see ya on the flip

 

more of what I'm reading

My copious reading continues.
First, Trevor Noah's 2016 memoir, Born a Crime. He's a talented writer, incisive and funny. I didn't know much about his childhood or the history of racial oppression in South Africa. He blends them well and I enjoyed everything but the sort of shoulder-shrug regarding the physical violence he endured from his parents. "Hidings," he calls it. Or as a former shrink said to me, "child abuse."

"Center, Center" by James Whiteside, was also engaging and also glossed over the painful bits. I'm not one for wallowing and I laughed aloud at some of the funniest bits. This talented ballet dancer is truly witty and self-deprecating in a mimosas at brunch kind of way. The story felt stretched out though. I wondered what else he might have to say.

I also tuned in the other night to Northwest African American Museum's "Conversation with the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution's Lonnie Bunch." NAAM's own Dr. Quintard Taylor interviewed Bunch about his work establishing the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture which is visited by more international DC tourists than any other institution. It was a reminder that Black history is American history, and that the world views the civil rights struggles here with a far keener eye than we Americans do. The US never had the reconciliation commissions that South Africa held. We're so far behind and falling ever farther, it seems. The interview is a must-watch, charming and inspirational.

we are blest

This week I screened “The Eyes of Tammy Faye.”

(Well I also wasted six dollars at Redbox on the most recent James Bond movie and I’m heated. What a bloated carcass of a movie.)

As a kid I wasn’t supposed to watch the Christian Broadcasting Network, which aired the PTL show. Tammy Faye and Jim Bakker were charismatic Christians who spread a positive God-is-love message (we Baptists knew him as God-is-vengeance) and sang Jesus-lite songs like, “We Are Blest” to loud, rollicking accompaniment tracks.

Both the Bakkers’ and my dad’s religious empires ended in scandal so I guess the score is tied there.

But the movie is enjoyable. Jessica Chastain finds the honest, childlike enthusiasm of Tammy Faye and Vincent D’Onofrio gives Jerry Falwell a ponderous, smirkingly evil spin. It also gets a lot right about what these slick televangelists offered back in the 1980. Prosperity Gospel, sure, but also a message of love and acceptance, at a time when the Reagans and the Moral Majority were busy alienating and shaming.

It makes me want to re-watch the 2000 documentary of the same name.

a tough week for my womenfolk

Gee it's been a tough week for the women in my life.
Monday is 18 years since the biggest loss. She had a big old corny heart and a magpie's delight in all things glitzy, shiny , sparkly and colorful. I so miss having my person, someone to check in on me, offer unwanted advice, delight in my success and plot revenge on all who thwart me. The pranks and laughs and arguments. Rest easy, Mom.
Another family member was unexpectedly checked into the hospital over the weekend. All seems okay after minor surgery but it's worrying.
Also this weekend, a pal's mother is hospitalized with covid and pneumonia and friend's daughter diagnosed with cancer.

*
Keep your heads up.
Sending love to all who are ailing.
Tough times are here but we're tougher.

another world is possible

 

courage

haha awwww

 

memewhore

tennis is life (sometimes)

I watched a lot of early matches at the Australian Open, courtesy of my VPN and a free streaming site in Melbourne. Commentator and former champ Jim Courier, calling the Nadal/Berrettini semi-final, noted the Italian's lack of urgency. "Doesn't he realize that every point is a shoot out?" the American wondered.

The Italian of course lost and Nadal took the 2022 championship.

This mindset might apply to writing. Don't hold back, I remind myself. Pour everything you have into each story, each scene, every time, as much as you can. 

Every sentence is a shoot out.

bringing up the past

I've noticed a couple of (straight male) friends are hanging onto the past.

My past.

I've been divorced for nearly 12 years now and rarely think of my ex. I mean, months go by. Whole years. No hate, just moving on with my life and relieved and happy no longer to be partnered with the person and fairly certain they feel the same.

But these two friends can't seem to let go. They both stayed in touch with the ex, even though they were never really friends with the ex to begin with. One messaged me a year ago to say the ex was moving out of our former shared house and he (the friend) had met up with the ex and taken a few boxes the ex found while cleaning out the house. And could he (the friend) drop by with the boxes.

Well first of all, hell no.

And second of all, HELL NO.

I still haven't accepted the boxes. As far as I know they're still in the friend's garage. I'm mildly curious about what's in them but clearly there's nothing I've needed in the past twelve years. I'm more curious why this friend felt the need to do this. I offered, he said, when I asked why the fock he would even put himself in the middle of something so dumb. I wanted to help you both out. 

Friend two messaged me a month ago to tell me he'd had a dream about me and the ex and he wondered what it meant. It means you need to leave the past behind, I messaged back. I do wonder though why my friend felt the need to tell me about this particular dream, why dredge up someone I have been willingly and deliberately unpartnered from for a dozen years? 

A small part of me thinks there's some judgement lingering in there, some minor male outrage that I dared separate from someone who had done me no harm, but just whom I, a woman, no longer loved or needed to keep around to provide for me (and the ex did offer). There were no kids involved, no abuse, no financial misdeeds, just the pain of accepting the emotional truth and moving on. 

Not one woman in my life (that I know of) stayed in contact with my ex, none of them bring him up or keep shit he's been holding onto in their garages. I guess that is the metaphor. I've let go but my guy friends keep hanging on.

in creating you find something possibly even yourself

I’ve posted pictures of cement and walls and paint for quite a few years on this blog. Unintentional and interesting juxtapositions make me so happy.

On a walk and talk with a good friend this week, we discussed gatekeepers in the creative world. My pal has been opening doors and handing out markers and currently has a weekly gig at a local dive bar where notebooks, glitter and colorful pens are available to all.

It’s a gleefully anarchic space and I love it.