![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jay eff see
Aug. 16th, 2011 09:06 pmLast night Amy and I went out to dinner with her mum, her ex-stepfather, and her stepbrothers. It was going quite well overall- there was wine and pasta and at one point the stepbrothers were yelling about their sister, who lives in Ottawa and seems to be universally hated, and it's always interesting to get a sudden window into other people's family drama- and then I had a conversation I've had more times than is strictly necessary. Which is to say, at all.
One of her stepbrothers was cold, and asked if anyone had a jacket he could borrow. I wasn't cold, and he looked kind of sad and puppylike, so I gave him mine. It's a green jacket with a yellow smiley face button on the lapel. He noticed it after a few minutes and asked- slurring a little because we were most of the way through a bottle at that point- what it was.
"It's a smiley face button," I said.
He shook his head. "It should be an anti-immigration button," he said.
Please note: we were not talking about immigration. We had not been talking about immigration the whole evening. As I recall, the last thing this gentleman and I had actually spoken about was his partner, Steven, and how they might be breaking up soon. So I suppose immigration was just on his mind, and he wanted to have a good long gumflap about how much he didn't like it. Or something.
I said, "My mother's an immigrant."
Now, in this conversation, saying that a person close to you (a family member or spouse for preference, although sometimes a close friend or coworker is good enough) is an immigrant has one of two results. Either 1) the person gets very embarrassed and backtracks, often naming all the perfectly lovely people they know who are immigrants, or 2) they ask where exactly the person is from. Which this gentleman did.
"The UK," I replied.
The gentleman made a face I've seen a fair few times during this conversation. When I tell people that my mother is an immigrant, they tend to assume I mean that she is not white, because that is the picture they have filed inside their head under "immigrant." An immigrant is a person of colour, or at least a delightfully "ethnic" shade of white. (Like a kooky Greek, maybe, or a fiery Italian.) The face is a sort of relieved grimace, an oh-thank-God-I-thought-you-might-be-one-of-them expression.
"Oh, well, that's different," he said. "That's not the kind of immigration I was talking about."
You always know the kind of immigration they're talking about. Always. But I bit anyway.
"What kind of immigration were you talking about?" I asked.
He waved his hands expressively. "You know," he said. "Terrorists!"
I shut the conversation down after that.
One of her stepbrothers was cold, and asked if anyone had a jacket he could borrow. I wasn't cold, and he looked kind of sad and puppylike, so I gave him mine. It's a green jacket with a yellow smiley face button on the lapel. He noticed it after a few minutes and asked- slurring a little because we were most of the way through a bottle at that point- what it was.
"It's a smiley face button," I said.
He shook his head. "It should be an anti-immigration button," he said.
Please note: we were not talking about immigration. We had not been talking about immigration the whole evening. As I recall, the last thing this gentleman and I had actually spoken about was his partner, Steven, and how they might be breaking up soon. So I suppose immigration was just on his mind, and he wanted to have a good long gumflap about how much he didn't like it. Or something.
I said, "My mother's an immigrant."
Now, in this conversation, saying that a person close to you (a family member or spouse for preference, although sometimes a close friend or coworker is good enough) is an immigrant has one of two results. Either 1) the person gets very embarrassed and backtracks, often naming all the perfectly lovely people they know who are immigrants, or 2) they ask where exactly the person is from. Which this gentleman did.
"The UK," I replied.
The gentleman made a face I've seen a fair few times during this conversation. When I tell people that my mother is an immigrant, they tend to assume I mean that she is not white, because that is the picture they have filed inside their head under "immigrant." An immigrant is a person of colour, or at least a delightfully "ethnic" shade of white. (Like a kooky Greek, maybe, or a fiery Italian.) The face is a sort of relieved grimace, an oh-thank-God-I-thought-you-might-be-one-of-them expression.
"Oh, well, that's different," he said. "That's not the kind of immigration I was talking about."
You always know the kind of immigration they're talking about. Always. But I bit anyway.
"What kind of immigration were you talking about?" I asked.
He waved his hands expressively. "You know," he said. "Terrorists!"
I shut the conversation down after that.
young lovers and they are not sleeping
Apr. 26th, 2011 01:12 amEvery now and again I get the strongest urge to update my LJ. This usually happens when I am at work and have a line of twenty-seven customers, and so all I can do is sigh and hope that I remember it later. Usually by the time I get home I'll have forgotten whatever brilliant thing I was going to say about school or puppies or string cheese or whatever I was thinking about.
You are not really missing much, to be totally honest.
Today I got that urge and realized hey, I am sitting at my laptop! With a Notepad window open, even! And so I started to type a beautiful entry about what I am doing, where I feel my life is going, and what I am looking forward to in the months to come. It was pretty great.
Then I dropped my computer on the floor and had to restart it without getting the chance to save what I'd written. So it goes.*
( Here is the shortened version. )
You are not really missing much, to be totally honest.
Today I got that urge and realized hey, I am sitting at my laptop! With a Notepad window open, even! And so I started to type a beautiful entry about what I am doing, where I feel my life is going, and what I am looking forward to in the months to come. It was pretty great.
Then I dropped my computer on the floor and had to restart it without getting the chance to save what I'd written. So it goes.*
( Here is the shortened version. )
the thirty day meme, day two
May. 27th, 2010 07:08 pmDay 01 → Your favorite song
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote
Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy
My favourite movie in the whole wide world* is Velvet Goldmine.
( Anyone who's been reading this journal for more than a month or so can skip the rest of this entry because I have probably said all this to/at you already. )
Tomorrow: my favourite television programme! Spelled with two m's, so I'd better choose something classy and not Celebrity Rehab. (But the catfights!)
* And man, that sucker is WIDE. Also, full of movies!
** Said presentation also included references to the Discworld and Boy Meets Boy. It is nice to know that my interests have not significantly changed since middle school.
*** I also love David Bowie, but dudes, have you ever read any of his biographies? The guy was a total dick for a long, long time. Maybe he still is! I don't know, ask Iman.
**** If I ever meet him we can bond over this fact. And then be wed.
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote
Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy
My favourite movie in the whole wide world* is Velvet Goldmine.
( Anyone who's been reading this journal for more than a month or so can skip the rest of this entry because I have probably said all this to/at you already. )
Tomorrow: my favourite television programme! Spelled with two m's, so I'd better choose something classy and not Celebrity Rehab. (But the catfights!)
* And man, that sucker is WIDE. Also, full of movies!
** Said presentation also included references to the Discworld and Boy Meets Boy. It is nice to know that my interests have not significantly changed since middle school.
*** I also love David Bowie, but dudes, have you ever read any of his biographies? The guy was a total dick for a long, long time. Maybe he still is! I don't know, ask Iman.
**** If I ever meet him we can bond over this fact. And then be wed.
To the world at large:
No, I do not want to be "one of the girls."
I don't want to be "one of the boys," either.
I want to be "one of the skippy twee blue-haired pansy-ass genderqueer kids named Gerald," because that's what I am. I'm not a girl.* I'm not a boy.** I'm me.***
So stop trying to friggin' gender me already.****
With all due respect,
a skippy twee blue-haired pansy-ass genderqueer kid named Gerald
* Except when I am.
** Except when I am.
*** Except when I'm not.
**** Honestly, I could easily extend this to "stop trying to friggin' gender EVERYBODY already," because I have been reading queer theory lately and it makes me even madder about the gender binary than ever. And, um, I'm usually pretty pissed about it! AS YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED. Seriously, guys, can we just all chill out and be cool and do what we want to do without checking our Handy-Dandy Gender Guides to make sure it's okay first?
No, I do not want to be "one of the girls."
I don't want to be "one of the boys," either.
I want to be "one of the skippy twee blue-haired pansy-ass genderqueer kids named Gerald," because that's what I am. I'm not a girl.* I'm not a boy.** I'm me.***
So stop trying to friggin' gender me already.****
With all due respect,
a skippy twee blue-haired pansy-ass genderqueer kid named Gerald
* Except when I am.
** Except when I am.
*** Except when I'm not.
**** Honestly, I could easily extend this to "stop trying to friggin' gender EVERYBODY already," because I have been reading queer theory lately and it makes me even madder about the gender binary than ever. And, um, I'm usually pretty pissed about it! AS YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED. Seriously, guys, can we just all chill out and be cool and do what we want to do without checking our Handy-Dandy Gender Guides to make sure it's okay first?
This is long overdue, my fronds.
Nov. 28th, 2009 02:07 pmI was poking around the Internets recently, like you do, and discovered (MUCH TO MY DISMAY) that nobody seems to have written a Jessicka Addams primer yet!
This is not okay. Therefore, I give you:
Say Hello To My Little Friend: A Jessicka Addams Primer
( Read more... )
This is not okay. Therefore, I give you:
( Read more... )
truly free and fragile as young leaves
Aug. 19th, 2009 08:47 pmSongs I heard on the radio today that just happen to be my favourites: "Welcome To The Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance, "No Rain" by Blind Melon, "Load Me Up" by Matthew Good Band, "When I Come Around" by Green Day, "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M., and "Sex On Fire" by Kings of Leon. And not a single Simple Plan tune! Good show, radio, good show.
(A lot of those songs have really specific memories attached to them for me, which is why I like them so much. The one that strikes me most is "Load Me Up"- I listened to that on the long drive to Corner Brook for my first year of university. In my head it's all dark roads and bright lights and sleepy holding hands. Naww.)
I am starting to hate my job! That took... longer than I'd expected, to be honest. :/ It is partly because of the insaaaaaane gender segregation there- and the fact that I have apparently been relegated to The Girl Table, which, yeah- but mostly it's because people keep telling me things.
FYI: there are some things I do not want to know! For example, I don't want to know who you think killed Kurt CObain. I do not want to know how badly you want to bang Robert Pattinson. I do not want to know about how precious your grandchildren are. I do not want to know which Jonas Brother is your favourite.* I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHEN YOU LAST HAD SEX WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND AND WHETHER OR NOT HE CAME IN YOU JESUS CHRIST NO. And yet, these are the things people have been gleefully filling my ears with for the past few months.
Honestly, it makes me worry that I come off as friendly and approachable. I am NEITHER. Clearly I need to work on my glower. For the moment I will content myself with decorating fruit pies to look like colourful vaginas.
In news that does not involve me being a misanthrope, I've got my classes mostly picked for the upcoming semester. Mostly. I am taking Victorian Literature (requirement- I am not a big fan of the Victorians), Logic (another requirement, I'm not a big fan of logic either), Philosophy and Contemporary Issues (I expect to defend the ethics of abortion at least once a week), Contemporary Religious Movements (filler class), and Utopias and Dystopias. I'm only waitlisted for that one, though, so I may have to take something else to fill up the time slot. I'm thinking either a class on the Greek gods or a History of the Roma in Eastern Europe course.
God, I love college. (And women. And drinking. And blah blah blah.)
( Links and things. )
I've spent the last week or two working, dressing up as a goffick person and hanging out in grocery stores, riding in shopping carts at midnight, talking about books, watching musicals, pulling poetry out of hats, and refusing to clean my house. Being me is kind of really enjoyable right now.
* PLEASE NOTE: This is a lie.
(A lot of those songs have really specific memories attached to them for me, which is why I like them so much. The one that strikes me most is "Load Me Up"- I listened to that on the long drive to Corner Brook for my first year of university. In my head it's all dark roads and bright lights and sleepy holding hands. Naww.)
I am starting to hate my job! That took... longer than I'd expected, to be honest. :/ It is partly because of the insaaaaaane gender segregation there- and the fact that I have apparently been relegated to The Girl Table, which, yeah- but mostly it's because people keep telling me things.
FYI: there are some things I do not want to know! For example, I don't want to know who you think killed Kurt CObain. I do not want to know how badly you want to bang Robert Pattinson. I do not want to know about how precious your grandchildren are. I do not want to know which Jonas Brother is your favourite.* I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW WHEN YOU LAST HAD SEX WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND AND WHETHER OR NOT HE CAME IN YOU JESUS CHRIST NO. And yet, these are the things people have been gleefully filling my ears with for the past few months.
Honestly, it makes me worry that I come off as friendly and approachable. I am NEITHER. Clearly I need to work on my glower. For the moment I will content myself with decorating fruit pies to look like colourful vaginas.
In news that does not involve me being a misanthrope, I've got my classes mostly picked for the upcoming semester. Mostly. I am taking Victorian Literature (requirement- I am not a big fan of the Victorians), Logic (another requirement, I'm not a big fan of logic either), Philosophy and Contemporary Issues (I expect to defend the ethics of abortion at least once a week), Contemporary Religious Movements (filler class), and Utopias and Dystopias. I'm only waitlisted for that one, though, so I may have to take something else to fill up the time slot. I'm thinking either a class on the Greek gods or a History of the Roma in Eastern Europe course.
God, I love college. (And women. And drinking. And blah blah blah.)
( Links and things. )
I've spent the last week or two working, dressing up as a goffick person and hanging out in grocery stores, riding in shopping carts at midnight, talking about books, watching musicals, pulling poetry out of hats, and refusing to clean my house. Being me is kind of really enjoyable right now.
* PLEASE NOTE: This is a lie.
(This entry is public because Little Brother went through all my old posts and told me in no uncertain terms to stop locking things so he can read my wordmeats again. If he is reading this right now, I would like to point out that this would not be a problem if he got his own damn LJ. Plus then the Internets would know he is real and that I did not make him up. GET ON THAT, LITTLE BROTHER.)
I don't much like making small talk. I do like to read. These two facts in combination mean that I bring books to work to read on my lunch break. This would not be a problem were it not for the fact that many of the people I work with are who Bill Hicks was talking about here and therefore totally mystified by the fact that I, like, read books. For fun! Books with long words! Books without pictures! Books that don't even have a shirtless Edward Cullen in there to make up for all that strenuous mental activity! How weird, right?
Often if you tell a meat eater that you are a vegetarian he or she will bounce back with some variation on the theme of "YEAH WELL I LOVE ME SOME DEAD COW MMM STEAK." Similarly, I find that when people find out how much I read- three or so books a week, give or take- someone usually ends up declaring that they don't read. Ever. That is not in and of itself a crime. Some people don't enjoy reading! It happens! I don't understand it,* but I... kind of accept it. What I don't accept is the way these someones say it, which is proudly. "Fuck yeah, man, I haven't read a book since fourth grade! I don't even know if I CAN read anymore! I AM AWESOME, AS IS ILLITERACY."
What the hell is wrong with these people?
You know what? If you don't read books, and you are PROUD of the fact that you don't read books, I am going to think you are stupid. That's it. Moreover, I am going to think you are a fucking ALIEN and probably won't ever be able to understand how you work or think or can stand to get up in the morning. That is not hyperbole. That is how fucking bizarre the concept of not reading (and not WANTING to read) is for me. If you don't read books you're from fucking Mars and I have no fucking clue how to talk to you. That's not me being a neurotic bookworm, either. (Well, it is a little, but not as much as you'd think.) It's because while I have very few definite thoughts on the meaning of life, the universe, and so on, one of my most definite thoughts is that stories are important. Stories are more important than almost anything, because without them life would make no fucking sense. Without stories the world would just be... things. Stuff that happens. They're as much a vital part of life as food and water. We need them to fucking live.
Not reading is not something to be goddamn proud of. Aside from its many benefits- exercises the right side of the brain, helps develop and increase the vocabulary, promotes empathy by encouraging identification outside the self, relieves stress, gives you a better chance of not ending up a junior stockboy at a third-rate grocery store forever, et cetera- what isn't there to fucking love about reading? Reading is good! Reading is fun! Didn't you watch Sesame Street as a kid? They taught this shit there, and they had dancing letters and everything. AND they showed you how to count to ten in Spanish. Now go sit down, try to remember the goddamn alphabet, and stop interrupting me while I'm reading so you can talk about your fucking girlfriend's eczema.**
( While we're on the subject of books, here are some I've read lately. )
I made myself a new summer mix the other day, and I feel like uploading it even though it is pretty unfashionable. ( I call it Love and Television. )
Post ten of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive. NO CAPTIONS! It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words. They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason. You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like.
( Mysterious is the way to go. )
I don't much like making small talk. I do like to read. These two facts in combination mean that I bring books to work to read on my lunch break. This would not be a problem were it not for the fact that many of the people I work with are who Bill Hicks was talking about here and therefore totally mystified by the fact that I, like, read books. For fun! Books with long words! Books without pictures! Books that don't even have a shirtless Edward Cullen in there to make up for all that strenuous mental activity! How weird, right?
Often if you tell a meat eater that you are a vegetarian he or she will bounce back with some variation on the theme of "YEAH WELL I LOVE ME SOME DEAD COW MMM STEAK." Similarly, I find that when people find out how much I read- three or so books a week, give or take- someone usually ends up declaring that they don't read. Ever. That is not in and of itself a crime. Some people don't enjoy reading! It happens! I don't understand it,* but I... kind of accept it. What I don't accept is the way these someones say it, which is proudly. "Fuck yeah, man, I haven't read a book since fourth grade! I don't even know if I CAN read anymore! I AM AWESOME, AS IS ILLITERACY."
What the hell is wrong with these people?
You know what? If you don't read books, and you are PROUD of the fact that you don't read books, I am going to think you are stupid. That's it. Moreover, I am going to think you are a fucking ALIEN and probably won't ever be able to understand how you work or think or can stand to get up in the morning. That is not hyperbole. That is how fucking bizarre the concept of not reading (and not WANTING to read) is for me. If you don't read books you're from fucking Mars and I have no fucking clue how to talk to you. That's not me being a neurotic bookworm, either. (Well, it is a little, but not as much as you'd think.) It's because while I have very few definite thoughts on the meaning of life, the universe, and so on, one of my most definite thoughts is that stories are important. Stories are more important than almost anything, because without them life would make no fucking sense. Without stories the world would just be... things. Stuff that happens. They're as much a vital part of life as food and water. We need them to fucking live.
Not reading is not something to be goddamn proud of. Aside from its many benefits- exercises the right side of the brain, helps develop and increase the vocabulary, promotes empathy by encouraging identification outside the self, relieves stress, gives you a better chance of not ending up a junior stockboy at a third-rate grocery store forever, et cetera- what isn't there to fucking love about reading? Reading is good! Reading is fun! Didn't you watch Sesame Street as a kid? They taught this shit there, and they had dancing letters and everything. AND they showed you how to count to ten in Spanish. Now go sit down, try to remember the goddamn alphabet, and stop interrupting me while I'm reading so you can talk about your fucking girlfriend's eczema.**
( While we're on the subject of books, here are some I've read lately. )
I made myself a new summer mix the other day, and I feel like uploading it even though it is pretty unfashionable. ( I call it Love and Television. )
Post ten of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive. NO CAPTIONS! It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words. They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason. You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like.
( Mysterious is the way to go. )
In which we are an Angry Feminist. Again.
Feb. 7th, 2009 09:55 pmTonight Little Brother, Little Sister, and I went to see Coraline.
( Cut for spoilers. )
In conclusion: Coraline (book) is about feminism, and Coraline (movie) is not.
( Cut for spoilers. )
In conclusion: Coraline (book) is about feminism, and Coraline (movie) is not.
My favourite uncle just tried to talk to me about how the women's movement contributed to the downfall of the white race. Because ladies are too busy "burning their bras" to pump out MOAR WHITE BABIES, and now? NOW there are BROWN PEOPLE EVERYWHERE.
I had to force myself to stay calm and say, as pleasantly as possible, "Well, I don't think the 'disappearance' of the white race is such a tragedy- there are too many people on the planet anyway." And then I locked myself in my room and started listening to the Manic Street Preachers so I wouldn't start screaming.
God fucking damn it, WHY YOU GOTTA DRINK THE FAILSAUCE UNCLE MICK.
I had to force myself to stay calm and say, as pleasantly as possible, "Well, I don't think the 'disappearance' of the white race is such a tragedy- there are too many people on the planet anyway." And then I locked myself in my room and started listening to the Manic Street Preachers so I wouldn't start screaming.
God fucking damn it, WHY YOU GOTTA DRINK THE FAILSAUCE UNCLE MICK.
"Ur So Gay" = "Guys who act gay are hilarious! Also, reading is for fags."
"I Kissed A Girl" = "Girls who act gay are hot and will make me money! As long as they don't act too gay, because that would be gay."
In conclusion, Katy Perry = hypocrite, and possibly kind of a douche!
Mostly unrelated: I find it absurdly hilarious that my little sister has a poster of Mitchell Musso. I looked at it and was like, "Hey, that's the brother of that guy in that band that sings about underage sex! LET ME TELL YOU ALL THE THINGS THE INTERNET HAS LEARNED ME ABOUT THEM AND ALSO PETE WENTZ," and she just sighed and nodded and waited for me to run out of steam. (I didn't!)
"I Kissed A Girl" = "Girls who act gay are hot and will make me money! As long as they don't act too gay, because that would be gay."
In conclusion, Katy Perry = hypocrite, and possibly kind of a douche!
Mostly unrelated: I find it absurdly hilarious that my little sister has a poster of Mitchell Musso. I looked at it and was like, "Hey, that's the brother of that guy in that band that sings about underage sex! LET ME TELL YOU ALL THE THINGS THE INTERNET HAS LEARNED ME ABOUT THEM AND ALSO PETE WENTZ," and she just sighed and nodded and waited for me to run out of steam. (I didn't!)