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"After my death, the molecules of my being will return to the earth and sky. They came from the stars. I am of the stars." -Charles Lindbergh
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I may have a plan for dealing with this political situation: anyone got a telepathic squid and a teleporter?
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People specifically banned for political commentary since the election: 1

Trump randos stopping by to preach about "working together" (to sing the Horst Werssel song, one assumes) or some such: 4

Interactions with a long-time friend greatly damaged by politics: 1 (mostly because I bite my tongue A LOT)

Ex-roomies from college banned because of the drivel they were spewing (including saying that all of Trump's interactions with women were consensual): 1

Fingernails bitten to the quick in the course of all this: 8

...and how are you?
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Phone calls to members of Congress in the 47 years before Election Day: 5.

Phone calls in the eight days since Election Day: 11.
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", the bill applies to any corporation, organization, or person who “believes or acts in accordance with a religious belief or moral conviction that marriage is or should be recognized as the union of one man and one woman, or that sexual relations are properly reserved to such a marriage.”

"Notice how broad that is: any business, agency, or individual, including government employees, hospitals, or huge businesses like Hobby Lobby or Chick-Fil-A. Old-age homes and hospices that turn away gay people – yes, this has actually happened – are covered. Hospitals that refuse a same-sex partner visitation rights – covered. National hotel chains that refuse to rent rooms to gay couples (or unmarried straight ones) – covered."
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There's an anti-Trump rally happening in Oakland at 5; I'd wanted a presidency of hope, but better anger than despair.
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Too many thoughts to summarize; will have to leave it at YOU'RE FIRED, CLINTON GOAT
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Reminder, Trump voters: vote November 28th!
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So: Came out to my friends and family as bi over 20 years ago; occasionally kinky; polyamorous.
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Really, I think Trump has reached the "Spud tiptoes towards the front door with an armful of bedsheets" part of his campaign.spud
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Huh; Berkeley public library refers to the Monday, October 10th, 2016 holiday as "the Indigenous People's Day holiday."
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Someday, I want to make a movie where aliens meet Jean-Luc Godard and say, "We really love your movies- especially the early, funny ones."
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One of my very strongest memories: January 2, 2010. Patrick's birthday; a group of us decamped to Spike Hill in Williamsburg to hear his band play. Among them, a friend who had been so severely injured by a stroke that one of his doctors said he'd never before seen someone who'd survived such an injury walk into his office under their own power afterwards, and his partner, also a dear friend. (The previous day, the partner and I had watched him discussing science fiction trivia with Patrick, and winning the point; she and I looked at each other, and smiled widely.)

I rarely dance much, and although often clueless, I knew this was a Moment; I hung off to the side, and put every neuron in my brain to the task of remembering this tableau: Patrick playing and singing; them dancing, for what was almost surely the first time since the stroke. Later, after the Moment had ended, I walked home, and thought of the words of this poem by John M. Ford: "This is New York. We'll find a place to dance." Surely, if that other Moment that engendered this poem and all the moments it engendered in turn taught us anything, it is this: that while we cannot forestall tragedy, we can will our own response to it, on some human level more primal, more central than flesh or steel; that even when it feels like the end, it so rarely actually is; that even in the face of all that can be, there is a place for dancing, and singing, and love.

fifteen

Sep. 10th, 2016 11:23 pm
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A couple of years ago, when a friend of mine died, I watched this video- fifty? sixty?- times; in the two or three days after, it and another video (of a pianist with whom I used to sing performing "Take Me Home, Country Roads"- our song- for me) were on near-constant rotation until the waves of emotion had abated the tiniest bit, and I could begin to pretend to think again. It was later taken down; that it is back, on this days of all days, is the surest sign of mercy I've seen from the cosmos in quite a long, long time.
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I'd love to see a fic where Curt Henderson from American Graffiti and Roy Neary from Close Encounters turn out to have been the same person. Curt went to college on a scholarship, but quickly realized that his English major and half-baked literary efforts weren't getting him anywhere; before graduating, he had started using his middle names- "Roy Neary"- as a way to stop thinking of his old dreams, his old life. He wound up knocking up a girl named Veronica- mostly because she was blond, and happened to drive a white T-bird. The two of them moved to Indiana, where they stayed with her parents at first; abandoning thoughts of a literary career, Roy bullshitted his way into a job with the power company. Roy was a bit too much of a wiseass to get far up the company ladder, though; three kids later, his life had pretty much settled into a routine,

until he parked at a railroad crossing one night... )
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