| Stephenie Meyer is making my life hell |
[15 Jan 2009|12:54pm] |
I hear her name at least 50 times a day. I'm constantly responding to Stephenie Meyer-related emails. All my customer service issues are related to Stephenie Meyer. I'm hunting for Stephene Meyer stock every day.
I really think she should send me some monetary love in return. hahaha
It's not really such a ridiculous request according to my past experience. I recall when I worked at Tower Records ('89 to '94) & Yanni was wreaking that sort of havoc on my store. Yes, that's right, Yanni. You youngsters will have no idea who he is, I imagine. Though I should give more credit, I suppose.
Anyway, one day I was bitching about "Yawn-y" on the sales floor as I was re-stocking his CDs when a certified letter came for me. At that point in my life, certified mail generally meant big trouble so I was unhappy. Until I opened it & found a $50 check from Yanni. That was a turning point in my relationship with Yanni.
Of course, working where I work now, accepting a check from Stephenie Meyer would land me in the unemployment line. It would be a swell gesture, though.
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| Sharing obsessions |
[07 Nov 2008|12:36pm] |
I am MADLY in love with this song, I tell you. Actually, this entire album has been in rotation in my ears for months & months now & I can't seem to get sick of it but this song makes the hair on my arms stand up, I love it so much.
Алла Пугачёва - Ресницы и твои глаза (Alla Pugacheva)
Yes, okay, in this odd snippet she does look like "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" I'll admit but I have an overwhelming affection for her that is nearly coming to rival my unspeakable love for Liza Minnelli. (Alla will never surpass Liza with a Z, don't worry.)
Another torrid love is reserved for Lolita, whom Alex has been given an all access pass to if that occasion should ever arise. But I'm hoping we could share in her hotness.
Лолита - Пошлю его на ...
Ok, back to my work cave.
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| Prop 8 |
[09 Oct 2008|12:33pm] |
It was so upsetting to me to see a slew of "Yes on Prop 8" banners on the chainlink fence around a deserted patch of land that I walk by on the way to work everyday that I mentioned it to Alex. It was just a kick in the gut in the morning. The freaking signs have little stick-figures of some happy, I suppose, nuclear family. Like MY being wed to my love would somehow destroy (or even affect) happy little blue stick-figure families.
We ALL have families, for lord's sake. I have a family.
I mean, what it says on the official ballot under Prop 8 is: Eliminates Right of Same-Sex Couples to Marry
Eliminates human beings' rights. Oy. I get so pissed about this.
That night, when Alex picked me up from my shuttle stop & went into her trunk to pull out her laptop bag I saw a crumpled wad of those "Yes on Prop 8" banners. She'd gone out early in the morning & yanked them down.
I would have severe issues with removing signs were they on private property, but these were on an abandoned site overburdened with endless Prop signs. So I thought that was very sweet of her. She then bought a bunch of "No on Prop 8" signs & we put those up instead.
I suppose it would be only fair if those, in turn, are yanked down but at least this week I was able to see those instead of the hate-mongering ones.
We don't even want to get married but I have friends that just recently have & the bottom line is I'm a freakin' citizen & I pay my taxes. Why should I have my rights eliminated?
I think of my friends, Nan & Kim, who were just married three weeks ago after being together for 27 years. They both served our country in the Navy. Yet they don't deserve this basic right? It blows my mind.
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| A tight ship |
[03 Oct 2008|10:21pm] |
When I was a child I was very popular with very old people. At least, they were very old to me.
My paternal grandmother, Jesse, being the oldest of a family of ten, had the first grandchild. Me. Neat. So all her brothers & sisters adored me. I was the golden child.
She used to always tell me that she was 100% Apache Indian & that my grandfather had saved her from the reservation. She told me that warring factions of Apaches raided her village all the time when she was a kid & she once saw one slam a baby's head into a nail in the side of her log home. It was a horrible graphic for a small child to digest.
Then my granddad, Ed, my dad's dad, when asked about chronic gashes in his looming forehead (which I think I inherited along with a very small version of his honker) would respond, "Them dirty ol' Injuns attacked me in the orchards." I realized when I got older it was just from pruning his grapefruit trees.
He got such a kick out of me saying, "GODDAMN dirty ol' Injuns!" I knew that was the ticket to tickles & back rubs. But, wait, isn't Gramma a dirty ol' Injun? Oh well, never mind.
My paternal grandparents, when I was very small, were very fun. Sure, they chain-smoked & never had a sip of anything that did not include whiskey but they were big on gambling, & big on letting me win at gambling.
I'll never forget the poker games with Granddad, Grandma & her nine siblings under the ostentatious chandelier where I was at the head of the table. And I would win & win & win until I had to go to bed.
Up until I was 10 years old, I thought I was invincible.
In our cabin (the one in Pine, AZ, that my grandparents owned) was a large magnet on the fridge. "We run a tight ship, sometimes a little too tight!" There was a '60's style simple drawing of a dude with a hat looking snockered on it & it perplexed me.
One crisp Northern Arizona afternoon, my Grandpa, Grandma & four of her siblings were throwing dice against a Tide box on the billiards table (their rendition of Craps) at our cabin & I was the lucky only grandkid there, I looked up at the mannequin legs hanging down from the glass-flecked ceiling, bedecked only in (what I learned later were) garters & hose & could not take the riddle of "tight" anymore.
"We run a tight ship...."
When I finally had to ask, I was greeted with much laughter & this explanation, "Tight means drunk, Rooster." "Rooster" was my nickname.
"Okay, so what's 'drunk' mean?"
No dis to the dead, but they really did run a tight ship.
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| The Question of LBD |
[03 Oct 2008|12:13pm] |
This came up recently at a Lesbian wedding. And I, being stupidly forthright, said, "Alex is insatiable. She wants it all the time."
Whoops & hollers followed.
"Is Alex a great dominatrix? With her accent, she must be."
"Is it true what they say about Russian women?" (What it is that "they" say I have no clue.)
Our Puerto Rican friend said, "I am Mexican by penetration. So you, Jenn, are Russian by penetration!"
"No, I am Russian by invasion," I was saying this as quietly as possible, hoping no-one heard, my face toward my love, thinking about the previous evening's play.
"Oh, even better. Your territory is hers!"
Alex brought this up to me later. "Vhy deed you say eet?"
My stupid blathering mouth & my very happy memories. I have no excuse.
Alex is simply the best lover I have ever had. Bar none.
She clicks instantly into "Reticent Christian Publisher Who Wants to Find God on Earth", "Curious Eastern European Uni Student Unaware of her Own Power with a Very Strong Professor", "Dictator with Adoring Sycophant", and the endless WWII scenarios that we both feel terrible about for our ancestors & yet claim for our own.
My German officer on top of her beautiful & desperate Russian peasant. Her Russian officer on top of my pleading & adoring Berliner.
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| La Orfanato y Cloverfield |
[23 Jan 2008|07:26pm] |
(There may appear to be spoilers but there aren't really. More "enticers" or "dissuaders".)
Alex & I went & saw "The Orphanage" Monday night. We had just seen "Cloverfield" Sunday night with Paula. I really liked both, honestly.
I've heard many, many, many folks say that "Cloverfield" was boring (?) or too shaky (& it was in parts but not that bad as I was "period-nauseous" going in & just fine; I think it added to the effect) but it was fully worth $10 & 1 & 1/2 hours. To me.
I'm old enough to remember being scared crapless by movies with guys in rubbery "monster" suits, movies of swarms of ants, bees, frogs, slugs, of the movie "Ssssssss", of the actual old guy down my block who would sit in his wheelchair with a rifle, so "the monster" means naught to me. The glimpses do. The anticipation does.
And, I'm sorry, but "Marlena" was hot & I'd watch just for that. :)
"The Orphanage" scared the bejesus out of me in parts. But I think I'm an easy horror-watcher because I love horror. Ok, this was not strictly "horror", it was more "ghostly suspense", usually my least favorite branch of fear. The kid ghost in the disfigured mask? I was creeped. I actually had freakin' nightmares about that! That has not happened to me since I was a very small child. It's all in the way it's presented.
Yes, it was hugely old techniques re-done but isn't all horror? The things that freak us out are the same universally & eternally. Cinematically done in slightly different ways. This freaked me out... with a slightly weak ending. But it made me think. It made for good conversation (which "Cloverfield" did not; what's to talk about? But that "rooftop scene"? Dude, I was petrified. I could barely watch so terrified of heights am I). And it scared the crap out of Alex, which she loves &, thus, I love.
"The Orphanage" was a mix of "I cannot look right at the screen right now because of the fear of the unknown" & great relief that the unknown was "nothing" into a tad of annoyance when the "nothing" repeated itself, a tiny bit. Beautifully & severely tightly shot, I'd watch it again (on a rental DVD) just for certain scenes I'll never forget.
THAT is my ultimate measure of a worthwhile movie, if it has scenes I'll never forget. So many times I go to a movie on the weekend, tell people at work I saw it, am asked about it & cannot remember one freaking thing about it. But both of these have moments I'll never forget.
And I am SO happy I saw both on the big screen as the small screen would be paltry in comparison. I mean, you wouldn't have the envelopment, the expanse, the environment, the dude in the back of the theatre going , "Ahhhh!" & "Uggh!"
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| 2 against 1 |
[11 Jan 2008|03:58pm] |
Last evening I went to bed around 10 pm & Alex didn't join me until well after midnight. When she entered the warm, cozy bed I was sound asleep. That is until she placed her ice-block feet against my shins. I jumped up, incensed.
I wake up angry if I'm awakened in a way I'm not expecting: loud noises, earthquakes, frozen tootsies.
I told her to keep her feet to herself, thank you. So she was very upset this morning. Nearing tears over this. I thought that was a bit over the top.
Well, I spoke to Irina about it over tea this morning, expecting her to back me up, but no. She even said, "I am firmly behind Alyeh on thees one. You were very wrong to reject hyoor."
Whoops. Ok, I'm stopping for flowers on my way home tonight. :)
I had no idea my behavior was such an affront. My heavens.
Happy weekend, everyone!
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| 20 month anniversary |
[06 Jan 2008|08:34pm] |
Yes, we still celebrate our anniversary every month, Alex presenting roses every morning of every 6th. How sick is that? Sickly sweet.
I spent nearly two hours on OpenTable.com last evening trying to find THE perfect place for us to have dinner, then Alex told me she'd prefer lunch (she does not like to eat after 4pm) so I tried to find THE perfect place to have lunch. She wanted Mediterranean food so that's what I found & booked.
So this morning we have marital relations for a couple of hours & then hop in the car to go to the restaurant. Phillipa, our British GPS guide, seems to be on the fritz so she just kept repeating, "Re-CAHL-culating" & "Exit MO-tah-way" which resulted in our being completely lost. I called the restaurant to inform them of our impending tardiness (of course I did; being late fills me with high anxiety) & we kept on trucking.
I'd let them know via email that it was our anniversary today (yes, I DO use that every month, haha) so they greeted us with flutes of champagne. Ok, honestly, it was a BUFFET today so EVERY customer got free champagne, That's right, you heard me, it was a buffet. I had no idea. In the past I've high-faluted it a bit too much in the monthly fancy restaurant tabs so this time we decided to play it down a tad, just not quite that tad.
Alex mocked me that not only did I make a reservation for a buffet in a HOTEL restaurant (where did it say that on OpenTable?) but I'd also called in late & informed them it was our anniversary. Kind of like doing that at IHOP, really. We laughed our asses off then Alex made an anniversary toast to me:
"I want you to fart beside me for the rest of our lives." clink! (It was particlualry hilarious in Alex's Russian accent.) I admit I'm a gas bag so it's nice to know she not only accepts that but encourages it.
We then went & saw "Sweeney Todd" which I enjoyed (hi, Tim Burton). Alex was not so pleased. I had informed her upfront it was a musical since I know she's not big on those but neglected to inform her it would be so "fooll of blood". Well, it IS Sweeney Todd. I didn't think I had to explain that part. I'd forgotten she's spent the vast majority of her life in Russia & is not privy to Stephen Sondheim's back catalog. Oopsy.
Tonight I dyed my hair black for her. She'd seen an old photo of me with black hair & made the request about a month ago. I'd initially resisted as my grey is so quick to sprout I know I'll have the lovely "silver zipper part" so rampant among dark-haired ladies of a certain age when they've run out of the time or money or inclination to refurbish roots, (phew!) but then I gave in. I think I look pretty hot, actually.
Dasha says I look like Rosie O'Donnell. I'll chalk that up to her being 13 & not reality.
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| Have You Found Her |
[05 Jan 2008|03:17pm] |
| [ |
music |
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The Beatles - Dear Prudence |
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That's the book I just finished last night. I read a lot but nearly always immediately forget what I just read. Movies are the same way. In the eyeholes & out the blowhole.
Not this one, kids. I totally dug it. It's by Janice Erlbaum. It's sent me on a day long research project & gave me a ton to discover. Wow.
At first, I was reading it with my hyper-critical eyes. I mean, it's a book by an ex-homeless teen / now successful professional who attempts to "rescue" a severely abused homeless teen from her local shelter. That sounds pretty much like almost a non-story in my way of thinking. That's like everyday life. Or maybe I'm just jealous that Ms. Erlbaum has this, her second book, coming out in print & I've got squat. That's much more likely.
Anyway, the teen girl is endlessly in trouble, mainly health-wise. Then she's diagnosed with AIDS &, well, I've lived enough "watching people slowly wither away from AIDS" tragedies in my lifetime already. No need to dredge up all those I've lost & the way I've lost them. I can't stand sad books or movies.
But, oh my friends, it is NOT that way AT ALL. What a humongous twist at the end! I should actually not even say that because if you do read it, & you should simply because Ms. Erlbaum is an extremely affable & honest writer, I don't want to even remotely spoil it for you.
This is only the third time ever that I've felt I *knew* the author through the course of reading. (Oddly, I do know her step-sister, or I knew her step-sister, rather. When I read the page that said "my step-sister, Satia, in Georgia" I spit up my coffee. Satia was a dear friend on LJ for years before I carelessly lost touch. Small world.)
I believe it streets early February. Do look for it.
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| This is the day Elvis died, right? |
[16 Aug 2007|01:20pm] |
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mood |
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I Love Elvis |
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music |
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I Love Ann-Margret |
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I remember where I was when Elvis died. I remember because my mom was a huge Elvis fan & every morning of my childhood if there was an Elvis movie on TV I was allowed to wake her up.
It was 30 years ago. About an hour from now that I first heard. I was 12.
I was in the upstairs living room (upstairs! To me that was so cool!) of my newly-found grandparents' home in Pocatello, Idaho. I was munching M&Ms which was a huge deal for me since my mother did not allow candy in our house.
I heard it on the credenza. I was torn. I knew my mother loved Elvis, I knew she was going through some sort of turmoil with all the adults in the house, I knew my optimum plan was to simply keep eating M&Ms & spooning peanut butter into Blossom's mouth. And I did that for quite a while.
Bison Frise, pb. Bison Frise, pb. I mean, it was hilarious to watch.
But, no, I called my mama down & she burst into tears.
I never wanted to see that.
I had no clue, at 12, that this was the first meeting between my Mom & her father. I did not know that she was an illegitimate child of a married American G.I. having his jollies in Germany as the war ended. I didn't know why Grandma Beulah was nice but very cold. Hi, she already had two kids by him & had just learned that he had a war baby.
Oh war.
Today just makes me think of M&Ms, a funny puppy smacking his lips & the dread I may have to end my Mom's dream of being Priscilla.
Nice to be a kid.
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| Alex is making me a bracelet right now |
[07 Apr 2007|04:35pm] |
And Dasha is making a plethora of necklaces & earrings for herself.
I figured the best way to keep her (Dasha) from messing up my beads (hi, I am SO anal about my beads not being mixed together) was to give her her own assortment. She's crazy creative though she won't admit it. When I gave her her own collection today she squealed & then we didn't see her for 3 hours.
She came downstairs about half an hour ago with three necklaces on. God, she's cute. Difficultly cute.
Then she was super-interested in Alex's creation because it's eyepins. I taught Alex how to make jewelry with eyepins & headpins & pliers & now she's obsessed. Alex, that is. So many "she"s in my life.
I could teach Dasha how to do this but she won't let me. I'm hoping she learns from Alex.
No matter. Dasha ate all my tacos (I made home-made tacos with nothing pre-fab &, let me tell you, these tacos are crazy good)) & asked when I'd be making lamb stew again so... baby steps. My lamb is marinating as we speak.
I adore this kid. This crazy Dasha. If only she'd let me.
Photos from my garden. I'm so proud of myself to have such a gorgeous yard. It's full of tulips, lilies & roses.
Right this moment they're both downstairs making jewelry together. I'm so pleased. So pleased.
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| Being difficult |
[18 Apr 2006|09:31pm] |
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music |
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More Russian pop music |
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Last night me & my favorite bus driver (37, not her age but her Bus #) decided the best route would be the one avoiding the car in flames in the middle of Portola and Burnett.
"What's on fire?" I ask.
"It's a car," she called 911 a moment before the fire engines arrived.
There was an old lady on Portola frantically waving her arms & stopping all traffic.
I've seen houses ablaze, my apartments ablaze, bus stops ablaze, busses ablaze (with me in them), but never a car alone ablaze. I did last night.
"If you don't mind, honey, I am taking this bus up this hill & not the usual route."
"I think that would be prudent," I respond. But GOD. How horrible & entrancing are the flames off the black hulk I only knew was a car at certain angles.
I am not satisfied until I see this old woman wrapped in silver thermal blanket.
Ok, it's ok now.
I cannot possibly lie like real life is.
Tonight I get off the 52 & watch as a LandRover takes out 2 motorcycles at Portola & Burnett. One goes flying & splats beside the gutter beside me. I am prone to down play everything so it's much worse than this. One motorcyclist is fine & screams at me, "What's going on?"
Like I know. I ran across an 8 second time meter. I just wanted to meet the bus.
Can you have two calamities on the same bus routes in two nights? Of course you can.
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| Yes, he was a fucker but he actually meant something to me |
[08 Apr 2006|12:08am] |
I guess my first step-father, Robert, Justin's father, died today. My own personal bio-dad must be thrilled as shit about that. I know he doesn't know but he will be, undoubtedly, happy to hear that the "beaner" is dead.
WHY does my father not die? Yes, Robert was a coke addict & a drunk but he, at the very least, had some cause to be. He had been in Viet Nam.
My father never had anything more to worry about than where his next sixth of whiskey came from. His next 12-pack of Bud.
I remember Robert talking to me like I was an adult when I was 16 & that meant the world to me because I had been the adult in the house for years. Finally someone relates to me with the respect I deserve for holding my fucked up family together (if my parents MUST be together) in as peaceable a way as I possibly could with baby skills. My childhood stopped at about 11. Which is 6 years more than my sister had but I did do everything I possibly could to save her. She did have me.
And, believe me, having my mom was not at all better than having me. I'm, at least, open-minded & patient. Wary of others' needs & willing to provide. Wanting to provide. I was a better mom than my mom was.
Robert confided in me. He told me all about the war & his experiences.
"Every night, Jenn, I have this dream where I'm being chased through a desolate building by men with machine guns & I manage to duck around corners just before I'm hit."
"That's awful, Robert," I was frying up corn fritters. Go white trash!
"I get to an elevator & punch the buttons & turn around & am shot in the gut. I feel it. I feel the shot because I know what it feels like to be shot. It burns."
Maybe he was full of shit. He did have many scars but I have no proof of anything. And, honestly, that doesn't matter to me.
THIS is what matters to me:
When my mother so very kindly rummaged through my room & found my diary & read it & realized I was a lesbian & then proceeded to call EVERY relative I have to tell them (including my papa), the only adult who would talk to me without belittling me or chastising me or getting all churchy on me was Robert.
He knocked on my bedroom door, hugged me & said, "I was raised Catholic & I believe in God & I believe that you are such a sweet person that God made you & loves you just as you are. Jennifer, I have to say I was at first shocked but I know you. And I know this makes no difference. It makes no difference to me. I'll always love you."
I collapsed in his arms crying because I had had to take SO many ranting phone calls & in person rants that my facade needed a break. He sat on my bed & listened to Devo & Kiss & Lou Reed with me & was so comforting. The only adult I had ever been able to trust.
Yeah, so 2 years later he approached me in BVDs (what is it with my sexual abuse past & BVDs?) & asked me to "rub his belly".
In THAT 16 year old moment, in THAT desperate time, he provided what I needed . To be heard, loved & not judged. I don't think I'd ever held the attention of any adult for that long up to that point. Why would I? I got straight A's, I kept everything under wraps like a good little stoic Kraut. I was never a nail that stood up. I'm still not.
Yes, it was hard to love him when he dragged my mother outside of the car on the freeway so that I reluctantly woke up to a skinned monster at the door with police when I was 21. I did everything I could to keep sleeping but cop flashlights & the incessant phone-ringing forced me to open the door (I was staying with my mom after my horrendous car accident when I broke my back). I was not thrilled with the way he treated Justin. Of course not.
But I really do think if Robert had not been there right after The Abandonment & The Betrayal I would've just killed myself. There wasn't anyone else who cared.
So, Robert, you fucker, I have always loved you & thanked you for many things, the most important was your son. My baby, Justin. I hope you're able to forge a real relationship now.
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| Every once in awhile |
[18 Jan 2006|06:53pm] |
I stop & consider that my journal is ONLY ever written in when I'm feeling tortured/anguished/pained but rarely when I'm stupidly happy. And I AM stupidly happy the majority of the time. I think stupid happiness is not a muse for me. I'm too busy being perky & gregarious & stupidly happy to ever sit down & write.
SO, rest assured, I spend the vast majority of my time (these days) feeling out-going & cozy.
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| I'm annoyed because LJ asked me to change my "obvious" password today |
[06 Dec 2005|07:06pm] |
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mood |
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 cynical |
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And wouldn't let me post until I did. How many times have I NOT posted & just saved it to disk rather than sit down & figure out the "problem" with LJ? So many. I have this journal & then my own journal privately because I can't be bothered with the 'security' alerts here. Do I care about security as far as my posts go? No, I don't. I don't give a rat's ass about who reads what. Or who may post as me. I dare anyone to. What are they going to do to me? Sue me for being honest? Make me look like more of a moronic romantic? I don't get it.
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| I finally get why I'm feeling so sad |
[04 Sep 2005|09:39am] |
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This is the anniversary of the last time I saw Justin. So, as is my way, I've been picking petty fights to not have to think about it.
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| Ineffectual week |
[31 Aug 2005|11:51am] |
But I have new bras that are SO COZY. Fuck Victoria's Secret. I have not had a bra that was not from them in more than a decade & had forgotten how stylish & cozy bras could be without the pink & white stripes.
So many friends hurt right now. Surgeries, hurricanes, deaths.
I never get out of my bed simply for me.
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| I have had this awkward feeling |
[12 Aug 2005|10:38pm] |
since I was even conscious of feelings that I am merely the continuation of someone else's life. I was far too interested in 40's & 50's music from 7 on & was always painfully aware of death.
Maybe that's what people do when they're exposed to ugliness very young, I don't know.
My parents never spoke to me of dying or death. My first death experience was when I was 8, death by fire. My Room 101. My father was there with army blanket trying to save burping burnt man to no avail.
Next was at 12 but no family was around. A circus birthday party began with a car crash into a pole & a man bleeding to death on the ground beside us. Wow, people die. That was a slow, miserable death & he gurgled. The circus was abandoned & we were all sped home, after giving statements.
Then my adversary, the wily chick I fought with fists every day after 6th grade died on the railroad tracks, decapitated. Death creeps nearer. Even kids can die! Difficult to swallow as a kid. Especially when her clothes are held up to me & I am asked if that is what she wore when I last fought her. Yes.
I bike by her parents' house & they are older & Pam was their only child & the black wreath hangs on their door for years. Perhaps why I love "The Bad Seed" so much. Pam's mom was Hortense.
But, ok, Pam was a bitch who tried to bully me but I was bigger & had none of that. Size does matter.
But, see, Pam? You live on in my memory. Pam Newton.
So I grew up thinking I could die any second & this gave me hardcore confidence. And bravado.
*I* could be the one with glass shard through my skull. *I* could be raped & laid on railroad tracks.
Each day is precious.
I have not treated them this way AT ALL. Preferring to be annhiliated with drugs or booze (the diff?) than understand what I have been taught.
Now I get it.
I am still alive. And the sunrise & sunset are still as beautiful to me as ever. Pelicans, Cormorants, Herons. Tiny baby ground squirrels. A new season.
I will give myself to the tides of Mother Nature & stop fighting that. She knows best. All the analyzing in the world will never make life make sense to me so I fall into the fog & wind & am simply eyes & ears.
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| I am SO not one to NOT voice my opinions |
[12 Aug 2005|07:04pm] |
But I do it on LJ & I'm unclear why. Perhaps because IN PERSON you have the ability to modulate your tone & answer immediate questions. Plus there is the physical factor. Hugs are in great supply.
In writing it's all the stickier. And most folks do not want frank. They take one typo & run FOR DAYS with it. Or they skew it as hurtful. This has happened to me many times.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. I believe we can all say what we want but attacking personally is off-bounds.
Empathy, man! Not everyone has lived as you have.
Think of all the family, co-workers, jobs, schooling, books, movies, random moments you have had in your life & multiply that by millions.
Yeah, I many times cannot understand someone else's Moment (as they cannot understand mine) but I would never attack another person because their views are different. I would simply ask.
(That sounds highly egotistical, I know! I am not so great at all. It's just that closed-mindedness breaks my back. Let's SHARE, man, & not judge.)
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