 (plus another chunk I chipped in to fund less privileged writers) I unwisely decided to give it a go.

Here's the form letter rejection. I really enjoyed the "don't even think of asking us for feedback" snark at the end. Joking aside, this is on the truly terrible end of the spectrum. Is it a PNW thing? A Tin House thing? I don't know.

I read for a respected journal and while it's true there are a fair number of less-than-spectacular submissions, we treat writers with respect and send encouragement when we can.

Here are 2 other rejections I've received lately. They are kinder, acknowledging the effort I put in and encouraging me to keep going. Form letters too, of course, but with a shred of humanity.

AGNI

Juked

 

more of what I'm watching

Last night was a treat. I watched "Becoming Black" on Kanopy. What an incredible movie. The filmmaker, Ines Johnson-Spain grows up half-African in very white East Germany, and only discovers in her late twenties the truth about her heritage. It shares themes with "Little White Lie."

This theme of families and secrets continues to resonate with me. The vast gulf between Johnson-Spain in the scenes with her German father--cautious, face drawn, having to talk over him to get her point across--and then with her family in Togo, where she smiles and gazes lovingly at photos of her father and other family members, learning the family tree as though it were a beloved poem.