Number 135

 It's Okay, Have a Laugh or I Intentionally Dead-Name Myself or A Love Letter to My Ousley Family

Just like Uncle Albert in Mary Poppins, I love to laugh. It's a good thing too, because there's a lot about life that deserves to be laughed at. To my mind, some of the most charmless people in the world are those that take themselves way too seriously. One of the things that is universally human is our ability to be or do the most ridiculous things. Occasionally on purpose, sometimes by accident. Sometimes no one else notices, and you feel like you've dodged a bullet. Sometimes only the family pet sees (and they're good at keeping secrets). Other times there's an audience and all you can do is shrug your shoulders and laugh. Heck, there are times when it feels good to laugh at yourself.

That said, it's important to remember that humor should never come from a place of cruelty. For example, I absolutely hate videos when people wipe out on their skateboards or bikes, or otherwise lose a battle with gravity. The video always cuts away before you get to see the painful result of such accidents. Attempts at humor based upon bullying suck. So too, are jokes aimed at people who are in a subordinate position to the alleged comedian. Sarcastic humor sometimes works, but can just as easily come across as mean-spirited. Much like a delicious high calorie dessert, it should be used sparingly. I used to think that I'd developed the skill to tease others in a gentle, non-hostile manner; but I misfired enough times to learn two things. (1) How to apologize; and (2) Not to tease others in a gentle, non-hostile manner.

In any event this happened the other day on a Christmas family Zoom call. To get the full effect of the story, you need to know my dead-name. For those of you unfamiliar with that term, it is straight out of the glossary you would encounter in a Transgender Identity 101 class. It is simply the former name of any trans or non-binary person prior to their coming out. As a general rule, you want to be very careful not to use it, as it is quite hurtful to many folks. In my case, it's not hurtful, but I do avoid it as much as possible. It's just not who I am anymore. Having said all that, my old name was Hugh.

Back to the family Zoom call. One of my nephews was sharing his pet - a monitor lizard, I believe. Other family members were asking questions, because curiosity is an Ousley family trait. Someone asked about the color of the lizard, and my nephew responded by saying, "actually he changes hues frequently..." I immediately thought to myself, "Whataya know, I'm a changing hue (Hugh), too." I almost said it out loud to the group. I thought it was kinda funny. But then I realized, as far as jokes go, it might not land real well, simply because many of my family members might not know how to react at me making a joke at my own expense like that. For the record my family has been nothing but loving and supportive of me as I've journeyed through Gender Identity Land. They just didn't know that it's okay to laugh along with me.

So consider this permission. If you are a friend, a family member, or just a supportive ally please feel free to joke away. Some of this stuff is pretty funny.

Number 134

 A Christmas Miracle?

So last week, I'm walking our two dogs on a wooded trail alongside the Minnesota River. Max was on a leash doing his best to pull my arms out of their sockets. He's on a leash because if he isn't, he'll run off into the woods where it's about a 50/50 proposition that he will return when I call him. Ginger, allegedly the "good" dog, was off leash. But Ginger, who has become a bit of a willful old woman in her dotage, had wandered too far afield and was not responding to my calls. Frustration abounded.

Into that chaos, I received a call from my daughter Grace, who is home on break from school. In a brief moment of distracted driving (not related to her phone, thank you very much), the curb of the street upon which she was driving reached out and bit her right front tire resulting in a rather catastrophic blow out. At 20 years old, this was her first experience with any kind of serious, self-inflicted car damage. As such, in a moment of emotion, she reached out to her parent for support...

... who, remember, was going through her own moment of drama. I brusquely informed her there was not much I could do. I was in the middle of the woods and Ginger was AWOL. Immediately after hanging up, Ginger - who apparently has more empathy for my daughter than me - showed up. 

Fifteen minutes later, I met up with Grace who was doing her best to change a tire for the very first time. Did I mention that it was getting dark and the temperature was dropping? I quashed the guilt I felt for never showing her how to change a tire - a miserable experience which should never be experienced for the first time during an actual emergency. I helped a bit, but mostly I talked her through it. She acquitted herself well.

Once we got back home, she quickly scheduled a next day appointment for two new tires. She, of course, felt stupid about the whole thing, and was worried about the cost of repair. I regaled her with stories of my own history automotive misdeeds, and estimated the expense somewhere in the $400 range. A lot of scratch for a college student, sure, but I assured her that "we would figure it out."

The next afternoon, in another moment of impeccable timing, she called me during my manicure. With my phone in my purse, I had no way of answering - my nails weren't dry yet, you see? When I was finally able to reach out, she tearfully told me the total was going to be $2,200. "Shit!" I thought to myself, and as I was paying my manicurist at that moment, told her I'd call her back. It turned out that some car/tire thingy had gotten bent or whatever, so there was a lot more to the fix than two new tires.

"What the fuck?" I further thought to myself, "The damn car isn't even worth that much!" At that moment, my wife Rebecca reached out to me and offered me both perspective and a path forward. Though she's been gone for almost five years, she's still looking out for us. Grace needed safe, reliable transportation (that also afforded me peace of parental mind), and there was no way that $2200 was going to purchase a car that did all those things. I called her back and told her to go ahead and make the arrangement for the repair.

A few days later, when the repairs were finished, we drove over to pick up the car and settle the bill. The total we were given was $500 less than we had been quoted. Good news for sure, but unexpected. We both asked why that was so. We were informed that another customer, who had been sitting in the waiting room when Grace learned about the full extent of the damages, wanted help Grace out. She wished to remain anonymous. We were speechless. 

She had witnessed Grace in a moment of emotional turmoil and reached out with an act of great kindness. Perhaps Grace reminded her of her own daughter. Or maybe she remembered what it felt like to be young and on the verge of taking flight. Maybe she didn't know that Grace had a support system that would be helping her out. Maybe she did. It doesn't really matter 'why' she did it - only that she did. I titled this entry with a question mark, because, as special as it was - I don't think it was a miracle. It was just one person reaching out and helping another person.  Despite our jaded, cynical, and boorish world, I refuse to believe that any act of kindness is a miracle. It is a just a person, at one moment of time, choosing to help make another person's life just a little bit better. Something we should all strive to do.

So "thank you" to Grace's anonymous benefactor. I hope you know that your action was not lost on Grace and me. We will be paying your gift forward with a donation to the Connections Homeless Shelter here in Mankato. Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone.

Number 133

 Laying Low, or I've Gone AWOL

I owe a fair number of people an apology, for I have abrogated commitments that I made to a variety of different friends and organizations. I made promises (sometimes just to myself, but still...), and I am currently failing to live up to my responsibilities. I have an explanation as to why, but I can't help but wonder if it is a sufficient excuse for shirking my duties. Essentially it comes down to self preservation. I hope that's reason enough.

Number 132

 Uncle Milan

I didn’t see much of my Uncle Milan over the last 35 years. He lived far away, our political opinions clashed, and an unfortunate family squabble all served to keep us apart. But, through my mother (his sister), I was kept apprised of how he was doing. I was aware that his health over the last few years was not very good, so, although saddened by his passing, I was not entirely surprised. And despite this decline in health, the image I always carry in my mind is the one of him as an heroic SOB dressed in his Ohio State Patrol uniform.

In the summer of 1977, my entire life got turned upside down when my parents separated. My dad soon moved out of state. Into the breach, stepped Uncle Milan. At the time, we lived in the same town as Milan and Patty. I didn’t realize this until I looked back much later, but all of a sudden, Uncle Milan was taking me with him on various errands and adventures. I suppose I was a source of cheap labor, but he kept me in Pepsi, and he always fed me lunch so, all in all, it was good times.

For the most part, we’d clear brush on the farm. He would chain saw the shit out of everything and I would haul it away and put it in big piles to be burned. Earlier, on our way to the farm, he always stopped and picked up a few old, treadless tires. Now, he would take one of those tires, pour a little gas on it, give it a light and… whoosh! A big black (and probably toxic) ball of smoke would head skyward. The purpose, of course, was to supply a source of fire strong enough to burn the green brush we were clearing. That his method of disposal was a little bit dangerous was very appealing to 11 year old me.

The other thing he did was allow me do was mow his lawn. I know how that sounds: “allowed me to mow his lawn” - but he had a John Deere riding lawn mower that he had taught me how to use, and if that isn’t some cool shit for a kid of my age at the time, I don’t know what is. This led to the one moment in time between Uncle Milan and me I will never forget. A moment of raw, exposed emotion that informed me how much he loved me.

I came visiting one hot, muggy midwestern summer day. The kind of day where you would start sweating just standing there. There was no breeze - you just felt encased by the wet air. In any event, my real reason for dropping by was to mow the lawn, and even though Uncle Milan was not at home, Aunt Patty gave me the okay, and I was off like a shot.

I went to the garage, where the lawn mower was parked against the back wall. Entering through the side door, the first thing I did was punch the button to open one of the automatic doors. I then walked to the mower, checked the gas tank, and realized it needed to be filled. As I was doing this, all of a sudden, a lick of flame shot out at me from the gas tank, scaring the shit out of me. I jumped back and dropped the gas can, all in one motion. I don’t know why I kept on moving, as opposed to stopping to try and figure out what happened, but it was a good thing I did - later we would realize my hair and eyebrows had been singed by the first burst of flame. By the time I stopped and looked back, the entire interior of the garage was ablaze.

I ran inside, and although I have no memory of what I said, Aunt Patty responded quickly. Soon the sirens from the fire engines could be heard. But by the time they arrived, the fire was fully engaged. All of a sudden, this was much too much for me. It was a total accident, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I had done it, but I had burned down the garage. I ran away, and hid in a corn field. I was at a complete loss as I wandered the streets with no idea of where I was going. I don’t know how long I wandered, but I was soon found by a police officer and driven back to the house. Uncle Milan was home by the time I arrived, and, with tears in his eyes, he engulfed me in a fierce hug. I can still feel it. 

Additionally, Uncle Milan was the one who finally figured out what happened. This was no small thing, either, for even the fire department folks were stumped. All I knew was that I felt a remorseless guilt that I had fucked up in some monumental way. By providing me with an explanation he enabled me to put that guilt to rest. This was a wonderful gift in its own right.

Remember how hot and muggy it was? How still the air was? When I walked in and opened the automatic door, I also turned on a light on the door opener engine mounted on the ceiling. Well, this light was programmed to shut off after, I don’t know, let’s say three minutes. There would have been a small spark when the bulb turned off - at the precise moment I was pouring gas in the mower’s tank. Given the weather, there would have been a huge concentration of gas fumes all around the mower just waiting for a spark to set them off. When Uncle Milan explained it to me, I felt so relieved. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Rest in peace, Uncle Milan.

Number 131

 Did You Hear We Had an Election?

(It might be a good idea to go back and read AtRP #102, "MAGA is a cult..." from June 2020, first)

One of my least well kept secrets is how much I despise Donald Trump. Any of my long time readers can support this contention. I have slagged on; mourned the the election of; complained about; and wrote, in the strongest terms I could muster, the need to thwart the re-election of this narcissistic charlatan for over four years. And I hated every time I felt the need to do so (in general, I'd prefer to keep politics out of AtRP). But such was my conviction that his presidency was a cancer upon our country, that I was compelled to speak out. I don't know if I changed anyone's mind, but I knew I couldn't remain silent.

I remember when he was first elected and I was speaking with two friends who had voted for him (likewise, they knew I had supported Hillary). It was a careful, but civil discussion, and I hope they still consider me a friend - I've haven't seen either of them for awhile. In any event, one of them made the point of comparing the presidency to an airplane, and shouldn't we citizens all hope that our 'pilot' flies the plane successfully. She was lamenting that so many people (myself included) were already expressing concerns/protesting about Trump before he was even inaugurated. I didn't really respond, at least out loud, because I felt the three of us were getting suspiciously close to the point where our conversation would cease to be polite, but I thought to myself: "If I saw that the pilot was drunk off his/her ass when they came aboard the plane, I don't think keeping quiet would be the best strategy."

In any event, election day, 2020 has come and gone, and according to every credible news source around the globe, Joe Biden won fair and square. (Yay!) You'll note the use of the word "credible" in that last sentence. This word was chosen deliberately. For it seems there are a few news sources that confuse 'wish fulfillment' with 'truth,' who believe that DT won. According to these people, Trump won the vast majority of the 'legal' votes, but due to the machinations of 'Deep State' operatives and the Democratic party, he is being denied a second term. Where could these folks have gotten such a fanciful notion in the first place? Umm... Trump himself, it turns out. Which is odd when you consider all the times that he's failed as a business person. You'd think he'd be used to admitting he's a loser by now.

I could, if I wished to, detail all of Trump's shenanigans since the election, but it would take too long and I don't want to. Also, if I wanted to, I could list (and then refute with facts), the many conspiracies being put forward by the hardcore MAGA crowd, but it would take too long and I don't want to. It's enough for me to say that Trump has behaved like a petulant, cry-baby bully since the election; and that his followers have, well... as has been written before, sometimes "denial" is more than a river in Egypt. 

No, what I want to do today is celebrate their misery and disbelief. I want to laugh at them and their ridiculous theories, their twisted logic, their (very) poor grammar and spelling, and their mind numbing logical fallacies. I want to, but their stupidity and inability to accept basic truths quickly wears on me and leaves me tired. It's rather breathtaking how many of these people are deeply invested and impressed by their own ignorance. When I read some of their more mind-numbing comments on these fringe news sights, my first impulse is to write a factual, common sense rebuttal. However, this is quickly followed by a reminder of what Mark Twain once wrote: "Don't get into an argument with a fool. They will bring you down to their level and beat you with their experience." So I just shake my head, and move on.

Essentially, as it often does, it comes down to fear and ignorance. And it's impossible to get through to these knuckleheads if that's the lens through which they choose to view the world. In reading comments on right wing websites, it quickly becomes clear how frightened these people are of a world that is beyond their understanding. Unfortunately, instead of trying to educate themselves so they might understand things better, they seem to celebrate their simple-mindedness. It would be funny, except for the fact that DT received the second most votes ever cast in a presidential election. (Approximately 6 million less votes than Joe Biden, but still.) So mostly it all makes me sad. 

There are, however, two exceptions that are too good not to share. The first story detailed how many kool-aid drinking, MAGA hat wearing numbskulls were planning on boycotting the two Senate run-off elections in Georgia. They believe that the 'fix is in,' and that the two democratic candidates will be elected regardless of the popular vote. Umm, okay. To them I say: "You know, you might have something there, Sparky. I think you should stay home and skip the vote."

The second story detailed how certain anti-vaccination communities have become a pipeline for QAnon radicalization. In other words, many anti-vaxxers, who have already proven themselves susceptible to outlandish and untrue bullshit, are falling for the governmental conspiracies made popular by the execrable QAnon crowd. One of those theories, natch, concerns their suspicions about the various Covid-19 vaccinations that will soon (hopefully), find their way into my arm and yours. As I understand it, they believe that Covid is only a ruse to get every citizen inoculated with something that will then allow the 'deep state' to keep track of our every move.

A couple of things about that. (1) I'm pretty sure the government already has the ability to surveil anyone of us, if they want. As soon as I order a pair of shoes on-line, every ad on the next website I visit is for, you guessed it, footwear. I'm sure the CIA knows my clothing sizes; the NSA knows what I had for lunch; and the FBI knows what kind of porn I like (hypothetically speaking). In other words, folks, I think the train has already left the station on the idea of keeping secrets from Uncle Sam (Which would only bother me if I had something to hide). (2) It wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if the crackpots pushing  harmful and unscientific 'theories' about vaccinations and the 'deep state' upon unsuspecting and vulnerable people refuse to get inoculated. Perhaps they will all get Covid-19 and die, taking their vile and dangerous ideas with them. 

Harsh, I know, and (probably) hyperbolic, but I'm so sick and tired of ignorance being passed off as edgy intellectualism. I'm tired of ignorance hidden under a veil of smug superiority. I'm tired of ignorance that takes a moral high ground that it has no right to. I'm tired of ignorance that can only evaluate a situation from one perspective. I'm tired of the shoddy absolutism that walks hand-in-hand with ignorance. I'm tired of the ignorance that confuses boorishness with candor. I'm sick and tired that Trump and his minions have allowed despicable ignorance to become mainstream.

I'll leave you with this. It was written by William Butler Yeats as he reflected back on the devastation wrought by World War I. It sums up my feelings of the entire Trump presidency.

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

are full of passionate intensity.