A friend of mine once (in what seemed, to me, out of the blue) E-mailed the listserve of (I think) the marching band, noting that it had come to her attention that there were members of the group which had never had the experience, despite growing up in the 90s, of hearing "No Scrubs" by TLC; this had to be corrected, she noted.
Seeing as I had only heard, and remembered, the song tangentially from hearing it on the radio once or twice back in my childhood (plus I'm sure my cousins may've helped to some degree), this may be something rather prevalent. And my xanga would be remiss if it did not partially exist as a place where one of the greatest decades of human existence could live.
As far as I'm concerned, the 90s never ended.
Now I've been…lookin' for a job But it's…hard to find Down here it's just Winners and losers and don't get Caught on the wrong side of that line; well, I'm tired of comin' out on this losing end So honey, last night, I met this guy and I'm gonna do a little favor for him…
Well everything dies – baby that's a fact But maybe everything that dies – someday comes back… Put your makeup on; fix your hair up pretty And meet me tonight in Atlantic City… Meet me tonight in Atlantic City Meet me tonight in Atlantic City…
It's old news but I have pictures.
My sister's dog got a haircut (if you don't remember what he looks like, you can find pictures here: http://thirst2.xanga.com/751582568/item/). We hadn't been able to take him to get groomed in a while so the amount of knots in his fur he had accumulated called for a thorough shaving.
It seems my mother isn't nearly so fond of it. I think it's hilariously cute. Plus, the benefit of his new "rat tail" (as my mother would call it)? He chases it now.
I'm also very easily amused.
Marceline- Is it just you and me in the wreckage of the world? That must be so confusing for a little girl… And I know you're going to need me here with you But I'm losing myself and I'm afraid you're going to lose me too
This magic keeps me alive But it's making me crazy And I need to save you But who's going to save me? Please… forgive me for… whatever I do… When I don't remember you
I'd mentioned, once before, here that this is one of my all-time favorite movies though my brother found it far less impressive than I do. I was informed that apparently the link I had left here then to watch it might contain viruses. Here it is on YouTube, in the event anyone wants to see it. Really, it's quite a feel-good film (which, normally, I tend to hate) and really sweet.
note: there is one scene where one of the main characters starts to attempt suicide; to do so, she makes a cut on her wrist with a razor. I don't know if that might be found to be triggering so I'm mentioning it just in case
Heeeeey, little baby, is your daddy home? Did he go away and leave you…all alone? No, no… I gotta bad de-sire... Oh- ohh- ohhh, I'm on fire...
Tell me now, baby, is he good to you? Can he do to you the things…that I do? Oh, no… I can take you higher... Oh- ohh- ohhh, I'm on fire...
Some-times, it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul…
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet And a freight train running through the middle of my head Only you...can cool my de-sire... Oh- ohh- ohhh, I'm on fire...
This is a really simple matter so I'll try to be brief (if I actually hold that capability). While I hate to discount anyone's personal experience (the first rule of understanding is acknowledging there are other experiences beyond the ones you're familiar with; Mr. Lopez's full testimony can be found here: http://www.thepublicdiscourse.com/2012/08/6065), I'm going to assume that none of you are stupid and just acknowledge out the gate that articles such as these are used to discredit the notion of gay marriage (note my lack of scare quotes around the word marriage, unlike the article).
However, the first point of criticism is the article's (and Mr. Lopez's testimony's) display of all the hallmarks of a piece written to fit a particular viewpoint (which often, in turn, defies lived experience). How?
There's the never-failing-to-appear point that such behavior leads "one down a sodden path to self-medication in the form of alcoholism, drugs, gambling, antisocial behavior, and irresponsible sex". I once read an article from some site like Yahoo about a mother who (while dealing with her son's decent into homosexuality before he came back to his senses and "became" straight again) would have to tape her eyes shut when she went to bed at night because she cried so much (I don't believe such an endeavor would actually work…). Nothing like sensationalism to drive a point across.
On that note, there's that hallmark expression of Mr. Lopez descending into the "gay underworld". Sounds scary. Particularly since it preys upon fears of a secretive society of homosexuals that are plotting to overtake your safe and cozy straight life (note that it also plays the card of the Other by literally creating another world of separation from what Mr. Lopez consider's normal). Of course, this is ridiculous. Really, underworld? Boy's Town in Chicago is literally just a 45 minute drive away for me. I've gone down there every pride parade I've attended. Friends of mine in high school have gone down there. There's nothing hidden or scary.
There's the claim that being raised by two women rendered Mr. Lopez to having "very few recognizable social cues to offer potential male or female friends, since I was neither confident nor sensitive to others". Apparently the Lopez's didn't have T. V.s in their household. Or never left the house, for that matter. And apparently Mr. Lopez didn't go to school. But, you know what, I can somewhat understand. I flounder completely at social cues to give (as I've mentioned more than enough times on this Xanga) and find meeting (let alone befriending) other people difficult. It's not easy. But it's not life-ending.
Then there's also this peculiar paragraph:
Those who are 100-percent gay may view bisexuals with a mix of disgust and envy. Bisexual parents threaten the core of the LGBT parenting narrative—we do have a choice to live as gay or straight, and we do have to decide the gender configuration of the household in which our children will grow up. While some gays see bisexuality as an easier position, the fact is that bisexual parents bear a more painful weight on their shoulders. Unlike homosexuals, we cannot write off our decisions as things forced on us by nature. We have no choice but to take responsibility for what we do as parents, and live with the guilt, regret, and self-criticism forever.
"Okay, alright, science says that being gay isn't a choice. Hmm, well, if we make the argument that those who have the choice to partake happily in heterosexual acts ought to [using the same evidence that's used when arguing that being gay is a choice, no less] then we still kinda win!" Honestly, you don't decide to live as gay or straight as a bisexual; just because I date mostly girls doesn't mean I live as a straight person. It's still trying to fit into a binary understanding of sexuality.
But what makes the entire affair just hilarious is how disconnected from reality it is.
I'm sorry that discovering you're bisexual caused you to run into the "gay underworld" and all the drugs and sex it must have contained (because gay people are inseperable from drugs and sex in these types of narratives). I'm bisexual too and – oh, wait, I'm still a virgin and I've never used illegal drugs, ever. I guess I just have self-control.
Hey, look, Mr. Wahls above was raised by two women too. Except he looks rather well adjusted, doesn't he?
Or I could appeal to my own life experiences and the people I've known raised in gay/bi households. People who were perfectly well adjusted and had plenty of friends.
Or when a friend of mine, trying to appeal to how the past or the 50s (I forget which) was better, asked me if we had any decent male role-models these days. For the longest time, I didn't know how to formulate a reply. Here's why: what the Hell would that entail‽ Perhaps it's a generational gap but I can't begin to formulate how being neither confident nor sensitive would be a disability to getting to know a person. And, hence, I can't begin to figure out what it would mean to be, specifically, a male role-model since men (at least when I was growing up, in my traditional heterosexual household) could do anything they pleased. I know, I shouldn't be surprised but I always am whenever anyone lends actual legitimacy to the notion of gender roles (the family was watching a movie about Shakespeare the other day when my mother exclaims, "The king is wearing women's shoes!" This shift in gender roles is atrocious and I think we should all go back to the good old days when men wore feminine shoes, like is proper and natural؟).
And, look, honestly, I am truly sorry if Mr. Lopez had a difficult time in his life because, for him specifically, he was raised by two women. I'm sorry that society was so cruel as to make life difficult for him just because he didn't fit their expectations. I imagine such worries plagued the first children of interracial marriages.
But we should work to make society more understanding rather than bending to the current whims of today's society and, in turn, trying to make permanent its cruelties. Such behavior, even if under the guise of being practical or realistic, just continues to hurt people in the end.
I believe I'm about a week late, so I'll give you guys a few stuff.
though my brother found it far less impressive than I do. I was informed that apparently the link I had left here then to watch it might contain viruses. Here it is on YouTube, in the event anyone wants to see it. Really, it's quite a feel-good film (which, normally, I tend to hate) and really sweet.
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