It's clear we're in a "New Normal." I get it. The world is changing fast,, and it's imperative to be flexible to change at the speed and magnitude the world is changing. I get it. It was less than two weeks ago that my wife and I did something as taboo as fucking an animal is **right now**- we went out to dinner, to celebrate.
Now both of those things, dinner in public, as well as celebration.
Now, if we're sincere, this whole "shelter in place/stay at home" thing isn't as will-breaking for me as I'm sure it is for some of my more extroverted friends- if being around people is what gives you energy, brings you life, this would be close to will-breaking.
Fortunately, I'm not that guy.
I don't go out a ton, an occasional Happy Hour with work people or friends, but for the most part, I went to work, came home, got groceries and/or take out, picked up weed from the dispensary (but usually even that was delivered). So outside of going to work, I might only leave my house a few times a week, and only to do things that **are all currently allowed under the shelter in place order.** Other than not being able to buy shit like hand sanitizer and dry beans when I want to, it's not that bad. I can do 100% of my job from home (which makes me lucky), and my job is necessary even when the econ goes down the shitter (which makes me more fortunate). I have a great support system with a wife that's better than I'll ever deserve, two cats that make my world way brighter, and people who I know have my back and know it's reciprocal.
Which is why today was so odd.
Today was rough. And it's not that anything **in particular** made it rough- I mean Covid-19 has been running a train on the United States. The exponential math I've been concerned about is becoming to come to fruition, but that's neither surprising nor moving to me, as I've kind of seen that coming. It's not that the President, in the face of all of this, is looking at ways to get people back to work and standard routine. I've been watching the President do **dumb shit** for 4 full years, and people of all walks of life have been Getting Done Raw Dawg the whole time- kids in fucking cages, making migrants wait in Mexico, tax cuts, I don't have the time to list them all. It's not that I get to watch the thing I've tied my reasoning to in times of trouble, science, be burned at the stake like a Salem witch- dude literally is erasing any governmental claims about **climate change**, so that was to be expected. So what was it that broke me today?
I wanted to eat a ham and cheese empanada.
You see, there's a spot up the road about 4 miles that sells baller ass empanadas. I don't eat a ton of empanadas, but when I want one, I **fucking want one.** As I said, the store that sells them is just up the road, and I could have just gotten in my car and driven and gotten one.
Except I'm one of those immunocompromised people you read about. One of the people they tell you to stay home to protect. A two-time cancer survivor (and chemo survivor) and I have asthma. So if I get Covid-19, it's **probably** going to not go well.
They said they delivered, but their driver was sick, so they told me "to just come in" and pick them up. But I really don't **do** that anymore, if I can avoid it. So as much as I wanted something as simple as an empanada, and as easy as it would have been for me to just go **get it** we no longer live in a world where I **feel safe enough** to just go **do basic shit.** And it broke me. I just started fucking bawling alone, with the door closed in my office because my wife was teaching, and the cats hate being locked in the mancave with me.
I had planned on being in Vegas with my boys for NCAA Opening Weekend, with a dip to Portland for my boy E's bachelor party. It didn't happen. I would be leaving for Disney this weekend with my wife- some time in the Happiest Place on Earth with the person I love the most. Not going to happen. And these things definitely had an effect on me. But I kinda shrugged my shoulders, cursed China for being slow to let us know and our government for being **even slower** but invariably kept it moving.
But this empanada.
Clearly, the empanada was a symbol of something- normalcy. I don't know if I need the world to be "normal" again, I just need the world to stay the fuck home long enough to contain the disease sufficient to let me **go get a fucking empanada.**
05 October 2019
Why I'm Going to the Lynching Museum and Memorial Alone or An Ironic Confluence
My wife and I want to go to the Legacy Museum and National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama. The Museum and Memorial are an acknowledgment of the history of racial terror, that is littered throughout the American story. We want to go together. And one day, we may.
But not right now.
My wife is a US History and Government teacher and would love to go to the Museum and Memorial to help tell the story of lynching and racial terror to students in a California classroom that could read about it but not have the passion of the account transferred to her students.
I'd like to go for different reasons- it's a significant chunk of my experience- every male in my mom and dad's family left the deep south as soon as they were able- whether they left for college or the military (and sometimes both), they all left. I never gave it much thought until it occurred to me **how many** men left. My dad was one of 10 kids, eight were boys. My mom was one of nine kids, six were boys. 14 boys **all** left the south to go north. I asked my uncle why one day, and he was pretty blunt. "They were stringin' boys up in trees here **well** after Brown v. Board passed here- wasn't safe to be a black boy in the Klan south." And there you have it- an entire generation of my family's men left the south because they were **literally** in fear for their lives.
Which is what makes today so depressing. As much as I'd like to share this experience with my wife, I'm **afraid** to do so. I'm scared to do so for *many* of the same reasons my kinfolk left the deep south in the first place.
I do not believe that my wife and I could travel safely in the deep south. I'm obviously Black. My wife is white.
And this is only depressing because it's not the first time that we've had to consider trips, and then think about where we're going, who we'd be around and whether or not that would be a safe experience. The example that jumps out at me most has to do with Bourbon. My wife **loves** her some Bourbon. Loves it so much, she went on the Bourbon tour in Kentucky, traveling along the Kentucky grasslands from distillery to distillery, tasting the finest Bourbons in the world and hearing the stories behind them (which as a history teacher I'm sure is as much of it as the Bourbon itself). She came back and talked about how awesome an experience she had and that we should do it, too. And honestly, I'd **love** to do it. But knowing immediately that the experience of a black man and a white woman driving through the grasslands (read: rural) is **distinctly not the same experience** and one that entails the possibility of danger (pulled over on a country road by a Good Ol' Boy cop, run off the road by rednecks yelling nigger- note **both** of these things have happened to me, and the first was scarier than the second). The kind of danger that puts **both** of us in danger.
Danger's not exactly my middle name, but I am willing to accept risk **for myself**. I can defend myself well enough and am, even at my age, faster than most people if we have to make a run for it. But in general, I try to keep Carol out of extra unnecessary risk- she does not do well when I'm being fucked with, and her speaking up might put her in physical harm, which is the most likely way I'd be killed by a cop, who would get away with it because apparently, you have to shoot someone **in their home** to be convicted.
So, in 2019, despite having the legal right to be married for (only) 50 years, we still don't have the ability to travel freely and safely. Not even to see a Museum and Memorial noting the nation's history of racial terror.
I'll take "Situational Irony" for 800, Alex...
But not right now.
My wife is a US History and Government teacher and would love to go to the Museum and Memorial to help tell the story of lynching and racial terror to students in a California classroom that could read about it but not have the passion of the account transferred to her students.
I'd like to go for different reasons- it's a significant chunk of my experience- every male in my mom and dad's family left the deep south as soon as they were able- whether they left for college or the military (and sometimes both), they all left. I never gave it much thought until it occurred to me **how many** men left. My dad was one of 10 kids, eight were boys. My mom was one of nine kids, six were boys. 14 boys **all** left the south to go north. I asked my uncle why one day, and he was pretty blunt. "They were stringin' boys up in trees here **well** after Brown v. Board passed here- wasn't safe to be a black boy in the Klan south." And there you have it- an entire generation of my family's men left the south because they were **literally** in fear for their lives.
Which is what makes today so depressing. As much as I'd like to share this experience with my wife, I'm **afraid** to do so. I'm scared to do so for *many* of the same reasons my kinfolk left the deep south in the first place.
I do not believe that my wife and I could travel safely in the deep south. I'm obviously Black. My wife is white.
And this is only depressing because it's not the first time that we've had to consider trips, and then think about where we're going, who we'd be around and whether or not that would be a safe experience. The example that jumps out at me most has to do with Bourbon. My wife **loves** her some Bourbon. Loves it so much, she went on the Bourbon tour in Kentucky, traveling along the Kentucky grasslands from distillery to distillery, tasting the finest Bourbons in the world and hearing the stories behind them (which as a history teacher I'm sure is as much of it as the Bourbon itself). She came back and talked about how awesome an experience she had and that we should do it, too. And honestly, I'd **love** to do it. But knowing immediately that the experience of a black man and a white woman driving through the grasslands (read: rural) is **distinctly not the same experience** and one that entails the possibility of danger (pulled over on a country road by a Good Ol' Boy cop, run off the road by rednecks yelling nigger- note **both** of these things have happened to me, and the first was scarier than the second). The kind of danger that puts **both** of us in danger.
Danger's not exactly my middle name, but I am willing to accept risk **for myself**. I can defend myself well enough and am, even at my age, faster than most people if we have to make a run for it. But in general, I try to keep Carol out of extra unnecessary risk- she does not do well when I'm being fucked with, and her speaking up might put her in physical harm, which is the most likely way I'd be killed by a cop, who would get away with it because apparently, you have to shoot someone **in their home** to be convicted.
So, in 2019, despite having the legal right to be married for (only) 50 years, we still don't have the ability to travel freely and safely. Not even to see a Museum and Memorial noting the nation's history of racial terror.
I'll take "Situational Irony" for 800, Alex...
22 July 2019
The Life and Times of the Nonprofit Negro
Despite loving my job, loving what I do, and
working with staff/management I genuinely like, I dread coming in to work.
The place I work started 55 years ago as a
grassroots movement to address hunger and homelessness and has 10,000
volunteers deliver 12 programs to approximately 60,000 people each year to
address the short and long term needs in our community. Our 13 member, all-volunteer Board of
Directors (BOD) members represent government, private industry, and low-income
residents, working together to provide guidance and leadership for the
organization. More women than men and almost 70% POC.
It's not that I don't love my job: I get to
write, for a living, for fuck's sake. I'm not writing The Great American Novel,
but when I write effectively, a lot of good people can do great work. And I get
to write, which I fucking love to do. I
work for a nonprofit, and almost all the things I thought I would hate about
Dat Nonprofit Lyfe were things that just flat out weren't true here. I even
like the actual people I work with- the people who are above me on the food
chain seem to have my back as much as you could ask people you work with to
have your back.
The place I work is generally Brown and Down.
With all of this, why would I dread going to
work? Shitty, racist people I can't tell what I feel about them. I should
probably provide some background…
As I said above, I work for a nonprofit that
offers a variety of services for people who need things- we have a food pantry
and clothes closet available twice a month for people who need it, a produce
sack available for anyone who needs it once a week, daily sack lunches for
anyone who might need it, a low-income home energy assistance program, and
emergency housing assistance to help with move-in costs and to help stave off
evictions. We also have employment services, an age 0-17 Education program, an
urban gardening program, as well as a policy and organizing wing. With such a broad array of ser, you can imagine there are always people in and out
receiving services as well as volunteers on-site, constantly. And our members
are reflective of poverty not just in the area, but nationally- which means
it's more black and brown than society is, generally.
Our volunteers, however, are reflective of
what I determine to be three, particular groups, reflecting different times in
the history of the organization. The organization has changed from a charity to
an organization focused on social justice and poverty alleviation. Some have been there since the beginning-
volunteering and donating from a time when the driving force behind any involvement
was just straight unadulterated Catholic guilt. Some of our volunteers are new
to the organization and have been around under only the metamorphosis. The
final set of volunteers, which would consist of most of our volunteers fall
in someplace that could only be classified as "the middle"- some of
them lean toward, for lack of a better description, Old and Shitty and Young
and Woke Willing.
Wow, I've been writing for a while, and I
haven't even described what happened this time to make me wish I could work
from a home office and come in for the occasional meeting. So what had happened
was…
I was sitting in the Admin office at my
cubicle. I'd just finished up a grant proposal that was due later that day, and
was in the process of "closing out the file"- making hard copies of
the application to put in the file folder, making soft copies of the file to
there is a paper as well as a digital copy of every application and was in the
process of updating the calendars when a woman walks in the Admin office, which
is, in and of itself, a bit strange: it's an office set back from the rest of
the building and is frequently locked. There are two doors in the office, and
the back door is the one closest to my cubicle. When you walk in the door, to
find my cubicle, you have to turn around, as my desk is behind the door. Also
to get to my desk, you have to pass another employee, as her cubicle is the
first, one you'd see if you turned around, but there's an entire office in
front of you. When the woman walks in, she looks like she is looking for
someone, but I'm doing work and figure the woman could ask my cubicle mate or
the HR manager, whose desk is a cubicle directly in front of where she was
standing. I look up, and she's looking DIRECTLY at me, which is odd, and she
looks bitter and angry, which is a look I have been known to draw out of
people, but not usually until I speak to them. When we make eye contact, she
barks at me "There are no paper towels in the women's room." This
took me aback for a few reasons: a) why are you angry at *me* about that- I
can't even go in the women's room, b) who are you and why do you think it's
OK to treat anyone that way, c) hey wait a second, there's a room FULL of
people here you could have asked, including my cubicle mate, who is actually
much closer to you than I am. But before I could make any comment, she had
stormed out of the office, and by this time, all the information had been
processed and it occurred to me that she barked orders at me about paper towels
because she assumed it was my job to stock the bathrooms, despite sitting
at a desk and working on grants when she summoned me.
It is infuriating: but mostly because this is
consistent with a theme since I have been working here. There are a lot of people who volunteer here
who have a hard time seeing past their implicit biases and don't believe they
even have them, which makes a discussion about their behavior even more
complicated. I have had three separate volunteers in six months treat me as
less than an equal. It's infuriating for a couple of reasons, but the most
important one is this one: if this is how they treat black and brown people
they are supposed to be equals to, how do you think they treat our members?
Having spoken to a fair amount of our black members and just asking them how
they are, I have heard more complaints about the way our volunteers treat our
black and brown members than I am comfortable with. They speak about the way
they're spoken to by some volunteers. One of the members used the term
"disgust" to describe how she felt she was treated- but "if you
need services, you need services. You get what you need and keep it
moving." The volunteer who came in Admin had a look of absolute disdain,
like that she couldn't believe she had to find me to come and do my damn
job and if that's what I felt like from my small exchange, I can't imagine
what kind of stuff she could project on our members.
It's also infuriating because I know that when
it happens, that I have two courses of action, both equally unfulfilling: I can just keep quiet,
pretend it didn't happen, and go walk out the anger and frustration (which is
my ordinary course of action) or I can file an Incident Report, where I tell
people who work here what happened, they track down the person (if they can) to
find out what happened (and I always wonder what would happen if they straight
denied it and it became a "my word vs. their word" issue- I do not
have confidence it would work out in my favor). Once the report is filed, and
the person is notified, then the org speaks with the person involved in the
incident and tells them "we've spoken to the person/will speak to the
person," there's usually a part of the conversation about training they
have done (which didn't work, clearly) or will be putting them through. And I
know the person will if they choose to return, will be allowed to return and
volunteer. Inevitably it means there's no real closure for me: I know that they
said some messed up shit, and then I get to see them a week or two later, and
the only thing that happens is that person is unwilling to look me in the
eyes. No apology. No recognition of wrongdoing. No acknowledgment of anything. I get the privilege to see them walk around here like nothing happened. Maybe a better phrasing would be "like nothing that matters happened."
And that's why, despite something happening to
me here about twice a month, I rarely say anything. I have no problem speaking
truth to power IF there is some level of recourse for doing so. It's hard. It's
painful because it requires to drudge up shitty, painful memories. It's harder
when you know doing so leads to no real change.
And that's why it's now hard to get out of bed
and go to work: because some racist shit is probably going to happen to me, and
I'm probably going to have to bite the bullet or be told the result of an inquiry was **literally** the same as if I'd just bitten the bullet.
And that sucks.
23 September 2018
Open Letter To. Dr Christine Blasey Ford
Dr. Blasey-Ford,
You don't know me from Adam, and I'm not sure why you'd feel the need to hold any of my words as if they had a unique value for you, but I wanted you to know that I am in awe of the bravery it takes to stand up in front of the world and speak truth to power, especially in the face of what can only be a tremendous amount of emotional baggage (which definitely seems like an incorrect word but I, as of this moment, lack the vocabulary to articulate it in a more appropriate fashion) that needed to be sorted out before you could even speak freely about it. I speak for myself, but feel confidently speaking for a litany of others as well, that we thank you for your candor and your service to the country.
For the love of all that is holy: don't testify. I have a few reasons below.
It is obvious that there are times in life as well as in history, where people need to stand up and fight injustice, even if nothing happens. I'm an African American man with a deep knowledge of United States history, and despite that, I fight against racism at every turn and with every opportunity I have. I do it because, despite knowing I'm not going to change society, I might be able to change a mind, because in general, people's unwillingness to listen runs parallel with my desire to make them listen. And on an individual level, people are generally more willing to listen to variant ideas, even ones they may naturally object to- in one-on-one situations, it's easier to make connections to foster change. I don't usually think I'm going to make large-scale change, but the possibility of creating change little by little in the minds of the people gives me the strength to fight in the face of rejection.
You, however, are walking into a political tsunami, the perfect storm against you. First of all, the man that assaulted you has a unique political position which places you squarely in the crosshairs of the Russia Investigation. KKKavanugh is maybe the only person in the Federal Judiciary who thinks a President when in office, is essentially above the law. The idea of investigating a sitting President, regardless of the acts they may be accused of, should not have the distraction of legal proceedings taking away the focus of the President. He has even gone as far as saying the Supreme Court decision of US v. Nixon, the case that required the release of the tapes that got Nixon impeached, was incorrectly decided. Kavanaugh on this court, in the hyper-partisan environment of the court today, could **easily** turn a 5-4 decision to make the President above scrutiny. If he gets KKKavanaugh, he doesn't **have** to fire Sessions or Rosenstein- he can have the SCOTUS codify into precedent and never have to worry about it again. So your argument flies in the face of probably the top interest of the President, which is not a good place to be. It's not KKKavanaugh fanatics that are calling your house and threatening you and your family- it's all about that Base, bout that Base, no treble.
The second reason is actually probably more devastating than the first. Conservatives, across the board, want to have a conservative majority in the Courts, and the Crown Jewel of the courts, obviously, is the Supreme Court. They REALLY want the Court to flip 5-4 conservative, and honestly, this is **now** their best chance to do it. The current political environment is one in which, as of September 23, a strong democratic preference insofar as who voters would like to have in office- NBC News poll shows the Democrats have the largest margin in the history of the poll over the GOP and the Cook Political Report has even Texas and Tennessee and Arizona as toss-ups. There is a wave coming in the fall, and it's Blue. The question: is it a Carolina Baby Blue, a KC Royals Blue or a University of Michigan Navy Blue. But regardless of which is is, they **know** they're going to have a hard time getting someone **else** through. I can't defend this, but I think one of the reasons KKKavanaugh was also picked is he made the vaguest, and thus manipulatable arg for Roe, which they know is the kryptonite for Collins and Murkowski. Trump conservatives, as well as old-school party conservatives, have one thing in common- they want the court to flip. Its the reason the Federalist Society made Trump **produce a fucking list** of justices he could appoint that would do the bidding of the Right. Mitch McConnell has pretty much said this, by saying they would plough through and KKKavanaugh would be confirmed.
If you're curious why they're so gung-ho to have SCOTUS majority conservative, I would suggest you google "The Warren Court" and realize their goal is essentially a Reverse Warren.
I guess my main reason for hoping you don't testify has nothing to do with anything except the fact that you're playing a rigged game. They're not going to let you be questioned by Senators, which means the optics of old white dudes saying patently offensive shit is probably off the board, which means those moments aren't created as they naturally would be. Also, the idea of being cross-examined by an attorney with literally none of the rules of courts to control what can be asked and how, sounds way more like a trial for you, which is pretty shitty since it's essentially a job interview for him. This lawyer is going to try to literally destroy you and any shred of credibility you have- and any doubt she can create means that's doubt: the kind of gendered doubt that Corker and Flake and Collins can get behind. Meanwhile, KKKavanaugh has been sitting around, preparing specific rhetoric and framing to best bring to light the critical information he wants the committee to know- that he didn't do it and has never done anything like it. He'll come off just good enough to get the swing votes he needs and **regardless of what you say or how credible you happen to be, he's going to get confirmed** and you'll go out worse than Anita Hill, which is a fate nobody desreves.
I wish our society wasn't so sickneingly and profundly sexist. I wish there was a world where you would be allowed to tell your story and be not just heard, but actually listened to. I also wish I lived in a world where, as a black man, I didn't fear being killed by the police when I leave my house. But here we are. If I thought there was a **chance** what you were about to embark upon would end up with **something** that didn't end up being the message "well i don't believe her" which, seems, to me, to be societally more dangerous.
Thank you for your courage,
Doug
You don't know me from Adam, and I'm not sure why you'd feel the need to hold any of my words as if they had a unique value for you, but I wanted you to know that I am in awe of the bravery it takes to stand up in front of the world and speak truth to power, especially in the face of what can only be a tremendous amount of emotional baggage (which definitely seems like an incorrect word but I, as of this moment, lack the vocabulary to articulate it in a more appropriate fashion) that needed to be sorted out before you could even speak freely about it. I speak for myself, but feel confidently speaking for a litany of others as well, that we thank you for your candor and your service to the country.
For the love of all that is holy: don't testify. I have a few reasons below.
It is obvious that there are times in life as well as in history, where people need to stand up and fight injustice, even if nothing happens. I'm an African American man with a deep knowledge of United States history, and despite that, I fight against racism at every turn and with every opportunity I have. I do it because, despite knowing I'm not going to change society, I might be able to change a mind, because in general, people's unwillingness to listen runs parallel with my desire to make them listen. And on an individual level, people are generally more willing to listen to variant ideas, even ones they may naturally object to- in one-on-one situations, it's easier to make connections to foster change. I don't usually think I'm going to make large-scale change, but the possibility of creating change little by little in the minds of the people gives me the strength to fight in the face of rejection.
You, however, are walking into a political tsunami, the perfect storm against you. First of all, the man that assaulted you has a unique political position which places you squarely in the crosshairs of the Russia Investigation. KKKavanugh is maybe the only person in the Federal Judiciary who thinks a President when in office, is essentially above the law. The idea of investigating a sitting President, regardless of the acts they may be accused of, should not have the distraction of legal proceedings taking away the focus of the President. He has even gone as far as saying the Supreme Court decision of US v. Nixon, the case that required the release of the tapes that got Nixon impeached, was incorrectly decided. Kavanaugh on this court, in the hyper-partisan environment of the court today, could **easily** turn a 5-4 decision to make the President above scrutiny. If he gets KKKavanaugh, he doesn't **have** to fire Sessions or Rosenstein- he can have the SCOTUS codify into precedent and never have to worry about it again. So your argument flies in the face of probably the top interest of the President, which is not a good place to be. It's not KKKavanaugh fanatics that are calling your house and threatening you and your family- it's all about that Base, bout that Base, no treble.
The second reason is actually probably more devastating than the first. Conservatives, across the board, want to have a conservative majority in the Courts, and the Crown Jewel of the courts, obviously, is the Supreme Court. They REALLY want the Court to flip 5-4 conservative, and honestly, this is **now** their best chance to do it. The current political environment is one in which, as of September 23, a strong democratic preference insofar as who voters would like to have in office- NBC News poll shows the Democrats have the largest margin in the history of the poll over the GOP and the Cook Political Report has even Texas and Tennessee and Arizona as toss-ups. There is a wave coming in the fall, and it's Blue. The question: is it a Carolina Baby Blue, a KC Royals Blue or a University of Michigan Navy Blue. But regardless of which is is, they **know** they're going to have a hard time getting someone **else** through. I can't defend this, but I think one of the reasons KKKavanaugh was also picked is he made the vaguest, and thus manipulatable arg for Roe, which they know is the kryptonite for Collins and Murkowski. Trump conservatives, as well as old-school party conservatives, have one thing in common- they want the court to flip. Its the reason the Federalist Society made Trump **produce a fucking list** of justices he could appoint that would do the bidding of the Right. Mitch McConnell has pretty much said this, by saying they would plough through and KKKavanaugh would be confirmed.
If you're curious why they're so gung-ho to have SCOTUS majority conservative, I would suggest you google "The Warren Court" and realize their goal is essentially a Reverse Warren.
I guess my main reason for hoping you don't testify has nothing to do with anything except the fact that you're playing a rigged game. They're not going to let you be questioned by Senators, which means the optics of old white dudes saying patently offensive shit is probably off the board, which means those moments aren't created as they naturally would be. Also, the idea of being cross-examined by an attorney with literally none of the rules of courts to control what can be asked and how, sounds way more like a trial for you, which is pretty shitty since it's essentially a job interview for him. This lawyer is going to try to literally destroy you and any shred of credibility you have- and any doubt she can create means that's doubt: the kind of gendered doubt that Corker and Flake and Collins can get behind. Meanwhile, KKKavanaugh has been sitting around, preparing specific rhetoric and framing to best bring to light the critical information he wants the committee to know- that he didn't do it and has never done anything like it. He'll come off just good enough to get the swing votes he needs and **regardless of what you say or how credible you happen to be, he's going to get confirmed** and you'll go out worse than Anita Hill, which is a fate nobody desreves.
I wish our society wasn't so sickneingly and profundly sexist. I wish there was a world where you would be allowed to tell your story and be not just heard, but actually listened to. I also wish I lived in a world where, as a black man, I didn't fear being killed by the police when I leave my house. But here we are. If I thought there was a **chance** what you were about to embark upon would end up with **something** that didn't end up being the message "well i don't believe her" which, seems, to me, to be societally more dangerous.
Thank you for your courage,
Doug
08 May 2018
A Final Letter to my 2nd Best Friend
Dear Scratch,
Hey my friend. I'll try to keep this letter short for a couple of reasons, but mostly for these two reasons: a) you're a cat and, unless you've been holding out on me with regard to your ability to read, and b) i know you weren't much for small talk and were more of a relax and chill kind of cat. Who am I kidding?? It's precisely because you're a cat that I may pontificate more than I normally would, but I want to make sure I say all the things, because you deserve to know all the things, the critical moments you've played in my life.
This is really just my chance to say Thank You. I wasn't initially part of your family, I was just a guy that thought your mother was a pretty cool woman. I had no intention of being part of your family, and yet you, even from the beginning, treated me as an immediate member of your family: you'd roll around on my jacket I left on the floor, you'd walk in front of me and flop down, inviting such cuteness that i'd find myself stopping whatever I was doing, fall to the ground and immediately have some Scratch time- always involving a tummy rum and the under the jowl on both sides was a mandate- so much of one that even at the very end, he wanted that massage, despite it also being where the cancer attacked- meaning the spot you love being rubbed the most makes you bleed when you get rubbed there.
I want to thank you for being my heart. I've never had a dog, and so I really have no idea of the reference, but I've heard this rumor that cats were neither responsive or loyal. All the things I read about cat's weren't true about my first cat, Milo, which is why, despite you having a really solid connection with me when we first met (which I can honestly say took your sister maybe five years before she ever really became comfortable around me). You see, I had a cat a few years earlier, a cat named Milo that I really loved. But as is pretty common for my job and as you're acutely aware, I have to be gone for sometimes two weeks, sometimes four weeks, and, even at the height of my debate sharecropping days, as many as eight weeks in the summer, making money that helped me live for the entire year on the on the indentured servitude wages debate was paying me at the time. But this meant I had to leave my cat with some friends who I trusted to take care of my animal, which they obviously did not- Milo was lost one night, never to be found again. It's the reason I freaked out so much that Monday night a couple of months ago, when you got outside and we couldn't find you. I had all the flashbacks of the only time Milo got out of the house when I had control. I remember the panic and fear in my voice as I searched for Milo, and I remember the tears and the weight of responsibility failed. And then we found him, and I promised him I'd never let that happen to him again- and when I failed him, I was pretty sure I'd never have another cat again, because I didn't think I would be responsible enough to take care of anyone else. Then you (and less so your sister) came along. I'm pretty convinced your sister could open the cat food and serve herself left to her own devices, but I always knew you loved me. And initially, I just assumed it was because I was the person most likely to feed you. But it was more than that- taking care of a cat (or really any living being) involves a lot of hard work. The reason the pound has so many animals has to to with people not really understanding the full implications of having a pet- they just think it's cute to have a bunny on Easter, but not realizing by May 1 that Peter Cottontail is eating them out of house and home. When it became apparent I would be playing an important role in taking care of you, it required a sharpened focus, and it would be hard, but critical if ever there would be emotional growth. Knowing I could take care of you was the backbone, the impetus to a variety of decisions I would make later.
I thank you for being my unflappable and mostly silent buddy. A lot of times, we need a friend to be able to have your real voice with, someone who will allow you to speak truth to power, to speak freely and in opposition to the status quo. And most of us have those kind of friends- I have a few, and I married one of them for what has to be seen as pretty obvious reasons. But a lot of times, we need a friend that can really, for the love of all that's holy on the planet, shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck and listen. Like Crash Davis would say: "Don't speak- it only hurts the ball club." Scratch, you have, without question, been my best friend in the world with regard to just listening. Yes, I know you probably didn't understand a word I was saying, and its usually pretty mutual. But I know can tell how someone feels with regard to how they might say something, you can hear in my voice and i can hear in yours, when there was an issue. I'm 100% sure sitting down, talking to you about Carol and wanting to marry her was integral to my decision making process. You see, you already know Carol and I had no intention of getting married, and that one of the stipulations about our dating at the beginning was the common theme of not wanting to be married. But as love is prone to do sometimes, they decided to make fall in love with your mom and want to spend the rest of my life with her, but remember we made that deal, where we would never marry. I talked to you about this for weeks, and all you ever did was sit there and re-affirm me (and ask for food- lots of food, like constantly asking for food). I'm sure if I'd talked to one of those vocal motherfuckers I call friends, they would have said something or done something or reminded me of all the times my heart was shredded like quality Kalua Pork, or reminded me that my family life expectancy for men in my family has me currently playing with House Money, or that I'm kind of a fuck-up who has a tendency to self-sabotage myself for things that end up being important (you're still one of the few that gets why I walked away from comedy), or any of the 1127 reasons I'd talked myself out of even considering asking her. You let me talk myself into having the courage to make the best decision of my life. I realize by this time, we'd become pretty good friends and the benefit of me marrying your mother would mean that I got the be around you all the time- something I think we were both pretty down for.
I want to thank you for reminding me that I am at my best when I am in service to others. For most of the time that we were our own Dynamic Duo. I was a high school teacher, which meant that I spent a lot of time a) not at home, because my wife and I both were on debate tournaments, b) around a lot of people who needed help in one way or another. My desire and drive to help means that I, on occasion (read: all the fucking time) find myself over-extending myself- trying to help as many people in as many ways as possible , which at a place that speaks more about mental health and personal wellness that allowing one the actions in which those things became in conflict with the work at hand, can become plainly exhausting.
When I quit teaching, I needed to do something to make a living, so I started consulting, which had it's ups and it's downs (downs almost always involved taxes) and the ups involved getting myself in a psychological state where I could be passionate about The Work, but not to let to become all encompassing. And so for a year, I worked for myself, but it also meant I got to work from home, which means for most of the last 2.5 years, I got to work here and hang out with you and your sister. This was one of the biggest perks I had in consulting. This did end up with the two of you being more spoiled than you should have been, and there's a side of me that wishes I had the hard-wiring to not have spoiled you when I got the chance, but alas, I didn't- probably good that I don't have any kids, but that's the agreement Carol and I have had no desire to break. I can honestly say that I never wanted kids, but that, for all practical purposes, I have treated you as much like a child in this family as I can imagine, as someone who doesn't have kids...
Last January, when I was off on a consulting trip, Carol called me to tell me you were really lethargic and was worried- but you usually got that way when I left town, so we chalked it up, since I'd be home the next day. When we saw no improvement, we took you to the vet, at Carol's insistence. Turns out your kidneys were failing, and had we waited to take you in, we could have lost you then. The doctor was not optimistic about your recovery, and at that point, we just wanted you however we could get you- and we got you back. But we never got back fully healthy you back- you needed to get sub q fluids every day for awhile, and then thankfully, every other day, but you needed to take multiple medications orally twice a day. You also needed your food prepared a certain way to get more fluids in your body. And it was clear that this was going to be the beginning of the end. But fear not, Buddy. I'm here to serve- here to make everything a little better. I know I was doing it before hand, but the level of appreciation, and work to uphold my end of our terminal bargain was taken to another level, like MJ in the playoffs.
I had moments when I was sure I was failing you. You'll remember I cried a lot with you those first few days after we figured out about the renal failure- you weren't eating your new food, you hated me for giving you meds all the time and you seemed so unhappy: I was worried we were doing you a dis-service by keeping alive. I remember every time I'd ask you if it was time, you'd always give me a flop or a head butt, your way of telling me "No, I got you. We're good- I have no drowning mark upon me"- you helped me get through your sickness, and even as you did so, you always kept up with the random quotes from the books I taught at....wait...motherfucker can you read??? Have you been holding out?? Nah, I'm fucking with you- I've always known that you play the role my ego/superego to check back the Id I sometimes happen to project onto the world in a game you know I love called I Don't Give A Fuck About You, as is the default for humans- honestly dude, it's mostly why we suck- because the idea of putting something above yourself, much less someone, is hard to contemplate for most. Knowing that I had to make sure you had your meds everyday when you needed them, making sure you has your food when you needed it, and figure out what you liked eating when you didn't really feel like eating what was offered to you. I can say it's when you pissed me off most- because sometimes I was, and still am, sure you were just being a finicky pain the ass- but I had to remember that a) this was all House Money time- I was sure I was gonna lose you last January, and b) that it wasn't as much a big deal as it was me just being kind of a dick- and that when it's all said and done, that I'd go to the ends of the earth for you, and that giving you a quarter can of some other flavor of cat food would not be a big deal in the finer scheme of things- and that if I did make it a big deal, that it would make me feel like shit about time i was frustrated for no reason when I could have spent more time snuggling with my 2nd best friend.
But most of all, the thing I want to thank you most for was your unconditional love. From almost our first meeting, it seemed you knew something I didn't. I just thought you were a cute kitty, but one I could not, at the time, distinguish from your sister, who at the time I described as two kitties of a girl I liked but doesn't really want to date me. But if there's one thing I do not doubt or never question, and it's that you love me with everything you have, and with everything you are. I hope you know that the love I have for you is as pure a love as I've had for any living being, other than your mother. I know that when I come up the stairs, in really any apartment we lived in where you could hear stairs, you were always at attention- able to determine my walk among the hundreds that walked up and down stairs. Knowing that when I wake up, at some time in the first five minutes, even when you got old and the drugs effected everything but the wonderful heart and soul that you are. Knowing when I'm sad or angry or depressed and anxious or just sometimes when the world is playing Big Sausage Little Hole and I'm just tired- you're always there, with a flop or a snuggle or a headbutt- or sometimes you just want a belly and jowl rub- all of which make me stop focusing on me and the Hot Mess my life can be at any given time, to something that makes me focus on something external to my neurosis. It's only funny because when I first saw you, I felt like you felt a spark in me that I didn't feel. The irony is that your understanding of the inevitability of our friendship before I did seems to mirror my understanding of the inevitability of the relationship your mother and I would have.
I'm just glad we were both right.
Your mother seems to think that I'm your favorite, and that you pout when I'm gone. What she doesn't realize is that you pouted and sat in her seat and laid on her side of the bed when she was gone for work or running and you got stuck with me for a long block of time. I hope she realized what I noticed and I'm sure you did- you were better when we were both there and together- you'd prefer to get petted and cared for by both of us than by either of us alone. You are a critical part of our family, and we'll never be the same without you- although I can speak for myself, I'll never be without you: my memories of you are etched in my memory along with the rest of my family that has passed.
My belief in God makes the concept of death a little easier to deal with, and having gone through a lot of death of people who are really really close to me means that this should be easier. I mean they're humans and you're a cat. But here's the thing- I've never had anything more than a 1-2 minute anger issue with you. and you had an ability to tell when I was mad and then you'd do something to make me less angry, and once again realize that, whatever was going on, that knowing I had you made it all better, that your snuggles could always make me smile, that you were the personification of unconditional love. You definitely made me a better human being, and any person that has considered me a friend in the last 13 years has you to thank- as the growth of me from a pretty shitty, pretty selfish person to the person I am today has a ton to do with you. I became the kind of person your mother could spend the rest of her life with due in large part to the love I got to share with you and for you.
I hope I made your life half as amazing as your presence in my life has made mine.
I love you, Buddy. Until we meet again.
Doug
Hey my friend. I'll try to keep this letter short for a couple of reasons, but mostly for these two reasons: a) you're a cat and, unless you've been holding out on me with regard to your ability to read, and b) i know you weren't much for small talk and were more of a relax and chill kind of cat. Who am I kidding?? It's precisely because you're a cat that I may pontificate more than I normally would, but I want to make sure I say all the things, because you deserve to know all the things, the critical moments you've played in my life.
This is really just my chance to say Thank You. I wasn't initially part of your family, I was just a guy that thought your mother was a pretty cool woman. I had no intention of being part of your family, and yet you, even from the beginning, treated me as an immediate member of your family: you'd roll around on my jacket I left on the floor, you'd walk in front of me and flop down, inviting such cuteness that i'd find myself stopping whatever I was doing, fall to the ground and immediately have some Scratch time- always involving a tummy rum and the under the jowl on both sides was a mandate- so much of one that even at the very end, he wanted that massage, despite it also being where the cancer attacked- meaning the spot you love being rubbed the most makes you bleed when you get rubbed there.
I want to thank you for being my heart. I've never had a dog, and so I really have no idea of the reference, but I've heard this rumor that cats were neither responsive or loyal. All the things I read about cat's weren't true about my first cat, Milo, which is why, despite you having a really solid connection with me when we first met (which I can honestly say took your sister maybe five years before she ever really became comfortable around me). You see, I had a cat a few years earlier, a cat named Milo that I really loved. But as is pretty common for my job and as you're acutely aware, I have to be gone for sometimes two weeks, sometimes four weeks, and, even at the height of my debate sharecropping days, as many as eight weeks in the summer, making money that helped me live for the entire year on the on the indentured servitude wages debate was paying me at the time. But this meant I had to leave my cat with some friends who I trusted to take care of my animal, which they obviously did not- Milo was lost one night, never to be found again. It's the reason I freaked out so much that Monday night a couple of months ago, when you got outside and we couldn't find you. I had all the flashbacks of the only time Milo got out of the house when I had control. I remember the panic and fear in my voice as I searched for Milo, and I remember the tears and the weight of responsibility failed. And then we found him, and I promised him I'd never let that happen to him again- and when I failed him, I was pretty sure I'd never have another cat again, because I didn't think I would be responsible enough to take care of anyone else. Then you (and less so your sister) came along. I'm pretty convinced your sister could open the cat food and serve herself left to her own devices, but I always knew you loved me. And initially, I just assumed it was because I was the person most likely to feed you. But it was more than that- taking care of a cat (or really any living being) involves a lot of hard work. The reason the pound has so many animals has to to with people not really understanding the full implications of having a pet- they just think it's cute to have a bunny on Easter, but not realizing by May 1 that Peter Cottontail is eating them out of house and home. When it became apparent I would be playing an important role in taking care of you, it required a sharpened focus, and it would be hard, but critical if ever there would be emotional growth. Knowing I could take care of you was the backbone, the impetus to a variety of decisions I would make later.
I thank you for being my unflappable and mostly silent buddy. A lot of times, we need a friend to be able to have your real voice with, someone who will allow you to speak truth to power, to speak freely and in opposition to the status quo. And most of us have those kind of friends- I have a few, and I married one of them for what has to be seen as pretty obvious reasons. But a lot of times, we need a friend that can really, for the love of all that's holy on the planet, shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck and listen. Like Crash Davis would say: "Don't speak- it only hurts the ball club." Scratch, you have, without question, been my best friend in the world with regard to just listening. Yes, I know you probably didn't understand a word I was saying, and its usually pretty mutual. But I know can tell how someone feels with regard to how they might say something, you can hear in my voice and i can hear in yours, when there was an issue. I'm 100% sure sitting down, talking to you about Carol and wanting to marry her was integral to my decision making process. You see, you already know Carol and I had no intention of getting married, and that one of the stipulations about our dating at the beginning was the common theme of not wanting to be married. But as love is prone to do sometimes, they decided to make fall in love with your mom and want to spend the rest of my life with her, but remember we made that deal, where we would never marry. I talked to you about this for weeks, and all you ever did was sit there and re-affirm me (and ask for food- lots of food, like constantly asking for food). I'm sure if I'd talked to one of those vocal motherfuckers I call friends, they would have said something or done something or reminded me of all the times my heart was shredded like quality Kalua Pork, or reminded me that my family life expectancy for men in my family has me currently playing with House Money, or that I'm kind of a fuck-up who has a tendency to self-sabotage myself for things that end up being important (you're still one of the few that gets why I walked away from comedy), or any of the 1127 reasons I'd talked myself out of even considering asking her. You let me talk myself into having the courage to make the best decision of my life. I realize by this time, we'd become pretty good friends and the benefit of me marrying your mother would mean that I got the be around you all the time- something I think we were both pretty down for.
I want to thank you for reminding me that I am at my best when I am in service to others. For most of the time that we were our own Dynamic Duo. I was a high school teacher, which meant that I spent a lot of time a) not at home, because my wife and I both were on debate tournaments, b) around a lot of people who needed help in one way or another. My desire and drive to help means that I, on occasion (read: all the fucking time) find myself over-extending myself- trying to help as many people in as many ways as possible , which at a place that speaks more about mental health and personal wellness that allowing one the actions in which those things became in conflict with the work at hand, can become plainly exhausting.
When I quit teaching, I needed to do something to make a living, so I started consulting, which had it's ups and it's downs (downs almost always involved taxes) and the ups involved getting myself in a psychological state where I could be passionate about The Work, but not to let to become all encompassing. And so for a year, I worked for myself, but it also meant I got to work from home, which means for most of the last 2.5 years, I got to work here and hang out with you and your sister. This was one of the biggest perks I had in consulting. This did end up with the two of you being more spoiled than you should have been, and there's a side of me that wishes I had the hard-wiring to not have spoiled you when I got the chance, but alas, I didn't- probably good that I don't have any kids, but that's the agreement Carol and I have had no desire to break. I can honestly say that I never wanted kids, but that, for all practical purposes, I have treated you as much like a child in this family as I can imagine, as someone who doesn't have kids...
Last January, when I was off on a consulting trip, Carol called me to tell me you were really lethargic and was worried- but you usually got that way when I left town, so we chalked it up, since I'd be home the next day. When we saw no improvement, we took you to the vet, at Carol's insistence. Turns out your kidneys were failing, and had we waited to take you in, we could have lost you then. The doctor was not optimistic about your recovery, and at that point, we just wanted you however we could get you- and we got you back. But we never got back fully healthy you back- you needed to get sub q fluids every day for awhile, and then thankfully, every other day, but you needed to take multiple medications orally twice a day. You also needed your food prepared a certain way to get more fluids in your body. And it was clear that this was going to be the beginning of the end. But fear not, Buddy. I'm here to serve- here to make everything a little better. I know I was doing it before hand, but the level of appreciation, and work to uphold my end of our terminal bargain was taken to another level, like MJ in the playoffs.
I had moments when I was sure I was failing you. You'll remember I cried a lot with you those first few days after we figured out about the renal failure- you weren't eating your new food, you hated me for giving you meds all the time and you seemed so unhappy: I was worried we were doing you a dis-service by keeping alive. I remember every time I'd ask you if it was time, you'd always give me a flop or a head butt, your way of telling me "No, I got you. We're good- I have no drowning mark upon me"- you helped me get through your sickness, and even as you did so, you always kept up with the random quotes from the books I taught at....wait...motherfucker can you read??? Have you been holding out?? Nah, I'm fucking with you- I've always known that you play the role my ego/superego to check back the Id I sometimes happen to project onto the world in a game you know I love called I Don't Give A Fuck About You, as is the default for humans- honestly dude, it's mostly why we suck- because the idea of putting something above yourself, much less someone, is hard to contemplate for most. Knowing that I had to make sure you had your meds everyday when you needed them, making sure you has your food when you needed it, and figure out what you liked eating when you didn't really feel like eating what was offered to you. I can say it's when you pissed me off most- because sometimes I was, and still am, sure you were just being a finicky pain the ass- but I had to remember that a) this was all House Money time- I was sure I was gonna lose you last January, and b) that it wasn't as much a big deal as it was me just being kind of a dick- and that when it's all said and done, that I'd go to the ends of the earth for you, and that giving you a quarter can of some other flavor of cat food would not be a big deal in the finer scheme of things- and that if I did make it a big deal, that it would make me feel like shit about time i was frustrated for no reason when I could have spent more time snuggling with my 2nd best friend.
But most of all, the thing I want to thank you most for was your unconditional love. From almost our first meeting, it seemed you knew something I didn't. I just thought you were a cute kitty, but one I could not, at the time, distinguish from your sister, who at the time I described as two kitties of a girl I liked but doesn't really want to date me. But if there's one thing I do not doubt or never question, and it's that you love me with everything you have, and with everything you are. I hope you know that the love I have for you is as pure a love as I've had for any living being, other than your mother. I know that when I come up the stairs, in really any apartment we lived in where you could hear stairs, you were always at attention- able to determine my walk among the hundreds that walked up and down stairs. Knowing that when I wake up, at some time in the first five minutes, even when you got old and the drugs effected everything but the wonderful heart and soul that you are. Knowing when I'm sad or angry or depressed and anxious or just sometimes when the world is playing Big Sausage Little Hole and I'm just tired- you're always there, with a flop or a snuggle or a headbutt- or sometimes you just want a belly and jowl rub- all of which make me stop focusing on me and the Hot Mess my life can be at any given time, to something that makes me focus on something external to my neurosis. It's only funny because when I first saw you, I felt like you felt a spark in me that I didn't feel. The irony is that your understanding of the inevitability of our friendship before I did seems to mirror my understanding of the inevitability of the relationship your mother and I would have.
I'm just glad we were both right.
Your mother seems to think that I'm your favorite, and that you pout when I'm gone. What she doesn't realize is that you pouted and sat in her seat and laid on her side of the bed when she was gone for work or running and you got stuck with me for a long block of time. I hope she realized what I noticed and I'm sure you did- you were better when we were both there and together- you'd prefer to get petted and cared for by both of us than by either of us alone. You are a critical part of our family, and we'll never be the same without you- although I can speak for myself, I'll never be without you: my memories of you are etched in my memory along with the rest of my family that has passed.
My belief in God makes the concept of death a little easier to deal with, and having gone through a lot of death of people who are really really close to me means that this should be easier. I mean they're humans and you're a cat. But here's the thing- I've never had anything more than a 1-2 minute anger issue with you. and you had an ability to tell when I was mad and then you'd do something to make me less angry, and once again realize that, whatever was going on, that knowing I had you made it all better, that your snuggles could always make me smile, that you were the personification of unconditional love. You definitely made me a better human being, and any person that has considered me a friend in the last 13 years has you to thank- as the growth of me from a pretty shitty, pretty selfish person to the person I am today has a ton to do with you. I became the kind of person your mother could spend the rest of her life with due in large part to the love I got to share with you and for you.
I hope I made your life half as amazing as your presence in my life has made mine.
I love you, Buddy. Until we meet again.
Doug
03 April 2018
Southwesting...or...when white people's fear and hatred of blackness is too much to handle
I'm not really sure I know how to identify myself. Sometimes, I think I'm particularly weak, and am surprised that anyone would be willing to spend time with me. Sometimes I feel like I'm particularly ugly, and am surprised people don't just run down the street in black-induced terror. On the flip side, sometimes I feel like I'm King of the World: i have an amazing wife, a job that I not only like but also allows me to feel like I'm doing good work for a good cause. But honestly, most days, I'm literally just a dude, trying my best to get from one action to another to another to finally get to spend some time with Carol, who always seems to make everything way better than otherwise. It's why when she asked me if I wanted to go to the Giants Home Opener today, I didn't even think twice: a date day with my wife AND baseball? Sounds like a win-win.
I can definitely say it was earlier.
We go to the City. I eat some pretty baller Chicken and Waffles at a place called Little Skillet, and then we head to the game. The Giants were taking a pretty solid beating, so we decided to beat the crowd and catch an earlier, and hopefully less crowded train.
I can definitely say it was earlier.
The train was at one point where there were people just jammed in the aisle- not exactly like sardines, but more so than really probably needed to be. There was, however, at least one seat available. I ended up cursing out a woman standing next to me for jumping in my business, but that's another story for another time, or maybe this story, further below. Nah, that's a different vibe, for a different time.
Now I spent a lot of time in the air over the last decade, and usually, because I live in California and it's really easy and cheap, I usually fly Southwest Airlines. Southwest has a variety of features people enjoy: two free checked bags, the ability to change flights without a base change fee, their quite liberal Rapid Rewards program. But the one that seems to matter the most to me is the ability to choose your own seat, which those other airlines don't let you do. We all have *that* story- the one where we flew from SF to Boston or NYC to LA or some really long flight next to some asshat that didn't realize his feet smelled up that recirculated air tin can or the person who tells you about their *entire life* on the flight, the good, the bad and the ugly, or it's that person that snores and drools on you for 5.5 hours. The ability to choose to not sit next to any of the people above is critical, and the reason *some* people choose Southwest.
But what it also allows you to do is to sit next to people you're comfortable sitting around. Having been on a plane that was actually completely full (I will post a bunch of pictures below, all on flights described as "completely full" by the crew and the pilot) and watching people walk past the empty seat next to me multiple times (as of now, the record is SIX times- a woman walked past my seat SIX TIMES before the flight attendant told her she *had* to sit next to me. I can tell you, from the way she gripped the her purse in one hand and her bag in the other, and the abject look of terror on her face, this was the closest she'd been to a black guy (except that one weekend in Jamaica where she let some Black dude run through her and only that dude, the woman, all of her friends and anyone on the rooms on either side of them know what really happened) and she was *not having it*. When the plane landed, she actually got up and pushed her way through 15 rows to get off the plane. That's rare, more likely, it's like this...
So you can imagine that I'm not necessarily unhappy when people choose to sit somewhere rather than next to me- I don't really like people, and for the most part, almost anyone that sits next to me will have me with a huge set of "please don't fucking talk to me" headphones. It's not *that* people don't sit next to me that is infuriating.
It's why. And it's what that means.
In this instance, and I'm sure the people doing it aren't savvy enough to have done it for this reason, because it assumes more of a recognition of my humanity than these people were willing to do. The function was to make me feel hated, despised, diseased and treated like Blackness was actually Leprosy, like just being near it on the train will lower your property values or make your kids drop out of school listening to that hippity hop music while smoke rock cocaine. At each stop: at Belmont. At San Carlos. At Redwood City. At Menlo Park. At Palo Alto. At California St. At San Antonio. At Mountain View. At Sunnyvale. At Lawrence. At Santa Clara. At each of these stations, people got on the train and people got off the train. People standing uncomfortably.
And at each stop, it's a little reminder that people would literally rather stand around for an hour than to sit next to you. And it's not just one person, like that last unlucky asshole on Southwest that *has* to sit next to me because they literally won't let you stand the entire way on a flight. It's because about 100 people over about 75 minutes decided that standing for 20 minutes, 30 minutes, maybe even an hour, was preferable to sitting next to the Black guy.
And at each stop, it's a little reminder that people would literally rather stand around for an hour than to sit next to you. And it's not just one person, like that last unlucky asshole on Southwest that *has* to sit next to me because they literally won't let you stand the entire way on a flight. It's because about 100 people over about 75 minutes decided that standing for 20 minutes, 30 minutes, maybe even an hour, was preferable to sitting next to the Black guy.
Which, even if your self esteem is on 100, has to have some effect on me. Carol being with me today made it easier, because I didn't have to suffer alone and it was a reminder that even if society finds my Blackness to be the equivalent to social Leprosy, that's not what she thinks, and honestly, she matters way more to me than they do.
But it's hard to be reminded that people, given the option, want nothing to do with you.
19 March 2018
the fear that keeps me up at night
tl/dr: sometimes i get nightmares and they keep me from sleeping.
a lot of people remember their dreams. i almost never do. i literally remember three of them, and only one have I had more than twice. and i hate it.
on friday night, after an excellent Vegas evening, it was time to wind it down- they day started early and it was almost 3am. I laid down to go to bed, and was having what i can imagine was a good sleep (i don't really remember the sleep- usually a good sign) but I do remember waking up suddenly from my sleep from what is a consistent dream- my wife dying in her sleep. There are different versions of it, although she always seems to die naturally and peacefully in her sleep- examples range from the application of Derrick Bell's Amber Cloud chronicle, except the cloud only kills people and things that matter to me (so not just humans but my pets too) to just the run of the mill death in sleep- with the results always involving the police thinking I did it (funny that in my nightmares, the cops seem the same as they do now).
when the nightmare happens, i know sleep is something i won't be able to do: because in my head, I'm convinced that Carol won't be alive when I wake up and that somehow my sleeping is why she died- like if i was awake, i could have done something. And i know that there's literally nothing I can do, and that there's nothing really to be done.
so saturday night i knew i was going to not be able to fall asleep- but if you have that issue, Vegas isn't a bad place to be (better than Bakersfield, and I've had the issue in both places). unfortunately, it's not as easy to shake as i'd like it to be- so last night was also a limited sleep night- i got about 75 minutes in before i woke up to the same dream in a cold sweat-sweating through a shirt meant to wick away sweat. i laid in bed for awhile and couldn't sleep until Carol woke up- fortunately I got to work remotely for part of the day, so I got a little nap in.
But here we are, at the end of the evening, and I have to go to work tomorrow, which will be impossible and dangerous if i don't sleep (I don't drive a bus at work, but i drive a car to work and tired driving is like drunk driving with none of the fun before the shit decision). I need to get some sleep.
Hoping this Fire OG Kush helps.
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