I'm about halfway through Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates, whose use of language as he recounts his experience as a Black person growing up and existing in America to his fifteen year-old son is stately, precise, and filled with gravitas.  I feel like the audio version should be read by James Earl Jones.

This is not a large book, but it is also not a fast read.  It is momentous and imminently relevant in this period of extended protests for racial justice in the wake of the murder of George Floyd.

... just found out the audiobook is narrated by the author, which, yes.

And, I'm married now. The whole wedding party (i.e., my household -- including the dog) wore matching buffalo-plaid onesies, and I had ordered a Fruit Bouquet, some bundtinis, and Thai for the foods.

( Read more... )

And, apparently the reception (or a reception) will be in Victoria after I get a passport.

 By which I mean, my household is 99 days into quarantine (shelter in place), and

I'm getting married in six days, on Canada Day, July 1st.

My friend Bridge from work delivered a bouquet of candy and gift cards funded by my team, today.  Despite contributing to a similar gift when friend Tiimber from work got married last year, it did not occur to me in the slightest that this might be a thing that could happen, so it was much surprise. (If you have an urge to gift, please donate to the Black Resilience Fund and let us know.)

Also, one more of many examples of my face-blindness, I didn't recognize Bridge until she was taking the "proof of delivery" photo -- she was wearing heels and being very excited and her hair was up, so with her distinctive smile covered by a mask I had no hope until she stood still in a pose I'd seen before.  That's how it goes, yos.

Recent reads -- Harry Potter fanfic (rec'd by dine ), MCU fanfic (also (rec'd by dine ), and Shrill by Lindy West.

Also, working our way through Before "I do": Complete Pre-Marital Counseling Workbook for Heterosexual, LGBTQ, & Polyamorous Couples by Olivia Baylor. 

 A week later I realize this comic was posted on the 40th anniversary of the eruption.  I literally read posts referring to the eruptiversary before and after I saw the comic.

I'm kinda bad with time.

 Or so.

Starting a long weekend of virtual retreat meetings for my local community choir.

Got distracted having DW open on another screen.

*facepalm*

Based on when my employer first sent me to work from home (planning to start a staggered A/B schedule but changing to everybody all the time stay home if at all possible within like 3 days), I've been in household bubble isolation for 55 days now.

It's not terrible. Son2 and Son3 are here and being effective minions. My beloved (now Betrothed, Cedar) is studying from home. Underdweller is also working from home except on rare occasions. We have enough space and enough of each other and enough to eat.

Cedar and I did backyard camping over the weekend, and Son2 made burgers on the grill for dinner.

If this feels a little like you came in on episode 3 instead of 1, I'ma try to backdate some journal entries to fill in the gaps rather than have a huge "catch up on everything jiccish" post.

Cedar and I bought a car tonight, making Marathon Manor a three-car household.

Batman has the grey Toyota Camry I dubbed "Twilight Sparkle" (or, alternatively, "TrampStamp"), I have Thor, the green, extended cab Dodge Dakota.  And now I also have Patsy, a silver(?) Nissan Versa.

And now I realize I need to update the Dramatis Personae on my sidebar....

Someone asked "Is it the idea that it's porn, the fact that it's visual, or that it's with a bunch of strangers (or something else)?"

( I answered... )

As seen in dine's journal: Want to know me better? The problem with LJ/DW: we all think we are so close, but really, we know nothing about each other. So I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about. Ask away. Then post this in your journal and find out what people don't know about you.

haha. So, I've updated DW to send things to an email address I actually check now. I'd feel worse, but honestly, if it wasn't for settiai I may never have noticed. I mean, when there are only three messages in the last 41 weeks and they're all from the same person....

I think the critical difference between what's going on at the wildlife refuge in Oregon and its most popular subject of comparison both is and isn't what it appears to be. It appears to be race, but it isn't (but it is). It appears to be a difference between how people are treated based on color, but it isn't (but it is).

It's actually about ( fear )

I've seen a couple variations of the "courage" meme contrasting soldiers in battle with Caitlyn Jenner.

To start, I do respect the people, mostly men and women, who risk their lives to carry out their orders. I acknowledge that many of them are doing so because they have an abundance of passionate respect for their country, and I don't want to belittle that. When they face down their own fear in order to do what is needed to protect their fellows and their charges, that is indeed courage.

But

When transgender advocates work every day with persons who have lost homes, lost jobs, or lost relationships, or who gave up health care due to lack of supportive practitioners --
When discrimination and transphobia are shrugged off because trans-folk are so marginalized their identity doesn't even end up as a demographic in the BJS violence statistics (and if there are no statistics, there's no problem, right?) --
When I've sat with friends and colleagues and listened to them misgender Caitlyn and declare to me with unassailable certainty that Caitlyn is still a man --
When I've been with family whose first reaction to conversation drifting to transgender persons was "I knew one of those!" --
When I've sat across a table and had someone tell me to my face that my own assessment of my gender identity is insignificant in the face of her opinion --

Well

It's easy to be flippant about the real meaning of courage when you've never been afraid your friends will stop talking to you if you reveal your authentic self.
It's easy to be dismissive about other forms of courage when you've never been afraid your family will abandon or reject you if you reveal your authentic self.
It's easy to be glib when you can look at the collection of persons in the public eye and see more than one (out of hundreds) who represents the part of your authentic self that you most fear society rejecting.

If you have had those fears, and overcome them, but don't believe that took courage? Give yourself a little more credit.

It's easy to get defensive and slap a pithy comment on a heart-wrenching picture and use it to minimize someone else's experience, but no one is saying military personnel don't have courage. Courage is not a zero sum game where there's only so much to go around. And if you think I don't have to overcome fear every time I reveal to another person that the me above the neck and the body below the neck don't match, well...

Then maybe you need to walk a mile in my shoes.

So. My dad died two weeks ago, on March 25. He was 79, and he had emphysema. He had hospice care, because we were pretty sure he was in his final six months.

Almost exactly seven hours prior, I had called and told him that I love him.

I'm doing fine, except when I'm not. My emotional responses are randomly inconsistent with reality -- usually one is sad about sad things and excited about exciting things, but today I had a chunk of time where I was sad about exciting things. It was very strange.

My mom was Dad's primary caregiver. She now lives alone in Coos Bay, about 250 miles from me and about 100 miles from the nearest close-kin. I'm keeping a guest room for her, and she said she may come to visit in a few weeks.

Since Dad's pension and social security have stopped, Mom's income has decreased by about 2/3. She's a little worried about making ends meet until the life insurance kicks in and her social security gets updated to Dad's amount (which was greater and which she gets instead of her own as his widow). My brothers and I are helping as we can, both financially and with labor.

This feels like my focus has kind of drifted. I wanted to tell Dad-Stories. I think maybe not just now, though. Maybe later.

When I was five, I wanted to grow up to be just like Dad - not marry someone like him, be like him.

When I was 13, someone at an auction bumped into me and said, "Excuse me, son," and I was THRILLED.

I've never liked anything about my breasts, except when they actually performed a non-sexual function. I don’t like how they look or how they feel or the attention society gives them. I hate clothes that accentuate them.

"Woman" has never been on the list of top ten words I'd use to describe myself.

I had kids, but I have been DONE with my uterus for 17 years. I hate everything about it, and I chemically suppress its monthly reboot. I've always identified myself as "parent" rather than "mother" on all the kids' forms.

I prefer "sir" to "ma'am", and I'm disappointed when overseas colleagues switch from the former to the latter.

The first time I remember recognizing the face in the mirror was after I cut off all my hair.

However, since that is generally about hating identification as "female" but not about identifying as “male”, the dominant social narrative doesn't really have a script. I’m doing research and consulting professionals and charting my own course, but it is unlikely to end with me having a penis.

“Neutrois” is a great search term.

Thanks for asking.

Does anyone remember the one where Banner is Hulked out and SHIELD is planning to send guys with rifles to tranquilize him, but Barton heads them off by pointing out that even without doing damage, bullets hurt and they let him go in with a tranq arrow and Hulk lets Barton administer? That's the only scene I remember clearly, but the story centered around the Banner-Barton friendship. I think it may not have been slash (unusual for me, I know).

edit: turns out they didn't *let* Barton go in, and it's pretty much all Barton, all the time, rather than any one friendship. Scene in question is at the end of Chapter 4 of Part 6 of the series by scifigirl47 In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury)

I had a conversation the other night that caught my attention by highlighting how different people understand the same words. We were talking about the statement, "I love you," and how casually or seriously it is used in a relationship, and how one partner may use it before the other is prepared to make the same declaration.

I contrasted that I love easily, but my trust is more difficult to earn, and that makes it easier for me to navigate a situation where someone may feel more intensely than I. People say "I love you" all the time and mean a variety of things, but very rarely does one gaze soulfully into another's eyes and say solemnly, "Honey, I really trust you."

My conversation partner immediately leaped to discuss trust in terms of a lack of fear of sexual or emotional infidelity. This came as almost a shock to me, and to be honest I don't recall exactly what was said to me next, because I didn't mean trust in those terms at all.

When I trust, I believe I am safe from verbal abuse.
When I trust, I believe I am safe from intimidation.
When I trust, I believe I am safe from manipulation.
When I trust, I believe I am safe from physical harm.

When I trust, I feel supported, whether that is in the form of cheering my endeavors or respecting my views in the different areas of social justice.
When I trust, I am confident that I and my feelings and my potential reactions are considered - and if they do not inform a decision that is made, they at least inform the manner in which I am told.

And as much I want to trust, I also seek to be trustworthy. Love can survive unrequited; trust cannot.

I went out to the movies with Son2 today, and then took him to T-Mobile so he could buy himself a new cell phone.  Then I went to the fabric store and got material to make a tablecloth for a 3x12 surface.  By the time I got home, the house was completely empty.  This almost never happens.  Three members of the household are sleeping elsewhere tonight, and the fourth is working a 12 hour graveyard shift.

I don't like the house this empty.

I remember when I used to treasure an empty house.  I started musing about what was so different between then and now.

Then, I was still rebelling against the utter lack of alone-time and, frankly, privacy that characterized my cohabitation with KOP.  He was Always Fucking There.  And beyond the wall between me and my emotions was a seething morass of resentment, anger, and fear that I wasn't even aware of until about three years after we divorced.  I was so disconnected I couldn't even tell I was nauseous.

Now, I adore my roommates.  I miss them when they're gone.  I don't like the house so quiet.

This environment is very different from fifteen years ago, and right this minute, I'm lonely instead of relieved.