Sep 10, 2024
Ok, like a lot of folks, I consider myself purdy smart. And, however smart I am, there are so many things I am helplessly bad at, can’t do – am not smart about. Now, you could say some of that is by choice as in a refusal to read the directions until after I have been reduced to tears by one thing or another is a choice, right? Yes, yes it is. Technology can make me cry faster and harder – after making me break out in a sweat – than pretty much anything else other than deeply attractive yet cowardly, deceitful men; even the directions tend to flummox me. What. Is. That?!! What does that even mean? And when I am told it’s all – use of their technology – soooooo intuitive, I really want to scream. Intuitive to whom? Twelve year olds? Anyone under a certain age raised on computers as I definitely was not, y’mean??!!
Deep breaths.
I am not good at mechanical things of all kinds. Do not ask me – please, for both our sakes – to figure anything mechanical or mechanically adjacent out, please. For years I drove a BMW 1066 – great ride, so much fun – but it smoked whenever I went over sixty (often), and there were various lights on the dash, which lights I ‘intuitively’ kept covered with feathers, the better to block annoying flashing whatever those are all about. My nephew, who has a doctorate in chemistry, is gifted with all kinds of anything chemical and mechanical as well as with tech, the lucky devil. I once spent 4 long hours trying to get new baseboard heat covers to fit in one tiny (8’ x 10’) room of my house; every single time (and I swear I was following the very sparse directions) I snapped the last piece in place, cowabunga, and FML, the rest fell out of place, back onto the floor. My nephew, called to the rescue, took one look – ONE, made an adjustment that was clear as mud to me, and bingo, it all stayed put. He finished the rest of the entire house install in about 45 minutes, leaving – at my insistence – one room for me to finish because c’mon, really? Yes, really.
So. Not good at mechanicals. Cars. Chemistry – but I can cook, does that count? Good hand eye coordination, but not good at running over fifty feet unless I’m being chased by a bear.
No to dusting and cleaning in general. It’s BORING. Yes, the large fur baby does add a lot of dirt and mess to mi casa, due to his superb ability to drool and bring in dirt; I should be dusting once per week, vacuuming twice a week, and mopping three times a week but that is simply not going to happen. I used to invite friends over to dinner in NYC because that was the only way to motivate myself to clean my apartment. I had a dinner every two or three weeks. Ridiculous, right? I had two dogs then, and while they were not droolers or bringers in of seeds and etc. like Diego the wonder dog, still. I am not good at cleaning. I am not interested in cleaning.
Is anyone? Yes, I know people who love to clean their houses and apartments. They’re weird.
I am not good at waiting – but then, other than practicing Buddhists (maybe), no one is.
I am not good at tech, which I bring up again in part because this platform keeps ‘innovating’ and making life harder for me. However, I don’t aspire to be good at tech because – well, because. I am not good at social media, by which I mean I believe, I think, I assume, I guess…I should be doing tweeter and insta and snapchat and linked-in (ugh) if I really want to succeed in ‘driving engagement’ – but, no. I don’t want to drive anything except a car that is fun to drive and doesn’t nanny-state me (my current vehicle is a bit nanny-ish and I hate that aspect of it with a passion).
I am not good at gardening, particularly, but I love it so much who cares? So my kale was a total fail, as was my cabbage. Meh.
I am not good at staying below the speed limit.
I am not good about other drivers being able to do so, stay at 53mph or 54 while tooling around the Catskills; I’m not nice about their sticking to a speed way below the limit when it is raining or merely drizzling a bit, or lightly snowing because omg, weather!!!!! (slow-poke brother fckers might just be my name for them).
I am not good about asking for help. This is definitely not good. We all need help sometimes. We are all occasionally inept and helpless – made from broken timber as Alexander McCall Smith puts it – trying our best, hopefully, maybe, stumbling big time oftentimes, and – asking others for help is necessary. I am working on it. Independence is my numero uno personal value, you see, and I am very, very good at that.
I am lousy at opening things. Jars, mainly, but FFS – why is everything packaged like a crazed mad men is trying to get in it these days? I have a bottle of ghee I bought at least 6 months ago that I cannot get open; I forgot to ask my nephew when he was visiting and I’ve tried myself until I’ve seen stars. I have go down to my neighbor and see if he can get it done for me. My little hands simply cannot do it, even with the gripper thing I bought for this very reason. I occasionally buy jars and ask at the grocery store cashier line – after paying, of course – if anyone, someone could help lil ol’ me. But I mostly forget to do so. When I remember, however, it does make people feel good, doing little things like that for another person. But, if you’re thinking, ‘why Moj, that’s an example of you asking for help which you just said y’ain’t good at,’ you need to know that I was not referring to small tasks like getting jars open. I meant the big stuff. Life and shit.
I am not good at confronting people in the moment. My childhood trained me to be a witness, to not react – because reacting made it (whatever it was) much, much worse, and no matter how hard I try, or how long I live in the present moment, I am rarely able to say even just ‘ouch’, which I read once (and liked, thus remembering it) was a good way to handle people being shitty to one’s face. ‘Ouch.’ Growing up, reacting in the moment, saying what I thought was going on (‘You’re just jealous, mom’ on one notable occasion) got me backhanded, twice across the face, and sent to my room. This was around the same time she threatened to institutionalize me for being difficult, which I probably was, and still am, probably. People don’t always like to hear the truth, or enjoy when others make observations that ring true – even if it’s just an expressed or solicited opinion. I learned to observe, and – mostly – keep my mouth shut. This is a bad habit, one I want to unlearn. I’m working on it. Storing up hurts, and the anger that often goes with them, is unhealthy, and the eventual eruptions that also can occur are not particularly helpful, either. Sigh.
I am pretty good at being healthy, but not always, not entirely. 60-40, 70-30, depending on the day, and year. It’s been a while since I was 80 or 90 to 20 or 10 healthy, but I remain optimistic despite all evidence to the contrary. It could happen.
I am NOT GOOD at letting go of the past and of grudges held. Every single day I try to let go. Every. Single. Day. I am not good at it, but – maybe – possibly – I’m getting better?
Fingers crossed.
Sep 9, 2024
“I hate solitude, but I’m afraid of intimacy. The substance of my life is a private conversation with myself which to turn into a dialogue would be equivalent to self-destruction. The company which I need is the company which a pub or a cafe will provide. I have never wanted a communion of souls. It’s already hard enough to tell the truth to oneself.”—Iris Murdoch/Under the Net
I resemble that remark, but, interestingly given its message, Murdoch was married for a long time, over 40 years, to writer and critic John Bayley. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t a loner, though, does it? No, it does not. Doesn’t mean she didn’t have a secret self – or selves – that she kept away, in dark corners, hidden from others, including her husband. Doesn’t mean she didn’t have entire worlds separate from that relationship, or extracurricular affairs, a.k.a. lovers, because she definitely did, although – if it’s in Wiki, does that means she was up front about the affair/s with him? Hm. More research is needed. Doesn’t even mean they were that intimate (those secrets and secret selves again) but, and, however, Under the Net is a novel, and an early one, her first published full-length work – it’s possible she changed her mind, and/or was merely musing on self and intimacy in character, one, perhaps, far from herself.
Iris Murdoch was an Irish-British novelist and philosopher whose fiction I have loved, and enjoyed, gobbling up her novels back in the day (the 90s) – although I haven’t ever read her philosophic works, the most well-known of which is 1970’s The Sovereignty of Good. Do I have to read it? No, I don’t; permission to skip granted. Phew! Because, let’s be honest, while I enjoy reading about philosophy, and have a persistent interest in learning sh*t, no, just no. There are too many other, newer, more interesting books to read, by a factor of many.
I did, however, love Murdoch’s novels; The Sea, The Sea is my favorite, but I also really enjoyed The Bell, The Black Prince, The Unicorn, The Green Knight, and An Unofficial Rose. She shares with A.S. Byatt the kind of intellect that is deeply embedded in myth, fairy tale, psychology, poetry, folk tales – you name it – that makes me feel as though I am learning and expanding my own wee brain as I read, spending time inside a truly small ‘c’ catholic brain (irony of ironies, small ‘c’ catholic means broad, capacious, wide, as the papist church is hardly that – broad minded, or in allowing ‘broads’ to priest it up). Was it The Bell or The Green Knight that caused me to feel as though my insides were churning, confused, confounded? Hm. More research needed? Nah. Let it go. The 90s were a long time ago, but I respect her work, and her words, perking up whenever they pop up on various sites or in other people’s writing, quoted as I have above and below.
Both Judi Dench and Kate Winslet played her in a film, Iris, from 2001, so enviable, with Jim Broadbent (Horace Slughorn in the Potter films, among many others) playing her husband as an older gent, and Hugh Bonneville (a.k.a. Lord Grantham) as young John. Sigh.
“Youth is a marvelous garment. How misplaced is the sympathy lavished on adolescents. There is a yet more difficult age which comes later, when one has less to hope for and less ability to change, when one has cast the die and has to settle into a chosen life without the consolations of habit or the wisdom of maturity, when, as in her own case, one ceases to be une jeune fille un peu folle, and becomes merely a woman, worst of all, a wife. The very young have their troubles, but they have at least a part to play, the part of being very young.” – Iris Murdoch, The Bell
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_Murdoch
Sep 8, 2024
a poem by Aracelis Girmay for Minnie Riperton and Ms. Lucille.
*I had never heard of Ms. Girmay, or read her work, but I knew who Minnie Ripperton was (Maya Rudolph’s mom and a gifted pop singer who died much too young) and wondered who Ms. Lucille is, but – no answer on that yet. That said, I really liked this poem, and thus, share it with you!
This earth
of the dagger-toothed & hawks,
whose names we know,
taking bones for diamonds,
full of hair & snakes,
earth eating you, slowly,
below the sound
of gold horns.
This earth
with a jaw in its hand.
Brown-chariot, take-you-home
earth, chew you up
with the quiet work
of animals & trees, underworld
churning you through
the dark engines
of its appetite. This
earth we opened up
& buried you in, our
treasure, we miss
you, we miss you
with all life. This night
we think we will never close
again. We are pinned open
like a scientist’s moths
to leave you there dressed
in a box & earth around you.
This box earth, coffin
earth. Teeth earth eat
your chest through, laced
by the wrangle of beetles & worms
& ants who carry your bright pieces
like market cloth over their heads
to feed you to the queen
in the deeper corridors
of mysteries & dirt.
Trust the queen is you.
Trust the mud is you,
& the soft, silver afro of the dandelion.
Trust the grass-whistle might be
your speech, high as the whistle
of the whale. Trust
we’ll know your shape, whatever species
in you answers when we put our faces
to the dirt & call you by
your old & human name.
*Winner of a 2015 Whiting Award for Poetry, Aracelis Girmay is professor of poetry at Hampshire College, and, as of 2023, Stanford University. A native Californian, she is the author of three collections of poetry, Teeth (Curbstone Press, 2007), and Kingdom Animalia, winner of the 2011 Isabella Gardner Award, and Black Maria, 2016. For more about Aracelis Girmay, visit her Wiki page, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aracelis_Girmay
Sep 7, 2024
*from July’s Harper’s Bazaar, by Amanda Nguyen, an activist, civil rights leader and social entrepreneur, and founder of RISE, linked – as is Nguyen below… if you hadn’t heard of Nguyen, now you have – RISE is an organization you should donate to, if you can, to assist survivors of sexual assault and, essentially, to change our understanding of sexual violence, and change our laws.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rise_(non-governmental_organization)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanda_Nguyen
After her rape, the activist was asked what she had been wearing. So she decided to stage a runway show to help survivors reclaim that question in a new context.
“What are you wearing?” It’s the most commonly asked question on any red carpet. It’s also the exact same question I was asked after I was raped. One instance is meant to celebrate fashion and agency. The other is meant to shame you for the violence that happened to you and to place blame and guilt on you. I remember feeling so alone after my assault and being shocked at how much people victim-blamed. So I decided to reclaim the question.
In 2019, I was attending a fashion show, and there was that question again: What are you wearing? I had been asked to be there as an activist. In the years following my assault in 2013, I did a lot of work around survivors’ rights in order to make sure that what happened to me wouldn’t happen to other people. The question transported me back to the aftermath of my rape but then sparked a light-bulb moment. I thought, what if we created a place for survivors to reclaim that question in a new context that was empowering and celebrated their agency? I wanted to draw awareness about sexual assault in a completely new way—by organizing a Survivor Fashion Show during New York Fashion Week.
At that point, I’d done a ton of legislative work through my activism. In 2014, I founded my nonprofit, Rise, which is focused on supporting sexual-assault survivors. With the help of my team, I played an instrumental role in drafting what would become the Survivors’ Bill of Rights Act of 2016, which was passed unanimously by Congress and established a set of basic protections for survivors. After my rape, I remember walking into my local Massachusetts rape crisis center and seeing the waiting room filled with other survivors. The greatest injustice I have ever faced was not the act of rape itself but the subsequent denial of my rights by the country I love. In the state of Massachusetts, rape kits, the evidence collected after an assault, could be destroyed in as little as six months. I had to file an extension request every six months in order to prevent my kit from being destroyed. My bill established that survivors must receive notification of their rights, must not have to pay for their rape kit, and must be informed of any result of a rape kit. Most importantly for my case, it also extended the preservation of rape kits to the full duration of the statute of limitations—a matter of years rather than months.
While I’ve always tried to incorporate my passions into my work, I had never done anything that really tapped into my love of fashion on a large scale. So I, along with my teammates at Rise, decided to organize a runway event that showcased just how little the act of sexual violence is connected to what a survivor was wearing. We organized its first iteration in 2021 at the Museum of Modern Art and invited survivors from all over the world to walk the runway in designer clothes. Dior, 3.1 Phillip Lim, Veronica Beard, and a number of other brands lent a range of outfits, from streetwear to formal dresses, to support our cause.
Walking down the runway in a custom dress designed by artists Suzanne McClelland and Alix Pearlstein and adorned with the text of the Survivors’ Bill of Rights, I was overwhelmed with a mix of emotions. Alongside me were other survivors and allies, while ambassadors from the United Nations, diplomats, policymakers, and influencers all came to watch. We were hoping to garner their attention and, more importantly, inspire their empathy. Finding the courage to confront my trauma publicly took immense strength. But in that moment, I was not alone.
The fashion show is now an event that we hold each year during New York Fashion Week. It also inspired us to create a traveling exhibit titled “What Were You Wearing?,” which made its debut at UN headquarters in 2022. It features 103 mannequins representing the 1.3 billion survivors of sexual violence worldwide. Among those 103, five outfits, including my own, came directly from the closets of survivors who shared their stories with us. Some of the most heartbreaking outfits include a baby’s diaper, a military uniform, and a child’s bathing suit. The goal was to prove that there is no way to differentiate between the outfit worn by a survivor and the outfits not worn by survivors; what we were wearing truly did not matter, and we should shift our blame and our focus on perpetrators and on their accountability. The exhibition has since been displayed at our fashion show, at the European Parliament in Brussels, and at the World Health Organization in Geneva.
In September 2022, the exhibit still decorated the UN headquarters when the Universal Survivor Bill of Rights was adopted by the UN General Assembly. This landmark resolution was six years in the making. It outlined and codified a set of basic steps for countries to take to support and safeguard the rights of survivors of sexual assault. It mandates that member states establish gender-responsive legal mechanisms for protecting survivors, that judicial and prevention systems be expanded and invested in, and that survivors have direct access to the justice system after their assault.
The passage of this UN resolution is a significant victory, but it is just the beginning. The next phase of our fight is writing a treaty for universal jurisdiction on rape, ensuring that rapists cannot evade justice by fleeing to another country. We’ve begun drafting this treaty and sharing it with United Nations member states and the World Health Organization, and we plan to introduce it next year.
What I wear has always been a conscious choice, even outside of my work with Rise. I also work as a bioastronautics researcher for the International Institute for Astronautical Sciences. During my college days at Harvard, I wore comfortable dresses to feel at home; at NASA, I wore polos commemorating past missions to feel that important legacy; and while testifying in front of the Senate, I chose to wear strong red dresses to remind me of my power. Now, every day I choose an outfit that projects how I want to feel, whether it’s a sharp suit for a political meeting or a Vietnamese áo dài to channel my heritage. This year, as part of Space for Humanity’s Citizen Astronaut Program, I will become the first Vietnamese woman to ever go to space. That confidence in what we are wearing gives us the ability to keep fighting for our dreams, and it has allowed me to accomplish mine.
Sep 6, 2024
And ignorance ain’t bliss – altho turning off one’s phone can be, I know that for sure! The link below leads to a necessary and important state by state breakdown of Project 2025’s nefarious plans…although, I can sum up: Let’s Make America 1650 Again!! Okay, okay – 1750?
Here’s the link:
https://www.americanprogress.org/article/fact-sheets-the-harmful-effects-of-project-2025-by-state/?fbclid=IwY2xjawEoOL9leHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHedznJEVEmjD5dgdsgeqrKpHX06gurzHBZSGaST9kKr_JC5CNudm47afBA_aem_TAOtijyCKt-yfYa5mPUGTw
Gosh – the techno eejit I am doesn’t know why that link looks like that – sorry – still, it works and is important reading, and you can click on your state alone – each states impact are linked one by one – for even quicker consumption, y’all!!
A few greatest hits from Pee2025 (childish, but what can I say?): All public school children – but not private school students – will be required to take a military entrance exam. All references to gender, gender equality and/or equity, LGBTQIA people or rights are to be removed from all federal policies and laws, retroactively purging our legal statues of any language of inclusion (and, we assume, the word inclusion).
Pee2025 also ends Head Start, free school meals, the National Hurricane Center (because climate change isn’t real, I guess? oh and climate change references get purged, too), and moves the SNAP (food stamps) program to the Department of Health and Human Services. This matters because attaching it to anywhere other than Agriculture Funding (the current mode) make it mush more likely to be cut entirely, or to be slashed in funding along with limiting eligibility according to conservative rules: no non-traditional families eligible, to start because Pee2025 defines marriage as between one man and one woman only and defines a fetus as a person. By the way, one of the most heavily subsidized industries in the U.S.? Agriculture. Subsidize ag but not poor families? A conservative’s wet dream. FEH.
Pee2025 also bans abortion of any kind, re-activates (re-invigorates!) the 19th century Comstock Act banning porn or the mailing of any materials that facilitate sex, sexuality, abortion care, birth control or any medical equipment or other that is related to abortion, birth control, or sexual anything. Sounds like fun, eh? FEH. And, Pee2025 elevates Christianity in a way that is directly contrary – except perhaps, dangerously, in the minds of Sammy Alito and Clearance Thomas – to the constitution.
Vote Blue. Harris/Walz 2024.
