tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85934254503666206842024-03-13T00:46:11.908-07:00A Polar Bear's Love SongI don't need to climb mountains to experience mystic panic...Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-52690713870084292292014-02-14T16:23:00.000-08:002014-02-14T16:48:18.992-08:00A letter to my first love, on Valentine's Day, thirteen years laterDear you-know-who-you-are,<br />
<br />
It's been thirteen years. How are you?<br />
<br />
I'd like to say that I rarely ever think of you, but that would be an egregious lie, especially recently. You're married now. The only reason I know that is because of a few clumsy social media searches, which was hard to accomplish as you're quite hard to find. You were always hard to find. I keep finding you by mistake. I don't know how much you know about me any more. I know you found my linked-in account and had a look. I'm sure it was probably rather typical - theatre, teaching, graduate school - all the things I set out to do in college; I'm doing them. I've spent thirteen years doing them. I'm proud of that. I hope you're proud of me, too.<br />
<br />
I'm not entirely sure as to why I'm writing to you, except that I've been thinking of you a lot, more than I have since you left. I keep asking why, I keep trying to remember if anything particularly eventful happened at this time in 2001, if there's some chrono-fingerprint left on my memory that I can't shake. But I keep coming up empty.<br />
<br />
I'm single now for the first time in eight years. That might have something to do with it. I've been rather happy, I'm leading a pretty great life. I don't feel discontent or bored or sad. I'm not stagnating. But somehow, here you are; a ghost anchored to my heart. I realize that in the faint omni-presence that is your memory, I miss the magic we had. And I realize thirteen years later that falling in love truly is a magic. And love at first sight - that's down-right arcane. But we had that, didn't we? And that's pretty special.<br />
<br />
My scar, the one you left, is fine. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't throb, I wear it as I ought to - as a badge of life experience that I survived proudly. Did I leave a scar on you? It shames me to say that I honestly don't know. Would it be gauche to hope that I did? Would it be heinous to hope that I hope you've been thinking of me as often as I have been of you?<br />
<br />
Thirteen years. You were supposed to be long erased from me by now. You were supposed to be a faint memory that I recalled while listening to Coldplay, or the odd moment caught in the rain. But here you are, with so much space in between. I realize that I legitimately don't know you any more - the 31 year old you. And I don't know if you'd recognize me either. I've changed...in some ways, quite a lot. The irony is that you had a lot to do with that, though you weren't around to see it.<br />
<br />
Before I go getting sad and pathetic and the tears start slopping into my beer, let me just say that if nothing else, I hope you're happy. Truly happy. I hope you're living a life that you love, that you're with someone you love - with every small particle of who you are now. And selfishly, I hope you remember me fondly.<br />
<br />
Could you do me a favour, though? Would you release me? Would you please vanquish whatever homing device you left? Because I can't keep returning to the thought of you every time one of my relationships end, thinking "Well, that wasn't it." Would you please? I'm not passing the buck, or relinquishing my responsibility - I know what I've done wrong in my relationships, and I own that. I'm working on being better for the next time. But somehow, you have something to do with it too. And until I figure out how exactly, I won't be able to lose myself again, I won't be able to let a new magic take over. I've tried now, a few times, but when I reach down inside, to let the magic take over, it's gone. Because it's still with you. So if you could just let it go, I'm certain it would dissolve. <br />
<br />
And then I'll be able to start over.<br />
<br />
With love and fondness,<br />
Me<br />
<br />
<br />Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-45182647889729367702012-05-02T00:27:00.000-07:002012-05-02T00:27:24.250-07:00Old woundsI don't let go of things easily. This has always been a problem for me, and I've spent the better part of my life trying to make the opposite true, but sadly to not much avail. I'm really good at moving forward, and coasting along for awhile, forgetful of the event, the person, the words - until I'll catch a bad wave, and tumble into the dark cold sea of remembrance, and the memories flood in, unwanted. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's a terrible water metaphor, but it's apt. I ran across someone's facebook page tonight, and past hurts popped up all over again. I think the two things that anchor me to this pattern are when I have a lack of closure, and/or miss the loss of the person and the relationship. And all I want to do is ask why. Why me? Why did you say/do what you did/said? What did I do?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Perhaps it all comes back to shame - the shame of failing, or feeling as though I've failed as a human being in some way, though without knowing how or why. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But then, I think, would I change anything? No, because it's not my thing to change. Am I happy with my life? Yes, I am. I'm happy with where I'm going, what I've accomplished, and the people I've surrounded myself with. Sometimes I catch myself feeling as though I'm lacking something - I didn't "make it" with a company in a way that I originally intended, or in the same way as my peers have, or I didn't make the impression I wanted to make. But that is just a bruised ego, and bruised egos don't have the best perspective on, well ... anything. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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And I suspect that the answer to my problem lies in caring less. This is a fundamental flaw, because that's just not part of my genetic make-up. So maybe I should stick to fixing the shame thing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Easy, right?</div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-3437845592916106762011-06-28T15:38:00.000-07:002014-02-14T16:54:36.199-08:00In defense of math and science and fact-based learning.Before I begin this quasi-rant let me make one thing perfectly clear: I am not the world's most factual thinker.<br />
<br />
That's not to say that I don't "believe in facts," or that I don't think logically. I would be labeled as one of those "creative" types. I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that magic is real. There are no facts in the world to prove my knowledge, but I know it none-the-less. I guess I would be one of those rogue cops on your-cop-show-of-choice who follows her proverbial "gut." I use intuition as knowledge.<br />
<br />
My monkey likes to make fun of me for this, sometimes. One day, I was explaining the nature of unicorns - she was laughing so hard, she was practically crying, and said, "Oh my! I love Alyssa Science!" And that's the best way to explain it. I just have my own systematic thinking on any variety of subjects.<br />
<br />
This last week, while I was in Canada visiting said Monkey, she's finally realized that what my psyche calls "math" has nothing to do with actual numbers. She has a tendency to hog the bed, and as I was pointing this out (in an oh-so-charming way), I said, "You take up like, 2/3's of the bed!" her response? Hysterical laughter. Again. Not because of my incredible wit, but because my assertion is ridiculous - she has a double bed. 2/3's was apparently over-reaching and not factual. (I still think I'm right) Alyssa math: making shit up since 1986.<br />
<br />
I almost failed geometry. I'm TERRIBLE with fractions. I got an A- in Advanced Algebra in high school because my teacher assigned lots of extra credit. And when I had to theorize about math in college, forgettaboutit. That grade single-handedly prevented my sure-fire accumulative 3.7 GPA. I'm better at science - at least when it comes to memorizing words and actions. But science has equations, too. Once we moved beyond the classifications of rocks and how they were formed, in geology; we had to figure out the chemical compounds. What? They're rocks. They're here! I see them, I can feel them. I don't need to know the stinking chemical compounds of the rock to prove its existence!<br />
<br />
Now - with all of my idiocy, all my lack-of-facts theories, at least I'm smart enough to know when I'm stupid. I wholeheartedly admit that knowledge of both math and science is infantile. I KNOW that there are much, much, much smarter people who know many, many, many more things than I do. Real facts, even. As an adult, sometimes I read publications to try to understand these things - and sometimes I do! I like to know what's going on in the world around me - factually. Then I can contort it in my imagination.<br />
<br />
Three things presented themselves to me today, and I felt something I've never felt before: The need to defend fact-based learning.<br />
<br />
Exhibit A: Cameron Diaz wants to change public education<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Liberation Serif', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
"I like to cook and I like to clean so I think I would be a pretty good home economics teacher… But they don't teach kids that anymore. They don't teach stuff that you can actually use in life. You learn stuff like algebra instead. So now we eat out all the time and don't know how to look after ourselves. It's all wrong." </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Liberation Serif', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span><br />
Exhibit B: Miss United States hopefuls disclose their views on Evolution<br />
<a href="http://jezebel.com/5814161/watch-the-miss-usa-hopefuls-dance-around-the-question-of-evolution">http://jezebel.com/5814161/watch-the-miss-usa-hopefuls-dance-around-the-question-of-evolution</a><br />
<br />
In Cameron Diaz's defense, I think I know what she's saying. I <i>think</i> she's saying that we're not doing enough to teach kids how to take care of themselves - which I agree with. But to dismiss a subject like algebra - that is helpful and useful (critical thinking and problem solving, Cameron - and not just for equations), sounds like a really really bad teen movie. We need people to cook and clean and change oil and fix plumbing problems, I'm not knocking usefulness. But if my plumber has a higher grasp of problem solving and critical thinking because he didn't do badly in Algebra, then maybe I won't argue when he charges me $1,000 to unclog a drain, without having to take apart half of a wall. Perhaps this is art mirroring life a little too closely for you, Bad Teacher?<br />
<br />
All I can say about the pageant contestants, is that sadly, I'm not surprised. But huzzah for Miss Washington! "I think facts should be taught in schools." Well said, lady! The revelation that struck me while watching it, however, was the reminder about how quick women are to make things okay. With a couple of exceptions (Miss Alabama on one end of the creationist spectrum, and Miss Washington on the side of evolution), almost everyone else was trying to make both sides fit into the system: "Maybe we can teach a little bit of evolution" said Miss Virginia. "I think it's fine as long as the biblical theories aren't excluded," said Miss North Dakota. "I think all views on the subject should be taught," said hippy Miss Oregon. And perhaps it's because I'm a woman myself, that ideally, that the middle-of-the-road sounds wonderful. The problem that arises, however, is the notion of public school. If public school is truly public, then everyone has the right to be represented. Which means that Buddhism and Islam and scientology, Hindi, Taoism, Anarchy, Wiccans, Satan-worshippers, Mormons, Klingons, and every other faction of the world has a right to have a say - which would be a fascinating class! except that I think several different Christian groups would protest, and public schools are so woefully underfunded that there's not a practical way to teach something as wide-reaching, no matter how diverse and tolerant.<br />
<br />
But most importantly, you bag of overly made-up ladies, evolution is based in science. SCIENCE. Christianity is based on religious belief. And while you believe in creationism and God created the world in a record-breaking 7 days, not one bit of has any proof, any fact, and evidence. Just like my belief on the nature of unicorns. But you don't see ME demanding that evolution not be talked about because evolution never once mentions my magical, golden friends, do you?<br />
<br />
Facts are based on evidence, and findings, and study, and research. And you can't discount any of it. There's merit in them, and hard-work, and higher thinking. Just because you <i>don't</i> believe in it, doesn't mean it's not true.<br />
<br />
And finally - I do believe that math should be taught in schools, regardless of my ignorant math brain.<br />
<a href="http://jezebel.com/5815965/should-math-be-taught-in-schools">http://jezebel.com/5815965/should-math-be-taught-in-schools</a>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-66839516147320218822011-05-21T09:53:00.000-07:002011-05-21T09:53:56.615-07:00Rapture, baby!Since people may be suddenly bodily ascending to space today, I thought I'd celebrate us sinful bottom dwellers by our captain, our Rogue, our hero - Banksy. This may or may not be inspired by the fact that I'm currently watching Exit Through the Gift Shop. But I bring this to you as a reflection of one of my favorite aspects of earthly humanity: Civil Dissent. Especially in Art.<br />
<br />
So ... push play, listen to Debbie Harry, wait for the man from mars, and scroll through some Banksy.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pHCdS7O248g" width="425"></iframe><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgx6stYKQazroXqvw0LPby2zJOBg9Pz2uAmJNbSBh-BTWeTNXLUc16dZfPqXYURplkm5Wn3g7rPb2rSGGhxnVpGyu9Y9v55taABqXbYhM23mjlV1URxcyjhFGfpysyfn7Q1Vf3EMk0wnNO/s1600/consumer_jesus_banksy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgx6stYKQazroXqvw0LPby2zJOBg9Pz2uAmJNbSBh-BTWeTNXLUc16dZfPqXYURplkm5Wn3g7rPb2rSGGhxnVpGyu9Y9v55taABqXbYhM23mjlV1URxcyjhFGfpysyfn7Q1Vf3EMk0wnNO/s400/consumer_jesus_banksy1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-4813500582114705892011-05-20T19:07:00.000-07:002011-05-20T19:09:40.778-07:00Something's rotten in the state of Tennessee...(a blog in pictures....)And it ain't Claudius.<br />
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In case you haven't heard, or read, here's the story:<br />
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/20/tennessee-teaching-homosexuality-ban_n_864895.html">http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/20/tennessee-teaching-homosexuality-ban_n_864895.html</a><br />
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I am truly puzzled by the notion that "homosexuality" is "taught." Nobody <i>taught</i> me to be a homosexual. It just kind of happened, well, naturally. No one "teaches" it. I almost wish it had been taught - I might have been a lot less confused in middle school. But to go so far as banning it? When it's not in any curriculum?<br />
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Preventative/minority legislation. You know who was a big fan of that? THIS GUY:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisoJ6zjfSy0A0IWSenO_D4NgPfOb1JctIqwT6oTi7551HXmuIpbWPCoZ2VQjMGQSVBm7J5UTzpi6ztAlR55EHEqwoL3hqppSS9CR5b6JX1JLY62H4-h1RcjHiUGz3NZwVoycBa4BCONdXh/s1600/adolf-hitler-joke-4_681576c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisoJ6zjfSy0A0IWSenO_D4NgPfOb1JctIqwT6oTi7551HXmuIpbWPCoZ2VQjMGQSVBm7J5UTzpi6ztAlR55EHEqwoL3hqppSS9CR5b6JX1JLY62H4-h1RcjHiUGz3NZwVoycBa4BCONdXh/s400/adolf-hitler-joke-4_681576c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And these guys:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPqnlQtxq1WziRQRS5xd88MjbdBpVYCRJ_EIgzBqDj9vuitjsvLIqjmSywurzqoAZ8eYVwrx1yPBgfHUH7q3Ap2byi_YqyVs4yOyNIMIXO6H9vdw5P0e_1YSHZPL5NtgDaGg9y04iQgS8/s1600/Ku-Klux-Klan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPqnlQtxq1WziRQRS5xd88MjbdBpVYCRJ_EIgzBqDj9vuitjsvLIqjmSywurzqoAZ8eYVwrx1yPBgfHUH7q3Ap2byi_YqyVs4yOyNIMIXO6H9vdw5P0e_1YSHZPL5NtgDaGg9y04iQgS8/s400/Ku-Klux-Klan.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My best friend Tracy wrote a really great blog post about <a href="http://participationmayvaryla.blogspot.com/2011/05/but-fear-itself.html">fear</a>. Read it. It's spot on. Fear is the original exaggerator. It's the man behind the curtain, the monster under the bed, the wind through the trees. It's a Nothing that has become Everything. So you'll understand my confusion when I hear that a state legislature is afraid of this: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0w4wIGAeTivxxg4118TKrmCJyBzFQxLziWPzwZdy1kJt7pfV8qqpbZv18NebTFcCYflk_EInRhxVuTyOn2kcm4PYB7F-zeJmWcze6IpuU3K93Z-iJBIL22Mr3CnjWbYAJ8QixSZFkou8/s1600/gays.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0w4wIGAeTivxxg4118TKrmCJyBzFQxLziWPzwZdy1kJt7pfV8qqpbZv18NebTFcCYflk_EInRhxVuTyOn2kcm4PYB7F-zeJmWcze6IpuU3K93Z-iJBIL22Mr3CnjWbYAJ8QixSZFkou8/s400/gays.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Or these guys??</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEAn9p1XH2gX8zXQdgJofr0XWBonfPfmzrEql7USoiU5h5xYB3J2ljuVysZgNLN_TZMy1A9BM0KsGsVwVLUuy83lb3BXdAl8ib_8JQgecVla4_sScKtwcEVv-MlPSheEdqTqpoh3-EEil/s1600/village_people.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEAn9p1XH2gX8zXQdgJofr0XWBonfPfmzrEql7USoiU5h5xYB3J2ljuVysZgNLN_TZMy1A9BM0KsGsVwVLUuy83lb3BXdAl8ib_8JQgecVla4_sScKtwcEVv-MlPSheEdqTqpoh3-EEil/s400/village_people.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Actually, I think it's because of these guys. <b>ALL these (gay) guys</b>:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OuHyQGpxKgOmtDQV1ogbmiKa0zcE4RJLDD5wHggLAZI6gVFjFjwhMEUl5uSa_deVY2Qtt7qc3Jafu6QidKMkHM59TBXB_KZRT8buHAKQ2N6r3G9KZLuBnpCIURQ1Uph9txn6dudVL7Ct/s1600/knGAY_04_wideweb__470x315%252C0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OuHyQGpxKgOmtDQV1ogbmiKa0zcE4RJLDD5wHggLAZI6gVFjFjwhMEUl5uSa_deVY2Qtt7qc3Jafu6QidKMkHM59TBXB_KZRT8buHAKQ2N6r3G9KZLuBnpCIURQ1Uph9txn6dudVL7Ct/s400/knGAY_04_wideweb__470x315%252C0.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because according to the latest <a href="http://www.gallup.com/poll/147662/First-Time-Majority-Americans-Favor-Legal-Gay-Marriage.aspx">Gallup Poll</a>, "For the first time, majority of Americans favor gay marriage." 53% in favor, 45% against. If it were a presidential election (especially in the last decade), that would almost be considered a land-slide. Their grasp of control is slipping, their vice-grip on "normal" is fading. Especially when a guy this cool...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNxRZNKEPdKUG_zdVjarILM-nRhG7yyD4CI7V55Hw-2Q7vdACgqzXRReMauUMIY9asKNICygs-oEtdHeKtt3Vk0iCQx4GNoyHM7LQKQa_AvNhuLJgOIkXS3mUyKE3TraQWTRkVx57G_TR/s1600/george-takei2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNxRZNKEPdKUG_zdVjarILM-nRhG7yyD4CI7V55Hw-2Q7vdACgqzXRReMauUMIY9asKNICygs-oEtdHeKtt3Vk0iCQx4GNoyHM7LQKQa_AvNhuLJgOIkXS3mUyKE3TraQWTRkVx57G_TR/s320/george-takei2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2011/05/20/136495338/cant-say-gay-try-takei">Does this</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Beam me up, Mr. Sulu. If you're the Rapture, I want in. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-83332591241590182432011-05-17T19:18:00.000-07:002011-05-17T19:18:02.226-07:00it's the end of the world, as we know it.....On Saturday evening, I drove into downtown LA to attend a fabulous theatre piece that some dear friends of mine were in. As I was stuck on the 5 North, slowly crawling to the on-ramp of the 101, my gaze happened upon a billboard. This billboard, to be exact:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk84NcALKpCFpgf4AsJPSgF8ciiE4xAevpz7vLVxZSBYCGE0ItVS-Xep8kGV1SHEpGNP8bq6QhdmCFkLkW_-L4tNLxAiSxeBSPycEOPmlYgKymUrRUcfsQlMVx3E1Lq7jBxMh3QntFuAlm/s1600/May-21-Billboard-600x338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk84NcALKpCFpgf4AsJPSgF8ciiE4xAevpz7vLVxZSBYCGE0ItVS-Xep8kGV1SHEpGNP8bq6QhdmCFkLkW_-L4tNLxAiSxeBSPycEOPmlYgKymUrRUcfsQlMVx3E1Lq7jBxMh3QntFuAlm/s400/May-21-Billboard-600x338.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now. I do not consider myself an alarmist. I'm not particularly superstitious (outside of hockey). And I've never considered God (Allah, Buddha, Yahweh, et.al) to be a jerky douchebag. But I will gladly admit to being anti-apocalyptic; I am staunchly, irrevocably, and vehemently against the apocalypse. And yet, this billboard freaked me out. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I didn't let it get to me - I've become very good at ignoring the hysterical fear that is apocalyptic propaganda. I went to my friends' performance, and had a lovely time. I thought nothing of the billboard, or the ominous May 21st due date, until Monday. Monday, Monday, Monday. When one of my little 6th grade cherubims innocently said during check-in: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Did you know the world's going to end on May 21st?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I didn't say anything. I avoid touchy subjects like religion, politics, and boyfriends/girlfriends like the end-of-days plague. But something really bothered me about my 12 year old student saying that - not the religion - but the notion that an entire generation and culture of children believe that the world is going to end before they reach 14. Eerily, Friday's check-in question was "What's something that scares you?" The second most popular answer, after creepy-crawlies (insects, snakes, spiders, etc, etc): the Mayan 2012 prophesy. At least 1/3 of my kids think that the world is going to end suddenly, violently, frighteningly before any of them can graduate the 8th grade, enter high school, or have a job. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Depressingly, many of them (I perceive), believe this so totally that they don't really see the point of school. And they're right - what's the point of learning things if the end is going to come in just over a year?? What's the point of anything at all?! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When they tell me this, and ask my opinion (about 2012), I simply say that there's no clear outcome to the Mayan prophesy - it really just states that it'll be the end of the third age - nothing more, nothing less. They tend to just give me a confused look, and then I'll say something like, "everything will be okay." They accept this, and go back to talking out of turn, or hitting the person next to them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Regardless of my own vehement objection towards the apocalypse - seeing my students so resigned to accepting THE END OF ALL THINGS angers me beyond reckoning. Not because of their resignation - they don't know any better - but because it proves how much of an oppressor Fear is; how dangerous a weapon. And then I think about the last 10 years, and how much we've been told to fear - Muslims, anyone from the Middle East, bacteria, nuclear weapons, biological weapons, asteroids, our president's nationality (really?!), even Communists and Fascists (still??) - and each one of these things are seemingly beyond our control. It's no wonder that people are buying guns, stock-piling supplies, and praying for the Rapture as soon as possible -WE'RE A WRECK! And yet, the things that we do have control over - global warming, alternative energy solutions, oil companies, pharmaceutical companies, gay marriage, the economy - we do nothing about because we're so fucking exhausted from worrying about all the giant question marks, all the boogie men making bumps in the night, that we destroy logic and reason. Or we relate the fixables to the unfixables: <br />
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"You think WE created global warming?! You must be a Commie! Or a Fascist. OR BOTH!" <br />
"You believe that people should have the freedom to marry anyone they choose?! You're going to hell!"<br />
"It's those damn Muslims who've ruined our economy!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm tired of the fear. I'm tired of the media. I'm tired of zealots. But most of all, I'm sad that my 6th graders are growing up without hope. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So you know what? I hope the Rapture does come, in so much as it sucks up all those "deserving" and "repentant" souls, and takes them off and away to wherever it is they'll go. Just so long as they leave the rest of us in peace, calm, and tolerance. That's what the Jews believe the end-of-days to be - not a catastrophic event, but a culture change brought forth by good deeds and understanding. Now that's an apocalypse I can support.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">............I'm seriously thinking of returning to my Jewish roots.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In other news, here's the top 10 things you should know about my life in the last two months:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1. I got into Grad School! In CANADA!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. I got a SCHOLARSHIP for grad school in CANADA!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. I took a week-long visit to Oregon over spring break.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">4. I turned 29.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">5. I've been working on bringing SOC up to the 21st Century.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">6. I have 2.5 weeks to get 95 children into performance mode.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">7. I'm organizing volunteers for a fundraiser.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">8. Because of 5, 6, and 7, I've been more stressed out than normal.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">9. I've been wanting to write a blog about ethics vs. morals, but haven't found the time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">10. I'll be SO HAPPY when June 10th arrives. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTjxkDmbza65irUwT9SuohloDMk8_OxN0NrB8MPLE-0bGyCv8X-n_zBeJgZ5L3mPesXT-HB9izIXVsrPD2UAWPJa8mSmse4UQEk3P4kB11DyWZ7LcF8hRSpyalR4JoLzfgrXWLitxCkr_/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTjxkDmbza65irUwT9SuohloDMk8_OxN0NrB8MPLE-0bGyCv8X-n_zBeJgZ5L3mPesXT-HB9izIXVsrPD2UAWPJa8mSmse4UQEk3P4kB11DyWZ7LcF8hRSpyalR4JoLzfgrXWLitxCkr_/s400/images.jpg" width="341" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-46544773396303937422011-03-31T17:45:00.000-07:002011-03-31T17:45:57.397-07:00Crazy like a Greek Polar BearOccasionally, though not all the time, I am a wily, outside-the-box thinker. I would love to be able to claim this as being a continual and thriving part of my brain, but I just can't. Sometimes I'm down-right obtuse. BUT! For those glorious moments when I solve an odd problem so ingeniously, so cleverly - no one is ever around to see!<br />
<br />
For the sake of hubris, I suppose this is as it should be. I think I read/saw too many classical plays in my formative youth - I am all too aware of the catastrophic repercussions that the gods create specifically for mouthy mortals who tout their brilliance too loudly, too openly, too ungraciously. I won't lie. I really don't want to end up like Oedipus. or Lear. or Cassiopeia.<br />
<br />
BUT - sometimes an idea is birthed so fabulously, it should be shared! (as I thank the muses/deities/spaghetti monsters above) One such solution happened to me today, and I won't lie, I feel a little bit like Odysseus.<br />
<br />
I'm spearheading a ticket project for <b>Shakespeare Orange County</b>. Essentially, we've been living in the Paleozoic era for the last 19 years, and have not utilized online tickets sales. I KNOW. So I've found a program and a company that will help us, while not taking $5.00 per every ticket sold. Good, right? Part of this process requires sending all manner of paperwork to them. Like a seating chart.<br />
<br />
Since we've never had any legitimate on-line ticket sales before, we haven't needed to use many seating charts. So when I went to our box office to search for this mythical file, it was (typically) no where to be found. But what kind of a quest has an easy answer? "You know who does have our seating chart?" I asked myself, "Seat Advisor!" I replied. So back home I went to have a phone meeting with our ticket company's representative.<br />
<br />
I explained that I couldn't find a seating chart file on our computer, but that seat advisor had one. What should I do? "See if you can print the webpage," she replied, "and scan and email it." Okay! I printed it not once, but twice. And while my laptop screen displayed our theatre's seating chart, no seating chart printed on the paper. Next, I tried a screen grab - no go. Save page as? Nope. What the hell am I going to do? Make a new chart by hand?? I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!<br />
<br />
But then ... from the dark, dry abyss where all my best ideas come from, I heard a calm, reassuring voice say, "Use your digital camera."<br />
<br />
"Use my digital camera?! How am I going to use my - I'M GOING TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THE SCREEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"<br />
<br />
Yes. I took pictures of the seating chart on my laptop screen and sent those in. It was so simple, so deliciously simple. And it took two minutes. Okay - I have to say it - it was a thing of beauty. I will now go make an homage to the goddess of crazy great ideas, lest she think I claim the genius for my own. But it's days like this that make my gray matter feel a little more awesome than normal.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvP3PH2mC_SMdU6XZH-furSeJMxL2i8FHTgTQ_K_18uFuMMQ-qKhaMdFgjJt_AAE2oH9_VaREsFnsh5aVc_CaUAhaCsYBe9fgKs3e0cvJ-wsdgM7EDo3i6dm-bwA7CFF43Hcw1xOvN8_l8/s1600/Awesome-brain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvP3PH2mC_SMdU6XZH-furSeJMxL2i8FHTgTQ_K_18uFuMMQ-qKhaMdFgjJt_AAE2oH9_VaREsFnsh5aVc_CaUAhaCsYBe9fgKs3e0cvJ-wsdgM7EDo3i6dm-bwA7CFF43Hcw1xOvN8_l8/s320/Awesome-brain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Wouldn't it be cool if our brains could glow like this? </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZRq0oZmgapMfSM4Qw_bUkFQqyLA7MJXBWe7B-7kWEU4jY-yy5fC0P0i_SuGSGKfXWne5bz4QPHsN2SL3_GSVzdP9QPw0oEdYYLvcEBvRRizAy6aAHZf6e8Lqb7YAXWjh1Slwi05RxsTJ/s1600/P3310005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZRq0oZmgapMfSM4Qw_bUkFQqyLA7MJXBWe7B-7kWEU4jY-yy5fC0P0i_SuGSGKfXWne5bz4QPHsN2SL3_GSVzdP9QPw0oEdYYLvcEBvRRizAy6aAHZf6e8Lqb7YAXWjh1Slwi05RxsTJ/s400/P3310005.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">BOOM!</div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-14064917541820455612011-03-31T00:33:00.000-07:002011-03-31T00:33:51.048-07:00What a good day looks like to this Polar Bear...<b>10:00 a.m.</b> wake up<br />
It's my day off! go back to sleep.<br />
<br />
<b>10:45 a.m.</b> check the mail<br />
Oh, HELLO PAYCHECK!!!<br />
do a happy dance<br />
<br />
<b>12:00 p.m.</b> deposit aforementioned check in the bank!<br />
happy dance continues<br />
<br />
<b>1:00 p.m.</b> pay bills at Starbucks while drinking cappuccino, which I can now afford!<br />
happy dance is altered for chair sitting<br />
<br />
<b>1:45 p.m.</b> meet with fabulous friend for more coffee<br />
happy dance is moved inside<br />
<br />
<b>3:45 p.m.</b> arrive home, turn on laptop again, check email discover OFFICIAL ACCEPTANCE INTO GRAD SCHOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
Happy Dance gets bumped up to a 9.9<br />
<br />
<b>4:00 p.m.</b> tell everyone I know about grad school!<br />
The happy dance goes viral!<br />
<br />
<b>4:30 p.m.</b> purchase plane ticket to Portland for Spring Break next week!<br />
HUGE PACIFIC NORTHWESTERN HAPPY DANCE!<br />
<br />
<b>5:00 p.m.</b> go to the dog park and watch happy dogs in between texting friends long distance<br />
Happy dance turns into the doggy dance<br />
<br />
<b>6:15 p.m</b>. arrive back at home, check on the viral happy dance once more.<br />
<br />
<b>6:45 p.m. </b>pick up a friend for dinner, drinks, hockey game, and general celebration<br />
Happy dance x's 2<br />
<br />
<b>7:15 p.m.</b> order celebratory drinks, cheers, hockey!<br />
<br />
<b>7:45 p.m.</b> joined by another friend for more dinner, drinks, and general celebration<br />
happy dance for hockey - we're winning!<br />
<br />
<b>9:00 p.m.</b> pay my bill, because now I CAN, hockey game = success, Polar Bear drives back home.<br />
<br />
<b>9:30 p.m.</b> calmly happy dancing my way through the front door<br />
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<br />
In summation: Patience repaid, assassins called down, stress level dropped to a minimum, life moving forward, gratitude abounding.Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-34712752273429458782011-03-30T02:26:00.000-07:002011-03-30T02:27:58.723-07:00Happy belated 150 posts, Polar Bear!So, apparently I passed the 150 post mile stone 6 posts ago. OOPS!<br />
<br />
To celebrate this <s>un</s> momentous occasion, I thought I'd post some nuggets for you. Because you take the time to read this blog, God love ya, and I should be entertaining. And really, who doesn't want an excuse to look at awesome things on a Wednesday???<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyHI3gVnjpToVFii0xIBMiwQYVob-pJvuSDHW5bRhq4OaN0zEDBqiK8dlAi1BEIRP4L_g2uCW4Fi6bx0xJcPommHlctXj4hgfH1dkqlwAawzikpMwiysiNyJbjqsE-Q5ydjVSVvwRuU8d/s1600/whaleBAR_450x592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyHI3gVnjpToVFii0xIBMiwQYVob-pJvuSDHW5bRhq4OaN0zEDBqiK8dlAi1BEIRP4L_g2uCW4Fi6bx0xJcPommHlctXj4hgfH1dkqlwAawzikpMwiysiNyJbjqsE-Q5ydjVSVvwRuU8d/s400/whaleBAR_450x592.jpg" width="303" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I totally want to give a whale a high-five someday.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9_iGZELOnIlDFgrtEhVklC4YCt475sL5Wf44sW2X3RNFwrfOkvwZl_bBMcW2eVHDPMsreEZtVT6-hTriAtZyKvBAEu09imN5MPXGEXJf8vKXOwgjVsUawIMSKKwQFtPPfXXwf0w26ZLT0/s1600/thing.10333395.l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9_iGZELOnIlDFgrtEhVklC4YCt475sL5Wf44sW2X3RNFwrfOkvwZl_bBMcW2eVHDPMsreEZtVT6-hTriAtZyKvBAEu09imN5MPXGEXJf8vKXOwgjVsUawIMSKKwQFtPPfXXwf0w26ZLT0/s1600/thing.10333395.l.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Word.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIkJX6fC1KCBp8MuslPLe3TUjDDicN3TXqwpbt1OeHDcVBRxPQfVuFNScYlwVa7EfHo-LJQTBZBoqZ4LMnimqlQ3oSEfiExW2ej50xCWgQ0Gewr4HNvxvVFvXJZSh05Zva-k_zDbRt5Dw/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIkJX6fC1KCBp8MuslPLe3TUjDDicN3TXqwpbt1OeHDcVBRxPQfVuFNScYlwVa7EfHo-LJQTBZBoqZ4LMnimqlQ3oSEfiExW2ej50xCWgQ0Gewr4HNvxvVFvXJZSh05Zva-k_zDbRt5Dw/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Every creature deserves their own security blanket and teddy bear.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YIekTuQq08bLClmp73uhVBG8GP9kY6KQA9dS1PL1Kx_qNcBlFRz8qn3SEblF6SL8k1K5VllokLgE5jCzd_ncb-IbeDInZRN4Qv4-Vha4K6hjHHeR9TmGUnb2ijFTKHP2IwAcY7zXbqdN/s1600/1211466462_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7YIekTuQq08bLClmp73uhVBG8GP9kY6KQA9dS1PL1Kx_qNcBlFRz8qn3SEblF6SL8k1K5VllokLgE5jCzd_ncb-IbeDInZRN4Qv4-Vha4K6hjHHeR9TmGUnb2ijFTKHP2IwAcY7zXbqdN/s320/1211466462_f.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4O-84gN0y-5mrVJ1iGI4yP2OH_w5Ja3f9y5QQbwGKSMBfvkQkfETi5lL98SKR2geeKomaHHD0h47IhbAPdWuxXVImQ7nG7I3ZRl9oKMS2mLxn_JHDroaIAhEgH-_XqfAKJEiaNXzmP6wo/s1600/1245292522250_f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4O-84gN0y-5mrVJ1iGI4yP2OH_w5Ja3f9y5QQbwGKSMBfvkQkfETi5lL98SKR2geeKomaHHD0h47IhbAPdWuxXVImQ7nG7I3ZRl9oKMS2mLxn_JHDroaIAhEgH-_XqfAKJEiaNXzmP6wo/s400/1245292522250_f.jpg" width="337" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfvWJy6H5FKQTUTJckWXWG1jUJY0Vt9-to_KGy01Zgtz4EfbUMuhSJqIMVqq9VyuWHPDuS9QRT3NUb4bzL7kh3997dsL8D2m7LcUmapLM12YLNgi4_NhyphenhyphenfnpJ2MtkIvDxht-KJ8QGgXif/s1600/kidsphotography8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfvWJy6H5FKQTUTJckWXWG1jUJY0Vt9-to_KGy01Zgtz4EfbUMuhSJqIMVqq9VyuWHPDuS9QRT3NUb4bzL7kh3997dsL8D2m7LcUmapLM12YLNgi4_NhyphenhyphenfnpJ2MtkIvDxht-KJ8QGgXif/s400/kidsphotography8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Admit it! You totally wish you could do this right now!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6QBysTxR0rxYNiAKgGcmz7Cxbf-TS2uQQ2ttw7u35OGgkrHA9Q3QhL84t8-bngFmsoE7alVIZ6y5DCXQBwVrPVHCI6JZJkw3ziBqWRUJTyzazDRv9LOdtJ3fdF7Hc938RiOEzvbla4x0/s1600/thing.21413163.l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6QBysTxR0rxYNiAKgGcmz7Cxbf-TS2uQQ2ttw7u35OGgkrHA9Q3QhL84t8-bngFmsoE7alVIZ6y5DCXQBwVrPVHCI6JZJkw3ziBqWRUJTyzazDRv9LOdtJ3fdF7Hc938RiOEzvbla4x0/s1600/thing.21413163.l.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My personal motto. As supplied by StumbleUpon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcp37Ok3XCMRofycZEY0lEERRZL54OinPcUyMQ00vryogVb_8XEDS4jBOWUZTSGo3g7gZbQBMZFWY80fYCkdYnLfchy7nSjiLMdtylZc9J4MK0ldTT6O71FlbSSQOit5B8OpfrbU2IKAlV/s1600/gorgeous_nature23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcp37Ok3XCMRofycZEY0lEERRZL54OinPcUyMQ00vryogVb_8XEDS4jBOWUZTSGo3g7gZbQBMZFWY80fYCkdYnLfchy7nSjiLMdtylZc9J4MK0ldTT6O71FlbSSQOit5B8OpfrbU2IKAlV/s400/gorgeous_nature23.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Little known fact: Polar Bears like to frolic in flowers, but only if they are purple.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85TujGkNVxsbhH0kBstV0NbbIR5gnouEsGW30y1KrgLse2aUW7XTgBJey6ezfswrxcXcZHs7qFtCFfhnCKKxoOZYQsPRWddXffbXtwZktUEDba3fsCjmHAfrMIZ0UC7NBpFo9aqLSssIx/s1600/6a00d8341bf8f353ef0133f345d23b970b-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi85TujGkNVxsbhH0kBstV0NbbIR5gnouEsGW30y1KrgLse2aUW7XTgBJey6ezfswrxcXcZHs7qFtCFfhnCKKxoOZYQsPRWddXffbXtwZktUEDba3fsCjmHAfrMIZ0UC7NBpFo9aqLSssIx/s400/6a00d8341bf8f353ef0133f345d23b970b-800wi.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Looks like <i>someone</i> drew the short straw...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gAp7Fuz94Y5DBWVkqBoInR-1003ZnZu9ZoNkLzrMLf1Lo2V6h41zC7WKoTzUpz60Pg9oO5RCOKli3bSVDNwtrY2OSkXilORSkTuWsuoUfudl5fnZMh1U1tYUSdnz34XRP9X2ViXoOfuP/s1600/4771-84c92b27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gAp7Fuz94Y5DBWVkqBoInR-1003ZnZu9ZoNkLzrMLf1Lo2V6h41zC7WKoTzUpz60Pg9oO5RCOKli3bSVDNwtrY2OSkXilORSkTuWsuoUfudl5fnZMh1U1tYUSdnz34XRP9X2ViXoOfuP/s640/4771-84c92b27.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7X-GGW816OeSYprO2c_KXxEXtNmFNatC3MmmCfb3qVtbHUqrBWAp9-uoMS3ZNOsYLW6Eml4eZJm9q8Aj4W0HTYhwsn4hnMgTRS7isefcNHeotcosUrXoSfu72dEby_7ANNqUQJVN9Qyaz/s1600/before-i-die-0323-angle2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7X-GGW816OeSYprO2c_KXxEXtNmFNatC3MmmCfb3qVtbHUqrBWAp9-uoMS3ZNOsYLW6Eml4eZJm9q8Aj4W0HTYhwsn4hnMgTRS7isefcNHeotcosUrXoSfu72dEby_7ANNqUQJVN9Qyaz/s640/before-i-die-0323-angle2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oh Art! Transforming "derelict" into "urban chic" since 4000BC.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Thanks for reading, my peeps. Here's to a 150ish more.Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-58838182907405224382011-03-30T00:09:00.000-07:002011-03-30T00:09:03.847-07:00I heart my cosmic familyLet me say this straight off: I love my family. I really do. <div><br />
</div><div>But since I was a little girl, I've adopted people. I didn't always feel as though I belonged to the people I was related to. My childhood was kind of chaotic and unpredictable at times, and I didn't always feel safe. In fact, I felt down right alien - I was from another planet, and not many people understood my language. But there were a select few who did understand, and I would cling to them desperately - my life preservers on a planet I didn't fully comprehend. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The problem with this practice, as you might expect, is that I am who I am; heart on my sleeve, all too loyal, and too ready to feel wanted - multiplied by 50 as a child. And I was hurt a lot as I flung my heart here and there. Turns out 5 year olds are not always the best judges of character. But I learned, and became much more discerning, much more careful. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And 24 years later, I have a very wonderful, very amazing cosmic family. A family comprised of kindred spirits, parallel souls, and like minds. And they've stayed. These are not people that I talk to every day - I don't have to talk to them every day. They're just there, in my life. And when they need me, I'm there. And when I need them, they're here for me. They are my family, just as much as any of the people with whom I share chromosomes. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I've been increasingly grateful for my cosmic family over the last few weeks. And I don't always get to tell them how much I love them, or what they mean to me. So I'm tossing this out into the cosmos. I'm grateful for you, you know who you are. I'm grateful that I'm lucky enough to share my life with you. To know you and laugh with you and stumble around with you in this dark room called life. Thank you for all that you do, and all that you are. Thank you for helping my world make sense, and for translating rough passages and mixed messages. Thank you for always making me feel valid and loved and appreciated. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But most of all, thank you for finding me. </div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-37644063339850294082011-03-23T15:52:00.000-07:002011-03-23T19:41:05.183-07:00"Money ain't got no soul, money ain't got no heart...."This is the anthem of artists everywhere. We don't work for money. We work for enjoyment, for fulfillment, for the notion that we are contributing to the betterment of humanity through whichever medium we happen to work. And we do this not because of the money, but to spite it. We'd do it for nothing! We were those poor suckers in college who dreamed of an Utopian Bohemia, where everyone wears recycled clothing and lives on Top Ramen. Where everyone shares their art, their food, and their books, and commerce is too bourgeois and degrading to be concerned with. But instead of snapping out of it a year or two after graduation, like everyone else; after the real world has had some prime opportunities to slap some stupid sense into us - we are the ones who keep living the dream...on breadcrumbs, occasionally living back with our parents when we can't afford rent.<br />
<br />
But we can't live on nothing; and our society knows that. They know it, and they exploit it. Society begrudgingly agrees that the arts are "important" - not in an immediate, foundational kind of way like garbage collection or sewer functionality, but in an abstract, "we-know-it's-good-for-our-kids-but-won't support-it-ourselves" kind of way. So they hire us to instill artistic appreciation and aesthetic into their children. Sometimes, depending on the funding, we get paid well for this. Sometimes, it's not enough to get by. But teaching is the artists' bread and butter. I suppose that's what GB Shaw was getting at when he wrote that loathed idiom, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach."<br />
<br />
Yeah well, George Bernard, most of us do both.<br />
<br />
I do both. And I'm actually getting paid rather well by my school - in theory. I say "in theory" because I haven't been paid yet. I've been working there since early January, though to be fair, my proposal wasn't approved by the school board until January 24th, which means I wasn't official until the 26th. HOWEVER. It is now March 23rd. MARCH! I submitted my invoice EARLY, though invoices are not allowed to go to the district until the last day of the pay period, in this case February 26th. What does a reasonable amount of processing time sound like to you? Two weeks, if we're giving the District leniency for dealing with dozens of schools and artists-in-residence?<br />
<br />
Well, I was told three weeks. Three weeks was last Friday. I'm now on Week 4, with no guarantee it will get here by the end of this week, which would mean that I'll have gone 5 weeks. FIVE. WEEKS.<br />
<br />
Now, I ask you: in what other work disciplines is this allowed to happen? Business? HELL no. Law? They'd sue you and resurrect debtors jail. Contracting/construction? They'll hand you over to the mob, who'll put your feet in cement blocks and throw you in the Hudson River (even if you live in California). And so I return to my original point, that artists are exploited (I would argue) the most. Clearly, we don't have real jobs, which means that we don't have real lives, which means that we don't pay bills or have cars or need to finish paying taxes, or, you know, EAT. No, no. We're make-believe people who are only needed to inspire children to learn and play in ways that might actually help their educations and futures - outside of that we turn back into faerie dust, and only need to be kept alive with claps and cheers, like in that one play written by that one English dude about boys who won't grow up, and their pixie friends who die when children say they don't believe in faeries. Yep. That's where artists live.<br />
<br />
To illustrate how incredibly untrue this scenario is, I will now list the items that I have not been able to do IN A MONTH, because I have not been paid:<br />
<br />
1. get my car lube, oiled, and filtered and rotate my tires<br />
2. pay turbo tax to email my taxes (I am usually able to complete this by February)<br />
3. pay my bills<br />
4. buy myself actual groceries (I eat a lot of left-overs, and get creative with items long forgotten in pantries)<br />
5. related to #3, because I cannot pay my bills, I can't apply for a school loan yet.<br />
6. take a college student out to dinner, which I owe him for coming and performing slam poetry in my classes at school.<br />
7. buy my plane tickets to Portland for Spring Break<br />
8. take my golden retriever to the groomer (you'd think this was unnecessary, until you own a golden retriever)<br />
9. buy myself some socks - like ones that don't have any holes in them<br />
10. buy myself some shoes - again, ones without holes<br />
11. buy tickets to the theatre to support my friends and their work<br />
12. buy myself treats (I'm not talking big, I'm talking little things like chocolate covered graham crackers at Starbucks - things to brighten my day)<br />
13. I have to decline invitations to go out with friends to dinner, drinks, movies, or any other social activity<br />
<br />
I might sound as though I'm whining needlessly, and perhaps even greedily. But in my own defense, I don't spend a lot of money, even when I have it, and have made quite a science of being poor.<br />
<br />
I've been watching Disney's <i>Princess and the Frog</i> a lot on cable tv, primarily because it's surprisingly good, but also because it's a sincere attempt at keeping my Bohemian perspective, and remind myself that even though I chose this life, I deserve to be treated as a valued member of society, like everyone else. Just because money is not the primary driving force of my life, it doesn't give any entity or body or bureaucracy the freedom to treat me any differently than they would any other working professional. I'm good at what I do, damnit. I am an asset, not an afterthought.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJT0uhfcCkw">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJT0uhfcCkw</a>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-50490988076241258682011-03-21T22:25:00.000-07:002011-03-21T22:25:18.765-07:00Oh Knut, sweet Knut!It has been entirely too long since I've written. My schedule has been insane, I've been sick twice (and I'm rarely ever sick), and I've just felt a lack of inspiration - whether due to the previous causes, or for another reason entirely, it doesn't matter.<br />
<br />
But I bring to you now sad tidings.<br />
<br />
Knut, the baby polar bear who captured the world's heart in 2006, died today. He was only four years old. Causes are so far unknown, though results should be available tomorrow or Wednesday. If you don't remember, Knut was born in 2006 at a zoo in Germany. His mother refused to nurse him or take care of him, so his handler, Thomas Dorflein cared from him day and night. Because of Thomas' care, Knut survived - and thrived! And kept growing bigger and bigger.<br />
<br />
But yesterday, he collapsed suddenly after turning circles in his habitat, and fell into the deep pond in his enclosure.<br />
<br />
We haven't had the best news so far this year - and this - just makes it ten times worse. I'm really, really saddened by Knut's sudden death. Thomas his handler passed away in 2008. Part of me was glad to read that. I couldn't begin to imagine the heartache that would come with raising such a beautiful animal from infancy, only to be snatched away so soon, and seemingly without cause. Polar bears typically live to be 15-20 years old in the wild, and even longer in captivity.<br />
<br />
I like to think that Knut and Thomas are now reunited somewhere cold, frolicking in snow and reveling in the joy of being together again.<br />
<br />
And so to Knut and Thomas, I bless and salute you for adding even a small margin of light into this increasingly dark world.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1h9DRlj1CjzQxFeE4RLnuKttjsynjuHzW78HRtOtlgJMle6w-R2dj2I1WbPWg2NXXfsaSOO1L9RHOZOopNeN8JdEViHJWhLVKALZbCPfSLc49AuP5ihZSEFlQ31QK1aL3d8kpPXAPQXQ/s1600/tumblr_libcugM7ON1qacjrio1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1h9DRlj1CjzQxFeE4RLnuKttjsynjuHzW78HRtOtlgJMle6w-R2dj2I1WbPWg2NXXfsaSOO1L9RHOZOopNeN8JdEViHJWhLVKALZbCPfSLc49AuP5ihZSEFlQ31QK1aL3d8kpPXAPQXQ/s320/tumblr_libcugM7ON1qacjrio1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-13715963676358204702011-01-26T21:56:00.000-08:002011-01-26T21:56:37.547-08:00You say tax cuts, I say government programs.A couple of months ago, I decided to take out my senior yearbook from high school, and look through it. Why? I have no earthly idea. But I did, and it was kind of interesting. I had forgotten how many things I was involved in, how many people actually signed my yearbook, and was kind of surprised that I didn't remember more names and faces.<br />
<br />
However, the strangest aspect about my tip-toe through the teen years had to be the comments themselves. I cannot tell you how many different people wrote "<i>Don't worry, you'll be a Republican someday</i>." Or something akin to it, usually accompanied by a smiley cartoon face with a stuck-out tongue.<br />
<br />
Let it be known that I was ridiculously outspoken in high school. And earnest! Earnestly out-spoken, out-spokenly earnest; that was me. I suppose this isn't altogether surprising considering that I'm an Aries, and I was one of only a few "out" democrats. Well, I wasn't a democrat yet; I wasn't of legal voting age. But you know what I mean - I had scandalously democratic tendencies for a mostly conservative high school. I would dive, fearlessly, into political debates, determined to convince the multitudes of conservative children that medicare was helpful, welfare wasn't a waste of tax dollars, and women had the right to make decisions about their bodies.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I was always outnumbered. But damnit, I was born with the gift of a loud booming voice, and I wouldn't be my father's daughter if I didn't use it for the powers of good. I remember distinctly a conversation with my best friend and my Honors Economics teacher, a professed Libertarian, about taxes:<br />
<br />
Teacher: "So okay, Ms. Liberal, let me ask you this: you're okay with the government taking a large piece of your hard-earned money to feed, clothe, and house other people? Even criminals and drug-addicts?"<br />
Me: "Yes I am."<br />
T: "Why?"<br />
Megan: "Without taxes, we wouldn't have paved roads or garbage services. We wouldn't have education, Mr. Starnes. Your paycheck is paid for with taxes. Taxes help the government take care of its' people. There are socio-economic issues that more than likely went into those criminals and drug-addicts becoming criminals and drug-addicts."<br />
T: "Wow. I don't like the government taking my money. I guess I'm just a selfish person."<br />
Me: "I guess you are."<br />
<br />
Discussions like this would stop the class for at least 20 minutes at a time, which was never a bad thing. But it's these kind of debates I'd get into all the time.<br />
<br />
So I guess it's no wonder that the people who signed my yearbook would tease my earnest liberalness. But you know, it's been ten years. TEN YEARS. And I'm still a proud liberal. I won't say a proud democrat - the party system in our country is a little too ridiculous for me to grasp.<br />
<br />
It also reminded me of a kind of idiom someone once told me:<br />
<br />
"<i>If you're not a liberal when you're young, you have no heart. If you're not a conservative when you're older, you have no brain</i>."<br />
<br />
I hate that expression. HATE it. Such complete horse shit.<br />
<br />
I guess my point in writing this mini-rant, is for me to say that as I continue through life, edging further and further away from my "youth," I have yet to see or experience anything that has made me even consider becoming a conservative. I'm not stupid, I'm not wasteful. I just see things differently than you. And probably always will.<br />
<br />
In hindsight, I'm really glad that I didn't go to my ten year reunion.Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-8991435710043148182011-01-24T20:15:00.000-08:002011-01-24T20:15:47.783-08:00Words you didn't know, wish you had, but probably won't know again...One of the constants in my life has been feast/famine, which is rudely inconsistent. I didn't have a job for most of the fall, which meant I had much more time to write, which really was all I could afford to do. Then I applied to grad schools, left for Canada, came back from Canada, left a day later for Denver/Boulder, flew back, had a week to sort out my life, and then started my day job. And it's not even February yet.<br />
<br />
I'm not complaining. I like being busy. I'm wildly productive when I'm busy; so not only do I get things done, but it means that I feel calmer, more confident, and much less lonely. Hey - I love my laptop, but I do love actual human interaction every now and then.<br />
<br />
Canada was beautiful, Denver/Boulder was inspiring (I met with Shakespeare geeks AND saw how tea gets made at the Celestial Seasoning plant!), and I haven't heard from grad schools yet - which is a good thing; they send the rejection letters out first. And my day job! My day job is awesome. I'm creating/running/implementing a 6th grade Drama program at an under-achieving Middle School. RIGHT?!<br />
<br />
So my insane life aside, one of the many themes of the conference in Boulder surrounded the sad fact that the vocabulary in the English language is shrinking. Observe:<br />
<br />
William Shakespeare knew an estimated 25,000+ words.*<br />
A few generations ago, the English speaking world knew about 18-20,000 words.<br />
My generation is sitting pretty with about 11-13,000 words.<br />
The children currently going through school are projected to know 7-8,000 words by the time they graduate high school.<br />
<br />
* - <i>keep in mind, Shakespeare created thousands of words, but for the sake of depressing statistics, let's say those are not included in his original 25,000+</i>.<br />
<br />
With the understanding that the previous statistics I can in no way justify through any kind of acceptable means, those are some really depressing numbers, no? Kind of makes me want to add a "word of the day" app to my non-existent smart phone.<br />
<br />
Now, my ex-girlfriend, perhaps in a premonition of the discussions to come, bought me a desk calendar for Christmas. But not just ANY desk calendar my friends. She bought me .............wait for it....................<br />
<br />
a <b>FORGOTTEN ENGLISH DAILY WORD CALENDAR</b>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
And let me tell you, it's just as awesome as it sounds. Here are some examples of this modern miracle:<br />
<br />
<b>Nizzle</b> - You thought it was a word created by Snoop Dogg, didn't you? Hizzle, my nizzles! Nizzle actually means: To be slightly intoxicated, to be the worse for liquor; to be unsteady; usually in past participle [nizzled]. (Joseph Wright's <i>English Dialect Dictionary</i>, 1898-1905)<br />
<br />
<b>Beats the Dutch</b> - Something extraordinary; "That beats the Dutch, and the Dutch beats the Devil" is the superlative. (James Maitland's <i>American Slang Dictionary</i>, 1891)<br />
<br />
<b>Sport Ivory</b> - If someone smiled, he sported ivory. (Morris Marples, <i>University Slang</i>, 1950)<br />
<br />
<b>Jugulator</b> - Sounds like a Marvel Comic Villain, eh? Or perhaps what Jack the Ripper's imaginary friends called him. A Jugulator is actually a cutthroat or murderer. (William Whitney's <i>Century Dictionary</i>, 1889)<br />
<br />
<b>Googer</b> - No, not Google's puny baby brother. It's actually a synonym for The Devil. (Walter Sleat's <i>Specimens of English Dialects</i>, Westmoreland, 1879)<br />
<br />
<b>Death Hunter</b> - An undertaker, one who furnishes the necessary articles for funerals. Sounds kind of bad ass to me; dare I say it - Lord of the Rings-esque. (Francis Grose's <i>Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue</i>, 1796)<br />
<br />
<b>Tree-Geese</b> - A name given to barnacles, from their supposed metamorphosis [into geese]. I swear to you, I'm not making this up! (Robert Nare's <i>Glossary [of] the Works of English Authors</i>, 1859)<br />
<br />
<b>Gone to Texas</b> - An American expression for one who has decamped, leaving debts behind. It was, and is, no unusual thing for a man to display this notice - perhaps only the initials G.T.T. on his door for the callers after he has absconded. Does that explain anything at all about the years from 2000-2008?? (Trench Johnson's <i>Phases and Names: Their Origins and Meanings</i>, 1906)<br />
<br />
<b>Toozle</b> - To pull about, especially applied to any rough dalliance with a female. Perhaps after some Nizzle, for shizzle! (John Brockett's <i>Glossary of North Country Words</i>, 1825)<br />
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<b>Bag of Nails</b> - American thieves' cant. Confusion; topsy-turvydom; from "bacchanals." (John Farmer's <i>Slang and its Analogues</i>, 1890)<br />
<br />
<b>Scurryfunge</b> - a hasty tidying of the house between the time you see a neighbor and the time she knocks on the door. See?? Some of these actually come in handy; I scurryfunge all the time! (John Gould's <i>Maine Lingo: Boiled Owls, Billdads, and Wazzats</i>, 1975)<br />
<br />
Stick with me kids, and you too will become a bona fide nerd. As the year progresses, I'm sure these words will continues to find their way onto my page. Bonus points if you send me some rare words of your own ...Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-8946720368812067882011-01-05T00:22:00.000-08:002011-01-05T00:22:04.000-08:00The Year of the Bunny!Hey there - happy 2011! I don't know about you, but this was what my collective being said/expressed/vented as the clock struck midnight, NYE, Mountain Standard Time:<br />
<br />
"Oh, thank GOD."<br />
<br />
Seriously. 2010 was not a super year. I can't say that it was the worst ever - I don't believe in long-term exaggerations. I know, I know, this is coming from a person who is constantly making up words to express exaggerations in the first place. My Monkey constantly gets, "I love you the most<i>est</i>!" And while I'm a person prone to passions, ginormous (see?) emotions, and an epically-scaled soul, I do not allow myself to look at life, time, or any other massively long-term scale in hyperbole.<br />
<br />
That being said, 2010 was not kind. In fact, I would go so far as to call it mean; it was a mean year! And not in the rock-critic sense (e.g., "He plays a mean guitar!). I mean MEAN in the original dictionary definition, as an adjective: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">offensive,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">selfish,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">or</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">unaccommodating;</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">nasty;</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static;">malicious. </span></span>That essentially sums it up. Is it any wonder, then, that in the Chinese horoscope, 2010 was the year of the Tiger? I like Tigers as much as the next animal rights activist - I love them! But from a very, very far distance.<br />
<br />
Now, 2011, again in the Chinese horoscope, falls under the year of the Rabbit. CAN YOU GET MORE OPPOSITE TO A TIGER, THAN A RABBIT??????? NO!!! Exactly! This calls for THE SNOOPY DANCE!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvJXk1I7vVXKqaAq4xfvHL1EcLy39TDgPeoxMex59VExeG2KbBehQXa-tBt9wvlleM-__E_lUWyEIX1js_13Nh4fdBEhiqOOrQjM1b6AxDPR7c00Qw6PYaM423LtHishFNihPYNVX26jj/s1600/snoopy_dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvJXk1I7vVXKqaAq4xfvHL1EcLy39TDgPeoxMex59VExeG2KbBehQXa-tBt9wvlleM-__E_lUWyEIX1js_13Nh4fdBEhiqOOrQjM1b6AxDPR7c00Qw6PYaM423LtHishFNihPYNVX26jj/s1600/snoopy_dance.jpg" /></a></div><br />
The year of the Rabbit will theoretically bring luck and safety in the year to come. And so to you, I wish lots and lots of luck and safety.<br />
<br />
But why am I so jazzed for this little woodland rodent's approach? I just applied to four graduate schools. This might not sound like a big deal, but it really is. Not only is this a big push for a life change/advancement, but the sense of rejection and dejection I experienced from the 2010 Tiger is still quite present with me. And the last time I applied to a grad school (just one, in that case), I was rejected. Only that was 2007, the year of the Pig. Oinkity bloody oink.<br />
<br />
I was in Calgary for two weeks over Christmas and New Years, and in the Calgary Herald a couple of days ago, the paper's astrologist had a half page layout about what the year of the Rabbit was going to mean for me, as an Aries. And, perhaps prophetically, she told me that 2011 was going to be my year - the start to the next new phase of my life, culminating in achieving my career goals by 2018 (she's nothing if not specific). She also told me that I was going to feel like me again, after a year of feeling not at all like myself. She told me that making my move for advancement definitely needed to happen this year, and that my relationship would be fine, so long as my significant other didn't try to stifle my power and flow; I am Aries, here me roar! <br />
<br />
Everything I've been reading lately, everything has been screaming at me, exasperatedly, "HOLD ON! It's about to get really, really good!" And I think that for the first time in a long time, I believe it - though more importantly, I'm able to SEE the universe gesticulating madly like an enraged baboon. I think I've just been too caught up, or too buried? Blinders pop up sometimes, out of a necessity to keep one's head down and protected. I've been keeping my head protected, and failing miserably.<br />
<br />
Is it cliche to now say that I don't put actual stock in any of this? That is to say, I don't commit to astrology - I don't adhere to it as an absolute way of living my life, much like exaggerations. BUT - and this is a really big but - that doesn't mean that I don't find it informative and highly fascinating. Because I totally do.<br />
<br />
While I call Liz my monkey, she calls me her bunny. I know, it's disgusting. This started as a joke after my sister brought home an actual rabbit after her first year at college - all the way from New Jersey. It later turned into a term of endearment that went from annoyingly funny to begrudgingly cute, on my end.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, I leave for a theatre conference in Boulder, Colorado. I sent the last of my grad school applications out a few hours ago. I start a new job next week starting a theatre program at a low-income middle school. But if all else fails, I can't say I didn't try - astrology or no.<br />
<br />
Behold: The Year of the Bunny.Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-15222413992574088372010-12-16T15:00:00.000-08:002010-12-16T15:00:59.009-08:00It's looking a bit dusty in here ...Good lord! Neglectful and disgraceful! I'm so, so, sorry!<br />
<br />
The funny thing about life is that it moves on, whether you're ready or not. I've pondered at least half a dozen blog topics in the space of time in which I was monstrously missing. Did I write any of them? No. Do I remember what any of those blog topics are? Ha! And so I face you here now, embarrassed at my absence, and desperately searching for something interesting to say. And all I can think about is Christmas.<br />
<br />
Christmas has come early this year - earlier for me than normal. In fact, until this year, I was ardently against the massive retail over-hauls that happen at Halloween's termination. I've not been a big fan of early Christmas, and will not accept the Christmas season until the Thanksgiving weekend is long over, around December 1st. If I heard so much as a "deck the halls" playing over retail radio speakers, I'd glower and clench my jaw, and hurl a "bah-humbug!" in anyone's general direction. Christmas has it's place, and it's time, and it's NOT in November.<br />
<br />
However, this year, I needed Christmas to come early. I really, really did. 2010 has not been kind to me. It's been a hard year, a sad year, a heart-breaking, indigestible, painful, rejection-filled year. And I'm done with it. And so when the first decorations went up, and the dulcet tones of holiday cheer shot out of the grocery store audio system, instead of scowling and growling and being grumpy at our country's love of holiday retail madness - instead, I said, "Thank you." I breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled, and looked forward to the kinder, gentler days of greens and reds, of people tacking on "Happy Holidays!" or "Merry Christmas!" to the ends of their conversations, of seeing the ones I love and remembering that I am loved in turn.<br />
<br />
But it's not just me who needed it early this year - I think we all did. I think everyone I know has more or less breathed a collective sigh of relief at finally reaching the end of a very long, tight, stress-filled year. I'm certainly not suggesting that the holidays are any less stressful. But with the end of the year comes the rising hope that the impending new year will be so much better. And after months and months of no hope, of being unemployed, or removed from a home, or deaths of loved ones, or whatever the case may be - the new year looms with tidings of comfort and joy and hope for a fresh start, a fresh chance to make our lives better; not with resolutions, necessarily (though they're nice, too), just that the tide will turn, our luck will change, and we can move on to something better.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>We</i> can be better.<br />
<br />
For the first time - ever - I'm sending out Christmas cards. This is a big commitment for me, because I'm terrible at this sort of thing. But I've been thinking about people who are not around me, and I think I should tell those people - just because I don't talk with them very often, doesn't mean I don't love them, or that I'm not thinking of them. I believe that's the reason that people originally started sending Christmas cards, though I'm no expert on the subject.<br />
<br />
My Christmas cards have Polar Bears on them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSFDsM3vbcz7yjn5fGrkE1fhUmQl-U6F7sjjt2WV_biPv4hZwowwNkP52Mspf2F5ACYCBFUNao9018975zxMJEMSLA5brWH0fYNqPJgfs7lnJWkQi5nw-SY_k291OChEXRr2CzJ0y0R-K/s1600/polarbears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSFDsM3vbcz7yjn5fGrkE1fhUmQl-U6F7sjjt2WV_biPv4hZwowwNkP52Mspf2F5ACYCBFUNao9018975zxMJEMSLA5brWH0fYNqPJgfs7lnJWkQi5nw-SY_k291OChEXRr2CzJ0y0R-K/s320/polarbears.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-59049261674812593262010-11-22T22:51:00.000-08:002010-11-22T22:51:53.024-08:00Lesbian Turkey Day!Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Is it because of the food?? Absolutely. But it also has a little something to do with family. Thanksgiving is family. Not just blood family - world family. <div><br />
</div><div>What? What's that? "World Family" sounds hoaky, cliche, and ultra lesbian????? EXACTLY. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Let me explain.</div><div><br />
</div><div>This Thanksgiving, my family is away. Back in August or September, my Dad said, "Hey, I'll pay for you to go to Calgary or to Olympia for Thanksgiving, if you want." And I said, "Great!" And then I thought about it - Thanksgiving in Canada is in October - so no one would be off, and I'd just be celebrating for myself, and that's just awkward. Olympia was where I spent Thanksgiving in College - I LOVE Thanksgiving in Olympia. However, I wanted to be able to share it with my monkey (since it IS my most favoritest holiday - I was serious). And then, I started wondering who ELSE was around .... </div><div><br />
</div><div>And I thought of my ex, Lara, who wasn't going to home to the Mid-West. Me, Liz, and Lara for Thanksgiving. Then I discovered my oldest friend in the world, Crystal, had no place to go on Turkey Day, and I invited her too. Crystal's NOT a lesbian, but she might as well be. On an off-chance, I thought of my good friend Josh, who's from Colorado, and doesn't usually go home for the Holidays. Would he like to come over too? Yes, in fact, he was! Josh - also not a lesbian. But he's funny, and he's been friends with me for a long time now, and he might as well be. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Then, on Friday, Lara calls me. "Can I bring a guest to Thanksgiving?" Lara's been dating a woman in LA for a few weeks now, and I figured she could only mean Susan. So ... this Thanksgiving is going to be Me, my wonderful girlfriend, my wonderful ex-girlfriend, the woman she's dating, my oldest friend who might as well be a lesbian, and my friend Josh who should be a lesbian. </div><div><br />
</div><div>THE MOST LESBIAN THANKSGIVING EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div><div><br />
</div><div>But all kidding aside, this is the very reason I love Thanksgiving. It's a transient holiday - a holiday where giving is the goal, and generosity is truly king. Christmas is wonderful, and likes to claim these things, but the commercialism that's invaded Christmas doesn't seem to make this true any more. Christmas is very much about family. Thanksgiving, is very much about giving whatever you can, to whomever you can. Don't have anywhere to go? Come over here! Share my turkey, let me cook for you. The best part, is that the meaning is in the name: It's the giving of thanks in as many ways as you can. That's it. And this year, it truly is. And that makes me so very happy!</div><div><br />
</div><div>This will ALSO be my first attempt at COOKING Thanksgiving dinner. It's going to be quite the experiment. Pictures will be taken. Let's just hope I don't burn the house down. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'll blog after the event - but I wish you and everyone at your table, whomever they may be, many many happy wishes. </div><div><br />
</div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-8664812494481004662010-11-17T21:25:00.000-08:002010-11-17T21:25:43.029-08:00My very own Inferno...For the last two weeks, I worked a retail re-merchandising job inside of a Staples store between the hours of 8:00 p.m. and 4:30 a.m.* "What is re-merchandising?" You ask. Somehow, I don't think it's performing bizarre acts of manual labor in the wee hours of the morning, but that's what I was doing. For $11.00 an hour. Oh temp work ... how ... <s>awful</s> <s>weird</s> <s>unsatisfying</s> <s>sucky</s> interesting you are. But you know what? It's money. And bear's gotta do what a bear's gotta do. I've decided that my college diploma doesn't get to be framed until it starts working for me. Until then, it's going to stay in the decorative protective envelope in my closet where it currently belongs; doing me not a lot of good. <div><br />
</div><div>[*<i>I also worked over time, so 4:30 a.m. actually turned into more like 6:00 a.m. most nights of the 2nd week</i>]<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Anyway, as I was lifting 60-75 lb. boxes up and down stock ladders, contemplating the shear perfection in which a semi-trained gorilla could do my job, I had often listened to the retail music loop that played every. day. for 10 days. Most of it was totally fine; some of it was even enjoyable. But the other 10% ... the other 10% made my eyeballs cringe and roll backwards in my head, like a Felix the Cat clock gone batty. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And in the middle of a refrain from "I Want it That Way" by the Backstreet Boys, on a night when I was constantly fantasizing about dropping every MADE IN CHINA piece of useless crap on the floor from the top of my ladder - it hit me - I might be in hell. This might be my very own version hell. Which mercifully changed my thoughts from retail destruction to the deep contemplation of songs that, if played in a loop over and over, would almost certainly mean that I was in hell. Because if I believed in hell (which I do not), I would imagine that hell (and consequently heaven) would be specifically made on an individual level. So the songs that would play in my little flame-filled corner of Hell would not (necessarily) be the songs that would play in <i>your</i> little flame-filled corner of hell. Right? So then ... what songs would play in my hell?</div><div><br />
</div><div>There are 10 - chiefly because, if played in a loop, would inflict the maximum amount of pain and torture. And when the devils and demons wanted to be REALLY sadistic, they'd change the loop order occasionally, just to lure me into a false hope of change, and then WHAM! It would be just another voyage of the 10 most cringe-worthy songs to my person, and the despair would begin anew.</div><div><br />
</div><div>10. <b>Orinoco Flow</b>, by Enya (I don't mind it once or twice, but in a loop? I think I'd despise it.)</div><div>9. <b>Two Princes</b>, by The Spin Doctors (An ultra low-spot in an otherwise interesting music decade)</div><div>8. <b>Kiss on my List</b>, by Hall & Oates (*gag!*)</div><div>7. <b>Sk8ter Boy</b>, by Avril Levigne (every morning in the dorm bathrooms for a semester in college was enough)</div><div>6. <b>Everything I Do/Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman/most anything he's ever done</b>, by Bryan Adams (Sorry Canada, he and Avril Levigne are MAJOR lemons on a nearly flawless record)</div><div>5. <b>Desert Rose</b>, by Sting (it's a loop in itself...)</div><div>4. <b>Follow Me</b>, Uncle Kracker (it verges on offensive, and I don't just mean the lame chord progressions)</div><div>3. <b>Moondance</b>, by Van Morrison (I seem to be the only person in the world that thinks this...so I apologize if I offend anyone. But I hate it.)</div><div>2. <b>Truly, Madly, Deeply</b> by Savage Garden (MAJOR. CRINGE.)</div><div>1. <b>American Woman</b>, cover by Lenny Kravitz (no words. only rage.......lots and lots of RAGE)</div><div><br />
</div><div>So there you go. </div><div><br />
</div><div>My best friend and I once had a very lengthy, and impassioned discussion about the elements that need to be present in a good song. We basically boiled it down to more than 3 repetitive chords, and better lyrics than rhyming "love" and "dove." I think out of the above, the song that actually meets those requirements is Moondance. But it still drives me nuts. (I can't explain it, people ... my hatred is on a purely cellular level.) My gorgeous girlfriend hates <b>Mr. Roboto</b> with a passion, though also can't explain it. She loves Van Morrison, I love Mr. Roboto ... so long as neither song is played at our wedding, I think it'll be okay. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Okay ... throw some at me!</div><div><br />
</div><div>PS - a song that I'm currently loving?</div><div>BAM.</div><div><br />
</div><div><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lLJf9qJHR3E?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lLJf9qJHR3E?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object></div></div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-35003089866767616322010-11-06T18:52:00.000-07:002010-11-06T19:49:52.008-07:00An Open Letter to Shonda RhimesDear Ms. Rhimes, (may I call you Shonda?)<br />
<br />
Firstly, allow me to say I'm a big fan. I think the scripts you continually smith on both <i>Grey's Anatomy </i>and <i>Private Practice</i> are among the best on television; quirky, fresh, and continually empathetic in creative and touching ways. I also think that your shows have been, since their genesis, leaders in diversity - and I cannot tell you what that means to me, personally. There are more actors of various colors on your shows than the rest of prime-time television put together; from your leads right on down to your extras. You've got a veritable human cornucopia of race and ethnicity, and it thrills me to no end!<br />
<br />
There is one thing I'd like to say to you - and this isn't a criticism, so much as it's a plea.<br />
<br />
Please, please, PLEASE - Shonda, I beg of you - do NOT write off the lesbians. (I mean that literally, I'm not being euphemistic) Do you realize that <i>Grey's Anatomy</i> is the only show on network TV that has a lesbian couple? And not just a lesbian couple - a non-stereotyped, empathetic, <i>interesting</i> lesbian couple. Do you realize how long people like me have waited for this? Do you know how *awful* sifting through 5 seasons of the L Word was?? It was like chewing glass and having to say "Thank you," through the painful lacerations continually opening and re-opening in my mouth, while swallowing at the same time.<br />
<br />
I know Jessica Capshaw is away on maternity leave. I love that Callie needs to stay in Seattle, because let's face it, she has a lot to learn. But please, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, keep Callie on the Sapphic side of relationships. I'll freely admit that I love Callie and Arizona together - but I'm not going to tell you how to write your show. If Arizona comes back and the relationship picks up again - GREAT. If not, I know for a FACT that Seattle has a HUGE lesbian population for Callie and Arizona to mine. But I don't think my little lesbian heart can take another trip with Callie to Mensville. Especially with (no offense!) the incredible heterosexuality of Seattle Grace ... lots of boy/girl meetings in supply closets, you know? It could be its own drinking game.<br />
<br />
So please, Shonda. Do this longing lesbian a solid, and keep Callie on the female side of life. I can't stand another "bi-curious lesbian dalliance" joke made in the past-tense. I just can't.<br />
<br />
Oh. And also, thank you for keeping Amy Brenneman on television. I love her a lot, and kudos to you for keeping her working, and televisionally married to Tim Daly. Whom I also love, and am glad he's working too.<br />
<br />
This lesbian is for you and your continued success,<br />
The Polar Bear<br />
<br />
PS - I apologize for the gross over-usage of the emphatic ALL CAPS. It's ridiculously unruly, but as the science of fonts has yet evolve, it's all I have to work with.Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-41656795900882169002010-10-28T14:35:00.000-07:002010-10-28T19:22:43.553-07:00Ghosts of Halloweens past ...Before I begin, let me just say: I LOVE that Halloween is on a Sunday this year. LOVE. IT. Christine O'Donnell might deny her witchiness, but if you ask me, she planned it.<br />
<br />
HALLOWEEN! The celebration of All Hallow's Eve, Samhain, All Souls Day, El Dia de los Muertos (which, while technically Nov.1st, still celebrates the dead, so it counts). Do you remember waiting months, weeks, and days for Halloween? Do you remember planning out your costume in intricate detail? That familiar scent of fall mixed high fructose corn syrup? The anticipation of going to school looking like something other than a nerdy kid, and maybe (depending on the year), getting to wear *gasp!* MAKEUP?! Do you remember the thrill of watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" on public access TV??????? (Okay, maybe that last one was just me...)<br />
<br />
I DO. I loved the anticipation of Halloween, though not necessarily Halloween itself. I loved planning my costumes every year, racking my brain for better, more creative ideas than anyone else. I loved trick or treating, I loved the candy. What I didn't love was all the scariness attached to it. I *HATED* being scared, and this is coming from a child who was scared all the time, whether it was Halloween or no. I still get scared easily. I don't do scary movies, I don't do fright fests, and I CERTAINLY do not do Haunted Houses. It was a bit of a battle for me, year after year - in order to celebrate my awesome creativity, I had to brave all the haunted-house-nightmare-on-elm-street-friday-the-13th-Jason-in-a-hockey-mask-Freddy-Kreuger's-blood-drenched-metal-fingers-ghosts-in-the-graveyard-things-that-go-bump-in-the-night-and-kill-me-with-a-chainsaw bullshit. Sometimes I failed, sometimes I succeeded. But no matter the fear factor, I was always there - ironic and esoteric costume in tow.<br />
<br />
You have to understand - when you're raised by theatre professionals, the costume possibilities are endless. It was never enough for me to be a typical Halloween anything. I was never once a witch, or a ghost, or a mummy (I did go as Dracula one year, but I was the best Dracula you've ever seen!). I never went as the cartoon-character-of-the-year, never dressed up as any kind of doll or princess. And with my costume shop kingdom, I won costume contest after costume contest - it was every child's DREAM! Except most other children weren't envious of me, so much as they were relieved that there was someone (much) weirder than them. But I *liked* being weird. In fact, I kind of excelled at it.<br />
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Case-in-point: <b>The 1st Grade Dragonfly Faery (age 6)</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPK7VkJ59kBTvl8nneTOR4BLmPjpPTmKMPnA9cKn9mAgQwcKSU2slNMhy7NGgZt75qp0k0mevI8gOQHpJIn9dyG5ZTj3_b68s3aRhlBqrxB8WOyvXWaaXNWtEI-M3DRg9PR8XrXP4Zet82/s1600/Dragonfly+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPK7VkJ59kBTvl8nneTOR4BLmPjpPTmKMPnA9cKn9mAgQwcKSU2slNMhy7NGgZt75qp0k0mevI8gOQHpJIn9dyG5ZTj3_b68s3aRhlBqrxB8WOyvXWaaXNWtEI-M3DRg9PR8XrXP4Zet82/s400/Dragonfly+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC95VCJ9Llb_P_UuJLxO-4IjknVd9F1zoyd8YDw7VOEe3lJgYJifA6yKaESQE2Q6jAGD9oHILlvITcFgGY0uHubTlbVxN9-NxMaftpkDEzpiwSB2JM2hXf03w-I_akWyg2b4tj8Jz1GrkT/s1600/Dragonfly+walking+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC95VCJ9Llb_P_UuJLxO-4IjknVd9F1zoyd8YDw7VOEe3lJgYJifA6yKaESQE2Q6jAGD9oHILlvITcFgGY0uHubTlbVxN9-NxMaftpkDEzpiwSB2JM2hXf03w-I_akWyg2b4tj8Jz1GrkT/s400/Dragonfly+walking+001.jpg" width="277" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I wasn't just a Dragonfly, and I wasn't just a Faery. I was a dragonflyfaery. Costume source: Gem Theatre costume shop, thanks to my dad. I believe the wings and head were from a recent production of <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream.</i><br />
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That was pretty much as girly as I got. I don't think I was ever caught in pink tights again. But look at the production values on that mask! What kid wouldn't want something that <s>geeky</s> cool??<br />
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Costumes became more complicated as I grew older, however. At some point, I lost my costume shop privileges; not because of anything I'd done, but I didn't have access to it anymore. That's when my right brain kicked in, and came up with some truly out-there ideas. Like what? Davy Crockett. In 1992. I don't know if you remember how popular Davy Crockett was in 1992, but I think he was somewhere between Howdy Doody and a French Revolutionary. I was *SO* insanely proud of this idea. I had gone on a roadtrip that summer with my mom, step-dad, and step-sisters. It was a wholly awful trip - lots of arguing, usually about something that I did (I hated being the youngest), though I can't remember. The arguing was so bad, my mom took me and we went off on our own. For my money, that was the best part of the trip - we saw Old Faithful, and the sulfer springs - and with the money I had been saving, I bought myself a coon-skin cap and a musk-ox horn - the noise-making variety, not for gunpowder.<br />
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In late August, long after we had returned home, I told my mom I wanted to be Davy Crockett for Halloween. She found the costume print, we picked out the fabric, and she even bought me a pair of moccasins to wear. It had the fringe on the arms, the front of the jacket - I had my cap guns and air-chamber rifle I had been given the Christmas before - it. was. AWESOME. I won 2nd place at the Whittier Halloween Festival, and received a whole bucket load of candy, and a ribbon. The candy was offered up to the rest of the family (and was promptly consumed). But the ribbon stayed on my bookshelf for YEARS - a testament to my originality and affirmation in my creativity. So while I was constantly doing something wrong in the eyes of my step-family, I had a token reminder that I was actually much better than what they were telling me.<br />
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Unfortunately, I don't have any photos of me as Davy Crockett, though my mom might. But that's still my favorite Halloween costume to date.<br />
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By the time I reached high school, my need for originality got worse. A LOT worse. My sophomore year, I stapled trash to an old shirt and pair of jeans, smeared my face with dirt, and went as Pollution.<br />
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My senior year, I went as an Academic:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwF5jjOPvTsfqwHJD8j9NsJAZA1wkVw5nslliuc1IHJ4vekRM9WsrndnvNvNqtUELcGQLz1RJI_tBF2gwlCUTs2URwULth7DozjARhoA7jpqs0j-9CVTiCYQNBU8o4rfCltUsvUf3ESsrC/s1600/Academic+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwF5jjOPvTsfqwHJD8j9NsJAZA1wkVw5nslliuc1IHJ4vekRM9WsrndnvNvNqtUELcGQLz1RJI_tBF2gwlCUTs2URwULth7DozjARhoA7jpqs0j-9CVTiCYQNBU8o4rfCltUsvUf3ESsrC/s400/Academic+001.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">[By the by, this photo was taken at my friend Anna's house at 6:30 a.m., before 0 period Marching Band. So if I look half-awake, it's because I am.]</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As an adult, Halloween doesn't have the same significance to me. I enjoy it, it's fun. I don't dress up anymore - I think being an actor has taken all of the air out of that particular balloon. I do love passing out candy, though, and seeing the kids in their costumes now. Unfortunately, adulthood also comes with a price - I'm starting a temp job on Halloween that begins at 6:00 p.m. and lasts until 3:00 a.m. So no candy deposits for me this year. The things we do for a buck, eh? Ah well.</div><br />
I could go on and on about the weirdness/genius of my past Halloween costumes, but rather than waxing poetical in long detail, I'll list them instead.<br />
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<b>Top 9 Halloween Costumes I've worn/created:</b><br />
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1. Davy Crockett (age 10)*<br />
2. The Artful Dodger (age 5)* - Yes, from <i>Oliver!</i><br />
3. Errol Flynn/Captain Blood (age 8)<br />
4. Pollywog/Frog (age 2)<br />
5. Pollution (age 15)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxCD0tU3mv44HO9vAEkFoxDn4w169n625VmO6aZtcYugGi_PVFw2tWG91lfwOeVYLAYbQUuJW2mOpRZJ2xEhENJpsw2hw21LwRntAankpiOiMAAaXlfmpxAPn5Q36Tl_UV0HIUwEkPuXV/s1600/Frog++closeup+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxCD0tU3mv44HO9vAEkFoxDn4w169n625VmO6aZtcYugGi_PVFw2tWG91lfwOeVYLAYbQUuJW2mOpRZJ2xEhENJpsw2hw21LwRntAankpiOiMAAaXlfmpxAPn5Q36Tl_UV0HIUwEkPuXV/s320/Frog++closeup+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYjqZZ98igkYB7o0DyWNB8SPkznbYF74NJgzJkAdnOsm2sV7bqJU3KEBv06F8-YuF_OhyphenhyphenmkaBIYXxYKrnBu839I-sq0bm7bdhPLZYm-FiYOn5XsNHrHR3r_R1X53AUZUUvYI_h3xB5KjJ/s1600/Froggy+full+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYjqZZ98igkYB7o0DyWNB8SPkznbYF74NJgzJkAdnOsm2sV7bqJU3KEBv06F8-YuF_OhyphenhyphenmkaBIYXxYKrnBu839I-sq0bm7bdhPLZYm-FiYOn5XsNHrHR3r_R1X53AUZUUvYI_h3xB5KjJ/s400/Froggy+full+001.jpg" width="277" /></a></div><br />
6. Lesbian Army of one (age 20)*<br />
7. Calamity Jane (age 9)<br />
8. Werewolf of London (age 7)*<br />
9. Robbin Hood (age 11)<br />
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* <i>Denotes costume contest winners</i><br />
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(Wow. I'm totally braggy about my costumes! I apologize for the blatant douchiness)<br />
<br />
<b>Single WORST Costume I've ever been forced to wear:</b><br />
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CLOWN (age 4)<br />
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<b>The story:</b> I hate clowns. I've ALWAYS hated clowns. One Halloween, my dad has to go out of town for business, so he asks my best friend's mom if I can go trick-or-treating with them? Of course! My dad wonders what costume he should appropriate for me, and Pam, my best friend's mom says, don't worry about it, I have an extra costume, then the girls will match! Perfect, says my dad. So I show up to my best friend's house, very excited about wearing a matchy-matchy costume with her. She takes me into her room to show me, and whambamthankyouma'am, I see the clown wig and the crazy costume, and I BURST into tears. Somewhere, there's a photo of Crystal and I standing in Pam's kitchen - Crystal is smiling shyly, not sure what to do, because I can't stop crying.<br />
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If you could see the photo below close up, you'd see tear-tracks in my clown makeup. This is after the fiasco, where I'm emotionally binge-eating chocolate, in an attempt to patch the giant hole of terror that was brutally ripped in my psyche.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwc6Ydt1oo5gXamp_35KAY7UIaqDrehNusJPh-wMohX_pv3rPeyWeiIg2tTMapveUVibG16Ftxmhz-xhK8dUdBVeToIUcfwJgs0g1rTndDr8hQ_HcPZn56wyQ-dCqt5exE5597k1bYkK97/s1600/clown+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwc6Ydt1oo5gXamp_35KAY7UIaqDrehNusJPh-wMohX_pv3rPeyWeiIg2tTMapveUVibG16Ftxmhz-xhK8dUdBVeToIUcfwJgs0g1rTndDr8hQ_HcPZn56wyQ-dCqt5exE5597k1bYkK97/s400/clown+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHN2Hb3ZcotFVqlwhF7WhndL6H6dzbcdftP0F7wjMn5m_MUVnL6EnW7xAqfuk9ta_mlQo-2sFNUVJ1tulp7xpVnQ5vWEGYJVWq8NnCHpSd-jOV0A-GDvdE8Cu57IJNziNeaUU8LbXoLoy9/s1600/trick+or+treating+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHN2Hb3ZcotFVqlwhF7WhndL6H6dzbcdftP0F7wjMn5m_MUVnL6EnW7xAqfuk9ta_mlQo-2sFNUVJ1tulp7xpVnQ5vWEGYJVWq8NnCHpSd-jOV0A-GDvdE8Cu57IJNziNeaUU8LbXoLoy9/s400/trick+or+treating+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Trick-or-treating with pillow cases! OLD. SCHOOL.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Some more Halloween Favorites:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Candy:</b> Rolos or Milky Way Midnights (worst: anything that's not chocolate, and whoppers)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Movie:</b> "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Song:</b> "I Put a Spell on You" Bette Midler, a la <i>Hocus Pocus</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Event:</b> The Rocky Horror Halloween party I threw in my hall when I was an RA in College, complete with toilet paper, toast, rice, and every Rocky Horror accoutrement known to human kind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nDidHzwYu3E?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nDidHzwYu3E?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So what about you? Favorites? Worsts? Fears? I hope your Halloween is whatever you want it to be - whether it's celebrating your own brilliance, or cuddling up on the couch with your favorite bag of candy, and watching something scary like the 700 Club on the boob tube. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-HCxq1lYJHD_5G-hb3QiNvooLWeEAB0YtzR5vGVtw52h_xc-Aw_nLW_5xO098bwcyqhElieferX7x2v9hpA2kScG0lCQbE5O6z1hiLItpEebTicwW9iGLBUQ5CBjLMv1FyE2TxnCVpD-/s1600/great+pumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-HCxq1lYJHD_5G-hb3QiNvooLWeEAB0YtzR5vGVtw52h_xc-Aw_nLW_5xO098bwcyqhElieferX7x2v9hpA2kScG0lCQbE5O6z1hiLItpEebTicwW9iGLBUQ5CBjLMv1FyE2TxnCVpD-/s400/great+pumpkin.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-40946029884225526842010-10-22T14:41:00.000-07:002010-10-22T14:41:32.724-07:00THE list.You know what I'm talking about. THE. LIST. That mental sheet of celebrity names you keep in the back of your head - the names of people which you would gladly sleep with, despite that awesome relationship with your partner. THE LIST!<br />
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One night during my sophomore year of college, I was having an IM session with my friend Jon, who lives in San Francisco. I don't remember most of the details, except that somehow we started claiming female celebrities. I'm sure the conversation began with us bemoaning our lack of girlfriends. He claimed one, and then I claimed one, and after we each had our top 10, and I figured the conversation would change onto something more ... meaningful? we kept going. This turned into a three hour conversation, and each of us with a list of over 100 celebrities that we had "claimed," like gold stakes in the Yukon. Were we serious? Of course not. Was it my proudest moment? Hell no. Was it fun in a crazy, competitive, once-in-a-lifetime kind of way? YOU. BET.<br />
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At the time, I was severely depressed - I had just been left (repeatedly) by my first love, who moved from Oregon to Wyoming in an attempt to find Jesus ... again. (remember my "that's a story for another time" comment on my last post? She's who I meant) And while Oregon is apparently a very gay state, Salem is not a very gay town. And my university (at the time) was not a very gay university. So I spent the next 3 years being very celibate and very lonely. Ergo, the cultivation of my list served as sustenance through some very, <i>very</i> dry years.<br />
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And I thought I was being all creative ... I thought I was the only one to have list, chiefly because (at the time) I was the only one I knew who needed a list! But it was a lie! Once I left college, I realized that *everyone* has a list, whether they're in relationships or not. Not only that, their partners have their own set of lists, and it's just generally understood that if either person were to have that one in a billion opportunity of having a romantic night with any person on their list, the walls of fidelity would dissipate for that one night. Especially if the same person is on BOTH lists ... talk about a night to remember.<br />
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Am I serious about this? Yes, in the sense that lists exists. No, to the extent that anyone would actually fulfill the purpose of the list or even be in the situation where fidelity would need to be broken. It's a game. It's a fun, fun, FUN game. Yet one that can add a certain something for certain people. For example, me. As the passionate, independent, and loyal person that I am, having a list fuels my imagination - but when my partner has a list, I suddenly have something to compete for, in a non-realistic, <i>non-threatening</i> way. And the only thing Aries love more than independence, is competition - but not forced competition. I get more creative, more flirty, more saucy if I know I have something to compete with, though again, not something real. It adds spice and character and invention. Not to mention the fact that The List can help level the playing field. We're all human, we have foibles and weaknesses - how better to express that in a non-actual way, than with a list. The worst is finding out that while your list is active and fun, your partners' is non-existent. You want to talk about kill-joy. The subtext then becomes "I don't look at anyone else but you," (which is almost always a lie, to some degree or other) and boy does one feel like an ass if one's on the other side of this scenario. And I have been.<br />
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So with all that in mind, I admit that I totally have a list. It rotates between 5-10 people, for various reasons. Oh ... what's that? You want to know who's on my list?? Oh. You don't.<br />
<br />
Well ... I'm going to tell you anyway. (It's really the inspiration for this post, you know...)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Today's list </b></div><div style="text-align: center;">(because it totally changes)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">1. Sara Ramirez</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbrmNyUePlJwNYraEv1K9E6niTTeMuv4Ui3EygCDP0FvJCa6R0QG0_rlN2xrHFpoaDuRGs_XThfL-PYEgqgjZU1pFCD9hLFjyOiGUusNrDurvDYogMi8voGu9ppTqZx_8Hmd3U5hujL56/s1600/xsara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMbrmNyUePlJwNYraEv1K9E6niTTeMuv4Ui3EygCDP0FvJCa6R0QG0_rlN2xrHFpoaDuRGs_XThfL-PYEgqgjZU1pFCD9hLFjyOiGUusNrDurvDYogMi8voGu9ppTqZx_8Hmd3U5hujL56/s400/xsara.jpg" width="317" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">2. Tilda Swinton</div><div style="text-align: center;">I think this is the biggest surprise for most people, when I say Tilda (she's been on my list for a LONG time), but I find androgyny, TRUE androgyny, incredibly sexy. She is completely transmutable, incredibly interesting, and wonderfully intelligent. I LOVE HER. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZu6lnZbDHYaJjYaEkkdRaaY_tn17j4SYLcmap8TFDos3ZMS6ndP-wM_fd5TBsBDriIlNa0q-9ZqnYRxxgBf6uKdI58wrDm9FZJ9mgp77qg9RMlUK3xnP5V7PvZpK6PYpE0AOq7yJQMPF/s1600/tilda-swinton-yves-saint-laurent-dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZu6lnZbDHYaJjYaEkkdRaaY_tn17j4SYLcmap8TFDos3ZMS6ndP-wM_fd5TBsBDriIlNa0q-9ZqnYRxxgBf6uKdI58wrDm9FZJ9mgp77qg9RMlUK3xnP5V7PvZpK6PYpE0AOq7yJQMPF/s400/tilda-swinton-yves-saint-laurent-dress.jpg" width="331" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">3. Mariska Hargitay</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ae15Ykurbgy38s16HF_4p4OCt3qS-nrdOBoWE80mzuxD0AivFWXiig4mDgTyyfgxGVhoJtEG8IwUka1xCGcxtdClcT6PESbgW4owdrzYWfh-FU_prfxwiNQwG_8C4qXQjx6AFqZRmbR1/s1600/Mariska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ae15Ykurbgy38s16HF_4p4OCt3qS-nrdOBoWE80mzuxD0AivFWXiig4mDgTyyfgxGVhoJtEG8IwUka1xCGcxtdClcT6PESbgW4owdrzYWfh-FU_prfxwiNQwG_8C4qXQjx6AFqZRmbR1/s400/Mariska.jpg" width="262" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">4. Brandi Carlile</div><div style="text-align: center;">Duh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUk616-LC5dluXuH_eOOmD0NL4epHLIT0KoDR_ekVJjkyI9nPSmAFb4dCbsaaVm7cIXcmQfsujQOIIta0yKzzYKBFOHnR51xarBfD9Fm5kNI4ZJ1Hu3pvwY1ztVviCzWjE9dp8bntQHJ9/s1600/brandi-carlile-328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUk616-LC5dluXuH_eOOmD0NL4epHLIT0KoDR_ekVJjkyI9nPSmAFb4dCbsaaVm7cIXcmQfsujQOIIta0yKzzYKBFOHnR51xarBfD9Fm5kNI4ZJ1Hu3pvwY1ztVviCzWjE9dp8bntQHJ9/s400/brandi-carlile-328.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">5. Martha Burns</div><div style="text-align: center;">So Martha Burns is a Canadian actress, who's the female lead in Slings and Arrows, who's also married to Paul Gross (someone who occasionally circulates my list), who's just kind of phenomenal, except that no one below the 48th parallel really knows it. Try doing a google image search for Martha Burns. I dare you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglj67E7kOdej036tLqwsHbqN0OO8sDMxrC09SQ0AW4Xnio9lLtnljk_S1yAyIFaIrldZeMJBs4Ur2yUIHRkIHOdlSQjAtuQuMPaBOm0DUSKc85Zidhxd1WPpmtb74Kj02R9EjiQJaOh4jE/s1600/kfd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglj67E7kOdej036tLqwsHbqN0OO8sDMxrC09SQ0AW4Xnio9lLtnljk_S1yAyIFaIrldZeMJBs4Ur2yUIHRkIHOdlSQjAtuQuMPaBOm0DUSKc85Zidhxd1WPpmtb74Kj02R9EjiQJaOh4jE/s400/kfd.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">6. Kim Dickens</div><div style="text-align: center;">I honestly can't tell you why ... perhaps because she's been on two of my favorite shows (<i>Deadwood</i> and <i>Treme</i>), perhaps because she frequently has fairly weird haircuts and sometimes looks like a lesbian - I don't know. But she's wicked talented, and highly underrated, and there's just something!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVEt34uo4Uu4-zV3B-XwuO4O3VV-7IVJsL0WFNxjH6Qe-L6Yock6Ik21fTCNAbfeNrGLN_-n5QcyDWjTKzZPfh_nJuKWLJlZ5KR_SdzqMkrhVLco9TllhkrSfsc7eSP_Vqmtk1uh2FTwE/s1600/kim-dickens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVEt34uo4Uu4-zV3B-XwuO4O3VV-7IVJsL0WFNxjH6Qe-L6Yock6Ik21fTCNAbfeNrGLN_-n5QcyDWjTKzZPfh_nJuKWLJlZ5KR_SdzqMkrhVLco9TllhkrSfsc7eSP_Vqmtk1uh2FTwE/s400/kim-dickens.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are others, but again, they rotate in on different days. I shared mine ...who's on yours? </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-4960454042975293222010-10-19T15:31:00.000-07:002010-10-19T15:31:57.472-07:00Our Scarlet Letter isn't "A"...Apparently, October is my "I'm going to talk about gay issues" month. It could be because elections are coming up in two short weeks (Halloween's got nothin' on this fright fest) so DADT and DOMA are at the forefront of the Democrats' failure card; it could also be because I'm looping <i>Grey's Anatomy</i> episodes in the cave of unemployment that is my room, while simultaneously (and frantically) searching for job opportunities ... or, simply because I miss my gorgeous girlfriend A LOT. Either way ... I'm super gay this month.<br />
<br />
[<i>You're probably wishing for more entries about the puppies at this point.</i>]<br />
<br />
My parents are good liberals. They are not hypocritical, they're open minded, and they watch Rachel Maddow, Jon Stewart, The Colbert Report, and Keith Olbermann - every. single. day. And because I'm unemployed, and home in the early evenings, I watch them (or rather, listen to them) too. I like listening to these programs, not just because they're highly entertaining, but strangely, they're highly informative. Keith Olbermann is occasionally supercilious, but I forgive him when he gets to his staple segment, "Worst Person in the World!" (it's usually Bill O'Reilly or Rush Limbaugh)<br />
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Last night on Rachel Maddow, Meghan McCain was a guest. She's a frequent guest. Oddly, I like Meghan McCain quite a bit. She's what I'm hoping the future of the Republican Party will be. She's smart, she she's an independent thinker, and can be reasonably conservative and still support social issues and civil rights. Pretty awesome. Anyway, here's a clip from last night's show. About 2/3's of the way through the video, Rachel shows an interview with Colorado congressional candidate Ken Buck on Meet the Press.<br />
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He's asked by the interviewer if he believes being gay is a choice. Buck says yes. And then compares homosexuality to alcoholism.<br />
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The concept that being gay is a "choice" boggles my mind. I realize that I have a very subjective view of this issue, but on a logical, reason-based planet (if one exists?) - I don't understand the notion that anyone would voluntarily choose to be a part of a minority that is poorly treated, marginalized, continually denied basic human rights, and risk physical bodily harm and <b>death</b> in some cases, just because of their "lifestyle choice." That seems fairly ridiculous. And as someone who tried to pray the gay away in secret for the better part of a year, I can safely tell you, Mr. Buck, that it is NOT a choice.<br />
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Unsurprisingly, the candidates like Ken Buck (see: Carl Paladino, Sharron Angle) who hate the gays, would also deny the right to choose abortion to women who are the victims of rape and incest, should they be elected. I'm the first liberal to say that Harry Reid (the Nevada incumbent Sharron Angle is running against/Senate majority leader) is one of the least effective Democrats on the Hill. But you know, when it comes down to politicians who do more harm than good, I'd take Harry Reid over Sharron Angle any day of the week. The worst part is that Sharron Angle is a woman ... who believes that women don't have the right to terminate a pregnancy that was created through domestic terrorism! Talk about "abomination."<br />
<br />
Abortion sidetrack aside, the notion of homosexuality and choice (and the persecution therein) is becoming an international epidemic. There's a horrifying <a href="http://www.365gay.com/news/hang-them-uganda-paper-publishes-photos-of-gays/">article</a> on <a href="http://gay365.com/">Gay365.com</a>, that sites a Ugandan newspaper that printed photos of the "Top 100 homosexuals" in the Ugandan city, lists their addresses, and with a headline over the photos that reads, "Hang them!" Within the body of the article, there are quotes from a Ugandan minister, calling for an investigation as to "why homosexuality is increasing in the country." 20 of the "homosexuals" printed in that article have been attacked. In South Africa, the ONLY African nation to allow gay marriage, gangs make a point to find out and "correctively" rape lesbians.<br />
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Is it a matter of "increasing homosexuality?" Or is it simply that homosexuals are becoming braver? The bottom line, is that it doesn't matter - and it shouldn't matter. These are specific, targeted attacks on a minority of humans because of who they are. Does this sound familiar throughout the annals of history <i>at all</i>?<br />
<br />
Thankfully, there's an upside. It seems as one side gets more and more fanatical, the other side gets more and more tolerant. I found this on a friend's facebook page. Strangely, it's an article by the dating website, OKcupid.com. It's a data-based collection of statistics, polled from over 3.2 million OKcupid members. It's kind of hilarious, and hugely interesting.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://blog.okcupid.com/index.php/gay-sex-vs-straight-sex/">Gay sex vs. Straight sex</a><br />
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A couple of things I'd like to say, as a real-life lesbian:<br />
1) I HATE the L Word. NOT ALL LESBIANS LOVE THE L WORD!<br />
2) I don't do drugs ... nor do I know any other lesbians who do drugs on a regular basis, unless drugs = alcohol<br />
3) From my knowledge of North America, which is fairly extensive, that map is pretty accurate, except that I think Utah should be slightly <i>more</i> orange than it is. Mormons are pretty gay - intensely closeted - but gay nonetheless.<br />
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The last two things I'd like say have to do with the oh-so-mysterious "gay agenda," that Republicans like to scare and excite their constituents with. Now, it will go against my Satan-worshiping coven blood-oath, but I'm going to fill you on what the American "gay agenda" actually is (because I can't speak for the Bulgarian, Chinese, Albanian, Finnish, or Mozambiquan gay agendas). Are you ready? <b>It's going to blow your mind!</b><br />
<br />
<i>The American Gay Agenda is focused on obtaining equality through legislation so that all citizens may be equal under the law; specifically in the sectors of marriage, partnership rights, and domestic livin</i>g. <i>Other than that, we just want to be left alone.</i><br />
<br />
Consider your minds blown. Notice how nowhere in that "agenda" is there a clause that reads something like this:<br />
<br />
<i>Also, we aim to improve our recruitment numbers by planting homosexual teachers in your schools for the sole purpose of indoctrinating your children into a life of homosexuality. The more children we convert, the more prizes we win!</i><br />
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</i><br />
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The scary part is that nearly 50% of Americans believe the statement above to be <i>true</i>. THEY BELIEVE IT! There's a myth attached with the acceptance of Gay Marriage as a law, claiming that homosexuality is going to be taught in the schools. Now, being the lesbian liberal who values logic and reason when it comes to my law-making, I don't know exactly what the other side means when they say "homosexuality is going to be taught in schools." I've been trying to figure it out for a few years now, but to no avail. Will it be taught in sex education classes (if any are left) as a clinical option, along side heterosexuality? I'd hope so. Will it be mentioned over and over by your kids' physics teacher as a way to make "new friends" and see the world? Probably not. And if so, I'd totally be in favor of firing that teacher for teaching something other than physics. Also, I'd like to say that as a teacher, I do not make a habit of teaching anything outside of my field. Most of the teachers I know are the same way.<br />
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I have not, in my 11 years of being an "out" lesbian recruited, coerced, seduced, or manipulated a "heterosexual" person into homosexuality <i>unwillingly</i> (that's a story for another time).<br />
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Oh ... and that chart about how 50% of women are bi-curious? I've found in my "research" that that's usually true. Heck ... even Katy Perry kissed a girl. And apparently, she liked it.Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-84940095962303018462010-10-18T23:44:00.000-07:002010-10-19T00:20:37.948-07:00Obsessions, big and small ... but mostly big.I do not have an addictive personality. I do not have compulsive need for things (or substances) - cravings, occasionally - but addictions, no.<br />
<br />
What I do have ... are obsessions. I have (largely) illogical, emotional connections to a bizarre array of things. Relationships (mostly fictional), art, books, desserts ... those are the big ones. And when I have a lot of time on my hands, like ... now, I find new things to fill my obsessional void. My current obsession? <i>Grey's Anatomy</i>.<br />
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I stopped watching Grey's Anatomy at the beginning of Season 5, when Dr. Erica Hahn (the faboo Brooke Smith), was kicked off the show for not being pretty enough, or nice enough, or something. Dr. Erica Hahn was at the beginning of a relationship with the gorgeous Dr. Calliope Torres (mmmmmmm Sara Ramirez!), the first non-heterosexual relationship for series regulars on the show. And at the time, I thought it was a conspiracy by ABC (and the Disney Corp.) to end lesbian relationships on TV!! Surely, they were behind the lesbian relationship mass extinction. Damn you, Disney! You may have taken part of my soul when I worked for you, but you'll never take away my TV girlfriends!!!<br />
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Or, you know, not. Because had I just hung in for 5-6 more episodes beyond the Dr. Erica Hahn debacle, I would have been introduced to Dr. Arizona Robbins, pediatric surgeon extraordinaire, who's not only cute and fabulous with children (she wears <a href="http://www.skates.com/Heelys-s/23.htm">heelys</a>!), but is also a lesbian. And the folks at ABC must be satisfied that she's cuter and more personable than Erica Hahn (I'm sorry Brooke Smith ... *I* love you!). So long soap opera story line short, a non-heterosexual representation of Seattle doctors remains. And is one of the few (possibly, only?) lesbian relationships on network TV.<br />
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And I've been obsessed with it. I've watched all of seasons 5 & 6 ... twice. In about two weeks. And thanks to ABC.com, I'm all caught up on the beginning of season 7 now, too.<br />
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Lara and I had a conversation about this earlier in the year. Some people like Lara, have short fixations, little bursts of excitement that fizzle out as quickly as they pop up. I, on the other hand, tend to get fixated on one thing at a time ... and when I do, it's not a fleeting occurrence - I fixate for life. Examples:<br />
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- At 6 years old, my grandfather taped the CBC version of Anne of Green Gables on Beta tapes. I fell in love! I watched those tapes over and over and over ... until I wore them out, about 3 years later. Then my grandfather got fancy and high-tech, bought a cutting-edge VHS player, and Anne of Green Gables on VHS, and then I wore those out, too.<br />
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- My grandmother and I used to get chocolate croissants every Sunday after church. Sometimes I could get two. This was a tradition for almost 10 years. I could eat chocolate croissants every day, and be incredibly happy.<br />
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- I've had to buy multiple copies of these books because I wore down the binding, and they fell apart:<br />
<i>The Hotel New Hampshire</i>, <i>Sense & Sensibility</i>, <i>Misty of Chincoteague</i>, and <i>Reservation Blues</i>.<br />
<br />
- In a word: Xena.<br />
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- Fantasy Sports - I spend hours, and hours out of my week obsessing about my Fantasy Sports teams.<br />
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These are only a few examples. Sometimes it's a long, slow progression that eventually leads to the assimilation of whatever-it-is into my life, like <i>Grey's Anatomy</i>. Sometimes, it happens all at once - like my discovery of the wonders of hockey. But either way ... sometimes it's the little/big things that get me through the day.<br />
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What gets you through the day?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0v7Y_s05COchM-5F_fXmdWbCVLWxeJg-D7O265K8Yrfk2_e4GtfNYB2CHNJFpbb4pSB6sE1IaHE64j-qG0yR7w2J98LHGmEUkgyd5QUpRoqtTCUGVrXwlciUkQYkfTEE-t0k4MifrgdY/s1600/Callie-Arizona-callie-and-arizona-9266320-640-480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0v7Y_s05COchM-5F_fXmdWbCVLWxeJg-D7O265K8Yrfk2_e4GtfNYB2CHNJFpbb4pSB6sE1IaHE64j-qG0yR7w2J98LHGmEUkgyd5QUpRoqtTCUGVrXwlciUkQYkfTEE-t0k4MifrgdY/s400/Callie-Arizona-callie-and-arizona-9266320-640-480.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-31427090878776680372010-10-11T20:12:00.000-07:002010-10-11T20:43:50.388-07:00National Coming Out DaySo today is Columbus Day. I've personally always thought this to be one of the crappiest "holidays" on the American Calendar - precisely for the reason that I never once got the day off from school. Why write the names of Holidays in italics on the calendar, if you're not going to give us the day off!? It seems like a fountainhead day to celebrate a fairly lame fountainhead explorer. Did you know that kids on the East Coast get Columbus Day off from school? I was ticked, until I realized that celebrating the memory of a man who began the systematic raping and pillaging of native peoples in the Western continents was just not my cup.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>But today is not just Columbus Day. It's also National Coming Out Day. And instead of talking about celebrating the "discovery of the Americas" (pffffft ... so histrionically wrong on soooo many levels), I thought I'd tell you a bit about my experience with the coming out process. Because truthful identities <i>are</i> something worth celebrating. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I came out when I was 17, almost 18. It was the last week of Winter break in my senior year of high school. I had known for at least two years, but in the community where I lived, the high school I went to, and my own sense of stature among my peers, coming out wasn't an option. This was the mid-late 90's. And while the GLBT community was being exposed in a very positive, new, and revolutionary way, the gay-straight alliances that are now the "norm" at high schools, were completely radical, and virtually unheard of at the time. I might not have come out on my own at all, except that my best friend, upon reading a poem I had compiled of single-line Tori Amos lyrics (yeah ... you can totally laugh), flat out asked me. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"So what's this about?"<br />
"Huh?"</div><div>"This poem ... what's this about? Is it about one person?"</div><div>"Kind of, yeah."</div><div>"And is this person ..."</div><div>"Is this person what?"</div><div>"Well ... is it a boy or a girl?"</div><div>[silence] "I don't know. I think I'm trying to figure that out."</div><div>"Okay ... well, if you had to choose between one or the other, which would it be?"</div><div>"Choose between one or the other what?"</div><div>"Gender. Which do you like better?"</div><div>"Uhmmm..."</div><div>"I'm just asking."</div><div>"I think I like girls. I think I really like girls."</div><div>"I knew it!"</div><div>"WHAT?!"</div><div>"I've known."<br />
"WHAT?! How did you? I mean, I didn't ... WHAT?!"</div><div>"I've known since junior year, I think."<br />
"Well why didn't you tell me??"<br />
"I just didn't know how to broach the subject."</div><div>"Would have saved me a lot of agony, you know ... that you're okay with it."</div><div>"Of course I am! I love you. And I want you to be happy. This doesn't change who you are ... it's just another level."</div><div>"Thank you."</div><div>"Have you told anyone else?"</div><div>"No - I've never said it out loud. I should probably do it now - Megan, I think I'm a lesbian."<br />
"YAY! I'm so happy for you! And I'm the first one to know! YAY!"</div><div><br />
</div><div>[<i>That's a mostly dramatized retelling - I don't remember all the details of the conversation, but that's the essential idea.</i>]</div><div><br />
</div><div>This conversation then carried long into the night. My biggest fear was that other students at school, like Megan, had figured it out. I was paranoid about being "obvious." My fear took hold - what would they do to me if they knew? What about the awards and scholarships I was up for? What about my teachers - would they grade me differently? Would my parents still love me? Would I have any friends at all? </div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyone struggling with self-identity battles with these questions and more ... and the more questions asked, the more fear is produced. Now, thankfully, Megan is probably 50 times more perceptive than most normal humans, let alone teenagers. I lived the last semester of high school in a kind of paranoid bliss - I was simultaneously horrified of someone finding out - or worse - figuring it out before I had a chance to control it. But I was so completely thrilled that someone else <i>knew</i> ... someone knew! Not just someone - my best friend, who knew me better than anyone. Who sat with me at lunch time, who commiserated with me about the vileness of high school, and the hate we had for our hometown. My intelligent, articulate, valedictorian best friend who didn't even blink that I was different, and who didn't love me any less. In fact, she was excited and proud of the fact that she was the first one to know. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Part of the coming out process includes damage control. Lots and lots of damage control. The impetus of controlling who knows what: when you'll tell them, how you'll tell them, how MUCH you'll tell them, and attempting to calculate the fall-out as the news spreads is so daunting - it's enough to make you want to stay good and hidden in that closet for, oh, 80 years or so. It's maddening! Especially because once you say it - once you lay it all out there, that's it. You can't get it back, you can't retract it. It's such a brave, terrifying, and completely lonely process - it can't be fully experienced unless you're right in the middle of it. Unless you're living it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>My coming out experience was (by-in-large) so completely awesome, so supportive, so wonderful - and with each new person I told, it became that much easier for the next time, and the next time. I'm one of the really lucky ones. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I have friends who've come out to me, and with many I was the first person they told. And with almost all of them, the set up was written or said to me in a way that had me deathly afraid they were dying of cancer. "I have something I need to tell you, and it's really, really difficult. I can't even say the words - but I have to ..." So dour, so depressed, so frightened - and the phrase, "I understand if you don't want to talk with me anymore," or some variation, is ALWAYS the conclusive statement - (I think I said it a few times myself) because that's what their expectation is. They're expecting the worst-case scenario - that everyone they know will leave them, will stop loving them, will <i>disown</i> them. It doesn't matter how real this scenario could be - it's every non-straight person's worst fear. It certainly was for me - and I had exceptionally wonderful people in my life. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And if someone you know does that to you ... if they have such a hard time getting the words out that you're afraid they've got some terribly terminal disease - you are absolutely allowed to yell at them! Just so long as you hug them, or smile, or exclaim your immense relief. Tell them that you love them, no matter what, and that all you could ever hope for, is for them to be happy with who they are. That is the singularly best gift you can give: joyful acceptance. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So today I celebrate all those teens, all those early 20-somethings, 30-somethings, 40-somethings, 50-somethings, 60-somethings, and beyond - it's not too late to love who you are; who you've always been. And while you might feel alone - you're not. And days like today (without Columbus' help) exist to remind us of that. </div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/10/11/the-9-dumbest-carl-paladi_n_758522.html">Oh. And fuck you, Carl Paladino!</a></div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And some bonus videos ...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" height="328" id="ordie_player_4e70cc3b22" width="512"><param name="movie" value="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" /><param name="flashvars" value="key=4e70cc3b22" /><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed width="512" height="328" flashvars="key=4e70cc3b22" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" quality="high" src="http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf" name="ordie_player_4e70cc3b22" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div style="font-size: x-small; margin-top: 0; text-align: left; width: 512px;"><a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/4e70cc3b22/g-a-y-s-guys-against-you-serving" title="from Thomas Lennon, Sarah Silverman, John Cho, Dave Holmes, Alex Fernie, Justin Donaldson, FOD Team, and Shauna O'Toole">G.A.Y.S. (Guys Against You Serving)</a> from <a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/thomas_lennon">Thomas Lennon</a></div><br />
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</div></div>Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8593425450366620684.post-56552780879938544762010-10-07T15:06:00.000-07:002010-10-07T15:14:50.174-07:00New Music Thursday...I thought I should make up for the obnoxiously nerdy blog post I threw up in the wee hours of the morning. While I'm clearly not ashamed of my uber nerdiness, I know it isn't everyone's cup of tea. But you know what is? MUSIC.<br />
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Now, I know it isn't the end of 2010 yet - but I thought I'd post my top five favorite bands of this last year, mainly because I've done a poor job of sharing music with you recently. And music, like a good wine, needs to be shared to be enjoyed. The joys of this life, after all, are not for the covetous.<br />
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<b>Gas Light Anthem</b> - The down-and-out, bad-things-happen-to good-people working man that The Boss first shared with the world, is kept alive and well in Gas Light Anthem's breakthrough record, <i>The '59 Sound</i>. Throw in some classic '50's guitar riffs (some lovely Buddy Holly homages), and you have yourself a really interesting, gritty, soul-bearing band; a refreshing relief from the emo-laden "rock 'n roll" that haunts the aisles of what used to be "alternative" rock. These guys are the real deal.<br />
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Sample of brilliance:<br />
"Everthing has a price/everyone has a price/nothing is free, not even me."<br />
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<b>Oh. And they played with Bruce Springsteen. Yeah. I just died a lot.</b><br />
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<b>The Avett Brothers</b> - I know I wrote a whole post about these guys on Monday, but they deserve repeating. Perhaps you, like me, have heard magazines, critics, and even musicians proclaim cynically that "Rock n' Roll is DEAD!" No, it's fucking not. And so long as bands like the Avett Brothers exist, it won't ever die. What Rock n' Roll needs to get away from is the over-produced, badly written simplicity of "the music industry." Music requires musicians who have musicianship. Not suits with glasses who sell bullshit to the masses. But thankfully, the Avett Brothers have the market CORNERED on musicianship. Long live North Carolina!<br />
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Sample Brilliance:<br />
"Keep your clothes on/I've got all that I can take/teach me how to use/the love that people say you make"<br />
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<b>Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros - </b>I've written about these guys too. I think they're one of my favorite bands of this year solely because of their originality. They're encapsulating an entirely new culture in their music, one that is suddenly getting a lot more attention - the neo-hippie, burning man attending, peace-loving, love-loving slightly hipster kids of my generation, who are trying their hardest to shake off the materialistic, "stuff"-mongering 80's childhood they were raised with - the kids who are creating sustainability, not just in farming, but in every aspect of their lives. A free-spirit, a need to change the world, and an optimism that will never die. The Zeros are the sound for this generation. And thank goodness.<br />
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The sound on this video isn't great ... but the spirit captures what I'm talking about ...<br />
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<b>The National</b> - I don't know if I've talked about this band before, but I love them. Love, love, LOVE them. I can't even really articulate in words the awesomeness of this band ... so I'm just going to give you the video, so you can listen for yourselves.<br />
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Sample of brilliance:<br />
"We're half awake in our fake empire..."<br />
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<b>Arcade Fire</b> - The upside of bands who take time between albums, like the Arcade Fire, is that their albums tend to be the most thought-out, well-executed, and musically diverse in the market. And this is certainly true of the Montreal band. Their third major album since 2004, <i>Suburbs</i>, tells of the homogenized plasticity of the middle class, their fall from "American Dream" glory, and relationships left in the ruined aftermath. Highly intelligent, thought-provoking lyrics, paired with organ riffs, optimistic guitars, and a killer rhythm section - Arcade Fire is keeping it real. Not bad for a bunch of Canadians, eh?<br />
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Sample of brilliance:<br />
"I feel like I've been livin' in/a city with no children in it/a garden left for ruin/by a millionaire inside of a private prison"<br />
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There you go, kids. Download at your own discretion. Or be totally hipster and go buy them in vinyl.Radical Bradacalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10416423005618626165noreply@blogger.com0