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Last month, I participated in a self-defense and empowerment course hosted by the FORGE organization. Not only is it becoming increasingly unsafe for queer people (especially queer people of color, and especially trans people of color)… the shit I pull riling up dorks on Facebook is not a great idea offline. I needed to learn the different ways to de-escalate!

These are all the notes I’ve compiled (and cleaned up…) over our four-day course. But, these are only notes. FORGE’s webinars go into greater detail, and I implore you to check it out.

Continue reading →

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For our self-defense class with Forge, our homework was to create our own personal Bill of Rights– we go over techniques to create and enforce our boundaries. Here’s a rough draft of what I have, via alphabetical order. I jotted down the first thing that came to mind, and the items in italics are the ones I like the best.

…also an excuse to test some new plugins.

assess my energy level at any time, and adjust accordingly

be prepared

cause a scene to be heard

devalue those that would devalue me

engage in ways that honor me

find peace

get to safety

help in ways that i can

instinct- follow it

joy – feel it

keep on truckin’

leave

mind my manners / mindfulness

need to express myself in healthy ways

only observe (no participation is mandatory)

protect

quote

rest

stay balanced

talk it out

use examples

vent (again, in a healthy way)

wax poetic

xylophone (I got nuthin’)

yield

z (again, nuthin)

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If it’s one thing I’ll always love about dressing up, it’s all the accessorizing. Combinations are limitless, and your flair can be as small or large as you want it. I have a full shelf dedicated to various jewelry sets (most of it loud costume-y pieces), buttons, and pins– not to mention all the bags and purses threatening to fall on my head every time I open the closet door, and my growing collection of headbands.

My bling (we used to say that– do we still say that?) veers toward nerdy (a Kingdom Hearts necklace), pretty, quirky (chainsaw earrings), retro, and classy-because-I-had-to-be. The pins and buttons were reserved for that extra oompth and/or random silly thing. What was missing were all the pronoun buttons I amassed over the years…

I was taking a Staycation and spent a few days checking out the local queer film fest. I was having a blast, shooting the shit with new people as we got a card game started.

Then I heard it: the wrong one.

"Yo," I interject, "I use they/them." I tried to add a little humor as I pointed to my pronoun button: "It’s right here next to my cleavage. I know you’ve seen it!" The game started, and we played a few rounds until seating for that night’s film became available. The night went on, and I went home.

I was there for the last day of the film festival, too. I’m by myself this time to catch a special viewing and discussion. I was proud of myself– I mingled, was only a little awkward, and carried out a few conversations without stuttering. "I use they/them pronouns," I heard myself say, after my name, and I reminded here and there. The button by itself proved to be too subtle.

Then came the discussion portion of the morning. The producer, who I struck the strongest conversations with, went up to the podium. And pointed me out due to how excited I was about learning more BIPOC queer history. To thank me for supporting her. They used

she.

I smiled, awkwardly, trying to match our earlier enthusiasm.

The they/them button on my shirt felt so heavy. My heart behind it was breaking.

I don’t recall much of what happened after that; all a blur or blotted out over time. But I remember going home and ripping the button off and crying.

I try to be understanding when– not if– this happened in other ‘mainstream’ spaces. But there, I was surrounded by queer people. This was the crowd that was supposed to get it. But, no matter where I was, I always worked under the assumption that a button could be easily missed.

So I still declared.

And I corrected.

And that still never seemed to be enough.

I didn’t see the point in wearing pronoun buttons if everyone was just going to ignore them.

So I put them all away.

The years without them… haven’t changed much.

I get what my partners call "apology tours" when I correct someone. (Protip: just utter a quick ‘sorry’ if you must, then move on.)

I have officially Heard Them All– the excuses. And to those I can only hiss: "Don’t care. Do better."

I don’t bother correcting close-enough acquaintances. If they didn’t get it by now, they’re not going to. And they won’t be invited into my house.

Some queer spaces have been getting better, incorporating pronouns along with names in introduction circles. The trans-inclusive (or even better: exclusively trans) spaces are a breath of fresh air.

After a few years of them being shoved into a tiny drawer, I unearthed my pronoun buttons (and one pin). A lot of them were from Pride events or meetups, and my favorite pin– a little one, gold-on-white– was a birthday gift. Each one I held in my hand, remembering.

I put one on for the LGBTQ picnic last month.

It felt nice.

I may wear it some more.

A variety of they/them pronoun pins.

 

I have my oasis. My partners and allies are always willing to go to bat for me. More people have been trying and I’m sure to thank them. But beyond that?

The buttons don’t work.

The just telling you doesn’t work.

Throwing out my CashApp and keeping tabs on each mistake isn’t working either, but at least I can buy a six pack now and then.

Positive reinforcement only works if the other party actually cares, and a lot of people still don’t. What started as a joke is going to be a serious undertaking as I begin bringing a spray bottle to the function, because I might as well have fun and use the excuse to be obnoxious.

Because if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll begin crying in frustration. And, really, I’m tired of crying.

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I may have been a little too excited in firing off a hasty fangirl-y email to an address that probably isn’t even monitored anymore, but I was so happy that I found the site I’ve been alluding to since college. All I had to do, all this time, was to browse my old middle-and-high school files for a certain animation with a certain username on it.

A cursor of Chibi Usa's attack

 

Blink and you miss it: http:// members. aol. com/ chibiusa97.(1) The pieces fell into place from there. So I sent an email. …Well, less polished and rushed than what you see here, perhaps, but the sentiment is the same.

Hello,

As I tend to do as Web 3.0 breathes down our necks, I sit back and reminisce about The Old Web… when everyone built their own little piece. I remember your website dedicated to Chibi Usa, who was also my favorite Sailor Scout. You had one of my favorite web pages in the late 90s, so I was always a little saddened that I could never remember the URL or who you were.

So, imagine my delight when I came across one of your old .ani files in my archives! A quick search of your username later and I navigated to your CS100 assignment. It’s still up, after all these decades. Coming across sites like that is like peering back into time.

The Internet is/was a very cool place, and I’m still amazed at how information is communicated on this medium, and how it has grown.

And how sites have inspired me, such as yours.

So I want to say, thank you. As a kid in 1997 browsing the Web in middle school Computer Club, to the almost-40 adult who still has a passion for this sort of thing. I hope you’re still in it, enjoying anime, and I hope this email reaches you well.

Take care,
“me”

I propose a toast for ChibiUsa97, and all the ChibiUsa97s still floating around, coding and enjoying what they love.

Chibi Usa, looking lovingly at a soda with her face on it.

 

(1) That link no longer works, natch. However, you can view the page on the Wayback Machine. That hyperlink points to the version I’m most familiar with, but do slide around the timeline and see how it changed over the years!

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Album cover of Precious' Whatever Sinks Your Ship album.

It’s not often I am transported back to High School on a good memory. But with this album, I am. On some weekends with my two best friends, we’d pile up in the car and go see a show. It was typically down to Orlando, about an hour’s drive from our rural tiny towns. Until we got there we’d just talk, or play games to pass the time… like combining swear words to come up with the best (worst) one (and "Grasshopper" won that game in two seconds, with "cuntshit"). Eventually I’d see quite a few shows, wearing platform boots at the front of the stage if we weren’t at the merch tables or braving the mosh pit.

But there’s one show I remember the best.

It was Precious, a band my BFF followed and enjoyed when they lived closer to Orlando’s music scene. They have been telling me all about them, and I was excited to see them in person. And they came onto that stage and rocked. It had the hallmarks of a great live show: passion, stage presence, talent, and a responsive crowd that loved them.

In addition to their Rarities EP, I bought their second album titled "Whatever Sinks Your Ship." My favorite track, if I had to pick just one? "Youth and the Drug Explosion," for how it ends: the wail of the electric guitar, carrying on until it was the only instrument left. Steve just stood there looking cool. But overall, I love the lyrics.

Some lines I still carry around.

One of my greatest fears
Is I’d hit a motorcycler
And I think I see one coming up
Way too fast in my lane “Youth and the Drug Explosion”

There’s the beautiful.

Maybe you can be
Everything I need
The latitude and longitude
Of where I’m supposed to be “All Saints”

Some are more… blunt.

Work harder / and then you fucking die “Work”

And some I think are relatable.

I don’t need a chorus
I need somebody to hold my hand
Tell me everything is all right
What I really need right now
Is another somebody to hold me down
Tell me “Steve, you got it dead wrong” “I Wanna Die”

I saw them play at one other show, where someone had driven four hours to hopefully hear them cover "Bare Necessities."

We’ve kept in touch via AIM. The details of how we exchanged screennames escape me, but everyone was giving our their screennames willy-nilly back then. We’d chat for upwards an hour about current events, broad-strokes life things, and music. I tried not to bug him too often– he was an artist and a busy man. We kept in loose touch after I began college, until the messages tapered off completely.

I feared the worst– he was open about his kidney issues– but I’m happy to report that he’s still around. I’d been keeping a casual tab on what he’s been up to. He has been fundraising for a kidney, and after a long hiatus makes music under the name The Guarantees. But, every once in a while, I still yell Where is Steve Garron?! into the void. Out of habit.

And here’s a call to action for you: go to your local shows. There’s really nothing like them.

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My Contribution to the Juneteenth pool party playlist:

  • Scoop by Lil Nas X
  • Kiss Me More by Doja Cat
  • 212 by Azealia Banks
  • Ima Read by Zebra Katz (if we gon fight)
  • Sing About Me by Angel Haze
  • Cubicle by Sammus
  • Power-Ups by Sammus
  • Childhood by Sammus
  • Mackerel Sky by Mega Ran
  • (re: Sammus, any of those three would be good)
  • Water by Tyla
  • ….you know we gotta play WAP right
  • Drownt by clipping.
  • the entire Age of Pleasure album (or just Lipstick Lover by Janelle Monae)
  • can we get some Drexciya up in there too!?
  • Blick by Scar Lip

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Do you ever just, hate stuff?

You hate it.

And then you grew up.

probably FFX-2 (but most definitely Unlimited SaGa)

Because it didn’t need all the hate I gave it. I will still argue that playing X-2 right after X can give you mood whiplash, but that didn’t deserve me writing paragraphs about how much it sucked. i’d do anything to find the bullshit i wrote so i can tear it to shreds It did carry the same score as Xenosaga, at one point, so I eventually did give it another go.

It’s fun! But don’t play it without a guide. Ask me how I know.

Unlimited SaGa was gorgeous and it’s one of my favorite games now. Other than presentation, I can’t quite remember why I dogged on it so much. That was probably the only reason. And that’s a damn shame. Its soundtrack did end up being one of my absolute I’ll-take-it-with-me-on-a-deserted-island albums.

Mary Sues

This is one of those things where I look back on and criiiiinge. You could say it was all about the sanctity of writing all you want, but if you look at the demographic of people that wrote self-inserts with sparkly eyes constantly stealing the limelight, something becomes apparent.

It was thinly-veiled an excuse to shit on creative teenage girls. (In my defense, I was also a teenage girl. At least I wasn’t a man in my 20s or 30s hatin’ on them. That’s fucking weird.) It’s still used today, but much less prevalent– and, if you ask the Old Heads, completely incorrectly. Mary Sues had, more or less, this sort of (highly subjective) criteria:

  • an OC (Original Character) author-insert
  • impossibly perfect (in looks and/or ability, or both)
  • accompanined by purple prose (“bad writing”)
  • terrible characterization (“more bad writing”)
  • an OOC (out-of-character) magnet for the canon cast
  • love interest to a canon character(s)
  • hasn’t done anything to earn in-story praise, credibility, attention, love…

And nowadays there are a few nuanced takes, such as this one on the PPC Wiki (or, "that thing where you spork stuff I guess"; please, i don’t want to further go into this where are you taking me):

Mary Sue is shallow: she cares only about herself and achieving her own goals. She is uninteresting, because she has no real conflict. Neither is she well-crafted, but characterized almost exclusively by how she looks, or how much her past sucks, or how good she is with her skill of choice. Worst of all, she warps or shoves aside everything we love about the canon and its people in order to put herself forward. Mary Sue has no respect for the work into which she intrudes. “Mary Sue” at PPC Wiki

Now I’ve noticed it’s been thrown around as code for "this female character is too cool, and I’m jealous actually." Straight up misogyny (and when it applies, misogynoir). The most recent example of this particular type of "Canon Sue" is Rey from the Star Wars franchise. Which, as Lily Orchard pointed out, was ironic considering Rey’s characterization suffered and became a "Mary Sue" in order to appeal to the very same people complaining about her (source). Star Wars fans really hate themselves.

There was a website called "Mary Sue Dolls" where someone did those little pixelized representations of, well, people’s Mary Sue characters. I loved flipping through them and seeing how elaborate they could get. I haven’t been able to find an archive, but I faintly remember the last years of that domain. It was still up, but with an apology on the only page.

But yeah. Let fanfic writers have fun. Let girls have fun, ffs.

If you hate bad writing and characterization, just fucking say that.

If you still don’t know WTF I’m talking about, or just want to know more, Izzzyzzz‘s video is pretty succinct.

Kelly, of “Shoes” fame

In college I was like "ew what is this vapid garageband bullshit." Fortunately, that pretentious shit only lasted a couple of months, if not days. Especially when I noticed Kelly’s songs were helping my then-girlfriend get through a tough time. If people love and take strength from something, could it really be that bad? Honestly, if you can create art with any tools at your disposal, it’s still freakin’ art.

Also, I was sold once I heard "Txt Msg Brkup." That was a banger.

Final Fantasy VII Remake (and so on)

I’m a little ashamed to admit this: when an actual Remake for Final Fantasy VII became reality– not a hoax or tech demo!– I was annoyed. Maybe even… livid. I took the announcement as a personal affront and cynical cash grab. You name it, I said it. I wasn’t happy that they were messing with my baby.

…Yes, it’s actually their baby, but I didn’t have to be happy about it, damn it!

And yet, I followed it’s development up to launch from the corner of my eye. I was still intrigued and curious. The more I read, the more I softened up the the reality of the thing, and eventually I made my peace with it. I wished I could have been more charitable from the start, regardless of what it’d become. The original will still be there for me to enjoy, after all.

Also, it brought us this:

Things I Used to Hate 1
CHERITH!!! Mod by Crandifff.

How about some engagement?

So– what stuff did you hate, but ended up loving– or at the very least, tolerating? Leave a comment and I’ll eventually drag it out of the comment filters! :3

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I’m now alone here

House empty and beige

Windows wide open

And the tiredness

Finally seeping in

A failed lynchpin

Staring out to the trees

Understanding, at last,

The cause for the distance

And realizing

That I can’t carry any more

Day 21 Week 21

I won’t talk about the during-move blues, other than note that it was one of the most stressful times I have had in a long time. I blew past my breaking point and burned out twice over. I wanted to cry, a lot, and I wanted to not deal with that shit anymore.

And then, it was done.

How am I doing now?

First off, I am relieved. I am also grateful for all the help we managed to get. I’m not even happy that the hard part is over.

I am sad. Still in mourning for the house-that-was in my apartment-that-is. My favorite ideal future of a giant house with our individual spaces, of all of our hobbies intertwining, and metas and friends visiting often will never happen. Relationships have transitioned and bonds sustained damage. There is, as I noted above, a distance I can never cross.

I did enjoy organizing and decorating with my remaining nesting partner. We made the place ours, and the vacuum left behind gradually filled. And it has been satisfactory as we settled into our slightly modified routines (the shortened commute certainly helped). Coming home feels, well, like coming home.

I am not happy, yet. There’s recovering from the physical, mental, and monetary stress. I may need another month.

But I have a bittersweet contentment.

That’ll do for awhile.

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I grew up in the 90s, so computers were an up-and-coming thing before they became a staple in all of our lives.

We had an Apple with Oregon Trail in our portable 5th Grade classroom, but I couldn’t really do anything on it. You put in the floppy disk and called it a day. There were other computers, yeah, but you couldn’t leave the fenced-in areas of educational games. 7th grade was when I finally felt like I could get my hands dirty on how things not only worked, but how things could be created. We covered different office programs and their files, databases, and light networking.

The recreational vibe of Computer Club, however, was where I was most comfortable. While I applied what I learned to fun middle-schooling projects (I really enjoyed making PowerPoint presentations), I surfed the Internet. A lot. I spent those weekly Wednesday afternoons putting search queries in Yahooligans! and coming across forums, shrines, and personal sites.

It all clicked in High School. The class programmed in QBASIC before lesson plans for FrontPage became available, and as a self-proclaimed Internet Denzien I pivoted to that. I was familiar with Web pages, but it wasn’t until here that I realized I could build. I fell in love with HTMLing and building Web sites of my own.

I also got into blogging around this time, too– teens love self-expression, and back in the day we were used FreeNetDiary, Xanga, and the highly-coveted Livejournal (way back when, you needed an invite from an existing user). I settled on BlogDrive for my first blog, the URL referencing Cloud Strife.

I also had someone’s fan page of Chibi Usa always bookmarked, and I was able to see it evolve over the years (until I lost the link). I thought to myself, “I want to put information out there, and I want to do it with style.” It has since morphed into an emphasis on accessibility and readability.

I still love blogging, and I still love manipulating content with color theory and best practices to display different media types, for everyone.

And what now? I am nostalgic from when The Internet seemed more fun, less cookie-cutter and corporate.

Backwards into The Old Internet, I go.

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I’m the embodiment of this old vine: I am COMPLETELY GIVING UP.

It’s official. I’m capital D Done with online dating.

Sure, I’ve reduced my apps, but I was still feeling frustrated and convinced that I fucking suck. And on top of that, there’s dealing with the usual pitfalls of online dating like People (Mostly Men) Not Reading My Profile, One-Word Convos, and Weirdos in the Inbox– especially the ones that can’t seem to get my pronouns right. And then there’s all the things outside of my control like algorithms and paywalls.

I know it ain’t me… Mostly. I’m not perfect. Shit, maybe it is. I’m convinced that I’m not just cut out for online dating. Maybe I don’t have the extroverted personality for it. Maybe I am hideous and off-putting. The back of my brain is going what’s wrong with me?! Am I too something, and/or not enough something else?

It’s too fucking much.

It’s a gut punch when you have a great rapport with someone, and they just… stop. Out of all my dates and conversations, only one person had the decency to just send a text stating that she wasn’t feeling it. Everyone else never got back to me.

I get Ghosted.

The latest person to do so was someone I’ve been seeing for half a year. And it hurts extra because we bonded over our mutual dislike for getting ghosted on– and I still got done like that anyway. No closure, no reason, nothing.

Few things feel shittier than that. Something must be wrong with me. And that’s when I decided to throw in the towel.

And you know the wild thing about this? I’ve actually had successful dates. And each one was with a person who I was already interacting with in meatspace. So, fuck it: I’ll just stick to doin’ it Old School. My introverted socially anxious homebody ass will stumble through and figure it out. And if it is "just me"? Then I’ll work on myself. I should be doing that regardless.

For real.

I mean it.

I am done with the dating apps.

…

Until I’m bored. OKCupid still has all those fucking questions I haven’t answered.