Game Over

The past three nights I have dreamt that

-I sought the Citadel of God (an Austrian palace in the forest), but I first had to cross the railway tracks and pass its keeper and the invisible ghost that laid footprints in the stones. I couldn't help following the keeper into the woods along the tracks, stepping after the ghostly footprints, foolishly distracted by my own curiosity.

-that I was the tortured daughter of an assassin, who escaped only to be raped and dragged back into captivity.

-that I drowned at sea in a storm trying to get everyone off of a yacht during a night stunt scene. I was so busy getting everyone onto the helicopter and making rounds that I failed to notice the chopper was gone and I was alone with two others (the make up artist and a stunt coordinator). we saw huge rocks through the lightning. we were going to crash into them. I took the helm and tried to fight the pull of the sea but to no avail.

At some point I realized that, wow, people who aren't identity-burdened talk about a lot of other stuff.

Whereas, someone with a hyphenated identity is unconsciously always strategizing how best to form relationships, what norms to keep, what parts of one's identity to stick up for, etc. It can really make a person inefficient, in that work might be less well thought out. attention divided looses depth.

Personality Endangers Professionalism

So it's incredibly validating to hear someone say, "Sweet! We got your resume."

An Episode of Mania

I blame it on caffeine.  But it probably isn't that at all.

It's life.  I'm intoxicated with it.

Happiness is unbearable.  

 

Life Before Digital Pictures

Is hard to prove on facebook.

How to Survive the Scarf

Still working on that.

The Water in L.A.

Could be the special sauce in any kid's school lunch.
A trip to Ralphs is like fetching water from the village spring.

People We Call From the Airport

say a lot about the ties we'd hate to lose.

Paperwork

We measure our lives with paperwork. Birth certificates, degrees, contracts, tickets - trees die to prove that we live.

Fratboys, Coppers and the Steps Not Taken

"Look out bin laden!" yelled a buff fratboy as I cut through the crowd.
It wasn't until I got home that I wanted to tear out his lungs.
At the time I thought, "may your children, your parents and everyone you love become Muslim. And then taste what it's like to be a minority you racist ass."

The Prophet Muhammad (p) always said a strong man isn't someone who can wrestle someone into submission. A strong man is someone who controls himself when he's angry.
The fact that I didn't tear out his lungs makes me a better human being. Right?

Let's explore.

The likelihood that this idiot will ever learn what he did is wrong is slim. Who's going to teach him? Not the submissive passerby who wants to avoid any conflict with Mr. Buff. Not his folks, who've obviously raised him with enough ego coddling to berate weaker people. Not his girlfriend, who's probably in the relationship for the status he gives her as some notable jock. No, none of these people care about Ms. "bin laden".

Had I taken the bait, it would've definitely gotten violent. We would've both had to talk to some authorities, campus police, LAPD, whatever. For me it would be really radicalizing, because I know no one in that crowd would ever stick up for me so I'd be the one to take the most extreme measures first to defend myself (closest weapon), and so I would be most to blame for the carnage that ensued. Even though he held all the power and instigated it, I would be trapped by the most visible form of aggression.

And the cops wouldn't get it - how full of ridicule his words were, how degrading in front of a large crowd of people, how easily all of my work, all of my accomplishments, all of my service for people, all of my relationships - the people who mean something to me and to whom I mean so much, are reduced to nothing. to a "bin laden". They wouldn't get that respect is worth fighting for, and for too many of us ignoring the fratboys is a daily exercise in self restraint. Chances are, someone someday is going to snap. They don't get it that the mature thing to do, after many years of doing it and seeing no improvement, makes you think this society only pays attention when it wants to disgrace you.

The cops wouldn't get it. White. Never traveled. Never cared to ask their "ethnic" "friends" about anything besides a TV show they like in common, they don't know what it's like to constantly defend that you're part of the crowd (read: human) but that your differences are also precious to you. Because they've never been different. And they don't care why it matters, and they never will. Yet they have all the power to screw over your entire life.

And that, my friends, is the real reason we ignore the fratboys.