Testing, blah
I supposedly have a brand spanking new site meter on my site. But I don’t see it. Why can I not see it? Can YOU see it?
The Scorpion Mouse
Happy belated Pride everybody. I didn’t do much for Pride this year, except go to three different parties over the weekend. I missed the parade even. Bad me.
FACT: Although people often think of crazy people as being violent and aggressive, the opposite is true, most crazy people (like me) are timid and withdrawn.
The above fact makes my social interations awkward for the most part, unless I am hypomanic, in which case I could have a conversation with anybody. But usually, oh, I am a little mouse. But little mice can still do mighty things.
FACT: The scorpion mouse is immune to scorpion stings which could kill an adult human. They double up and prey on scorpions in tag teams, and when they kill one they stand on their hindlegs and “SQUEAK!” a roar.
I am trying to accept my social awkwardness with the grace and dignity befitting a scorpion mouse. Still a mouse, still a tiny little speck in the great cosmos, but I can squeak out a roar about the moments that matter. I consider my blog to be my scorpion mouse cry of victory. I am still alive today! SQUEAK!!! I have killed the scorpion!! Fear me!
I think there are other scorpion mice out there, I have been meeting them more and more. Once you come out as a crazy person who’s been to the big finishing school called the psych ward, you start to know everyone else who’s been there. And they are all really cool people because they know what you’re talking about better than anybody else.
Which brings me to another point. Why oh why do people still think that those of us with “psychiatric disabilities” are stupid? Even the nurses on the psych ward think so, they really infantilize us. And then we get mad about it and it goes into our reports as symptoms of our illness blah blah blah. People don’t assume because someone has epilepsy that they are stupid. And manic depression is similar to epilepsy in the way it affects the brain.
There was my SQUEAK!!! for the day.
******* Lotto update *********
The jackpot is now 15 million dollars and I have won yet another free play. So eee, crossing my fingers. But this series of teeny wins to play again are really cute, reminds me of my free coke I kept winning five times in a row!
The Control Room
Tonight I was bored, had nothing to do. Decided to catch a movie with a friend. We went to The Control Room, a documentary about the television station Al Jazeera, the most watched channel in the Arab world, and their coverage of the Iraq war.
I have to say, I think this was a stronger film than Fahrenheit 9/11. It’s not trying to tell you what to think, just keeps bringing up these intriguing questions. And for a station which is accused by the USA for being full of propaganda, they really do concern themselves with trying to show a balanced informed view. At one point an interviewer yells at the guy who brought on a bad guest because he’s an American activist and doesn’t have a balanced analysis, all he’s saying is that America is bad. I also noticed that the film didn’t milk the death of the Al Jazeera journalist, whereas Fahrenheit 9/11 really milked the American soldier’s death. And still it had power.
Anyway, I have been remiss in updating my blog, I know. I’m bad, bad me. I will try to do better. I know people get disappointed when there’s nothing new.
New is good.
The most indelible impression The Control Room has left on me is how the media is played during a war, and how this one relatively small station keeps trying to present the truth. Or should we say A Truth. I think there is an idea we have that it is still possible to present the truth without bias, but there is always a bias of course. Certain parts of a story mean more to one group of people than to others.
Until then, at least we can ask that there be diverse outlets for media around the world, making sure that as many angles get covered as possible.
And for those of you curious about Al Jazeera, it’s coming to Canada relatively soon!
*** Special Lotto Update ***
So my last post I mentioned I sunk five bucks that I won on 6-49 into the Super 7 tickets to win the ten million jackpot. Well, I didn’t win. But I did, sort of. I won two $2 plays by getting three numbers twice. And now the Super 7 jackpot has increased to 12 million. Oooh! So, well, I guess I will ride out these bizarre small wins in the hopes of striking it rich.
The Lottery Ticket
One day at the store, hmm, thinking weird thoughts like usual, in line to buy a Coke. Yes I know they are a terrible corporation and drinking a coke is like drinking the blood of the oppressed indigenous people. Anyway, a little thought popped into my head. I should buy a lottery ticket, I might win the BIG jackpot.
So I bought a lottery ticket. And I put good energy into it and dreamed of all the things I could do if I won the lottery. I was making lists of charities and arts funding I could support, where I could travel, the house I would buy, no condos, not in this leaky condo city.
Well today I checked my ticket and I won, sort of. I got two numbers and the bonus number. Which means I have won either ten dollars or five dollars. So putting energy out into the universe does work, you just have to be specific about it. I realized that I had bought the wrong lotto ticket for the big jackpot anyway. I have to get the Super 7. 9 million dollars, oooh! So my new winnings are going straight back into lotto tickets. After all, it is only five bucks. Or is it ten bucks? Whatever.
Once I was on a roll with a coke promotion. I kept winning the free coke from the bottlecap insert. This went on for at least five cokes before my luck ran out. But hey, Free Coke!
Shock!
Not a lot of things shock me ya know. I pretty much feel like I’ve seen it all, heard it all. I nearly got myself run over by a car a few months ago and that was quite shocking, but not the kind of shock I mean. I mean when someone does something/says something and you’re just at a loss for words, it’s so unexpected.
But a few days ago I was walking down the street with my friend Lynn, just chatting about all kinds of crap, when some ten year old girls came walking towards us. As they passed there was a lull in our conversation, so we could hear the girls quite well. The tallest one said “And then all the bitches and ho’s said . . .” Shock! What ten year old girls could be bitches and ho’s? And where did these bitches and ho’s appear? Was it some other ten year old’s birthday party? Were they smoking dro as well?
I feel old. Oh my god, from being all Grrlz! and doing so much work around ageism, now I too have got these dumb ideas of what children and teenagers are all about. I’m looking back with rose-tinted glasses, imagining a far less complex state of affairs for that horrendous coming of age we all go through. So many things are going on in a person’s life at that age, issues of sexuality are starting to loom, you’re trying to find independence and a voice, and grown ups keep trying to pen you in like they did when you were three, only with societal norms instead of a play pen. It’s all so complicated. And you’re body is transitioning into it’s adult form, and aaaaaah! So then you’re just working off some steam using some lingo you heard on an Eminem record “and then all the bitches and ho’s said. . .” and you end up shocking some twenty-something bulldagger with tattoos and a red hanky sticking out of her pocket.
What a world!
Of course what you all want to know now is “What did all the bitches and ho’s say anyway?”
I’m a terrible blogger. To tell you the truth I don’t know, by then they had walked past us and I was still in shock.
Are we being decieved about our past?
Being aboriginal, I am subject to a lot of debate about when the hell I arrived in North America, how I arrived, and what kind of knowledge I would have had with me when I got here. It seems that when it comes to the history of people of colour, racism informs the limits to which archaelogy will allow our past to be known. Consider the wonder of the great pyramids, and the constant denial by people that Egyptians could have built them. Oh it must have been aliens. People of colour aren’t THAT smart or that capable or that dedicated.
Personally I have a sneaking suspicion that institutions like the Smithsonian are either hiding artifacts from the Americas of great importance or have destroyed them outright. There is this strange desire to uphold the myth that the first foreigner to come to our shores was Christopher Columbus, the great and wonderful slave trader and gold grubbing spaniard. But there are stories of others, like Quezacoatyl, who was blonde and blue eyed and left the Aztecs by going overseas to the east. And of course the ruins of old viking settlements here in Canada.
I think that cultures from all over the world have been visiting the Americas for thousands of years, trading with us and building societies with us. Today I even read that there are some inscriptions on rocks in mesoamerican ruins which look like they come from the Shang dynasty. The person who translated them believes a huge flood of refugees from the fall of the Shang Dynasty came to the Americas and formed the Olmec civilization. I have also read several articles talking about Egyptian ruins found in the Grand Canyon.
I’m not quite sure why there is a suppression of this history. All I can figure is that it has something to do with colonialism. Partly wanting to deny that the first cultures of the Americas had highly intelligent societies operating here. I think the other part is that perhaps Christopher Columbus came with the knowledge that we WERE here, that we had gold, that we had huge numbers of people who could be used as slaves, that we had land which could be invaded. There’s this lovely fairy tale people tell about him wanting to prove the earth was round, but I don’t believe a word of it.
Anyway, I thought I would post some more links and let you make up your own mind. Some of the sites are a bit flakey, you kinda have to seperate the wheat from the chaff. But it’s still some interesting stuff.
Top Ten Out of Place Artifacts Not all in the Americas, but interesting nevertheless.
The Los Lunas Decalogue Stone a stone bearing the ten commandments found in New Mexico and “pre-contact.”
Cover-Up at the Smithsonian detailing the story of a body found in full armour which was assumed to have been taken to the Smithsonian and disappeared.
I’m not a deer!
More childhood memories. My gramma always tried to call me a dear when I was a little kid, and for some reason I took this really literally. “I’m not a deer!” I would wail, and she would say “Oh dear!” as she knew she offended me, and then I would get even more fussy, and cry out “I’m NOT a deer!” I don’t know what kind of an insult that would be anyway, to call someone a deer.
The ungulate family features in yet another misinterpretation story from my past. On long road trips through the prairies (aren’t all prairie road trips long?) when I could see nothing for miles except field after field of wheat, on occasion my my mother would say “hey, Thirza look, antelopes!” And I would peer out the window, searching searching the vastnessness, only to see tiny deer-like things. “Cantalopes!! I don’t see any cantalopes!!” I was really hoping to see a field of round melons, and all my mother had to offer were small deer-like things.
Hmm, other ungulate stories. Well, when I lived in Montana for a year on Saturdays my mother used to pack me and my sister into the car with some food and we would drive out to the bison range. Modern urban Indians re-visiting our roots by driving through herds of bison. Buffalo I used to call them, until someone informed me it was actually Bison. We never hunted them or anything, although we did buy frozen bison burgers. When we had to leave Montana I was told I had to part with my extensive rock collection. My mother said it wasn’t fair to take rock spirits so far away when they would just sit under my bed. So one day we drove out to the bison range, and I unrolled the window and one by one threw the rocks out so they could play with the bison. I still like the idea of my little rocks being nosed by a big hairy bison.
We also had a cookie mold that made cookies in the shape of bison.
Once I fed a deer by hand in Banff. Terrible I know, you shouldn’t let wildlife get used to humans.
Which brings me to the wildlife around here. A couple of months ago I took a cab home from Stef’s place and a big coyote ran right in front of it. I hadn’t seen a coyote in this neighborhood before, but apparently they are here. Hopefully it is not hooked on crack, like everyone else in my neighborhood in those wee hours.
And last night I got off the bus and was almost chased home by a skunk!! EEEEE!! As I saw it’s little black and white body scuttling around I had nightmare visions of having to call in sick to work because of being skunk-sprayed and needing to sit in a tub of tomato juice. Oh yuck!!!
Off topic now, I had this weird dream last night. In it I was walking with a friend and we came to this really old almost Aztec looking circular architectural complex, and I said “I’ve been here before. This is where they perform human sacrifices.” And then some men showed up who were going to sacrifice us, and we had to run out of there as fast as we could, only I had to pee. But suddenly there were cages of chickens everywhere, and I couldn’t pee because if I did I would pee on a chicken. And some of the chickens were half pig, and had pig snouts. Now WHAT THE HELL was that all about?
They say all dreams mean something, but sometimes all they mean is that you have to go run and pee, which is what I did when I woke up. No chickens were in my bathroom though.
Lesbian Ostracism
I am secretly suspecting someone long ago lost my lesbian registration card and I will forever be shunned from the queer community. I’m not sure what it is about me, but through either my own social awkwardness or lesbian snottiness, I am always finding it a struggle to connect with other dykes when I go to queer events. Maybe I am not cool enough, they immediately think “Nerd!” and turn their backs. Or perhaps I am just very very very shy, and general dykely gruffness comes off as them being snobby to me. Or maybe they think I am the snobby one. It’s hard to figure out.
Besides the Brownskirts mentioned two posts down, I find it a lot easier to be welcomed into aboriginal events. Usually there’s the opening questions “who are your parents” and “what tribe are you from” and that sort of thing, and then it’s sorted, and some belly laughs later you have a new friend. But with dykes you have to fuck your way into a social group, like little bonobos, or else I dunno, share blood? Slash up with each other? There’s some secret handshake I don’t have!! Even at leather parties, I could be friendly with everybody, but still the dykes gave me that damned snotty sneer.
Usually the girlfriends I’ve ended up with have had some of that fucked up lesbian ostracism too, often for being femme and not being identified as queer. And these were hot sexy women who kicked major ass and did a lot of work for the queer community. What is our problem as a lesbian community?
Maybe I am expecting too much. Maybe the fact that we’re an oppressed minority who all have sex with each other isn’t enough to form the basis for strong community bonds. Maybe we’re too fucked up from fighting homophobic stares on the streets everyday, we do it to each other. Or maybe dykes are just snotty and that is that.
On the other hand, I do have some queer friends who are really nice and friendly and supportive. They are pure gold. I don’t know what I would do without them. But please, somebody tell the rest of the dykes to get the sticks out of their asses and be a little more welcoming to their fellow homos. Who knows, the dyke you shunned today might turn out to be the lover of your dreams.
My room’s a mess and I want beans
This is gonna be one of them silly blogs. A blog that has no defined purpose. My room is a mess and I am procrastinating on cleaning it. I have been procrastinating for about a month now. It is getting difficult to walk to the door from my bed or my computer. The rat says something has to be done, or he’s going to set fire to it. I don’t blame him. It is awful in here.
I’m hungry. I want weiners and beans. It’s my comfort food from growing up. What a great lunch. Mmm, weiners and beans!!! A friend of mine used to make fried baloney. Baloney is basically a flat uncooked hotdog.
Tonight is a show at Lick, Dance Magic Dance, brought to you by my lovely ex Tralala’s Gaylord productions. So if you are a queer in Vancouver with nothing to do tonight and no where to go, come down to Lick, door opens at 9 and show starts at 10. It’s 5 bucks to get in if you wear fantasy stuff, 8 bucks if you’re like me and got nothing good to put on.
Okay, this was a silly post, except for my totally non-obligatory promo for the Gaylord event. Oh yeah, which brings me to my other point that my friend Stef made the other day. She was all “How come nobody ever leaves you comments? Is it that they can’t leave a comment because it fucks up, or does nobody read your blog?” I have heard from at least four different people that they do read it. But it’s true, there are no comments here really. Who does read this blog? I wonder. Ooooh, it’s a mystery!!
Would the mystery readers please stand up, if only to prove Stef wrong?
Of course if you are shy don’t feel obliged. And BTW, you don’t need to be a fellow blogger to be able to leave a comment.