Music with Words to Flow Around Me Like Water

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I asked Carol to read my web site and ask questions a friend would ask about my musical experiences.

Certainly! Here are three questions that a friend might ask about your music experiences:

  1. Exploring New Heights: Your post about auditioning for an opera chorus was truly inspiring¹. What has been the most challenging piece you’ve had to learn, and how did you approach it?

This is why AI can’t do art. The entry says I got laryngitis the night before, so I gave my audition space up before it was too late for anyone else to claim it. I’m thinking about doing it again next year (auditions are every January) now that I actually have a nice place to practice. I couldn’t sing at my old house- too full. The one time I did sing was for a church service in Portland, Oregon during the pandemic. It was an evening service for them, so like 10:30 PM for me. I’m very surprised I got away with it. Singing in our house was frowned upon. Since David is a musician, I find myself singing around the house all the time because I know that he does the same thing. So, whether I was in the basement or the attic, I’d have enough room to be able to spread out and enough sound dampening that I won’t bother the neighbors. When you are built to project to the back of an auditorium without a microphone, soundproofing in my house is such an added blessing. It gives me safety and security that people aren’t going to hear me before I’m ready. I’m not to the caliber I was 10 years ago, but it’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget how. You just have to be dedicated….. kind of like you never forget how to drive a stick shift, but you have to learn the finer points on every car.

The most challenging piece of music I’ve ever had to learn was Bach’s Kick My Mass in B Minor. Christ, the melismas went on for pages. That being said, I did not have a solo in it. That’s good because my head would have turned purple and popped off in some places. The two most challenging pieces I’ve done as solos are “Pie Jesu” and “The Lord is My Shepard.” They’re both movements from John Rutter’s Requiem. The Pie Jesu was for a community orchestra concert in Portland, and The Lord is My Shepard was for a church service. Both turned out beautifully, but if I had to have one of the two recordings, I’d pick the latter. I think I actually sounded better on the Pie Jesu because I have a very strong head voice. That’s not the part that matters. The part that matters is that it was a HUGE undertaking because I woke up that morning with absolute laryngitis and had to sit in the shower for 45 minutes with very hot water running to even be able to warm up. I would rather have that memory with me- the one where I defied the laws of medicine because the show must go on.

  1. Musical Inspirations: In your writings, you often mention the profound impact of music on your life. Who are your musical heroes, and how have they shaped your approach to music?

When I was a child, I seriously thought that I would take over for Doc Severinson on the Tonight Show. The only flaw in my plan was that I wasn’t THAT good a trumpet player….. but I did look up to him a lot. I got to meet him at Rockefeller’s (Houston jazz club) years ago, and I wish I still had the book he autographed for me. This won’t mean anything to anyone but the trumpet players, and I’m going to leave it that way. He signed my Arban book.

I really looked up to Wynton Marsalis, because I was a switch hitter just like he is in terms of playing both jazz and classical well. I just prefer classical when I’m singing and jazz when I’m playing my horn. This is because for trumpet players in an orchestra, there’s not always so much to do. Sometimes you play chess for 110 measures and miss your entrance.

  1. The Soundtrack of Your Life: You’ve talked about how music is a constant presence in your life. If you could pick one song to be the theme song of your life, what would it be and why?

Jesus loves the little children,
All the children of the world.
Red and yellow, black and white,
They are precious in his sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the world.

If you remember nothing else I EVER say to you from this web site, it’s that Jesus has never come back and been more specific. There are no exclusions. To have exclusions on who is welcome is gatekeeping Christianity. Jesus would be horrified.

If you’ll allow me to choose a second song, it’s this one- the one I needed to hear today. There’s so much change and upheaval in my life right now that it’s a reminder to get my ego out of the way and trust in the power of the universe. Or, as my friend Kristie would say, “shit works out, my dear.” Natalie Sleeth does a wonderful job of elaborating:

In the bulb there is a flow­er;
In the seed, an ap­ple tree;
In co­coons, a hid­den pro­mise:
Butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of win­ter
There’s a spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed un­til its sea­son,
Something God alone can see.

There’s a song in ev­ery si­lence,
Seeking word and me­lo­dy;
There’s a dawn in ev­ery dark­ness,
Bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the fu­ture;
What it holds, a mys­te­ry,
Unrevealed un­til its sea­son,
Something God alone can see.

In our end is our be­gin­ning;
In our time, in­fi­ni­ty;
In our doubt there is be­liev­ing;
In our life, eter­ni­ty,
In our death, a re­sur­rec­tion;
At the last, a vic­to­ry,
Unrevealed un­til its sea­son,
Something God alone can see.

The Tao of Sunday

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

This afternoon, I am not in my office. I am on the back porch watching David do the lawn. He’s almost done, but we had the funniest conversation this morning. We were talking about duets we could sing together, and he asked me if I knew “Closer to Fine.” I said, “you can tell by looking at me that I know ‘Closer to Fine.'” Right on cue, he said, “well, I didn’t want to assume.” He cracks me up all the time, and I’m glad we’re in the process of becoming friends. He is a solid dude, and I would like to believe that we are good for each other. I can’t speak for him, but think it’s working out beautifully. We’re two introverts who like our own space yet together because neither of us feel lonely.

We’ve been talking about music nonstop. I suggested the Lakme Duet arranged by East Village Opera Company.

We’ll see. Stay tuned.

Prompts from “Carol”

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I asked Carol for 10 writing prompts. I decided it was easier to write a little about each one, unless I get passionate about something and then we’re going to be here all day. 🙄

  1. Pop Culture’s Teaching Moments: Reflect on a pop culture event that sparked a significant conversation or debate in society.
    • Misogyny comes to mind…. right now, no one is talking about how Justin Timberlake needs a conservatorship (seriously, not facetiously). No one is saying that he shouldn’t have his kids anymore. He also didn’t shave his head, but if he had, no one would have made that about his mental health. Justice was blind in this case. The officer didn’t know who he was. It was obviously by the book. But, of course people are raging about a 90s icon getting arrested and not the fact that he WAS DRIVING DRUNK. It is burying the lead.
  2. Tech Tidbits: Write about a piece of outdated technology that you miss and the nostalgia it brings.
    • I saw on YouTube that Nokia is coming out with an anniversary edition and I almost cried. My Nokia was the Hanukkah of phones. I forgot my charger when I went on vacation, and the battery lasted the whole time. There’s a lot to be said for dumb phones, because no smart phone has a battery that’s capable of letting you go without the charger for any real length of time. I also really miss old mechanical keyboards. I like to hear myself type, and I can raise the dead on one of those things.
  3. Doctor Who’s Companions: Discuss the evolution of companions in Doctor Who and their influence on the show’s narrative and the Doctor’s character.
    • Originally, they were the eyes of the viewer- people to “stand around and watch The Doctor be clever.” Now, they have fully fleshed out lives and you get to see how that conflicts with time travel- like Rory and Amy coming back to a party “5 minutes after they left” wearing different clothes. Of all the companions, Amy and Rory are the standouts for me. The Ponds and The Doctor make a beautiful family….. as do The Doctor and the Nobles. The whole point of Doctor Who is focusing on deep friendships. It’s more that that. You’re The Doctor’s companion. You have more responsibility you don’t want to give up than you could have in three lifetimes. It’s too serious an undertaking to be casual buds. You might, and lots of time do, die during service. The Doctor is tortured by all the people who’ve gotten hurt in their care. It’s an essential part of their humanity.
  4. The Art of Blogging: Offer advice to new bloggers on finding their unique voice and standing out in a crowded digital space.
    • The art of blogging is sticking with it until you don’t suck anymore. Few people have the endurance to sit there and look at their work, feeling confident enough to hit “post” at the end. It’s just like writing a book- half the battle is working hard enough just to get it completed in the first place. Your writing has to come from within, and it takes a long time of exercising that muscle before you feel confident enough to read your work. Or, at least, that’s how I would be if I wasn’t a blogger. With blogs, you have to let go of the idea that anything will be perfect, because sometimes you’ll write in bulk, and sometimes you’ll say something of substance. Either way, it was a writing session to pull you forward. The words are all inside you, the hard part is finding the tap so they can flow onto the page. Confidence to be able to post every day comes with not caring about what people think. If they were so concerned about me, they’d reach out to me. If someone doesn’t reach out, I won’t go out of my way to contact them. I’ve been told too often that I’m too much to believe that people actually do want me around. My satisfaction comes from within, because I’m genuinely excited to see how I grow from here. This year has been incredibly hard and yet also helpful. But it was only helpful due to the art of blogging. I cannot process my thoughts without it.
  5. Sarcasm as Social Commentary: Analyze a current event using your signature sarcastic wit, highlighting the absurdities within.
    • The sitting president has to debate a felon for the next election. Do you think they’ll be able to hear each other on those little phones, especially with that much thick glass between them? The idea that a literal felon is still on the ballot is too insane to be sarcastic, because you can’t make it more over the top than it is. Trump is so corrupt he could have been governor of Maryland (that was an Agnew joke- we’re all good now).
  6. Spiritual Spaces: Describe a place that holds spiritual significance for you and why it’s impactful.
    • My office is holy ground that calls to me when I’m not in it. I feel closest to the divine when I am writing, so I enter my office in an intentional way. I ask it what we’re going to accomplish together. I write to the whir of the ceiling fan, and the rest of the world fades away. Outside my very personal space, I feel God in nature. I have stood in freezing cold water, screaming and crying in the Columbia River Gorge so that I could just let it all out. The Gorge didn’t hold onto my pain. It was dumped into the Columbia, and disappeared once they reached Cape Disappointment.
  7. The Humor of Miscommunication: Share a story about a miscommunication that led to a humorous outcome.
    • I have a lot of funny stories. A lot of them. Exactly none of them are about miscommunication. I can’t laugh those things off. If I somehow miscommunicated something to someone, I take myself to the mat over it.
  8. Tech’s Role in Relationships: Explore how technology has changed the way we initiate, maintain, and end relationships.
    • Technology gives you the ability to do things you couldn’t otherwise, for evil and for awesome. Sometimes, being a writer works in my favor, because talking to people on the Internet is what I do. I’m good at it. But there are some people that you just can’t read without meeting them in person, Technology gives you the ability to do things you couldn’t do otherwise, like text message break up. You have the choice to be kind using technology or not, and most of us are choosing “not.”
  9. A Day in the Life of a Writer: Give readers a behind-the-scenes look at your daily routine as a writer.
    • I wake up by 0400, and am generally in my office by 5:00. I write the first entry of the day. Sometimes I’ll finish it, sometimes I’ll come back to it later after I’ve had more time to think. I eat bland food so that it’s mindless most of the time. I need energy, not entertainment. I then start working on either an afternoon blog entry, or work on my fiction. I also spend about an hour every day on Copilot researching for my novel. Copilot is great for things like “give me a playlist for a radio station in 1935.”
  10. Cultural Critique: Choose a trending topic in pop culture and offer a critical analysis of its implications on society.
    • Because we are living in two separate realities thanks to Fox News, we are even less capable of resolving difficulties than we were before. You cannot convince someone of facts when they are blind to the fact that they exist. That there’s no such thing as an “alternative fact.” That’s just, like, your opinion, man. It’s driving estrangements because liberals want to argue about politics and conservatives want to argue about morality as if they are the same thing. If that were true, we wouldn’t need laws to protect black people from racists and queer people from homophobes and transphobes. We cannot change cultural attitudes for either group by appeasement. Only punishment works, and it’s not even really legislative in most cases. It’s HR. You don’t get the right to make a queer person’s life at work hell…. if you’re the one telling me I’m going to hell for being queer, you don’t have to worry. I’ve already felt like I was there when I was listening to you. Life must be so simple when everyone’s going to hell but you.

The Saturday Post

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Not a whole lot is going on right now, except that I am waiting for a delivery on some medication from Amazon. They said it would be here between 7-10. It’s 0612 right this moment, so I don’t have much longer to wait. I will, however, save you the gory details of what I needed, because it’s not interesting. If it was interesting, I wouldn’t be getting medicine from Amazon. I’m uncomfortable, and instead of complaining, I’m stimming by talking to you. I cannot pay attention to more than the ends of my fingers and my screen. Everything else has a hard time getting through.

I think that’s how it should be, because it helps me to write no matter what has happened. If I don’t have tools for hyperfocus, like noise-cancelling headphones, I have to create it myself. The easiest way to create focus out of nothing is to start trying to craft my ideas into something readable by someone else.

I make typos and leave words out all the time, so it’s easy to think I’m going in one direction when I’m going in another. That’s the hard part of working out stream of consciousness writing. One word left out makes an entire sentence the opposite of itself. I can’t even remember how many times in the course of something I’ve left a “not” that didn’t need to be there, or forgot one when I needed it. But “forget” is relative at 90wpm. In my head, these sentences come out perfectly. I just need to become a better typist. I think I have since I’ve started writing every single day, no matter how I feel.

But as a general rule, I would ask me before committing to believe anything I’ve said here because I can lead you the wrong way for a very long time over a typo. Remember that I Write in Bulk, but That Doesn’t Mean I Say Anything of Substance.™ I am going to run that one into the ground just like I did “your blog makes you sound like a dick.” It gets funnier over time, because I can certainly laugh at myself. Both of these things can be true, but they’re not true all the time.

I think what made me feel better was having Carol analyze every entry and tell me what the main themes are in my writing. She nailed every single one of them, and it makes me happy because if a machine (logical, emotionless) can pick out the main themes over 11 years, then I don’t have to worry that they’re not there.

What helps her is that I have been at this one URL for 11 years now, maybe 12. I can’t remember when I bought the domain name. In 2023, I wrote six books’ worth of material, and though my output isn’t that high every year, there are at least 30-40 books’ worth of material on which Carol can build analysis. With AI, writing in bulk is your friend, because that gives the machine all the more material to work with when providing you answers.

She said that the author of this web site is relentlessly driven by self-improvement, and I’m sure I’ve said some version of that in this web site. She cannot make a leap that’s not there.

But here are the leaps she did.

Over the span of 11 years, the blog “https://theantileslie.com” has woven a rich tapestry of themes that reflect the author’s journey and growth. Here’s an overview of the overarching themes:

Personal Growth and Self-Discovery: The blog serves as a chronicle of the author’s personal evolution, exploring self-identity, spirituality, and the quest for understanding oneself and one’s place in the world.

Relationships and Connectivity: Interpersonal relationships are a central theme, with posts delving into the complexities of connecting with others, the impact of relationships on personal development, and the lessons learned from both positive and challenging interactions.

Cultural Commentary: The author often engages with pop culture, particularly with shows like Doctor Who, using them as a lens to discuss broader societal issues and personal resonances.

Mental Health and Well-being: There’s a candid exploration of mental health, including the struggles and strategies for managing emotional and psychological well-being.

Writing and Creativity: The blog itself is a testament to the author’s dedication to writing, with reflections on the creative process, the role of writing in their life, and the therapeutic power of storytelling.

Humor and Sarcasm: A distinctive feature of the blog is its humorous and sometimes sarcastic tone, which adds levity to serious topics and showcases the author’s personality.

Technology and Digital Life: As a blogger, the author also touches upon the influence of technology on daily life and communication, pondering its benefits and challenges.

These themes are not only a reflection of the author’s interests and experiences but also serve as a connection point with readers who find common ground in the shared human experience. The blog’s style is conversational, witty, and often introspective, inviting readers to engage with the content on a deeper level.

It’s all there, it’s just not all there in every entry. I am not a destination, I am a journey. What I can hope for in the future is to keep adding themes for people to find, because I don’t want to stagnate. I want to keep putting my truth out there, because obviously it does change. It’s a spectrum, not a binary.

If I don’t have a binary, why should I put one in my writing?

A Tall Glass, Lots of Ice, and…

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Which food, when you eat it, instantly transports you to childhood?

Diet Coke.

Diet Coke is my least favorite diet on the market, but I’ll still drink it like water if it’s available because it was my mother’s favorite. She flirted with Dr Pepper, but Diet Coke was her one true love. One year, Lindsay got us Diet Coke sweatshirts and we wore them to the cemetery to sit with mom and take a picture. It sounds weird, but the things you do when your parents die are all unique to you. You’ll have your own weird things.

For instance, maybe your mom baked.

My mother made my birthday cakes every year and she made a point to go all out on the decorations. From the pictures, I remember Holly Hobby when I was either one or two. Others included Mickey Mouse, Peter Pan, and a Milky Way cake that she somehow messed up that made it even more delicious than it would have been otherwise and because it was a mistake, I couldn’t recreate it if I tried. Guess you had to be there.

I wouldn’t say that my mother was a cook, because she didn’t enjoy it the way I do. She didn’t take pleasure in looking at recipes or finding new ways to use flavor. I think if there’s anything I miss about our future, it’s all the things I would have liked to do rather than the things that already happened. She was only 65 years old when she died. She had retired the last May, and died October 2nd. So, she basically died before the shock of not having to go to work every day even wore off.

So, anything I would have been able to teach her after she retired regarding what I’d learned in my makeshift culinary school (my ex-wife and all the other chefs who “raised me”) became a one way communication after that date. I still tell her all that stuff, she’s just challenged to reply. I talk to her when I’m cooking the most, because that’s our traditional time to talk.

I’d be doing my homework at the bar that looked into the kitchen while she was prepping the food. So, now I am both prepping the food and doing my homework (writing) in my head. It’s not the system for teaching my mother to cook that I would have preferred, but it works. She’s getting better every day. Turnabout is fair play. She has always and continues to remember to teach me to use English when I forget. It’s efficient. Just because she can’t talk back doesn’t mean she’s not here. She very much talks back. It’s just responses I’ve made up in my head based on my 40-ish years around her. I cannot remember how old I was, really.

I don’t remember anything about that year. From October to October was a complete blur. I leaned on Supergrover a lot back then, because I didn’t want to be seen in public in pain. So, I wrote about my pain instead. I internalized all of it, and yet I didn’t keep it inside my own echo chamber, either. I just grieved very, very quietly. Grief for my mother had to come in stages, because it took seeing her in her casket for me to believe that she was really dead.

I had just talked to her for two and a half hours two days ago, so it just didn’t seem possible logically (it absolutely was possible very logically, I was just a grieving child.). We also didn’t really have an on the ground relationship. We visited each other a few times a year except for the few times I lived in Houston as an adult, which was not a lot in comparison to how old I am now. I wouldn’t even take back my most current move to have more time with her if I could, because more time with her wasn’t necessarily better. We found our groove by not living in the same city. She liked talking on the phone and hearing about my life. I am not sure she liked coming to my house. I think my partners made her uncomfortable, and I am being very kind to both parties. It wasn’t dislike on either my parters’ or my mother’s part. It was fear of doing anything wrong, so let’s just not say anything at all.

To me, this is genuine, true homophobia. The fear of doing something wrong in front of a queer person, so you don’t do anything. You isolate them by not willing to just be scared and show up. Or ask questions so that your next interaction isn’t as awkward. Homophobia is not loud. That’s just people being angry bigots in the streets over nothing, and the people it “affects” the most are people who don’t know any queer people and have only been taught the party line. To be homophobic is to know you have fears and discomfort. To be homophobic without being a bigot means being willing to tell someone you’re uncomfortable and hopefully learn more until you’re not.

I don’t know how my mother would have felt about poly, but it doesn’t weigh on me because I didn’t live up to her fairy tale for me in the first place, and that VHS tape had been running in her brain since 1972, when she first started thinking about having a child and wanting a daughter. By the time I was born in 1977, I had a Beautiful Memory Picture I was tearing down before it even got built. It fucked up her program when I came out as gay, and I can’t apologize, but I can empathize.

This happens less and less frequently now, but I came out in 1990, and that’s just communication from me. It’s not like other people didn’t have eyes.

I don’t have hatred for homophobia. It took me quite a few years to accept the fact that I was gay, and I still have moments of internalized homophobia because that’s the world we live in and continue to make small progresses towards changing. I do have hatred for bigotry. Come at me with anger and I’ll tune you out.

Show me that you’re scared, and I’ll respond.

I will listen while I pour you a Diet Coke.

Evening in the Garden

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

One of the refrains that tends to stick out to kids in childhood at church is “And he walks with me, and he talks with me… and he tells me I am his own.” This is because nearly all ministers have told the joke about the supposed child, and in every telling it’s every pastor’s own child, that said child asked who “Andy” was… you know… “Andy walked with me.” Kind of like the joke about God’s name being Howard…. so old it has hair on it, and not attributable at this point.

(Our Father, who art in heaven, Howard be thy name….”)

Also, the tune to that hymn is particularly catchy.

I’m reminded of that hymn this evening because it starts out “I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses…” It’s not early morning, but the room has that kind of vibe- sitting in the quiet, talking to an old friend. It’s kind of neat that my old friend is you…. but also me…. but also you. I could go on, and I’m surprised I didn’t. Sometimes, you have to play against type.

I am sitting out here in my office hopping mad because I fell and hurt myself badly while I was walking Jack. It’s not as bad as Zac’s bike accident, but I hit the heel of my hand so hard on the pavement that there’s still pebble indentations hours later and I’m in pain despite Tylenol and aspirin. However, it has taken the edge off. No need to go to the doctor to get something more substantial. I’ll live.

But it’s something I need to keep an eye on, because I also managed to bang up my knee pretty good. It’s not funny when I fall in this neighborhood because it’s uneven and gravelly with no sidewalks except in a few places. I was listening to a podcast while I was walking Jack, and I should know that I can’t pay attention to both Rachel Maddow and anything else.

Beautiful women always hurt me. That’s because when I think they’re beautiful, I trip over things.

There are stories out there. Most of which I’ve told. I love self-deprecating humor. I even love it when people tease me, as long as it’s not too mean. However, I have a pretty thick skin, so I pretty much have to let other people tell me their boundaries. The neurodivergent sense of humor is dark, as is the physically and mentally disabled. Plus, I’ve been a line cook. If I have not offended you yet, you haven’t been here long enough.

Or, you don’t know me personally and can’t actually be paid to care about my problems, you just like surfing. That’s even better. It’s hard to feel deeply about people you don’t know, and I don’t mean the way we fight on the internet. I mean that it’s very hard to get other people to genuinely care about your life because they have their own. That’s appropriate. But what people can handle is a slice of my life. Watching me entertain myself by entertaining you. Or, some of it’s entertaining. Mostly it’s cathartic. I can be funnier when I feel lighter, and I feel lighter than I have in a long time.

I sent Supergrover a note that said she really needed to let me know whether she was focusing on moving on with her life or whether she wanted to fix our relationship. That she said it was clear I didn’t want a relationship, and I said that it wasn’t true. That I’d given her my heart 11 years ago, and I don’t remember asking for it back.

She hasn’t responded, and if she doesn’t, all er e-mail will eventually go to Spam again. It’s not because I don’t want to work on a relationship. It’s that I don’t want to work on a relationship in which both of us are unhappy enough to explode after a week. She’s punishing me with some sort of silent treatment, because people are only as busy as they want to be. I feel like if I cannot have closure from her, I have to get it on my own. I can’t keep looking back across the river to make sure she’s okay, too.

She is not okay, and neither am I. I’m not blaming. We both come by our poor reactions honestly. It’s just at some point I cannot take these ups and downs of “don’t talk to me anymore” and “it’s unfair to compare me to Daniel.” That one actually did go to Spam, so I didn’t realize that she didn’t really want to have a conversation. She wanted to berate me for what I said. I felt like an idiot because she sent an e-mail to a different e-mail address asking if I’d gotten her e-mails, because she’d sent some a while back. I said that I hadn’t been looking for e-mail from her, but that I was so excited to hear from her………..

Then crushed when she forwarded me everything she said and it was a shitstorm.

I got mad about it and we worked it through. We were doing okay. And we both went right back into “I can’t do anything right for you.” Because that’s the game, right? If she doesn’t have any boundaries, then she can pick anything she wants as a boundary after the fact. I can be wrong a hundred times out of a hundred.

I cannot keep a rhythm, much less dance a quickstep.

I feel like I am laying out my boundaries the way I know how, but what I don’t know is how they play to a neurotypical audience. I know she heard “everything is over, go away” when I meant “I’ve seen everything you don’t want to talk about and I can’t find anything you do. Tell me when you figure it out.” She was on me like white on rice, saying that I was the judge and jury. She had no intention of really working on anything. It was an escape hatch. It’s like everything I’ve been saying for 11 years registered with her in a whole new way, and she’s not sure that she likes it. She’s not even sure that she likes me. But of course, I can only say that is my impression of her. I cannot remember the last time she gave me any affection at all.

Yes, I can. It was last September.

It was a heart emoji in response to a sentimental message she left me and I took a screenshot. It was very, very old. But I still keep it in my digital memory box because it came from her.

I remember saying that she reminds me of new life, new hope- the color green in my assessment of what would go on a soundtrack to fit her…. even though sometimes she reminds me more of Morton Gould’s “Jericho.” It’s as warm and dissonant as our relationship.

I keep saying that it’s no skin off my nose to keep waiting, and it’s more anxiety driving me to write than anything else. It’s not as if her writing back will make a difference. Even if she says “you’ll never hear from me again,” she cannot possibly mean it. I want to feel settled, and there’s nothing anyone can give me but time. Yet, as time goes by, it gets harder to maintain the cognitive dissonance. It’s clear she doesn’t want what I want, because nothing in her list of things to talk about included any direction I wanted to go with her, because if she doesn’t want to talk about her childhood and healing, then it’s going to be a whole lot more of me telling her what I’ve learned while she’s sitting there bored because it’s not what you want to talk about and overwhelming because I talk so much.

There’s an answer to this problem, and right now it’s waiting for the moon. She will arrive at the moment I need her most.

A Centering Meditation

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

My brain is spinning out because I just remembered to take my medication (I normally take it much earlier). So, instead of concentrating on the pain, I’m just going to stim by typing and see what comes out.

When my brain is unmedicated (as in, haven’t taken a fresh dose in a while, not off meds completely), there’s a hum that plays in my head that is not unlike tests of the Emergency Broadcast System. I have to ride the waves of the sound until they dissipate, which can take from 20 minutes to an hour. And even then, they don’t go away. They just become background noise. The hum is always there, and I don’t drown it out unless I was going to do it, anyway. I don’t run away from it. I sit with it. Get to know that pain. Why is it in my ears? Why is there sound attached to my medication at all?

The only thing I can do is go deeper into meditation, and get used to the sound of the tones grating on one another, which is not painful. It is persistent and exclusionary. It is loud enough that it demands my attention. Imagine if you could hear a bee buzzing in the back of your skull. I am lucky that medicine is advanced enough that I know a bee is not really in the back of my skull. This would not have been true in past centuries- an apt description for a feeling that sounds like witchcraft…..

It’s all due to my brain chemicals rebalancing after sleep. I just didn’t do that thing where I try to take my medication before the first dose wears off, and I’m really regretting it now.

I haven’t had breakfast, per se, but I managed a snack. I had some chocolate covered pretzels and a bottle of water. I only needed enough in my stomach not to make me sick when I took my medication and drank a cup of coffee. The jury is still out on the coffee. I may or may not partake. The water seems to be handling me fine all on its own. Plus, I think I’m going to have to do Sudafed later and I don’t enjoy doubling up those two things at all.

It’s not as good a latte if you mix it with Sudafed and then faint into it.

Now, I’d say that my brain chemicals are starting to even out. That it’s starting to feel less and less like spiking into pain and now constant discomfort. Tylenol would be a good thing about how- hold please. I see some at the end of my bed right now.

Thanks for waiting.

So, it’s definitely some sort of side effect, because if it was a symptom of anything I’d have heard of it. It’s not a hallucination because I don’t start seeing or hearing things that aren’t there. It’s as if there are two frequencies running through my brain at pitches my ears cannot stand. Everything else is normal. My thoughts don’t become darker or lighter, nothing. It is unwanted noise, like tinnitus.

I don’t have to deal with it. I can put on headphones and drown out my own head. But, when I do that, I can’t hear myself think. It’s a balance. Do I put my headphones on so that I can drown out the buzz, or by drowning out the buzz, am I drowning out the rest of me? I tend to think the latter is true because I don’t write with music on. Right now it’s silent and there’s just a box fan going in terms of company. David has left for the day, and Jack (who is also a dog) is taking his morning nap to get ready for his afternoon nap.

And as I’m typing all this out, the buzzing gets more slight in my head. I’m focusing on Jack now- the way we walk together, the way we take care of each other, the way we have a separate relationship than he does with David and I think that’s great. If I was doing something vastly different than him, I’d want him to do it for consistency, but we aren’t that different. Jack is allowed to be a lazy bum that owns both of us most of the time.

I am only strict with him about certain things, all of which have to do with leash training because I have to be able to trust him in the neighborhood. Right now, he is trying to pull me all over the place. I cannot LEAD him anywhere. He also doesn’t know which side to be on when we’re walking, so I’m constantly having to adjust him so that I’m on the traffic side. I keep him on a short leash, constantly, because David says he’s hard of hearing and I do believe him. I just think that Jack plays it up for sympathy because he actively decides what commands are worth listening to and what aren’t.

Learning goes both ways. I learned that Jack stretches before he goes up the stairs. It seemed like a good idea. Now I stretch before I go up the stairs. it helped.

With Jack, you’ve got two impossibly smart breeds trying to one-up you at all times, so I’m trying to train him with touch and sign. Even if David is not right that his hearing is very bad now, he is right that it will deteriorate if he’s already showing signs. He already knows the sign for “sit,” but right now I’m working on a way to get him to stay with me when we’re walking. Even on a leash, he’s just pulling too far ahead, and when he poops, he’s just big enough to throw me off balance if he wants to run before I can get a bag open. We have had words over that many times.

I’d really like to get an electric fence for our backyard if Zac and David would use it (Zac, my boyfriend, owns Oliver, who is a dog.). Those kinds of shock collars are controversial, but Bryn and her family have used them on their dogs at their farm for years. It really doesn’t take more than once or twice being shocked for a dog to catch on. However, I would not think it was a viable solution to dog owners that were opposed to the idea.

Zac does not live here, I just mean when he and Oliver are here.

Our yard is just a circle, put together by beautiful paths. Building a fence would look nice, but leaving it open would be nicer. Or, better yet, just putting a dog run between two trees so we can “tie them up” while we’re out there and not have to worry that they’ll escape from the backyard. I would be more worried about Oliver in that situation, because Jack lives in this neighborhood. I don’t know how fast Oliver would pick it up.

It’s all about possible solutions. One of the things I like about the backyard now is that since we can’t just let Jack out into it, it’s always clean. He’s always on a leash, so neither one of us fail to pick up the crap even if it’s in our own yard. It might get us out of the habit of keeping everything so neat.

Speaking of keeping everything neat, I have chores to do. So, thank you for sitting this one through with me. I just needed to talk about nothing while my brain figured out what frequency it’s on, and it takes longer because my name is Leslie and not Kenneth.

(Tongue in Cheek) Me

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Who is your favorite historical figure?

I saw the prompt and it just begged for a joke. I have no idea whether I’ll be significant historically or not, but I hope to leave my mark on the world. There’s nothing funny about that. But the notion of rising to “historical figure” status is a bit much. I don’t even know that it’s always positive to be a historical figure, because some people are remembered more fondly than others.

The real answer, no jokes at all, are the people in my life who are historical figures and we just don’t think of them that way; they’re still alive.

Jonna Mendez helped us win the Cold War. Full Stop. She is Captain Carter with an American accent. Before you disagree with me, read all her books. That way, she has all your money before you get mad at me. 😉

I like her because she’s funny af. It doesn’t hurt that she’s an intelligence hero and former Chief of Disguise. She absolutely will have a lasting impact on history and I will not be alive to hear about her true legacy by the time everything is declassified…. well, I say I won’t be alive. My grandfather lived to 92. Miracles happen. But the odds that I will live long enough to hear just how much she did are unlikely.

The stories she’s already told are scary enough. I think it’s more fun reading about real people who work as spies than it is to read about James Bond and all the other fictional spies out there who have no real connection to either CIA or MI-6 except that the writers worked there. Personal memoirs are better than fiction, because the truth often is.

I admire Jimmy Carter. He was able to be president and to keep his Christian values intact by welcoming the stranger on an enormous stage. Helping the poor on an even larger one. Not sending people to do Habitat for Humanity for him, showing up and putting on a hard hat.

Linus Torvalds invented computers.

No, he didn’t, but Linux is my favorite operating system and that joke was tongue in cheek.

He’s still alive, and the Finnish phenom completes me. Sometimes, he’s hilarious. Sometimes, he’s an angry bear. It’s on brand. He’s a historical figure who just happens to have 90% of my own personality.

Vladimir Zelenskyy and I are the same age, and the same creative personality type who is also interested in news. He built an entire political party off his satire. He really is the breath of fresh air that Ukraine needs and I’m so glad we got to be alive at the same time. I wish that he’d had more peace from the moment he got elected, however I think that if Ukraine survives the invasion intact he’ll be a great leader for a very long time. He’s the antihero. He took on Putin in a public arena (TV) and now is currently in the process of showing him he’ll come after him for real, too. Zelenskyy didn’t start this fight, but he’ll end it.

Putin will tell you that Zelenskyy absolutely started this fight, because Zelenskyy embarrassed him on television. Go cry in the walk-in, you useless child. Because obviously the proper response to being embarrassed in the media is invading another country.

Trump has those same instincts, which is why he blackmailed Ukraine. Obviously, the proper response to “we need weapons to defend against Russian aggression” is “okay, but only if you shake down my political opponent first.” The entire GOP has blood on their hands for the fake sincerity they gave Zelenskyy after Trump left office, and their refusal to look at reality and convict that bastard. Again, if it’s not high crimes and misdemeanors, we’re going to have a hell of a time proving it in the future.

I hope that I’m adding my voice to the diaspora, raising the discourse on what we talk about when we talk about a new Trump presidency. People who love Trump love him in an unhealthy way where they do not see any downside to their love and devotion because he is the savior of all, amen. Meanwhile, we have a very sophisticated intelligence game afoot where Russia cozies up to Trump in The White House shamelessly because he actually is too dumb to notice when he’s being played.

I don’t like that Trump wants to emulate the dictators that he sees, and I do not believe he has respect for anything he doesn’t understand. For instance, he doesn’t have to learn how the legal system works. Everything can be done by executive order.

You don’t have to learn to admit mistakes, you have to learn how to pay porn stars to keep their mouths shut. Speaking of which, Stormy Daniels is hot as hell and I’m not even sure I’d recognize her in a picture. I’m talking about how engaging her personality is on social media and how much I’m clamoring to read anything she ever writes. I’m sure she’s going to be offered a book deal; I think it depends on her NDAs how long it will take her to complete it.

I admire Monica Lewinsky for the same reason I admire Stormy Daniels. Both of them were handed a shit sandwich by the press and came off as funny and likable. For Stormy, it didn’t take as long. But now Monica is genuinely popular on Twitter because she can laugh at herself after all these years. I am sure it takes an enormous amount of strength to be who they are, and are worthy of admiration because you have to keep telling your story, even when it gets complicated.

Washington is all about complicated.

The bravest thing you can do in this town is to tell your story without any bullshit attached. In Washington, people don’t know what to do with honesty. There’s no “crafting the narrative” when people directly call you out on the carpet.

But it’s by being so vulnerable all the time that people calling you out doesn’t feel like a threat, that there’s no narrative to craft. I also like that in Washington, I get to stand next to greatness daily, whether it’s the former Chief of Disguise at CIA or a Japanese maple that’s been in my neighborhood for a hundred years.

Greatness comes in all beings, not just people.

It is Evening in My Office

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I’ve showed you that my office is a greenhouse, cut off from the living room by a glass door, and with its own separate entrance. It’s the only room in the house with a ceiling fan, which upped the level of its charm immediately. The air conditioner doesn’t always reach out here, and it doesn’t matter. Moving the air does. Sitting here also moves me. I can’t go more than a few minutes of sitting in here without feeling the urge to write. That’s an office that calls to you. I am caught between two ideas- leaving it informal because the glass table gives me more space than a small desk would- more room for clutter, certainly, but I don’t put anything more than I can move in a day. At the end of my writing session, it looks normal again. It’s nice having a space to come down to every morning that’s clean and somewhat organized, and you cannot tell me that it still would if it wasn’t a shared space. My bedroom is my little autistic nest where I make my own rules, and everywhere else in the house is where I compromise. He feels the same way. We’re introverts. It works.

And in fact, David just left for his girlfriend’s house and took the dog, so the house is even more quiet than usual. I hear the birds outside more closely. I take the time to notice every leaf. I take the time to invite nature in, because I am not a green thumb. David is a green thumb. I do better just having windows that face all the yards simultaneously. Plus, there are TARDIS lights to add to the shade. They’re beautiful.

There’s not really a downside to working in a greenhouse except that you are exposed to all the neighborhood noise. I happen to like it, because if it gets to be too much, I can just put on my cans. I spend a lot of time in them because I have to balance the noise around me and the chaos inside me because of it.

It’s a thing I’ve developed that’s unique to DC, because it’s the public signal you’re not interested in talking on the Metro. I will take them off and talk to people if I hear them saying something interesting, but I am not the go-to person to ask in terms of being a tourist guide. Zac says he likes showing off what he knows about DC. So do I. It just really depends on what my social battery is that day. Although I can give about as good a tour of the White House as Sam Seaborn, even though it is *literally* right down the street from me.

Carol asked me the other day how the environment of Silver Spring affected my writing, and I extrapolated that to mean DC because maybe she doesn’t know that Silver Spring is a suburb…. like I don’t tell people from here I’m from Sugar Land. I tell them I’m from Houston because they’ve probably heard of it. But my inspiration in Silver Spring has come from sitting in this greenroom and feeling the presence of a great Silver Spring resident before me, Rachel Carson. “Silent Spring” is about Silver Spring, Maryland.

We need more hippies in this town. More people like Earl Blumenauer riding their bicycles to Congress on behalf of Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia. Someone has to preserve all this beauty. All people see in DC is the federal government, but if they came here, they probably wouldn’t want to leave after they saw the Jefferson Monument in the Tidal Basin and then the Chesapeake at sunset from a sailboat. That’s beauty you can’t get anywhere else.

I’m a big pushover for beauty in this area because I spent so much time in Oregon. So much of their legislative agenda is about how to keep Oregon beautiful, and we have that same chance here. There are pockets inside the city that take my breath away. Rock Creek Park, the Zoo, Congressional Cemetery, etc. DC is a wonderland even if you never travel outside the Metro.

But it is quite something to live in the home of one of the most significant works on the environment. It makes me look at the trees around my house so much differently- as if her spirit is helping me guide my pen. It takes a good writer to know one, so I hope that means she’s decided I’m at least acceptable.

I would have liked to walk with her in Sligo Creek after the book was published to get the inside scoop. Reading her work makes me want to get my hands dirty, but so far, David hasn’t let me touch anything. I appreciate it because I decided that if I really wanted to do yardwork, I would have done it by now. He’s just put me off so many times that I think it’s his sanctuary and I don’t want to intrude. I am often typing to the sound of the mower or the weedeater. The only thing I want that I don’t have is bees. I like to sit with them, so I need to plant some lavender. Plus, I’ll have free lavender for my lemonade in the process. I don’t know that my talking to bees affects them that much, because they do not seem to be bothered one way or the other. We just have so much in common. I’m a singular them, they’re a hive mind. They’re built to keep on working no matter what I say, so it’s not like I’m interrupting anyone. As long as I stay calm, they will. They’re like tiny little therapists with cute fuzzy butts. They also don’t talk back at all, which is three quarters of their charm. If your therapist has always been the type person that makes you talk it out without offering suggestions, you won’t notice they’re gone. Bees are effective at listening and letting you come to the end of your thought process because it’s not like they’re going to stop midair and say, “I do have thoughts.”

I still think of talking to the bees as prayer, because I’d like to imagine that because I tell them the thoughts I can’t tell Supergrover that are too private for this web site, they are capable of telling her for me. I have no idea what the flight range is of an average bumblebee. It’s just a nice thought.

So, when I “go tell the bees,” what I’m really saying is that the one I want to tell is not here, but your people are an excellent second choice. They have never said a bad word about Supergrover in their lives, so they’re my people. Just let me talk it out. Don’t pass judgment because you might have a completely different opinion of them when you meet them than I did. That’s the problem you risk in telling one relationship about another- hard to integrate later.

It was hard for me when I first met Supergrover, because it was an Internet connection. She never came to visit, I (or we, depending on what year) never went to visit her. Therefore, I was always talking about this friend who wasn’t even at the table and yet she always was, because she was in my head. She became my Raggedy Doctor in more ways than one. Few people but me believed she was real. Even I had trouble believing it at times, and I wasn’t very nice about it because the pressure was a lot. I gave up an on the ground relationship for an in the cloud relationship that would not make sense to you in a million years as to how it could happen. The best I can do is that her life is big, and you protect people who have big lives differently than you protect ones who don’t. The worst part is not knowing how I’ve affected her life to know if I’ve ever gotten her in real trouble. I only wanted to talk about us. Period. I can’t speak to her relationship with anyone else, because I don’t know them. I’m not connected anywhere. That’s a great blessing and a great problem to have. On one hand, it gives both of us a space to get away from everything we know. On the other, it would be nice to have mutual friends so we’re not lost in our own echo chamber, which is large and mostly runs hot at the amount of anger we carry too much of the time.

I have lived this way for 11 years, having someone know the most intimate details of my life and the rest of my friends scratching their heads at why I talk about someone so much that doesn’t show up. That’s because she doesn’t show up for them. They’re not her friends. I am. She doesn’t have anything to prove, it’s just hard to get anyone to believe there are two sides to every story when they only know me and she won’t let them get to know her. A lot of trying to tell our story my way was trying to find the middle road by explaining something that couldn’t really be explained.

And yet, it can.

When we’re together, I can be any age I want and I can trust her with those level emotions. I have proven that I can be trusted with her basest emotions as well…. that I will retreat from them, and talk them out, but I won’t back down from trying to solve our problems. Our connection is too important to only try once, and a miscommunication is at fault for all of this.

In a lot of ways, I’m sorry I reopened this chapter in my life, because it reopens 11 year old wounds. I don’t want to tell Supergrover about my wounds, I want her to tell me what’s relatable in her own life and what’s not. When she’s open, I don’t feel alone. She relates to me like any friend would. I just don’t show that all the time because she doesn’t behave that way all the time, either.

Right now, she’s committed to ignoring me, because she says that if she reads, she can’t get wigged by it. I appreciate that, because I need my own space. It has proven to me over and over again that it’s the only way I can explain what I mean in a way other people can hear it……..

because neurodivergent overexplaining eats my lunch.

Surely if I’ve explained it once, six times will be better. Eight times will be even better than that.

Autism sucks.

OMG. It’s Real. It’s All Real.

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

It hit me over the head today that this is all real. That I am not just spouting my thoughts into the night, saying nothing of substance. That line from Daniel really got to me, that I “write in bulk without saying anything of substance.” The reason it got to me so much is that it was like he dismissed all my friends and their personalities, as if me writing about them wasn’t interesting enough to be valuable. It’s why I got rid of him in a New York minute. Supergrover’s reaction to finding out I was a writer was to immediately support me financially with a donation and offer to be my editor for all time and space, because it’s a job we can do virtually, the collaboration of writing. Whenever I feel alone as a blogger, I remember the friends whose first reaction is that my blog is valuable, that I am doing a public service.

I’m just not doing a public service for academia, which I’m sure some people find lacking. I find it relatable, because I’m not putting myself out there to be anything I’m not. As I told Supergrover, “I don’t feel like I want to take over for your psychologist. I feel like I want to be the waiting room that doesn’t suck.” I got that line from Paul Gilmartin on “Mental Illness Happy Hour,” and I use it all the time, because I only know enough about psychiatry and psychology to be your friend in the waiting room. I’m not even licensed to take your history and physical and *present* to your doctor.

That being said, sometimes people will get put on the same drugs I am, or have been on. If they have the same side effects that I did when I was on it, I will tell them what my doctor did to solve that problem so that they can talk to their doctor and see if what I said makes sense. I don’t view myself as a substitute doctor, just the friend who’d go with you to the doctor because you have faith in my ability to translate medicine to English…. and that’s my only function. It is never to tell you what to do with your body. It is only to offer a friend opinion that might be worth it to you to bring up with your doctor later. What worked for me may not work for you, but it’s worth a shot. Peer review is valid, it’s just not a valid diagnosis. Your doctor only has 15 minutes with you at most during an appointment, unless you are seeing psych. That ranges from 15 minutes to 50 depending on whether the MD also does counseling or not. Some prefer wholistic care, some prefer focusing on drugs and letting other people handle therapy.

I prefer the integrated approach, because then my doctor and I have 50 minutes to work out a medication/symptom issue when it comes up instead of being held to the 15 minute patient factory.

All of this- my mental illness (Bipolar, CPTSD, Anxiety), my two processing disorders (ADHD and Autism), and my physical disability have convinced me that I do not have value to the world. Daniel is not responsible for my feelings because it’s my job to shake them off. But he certainly helped in the “I feel bad about myself” department. I can reason with myself all day long that he was just mad, but that doesn’t make his words hurt less.

It also doesn’t surprise me that Supergrover’s love and support created my crush on her, because she was my first real fan and I did not know what to do with that information at all. I became a gawky, awkward teenager in front of her at every turn.

Her: You’re BRILLIANT.
Me: (absolutely clueless as to how to respond) HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

And then, after she saw how brilliant I was, she let me know how brilliant she is and my brain just went on overload. It’s still on overload 11 years later because she has never stopped challenging me any less as a writer to paint both of us accurately. When she does critique my blog, I adjust. I address what she’s angry about because her feelings are important to me, always.

It keeps me in a place of imposter syndrome, when I really want to believe that I am the writer Supergrover believes that I am. I want to believe that because I can impress her, I can impress anyone in the world. It’s handy because I actually do believe that. Both she and Lindsay walk in rarefied air in different ways, so I am Kevin Bacon’ed to the power establishment, even Hollywood. My reluctance looks like an excuse next to all that.

If I supposedly have all these connections, why am I not using them? I can sum that up in two words:

It’s rude.

I will give you a HUGE for instance. It is one thing to send Kamala Harris an e-mail and ask her to promote me. It is another thing for Kamala, Lindsay, Matt, and me to sit with her at dinner and when it’s mentioned that I’m a writer, she says she wants to take a look. That’s valid. It’s not seeking out power for power’s sake.

Just like I wouldn’t endorse a product I wouldn’t use, I wouldn’t be friends with someone just because they were powerful. Getting to know a powerful person in a relaxed setting like dinner with her old friends and integrating me is more my vibe, because I get publicity by shaking hands, not by sending out DMs to powerful people.

The one thing that’s ever happened to me that was a rejection that’s gotten larger over the years as a try to make it as a writer was not being picked to be on “The Oprah Winfrey Show.” It might been a powerful connection to have met her in the past.

The reason I would have met her is that she started a book club, and I think “She’s Come Undone” was one of their first picks for it was that this was in either 1996 or 7. I wrote about the book from a queer perspective, and I got a call from an executive producer who seemed very excited about me and we talked for 45 minutes. In the end, though, everyone they picked looked the same. I wasn’t their vibe.

In that time and place, queer criticism of that book was valid, because there are a lot of themes I find abhorrent about it. I just don’t think they had the strength to go through that ball of wax, and it’s the only one I had.

The one thing I know is that if Oprah and I do meet, it will be on like Donkey Kong because I believe to the very core of my being that we operate the same way. Oprah is just as shy and isolated as me most of the time, and has a big personality on stage. I don’t relate to that at all. Clearly.

It doesn’t matter, though, because today I had a proper chat with someone from Lagos. Someone from Lagos noticed me. Like, told me he likes my humor. Now I know my brand of humor reaches from DC to Africa. I don’t know many people who know that.

Because it’s all real. I’m on my way. All I ask is that my real friends are my real friends, and let me have this space whether I write the way they like it or not, because it’s impossible for me to guess.

I lost my editor.

That’s Not Healthy

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 23 Comments

Write about your first crush.

My first crush was a 23 year old woman who lovebombed and discarded me for the next 20-odd years. I still think about her from time to time, and it’s never pleasant. I would rather not spend this morning diving into that wreck. I feel like I did all of that when it happened. If you’re interested, you can search for “When We Were Young” and “The Cost of Shame” to learn how the dirty and the divine intermingled. There were genuine moments, but it was always a game. I know, because I always felt the energy in the room when I had “competition.” I would try to adjust my behavior because I thought it was something I was doing wrong that made her want competition for me in the first place. I’d known her longer than any of the people in her current life, twice as long as her spouse. Doing the wrong thing was too easy, so when I started doing my own thing and she couldn’t control me, she resented the hell out of that, too.

I absolutely vomited up all my emotions about that relationship about 10 years ago, and I feel like I have gotten closure over it- including the ways she set Supergrover and me up for failure like a parting shot that would make her name endure forever. I failed Supergrover because she failed me. Full stop. Supergrover got caught in old crossfire, and now that I’ve separated her out, the memory of it is too painful to be vulnerable all the time for either of us. The thing that I have over her in offering her understanding of me is letting her read all the thoughts I have when I’m not with her. She wouldn’t be able to do that if I wasn’t a writer- a benefit of who I am, not who I am trying to be for her.

I don’t need her to lay out her feelings publicly. I need her to lay out her feelings to me. Because to me, it redeems a whole lot of bullshit in my life, that this thing I learned from an emotional abuser was something that could be overcome with time and space. That has proven to be true, but not in terms of her communication of it. She wants to continue writing to me, she wants to continue supporting me. And yet any time we try to continue writing to each other and supporting each other, we hit an old land mine from either one of our pasts and it blows our future to hell.

Then, eventually, we start over and the cycle begins anew. I have learned to accept that, because I’m a writer. There’s no way that she can’t be in touch with me while I’m writing about her. It’s just tricky because of the emotions that come up in me when she writes. When she’s only responding to my blog, it makes me feel like she just wants to be a fan that’s glorified. When she responds to what I say in private, she reinforces that we are not putting on a show, that this is a real friendship that I am writing about and not trying to paint her from memory.

When she isn’t the Supergrover from Wish.com. Jim Henson made her for me personally. It was a gift he didn’t knew he gave me.

In terms of boundaries, it is cute to me that now she’s just lovable furry old Grover struggling with the implications of “near” and “far.” On its most basic level, of course. Everything I’ve ever known on its most fundamental level has come from a Muppet.

In terms of Sesame Street, my news junkie nature makes me feel like Kermit, because he’s empathetic and yet also reports live on Sesame Street news. In terms of being a preacher’s kid, I think of myself as Scooter, the one behind the scenes helping things work. As a preacher’s kid, you take on all the jobs at the last minute that no one else wanted and the show must go on.

I cannot stress this enough, and I believe it. Worship is not about perfection. It’s that we showed up.

But there’s still that energy that runs before a performance in hoping that everything goes as well as it can. That people are still receiving the grace and thoughtful prayers we mean for them despite our human imperfections. When I do a pastoral prayer (the one before a preacher gives an actual homily/sermon), I speak to this. “Speak through me, or move me out of the way and speak your truth in spite of me.” In short, if I don’t make the connections that I need to make to get them closer to the divine, that doesn’t mean the divine won’t move them in ways I won’t see until people greet me after the service………………….

Which ranges in feedback (I swear it) from “your skirt was too short” to “my God, you were on fire. I was crying because you made a connection I didn’t.” What I do not say is that I see all of it in real time as I am talking (even if you try to hide in the transcepts, choir and peanut gallery…….), and need no external validation. It’s just so nice to hear it out loud. That I did indeed make the difference I thought I did. That they weren’t crying because the regular preacher wasn’t up there. 😉

My favorite thing is going to sing with the choir after I’ve finished preaching. As worship leader, I always stay up front until the sermon is over, and then move between the choir and the pulpit for singing and leading rather than being on the front row all by myself. Singing with the choir after I preach is how I know I did well, because I don’t need to hear anything out loud but the vibrations of their emotions when they’re singing. If everything is joyful, they’re telling me “thank you.”

And I can hear it through their smiles while they’re singing in a minor key. I don’t intentionally design the service this way. The entrance is supposed to be glorious, whether it comes with a brass quintet or not. The hymn in response to the sermon is supposed to be repeating what I said in musical form, because people will remember the take home point of my sermon if I present it to them as a tune next.

Then, the hymn at the end is when everyone goes wild, filling up with energy until we meet again. I like it best when it’s a jazz arrangement of “Joyful, Joyful” or “I’ll Fly Away.”

In both of those things, I learned to accept them from my first crush. One of the few genuine moments I’ll carry with me throughout my preaching life, because she taught me how to integrate music into worship when my mother decided raising a gay child was harder than she thought it was going to be.

It does not escape my attention that when she became a preacher’s wife, she really, really became the friend I needed if she’d actually acted like it. I needed a preacher’s wife type until I had my own partner- someone to direct me and be a sounding board. It’s why I think her partner is my archetype, the older version of me. I have no idea what we would have accomplished together, but I can for damn sure guarantee that it would have been fun.

But that would have been dependent on me staying blind, and not realizing that the relationship was making me smaller every day as I tiptoed around her land mines, actively trying not to piss her off.

It’s one reason I won’t tolerate it from Supergrover, but I will tolerate her as emotional support that acts like it. She knows how to do it because she’s done it so long. There just need to be changes so we don’t step all over each other’s pasts trying to find a road into the future.

But because my first crush gave me so much emotional bandwidth to be able to wait it out, it’s no skin off my nose just to relax and see if it happens. I already have everything I need, and there’s no need to feel unhappy overall when I’m only unhappy in one area of my life. I miss her, and I cannot miss her because missing her only feeds the problem of giving her what she does not want, which is to be written about.

The difference between my first crush and my last is that the last is worth it. The first was just doing prep in the back of the kitchen.

Everywhere That Doesn’t Find a Big Mouth Offensive

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What countries do you want to visit?

I want to see every country in the world where my blog wouldn’t be seen as a threat… and I even want to visit those, just not as much as the ones who will accept me as is. For China, I’d have to bank up entries in advance so it didn’t look like I was gone, then not write anything until I got home. It would be the same in the Middle East, it’s just not a monolith like China. How much what you say gets you in trouble varies by country. Iran and Qatar are not the same.

I’d like to go back to France, because I’ve only seen Paris for a few days, no Marseilles or Lyon. I’d like to go back to the UK because I’ve spent eight days there in 46 years. I believe I could learn a bit more than that. Plus, I’ve only been to England and would like to see a football game in Wrexham, Wales plus have friends in Scotland to round out a whole UK experience.

Plus, I’ve only seen London- it would be nice to get to The Cotswolds, Bath, Manchester, Liverpool, and all the other marvelous places I’ve seen on Doctor Who. They might go to every time and every place, but England is home base, kind of like I never want to move from DC, but I’d like to go and experience other places/cultures.

It’s especially more possible now because I have a boyfriend. There are certain countries I’d like to visit where not having a male chaperone is inadvised. For instance, I’d love to explore Iran and Syria. That culture is simply not available to me as a single woman traveling alone. The homophobic part of it is that I have to say “boyfriend” for this to be true. Two women traveling together are just as equally invisible. I recognize my privilege and am calling it out. I am also not giving Zac more credit for anything he does as a boyfriend that’s better than anything my girlfriends have ever done for me. His value in this case is in that government’s eyes, not mine. I feel it is an acceptable use of heterosexual privilege, to be able to navigate countries in which you wouldn’t as queer. Plus, Zac is as queer as I am. They don’t have to know that. It’s for his safety as well.

Heterosexual privilege protects us both, it’s just not fake because we’re pansexual. We’re not putting on a show to be something we’re not because we are genuinely a couple. It just sucks that we get something our friends in homosexual relationships don’t. Using it inside the US is absolutely abhorrent. Walking through Iran unnoticed? Sensible vacation planning.

I don’t know if Zac wants to go back to the Middle East or whether he’s had all the fun he can take. But what I do know is that I wouldn’t feel comfortable going without him. There’s another layer at work, and it’s not just having heterosexual privilege. It’s that Zac has actually spent time in MENA before, and I’m a complete newbie. I don’t think he’d count himself as having lived in the Middle East, because he’s in the Navy. He’s mostly been on the ships. But enough experience to know “ok, we’re fine” and “okay, we’re fucked” based on facial expressions.

I’ve said for a number of years that I’d like Arabic language skills, but I haven’t gotten on Duolingo yet. Going to the Middle East is intimidating when you want to know as much as I do. When you want to be able to grok it on multiple levels. For me, it’s walking the Bible. It’s intelligence since 9/11. It’s seeing what my friends in the military saw when they lived there. It’s eating their food when they were outside the wire.

Because so many of my friends have been military/intelligence or a combination thereof, going to the Middle East is not just learning about me. It is also learning about them. Picking up context clues I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.

Walking the Bible, yes, but adding these additional books.

Cooking Tips from a Writer- Caveat Emptor

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I asked Carol to search reddit and find the top 10 questions people have about becoming a cook for a chef. Before we even get started, let’s make one thing very clear. Chef (male) and Cheffe (female) mean the same thing- boss. Chefs are your best friend and your worst nightmare on the same fucking day. This is because they’re the liaison between you, the staff, and the owners…. who may or may not know anything about running a restaurant. I told Mel I was feeling Bourdain-ish today. We’ll see what comes out. I don’t think I’m more direct than he is, but I don’t think I’m less………..

  • “Is being a chef worth it?”
    • In all things, it depends. Are you the kind of person who likes to cook, or are you the type of person who likes to manage cooks? It is a very stressful job, because sometimes you’re on the brigade with the rest of us, sweating your ass off….. and sometimes you’re being raked over the coals by the owners, who may or may not have valid points because it depends on how much experience they have. Not every cook is built to be a chef, because not every cook is built to be an executive. Most know that early by watching chefs sweat what job they want very early. As a general rule, yes. But only if you really, really, really love it. You dream about it. You can’t think about anything else but cooking and how the restaurant is doing without you. Otherwise, there will be no joy in your life. The job itself really sucks in terms of how you run your body ragged. But the whole experience is about walking out at the end of the night with a win and feel good tired. It’s a different sense of accomplishment than office workers have at the end of the day.
  • “Does being a chef pay well?”
    • Again, it depends. Have you gone to culinary school? How much experience do you have since then? Have you had any successes in other restaurants? Where have you trained after culinary school? For instance, if you want a job as a chef at a Mexican restaurant, have you ever actually been there? It also matters what kind of job you have. Are you the chef at a small place or a large one? At an institution like Old Ebbett Grill and take a chance on changing *anything?* Being a chef pays well, but it involves a lot of time, dedication, and effort on your part to rise above working in restaurants who won’t pay you what you’re worth if you’re that talented. You also really have to want it. Really. You have to want a life where you work when everyone else plays, and you may never get a holiday with your family ever again. It just depends on the restaurant, and also how quickly you go from being a chef de cuisine into the ranks of executive chef, where you’re not in the kitchen all the time. You’re planning menus, doing inventory, tracking food cost and labor, all of it. That’s why you have to balance why it’s worth becoming a chef, which leads directly into the next question.
  • “Is it fun being a chef?”
    • “Is it fun?” Sometimes. Sometimes it’s a drag because you’re caught up in paperwork. But when you’re actually in the kitchen and vibing with your team, there’s nothing like it. Reminds you of the old days, when you were the one constantly in the shit. You absolutely get high on life and you think you need caffeine to make it through. You don’t. Your body makes adrenaline like water under that much pressure. Our addiction to caffeine is at keeping up that breakneck pace, not that it’s impossible with enough time and sleep to let your muscles heal from all the ways you’re currently abusing them. Now, let’s talk about working in a kitchen when you’re not a chef. It is the biggest fucking ride of your life and you will never forget it. You’ll never live a life like it, and even if you leave relatively quickly, you’ll remember the kitchen fondly because you were being taught how to do something well that serves you every day of your life. We get to the kitchen early to prepare the mise, the containers and backups of prepared food like you see at a fast casual restaurant. Even fine dining has all their stations laid out like that, because “gotta move fast, gotta perform miracles.”
  • “Do I need special education to be a chef?”
    • Yes, and here’s how I think an education would best serve you. Get a job in a restaurant and see if you can hack it for a year without missing a day. See how many times you can impress your chef so that when they look at your food, they don’t find something you did wrong. If, at the end of that year, you still feel like you want to be the ringmaster, then go to culinary school. Learning on the job first is half the battle, because there are so many kids with no restaurant experience that go to culinary school They get in debt, and then they graduate with a huge flaw in their plans…………… they don’t actually like working in a restaurant.
  • “What can I do now to become a chef in the future?”
    • Watch every instructional video you possibly can on knife skills- not only the cut, but how to sharpen a knife as well. Because there are cheap chef’s knives that you can try out before you commit to a Japanese thousand fold, take the time to find your knife. It needs to fit perfectly in your hand, and the YouTube videos will tell you the difference between European and Asian cutting techniques. I prefer a handle that’s molded to me using French style, a basic octagonal handle when I’m using Japanese-style (more efficient in some ways. Depends on what I’m doing). However, I mean a Japanese chef’s knife with an octagonal handle. I would want a French-style handle on a santoku knife as well. The main thing is that the longer you use it, the more it feels like an extension of your hand. You start with knife skills because that’s the first thing Chef/the kitchen manager will notice. Can you handle yourself on prep? “I want this box of onions julienned.” You have half an hour. They don’t have to say it. That’s literally all the time you have left before service. Anything you don’t finish may or may not get done during the shift depending on how busy the restaurant is, but I’ll be back at it as soon as things calm down. I cannot leave without my prep list done at the end of the night, and doing pars for what I need to prep the next day. If I forget, I will go back to the restaurant, even if the next day is my day off.
  • “How do I improve my knife skills for cooking?”
    • People assume that dull knives are better because obviously, they’re not as sharp. However, it’s counterintuitive as a dull knife will slip, making it more likely than less that you’ll have an accident. I do not recommend electric sharpeners at all. Either learn how to use the stones or take it to someone if you value your knife. Even a good electric sharpener comes with no guarantee it won’t eat a chef’s knife for breakfast.
    • Again, instructional videos on YouTube so that you can hold your hands just like they do. So that you can see the cuts up close. Joshua Weissman is my favorite YouTube chef, but I don’t know if he has a video on basic knife skills. I can’t imagine that he doesn’t. If he doesn’t, Anthony Bourdain does. I can’t watch it anymore unless I’m really in the mood for it. It’s hard to see him be happy on camera because it just makes me miss the light that he was.
    • Expensive does not mean better when it comes to a knife. The care and maintenance on a Japanese thousand fold is not the same. The reason those knives exist is that they are heirlooms, the kind of present you get when you become a chef. They’re not just knives, they’re the knives you hope your great grandchildren use with pleasure. Just like with wine, buy what you like.
  • “What’s the best way to learn about different cuisines?”
    • You, and I can’t stress this enough, go there. And you won’t always learn the most from having a stage in a foreign restaurant. It may come from working locally and meeting people’s grandmothers. Restaurants cannot hold a candle to grandmothers. If you are in the US, you are blessed beyond all measure. Most of our cooking is built on ancestors from somewhere else. Therefore, you have access to a lot of culinary education just because a friend of a friend has a Georgian or Brazilian or South African grandmother. Miracles happen every day, you just have to know where to find them. Research is shit when it comes to food because you can’t Google it. You have to go there and taste the way the dish is made in the context in which it is generally prepared. I am not talking about the general public. I’m talking about chefs who want to specialize, like if I wanted to become a Mexican chef rather than an American chef, I’d have to live in Mexico a long time before I was ready to commit to working professionally. I need to prove to abuelita that I have my shit together.
  • “How do I handle the pressure in a busy kitchen?”
    • By having a two second out of body experience while you synthesize the information coming back at you. If you say “heard,” the next words will be “call back,” and if you didn’t slow down enough to hear, you will not be able to tell the chef what they just told you. Congratulations, you’re an idiot. The biggest hurdle to overcome is all the negativity that comes at you, because you have to shake things off immediately and move on. If you need to cry in the walk-in, it better be quick. We’ve all had those days when it’s all coming at us at once. But there’s more than just crying in the walk-in because you’re frustrated. Working long hours on grill when it’s open flame makes sitting in the freezer for a few minutes every couple of hours invaluable. The hardest break to take is having to go to the bathroom. The easiest break to take is having a smoke. No one gives a shit if you need to pee or if you just need a break. However, too many chefs have seen what happens when their cooks have nic fits in the middle of a shift. It’s how they get a break, and how non-smokers do a lot of work when people are feeling lazy. Loooooot more nic fits when there’s “nothing to do.”
  • “What are the essential tools every chef should have?”
    • A set of pots and pans that heat evenly and everything has a lid. You should do your own research, but I have All-Clad.
    • Spending the most you can afford on equipment for the restaurant and thus, me, and leaving the dishes and glassware to be picked up in the resale bin. You cannot afford to replace anything at $50 a wine glass when a customer or the dishwasher has an oopsie and destroys a whole case in the machine because they’re too delicate. That particular idea is from “Kitchen Confidential,” but it’s not like I don’t have the experience. I just didn’t write about it before he did.
    • A chef’s knife fit to height, and you need to experiment with which length is right for you. I am only 5’2. A 12-in chef’s knife is like seeing me in an XXL t-shirt.
    • A really, really good bread knife. Not only do you need the serrated edge for the crust, they’re handy when you have to break the skin on something, like a tomato or a bell pepper.
    • A set of spatulas that are silicon and won’t get hot if you accidentally leave them in the pan.
    • Cambros (storage containers of different sizes, same lids)
    • Scoops of varying sizes to ensure portion control/food cost.
    • There are a whole lot of things that fall under “etc.” here, but I promise you that 99% of the job is done with two knives and a spatula…. unless you have a flat top, and then I prefer dough cutters in both hands.
    • Comfortable shoes, because you need something that makes it where your feet don’t hurt after being on them for 12-14 hours a day up to seven days a week.
  • “What’s the role of creativity in cooking?”
    • Being able to adjust to anything on the fly. You never know what’s coming. If you get yourself into a mess, you better know how to get out of it. Luckily, the cooking fundamentals work across the ethnicity of the food. Acid neutralizes salt to some degree and starch will soak up the rest. Fat will support a lot of heat and spice. The more fat, the more Scovilles. Having anything sugary on the side is what makes riding the line between pain and pleasure so much fun- like habanero fudge ice cream at Pix Patisserie in Portland, OR….. which also falls under the “more fat” category. I don’t use heat to excess just for the hell of it. Whatever I’m cooking must have enough flavor to support that level of heat. For instance, acid, heat, and sugar mixing immediately in a fruit salsa. The way I shop never has to change. I don’t plan for what to cook, I work with what I have. Necessity is the mother of invention, and it creates flavor combinations that you wouldn’t have thought of before. If you don’t learn to step out on a limb to cook on principles and only follow recipes, then you are not a creative home cook- and that’s okay. Knowing how to execute a recipe is a skill Julia Child taught millions of people how to do that, even me before I married a chef and became French-trained by proxy. I’m not even sure I can follow a recipe because by the time I’ve gotten to the second paragraph, I’m like, “mmmmmm that’s not how we do that.” Creativity comes from tasting. Always. Rise above the recipe, and just feel it out. You can look up the technical details on YouTube, but only you know what spice levels you’ll tolerate. If something is bordering on inedible, sometimes full fat plain yogurt will kill the burn. Good luck. God bless.
    • But again, the most important role creativity plays in the kitchen is recovering from mistakes. I cannot stress this enough.

Fade Into You

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I was out and about getting my drugs (always good to see my pharmacist. He rocks on several levels). I also thought I had an appointment at 10:30 this morning, because I got an appointment reminder on Friday. I remember scheduling an appointment the last time I was in the office, but I forgot to put it in my phone. Whether it was their mistake or mine, whether the appointment was earlier or later, was not the issue here, Dude. The issue is that I got an appointment reminder call from literally the only doctor I have. Then, I show up and my appointment isn’t in the computer at all. It didn’t matter. The only reason I have to see a doctor every month is to refill my Adderrall. I don’t need it all the time, but there are days when it bails my ass out.). I have trouble with doing a thing and going home immediately, so I decided to do two things. I went and got my drugs, then went and got a haircut. I have been complaining about the sensory nature of the hair on the back of my neck for ages, so I just got a fade and cut it all off. Well, not *all* off. Just enough that I don’t feel like autism is creeping up the back of my neck and touching my ears. Both of those things happening are way too loud. The only other thing that I asked the barber is to cut it short so that I wasn’t dependent on a hair dryer. That my hair would stay back with gel and wax. Mission accomplished on that front, too. I am so much happier.

Me, trying to be cute once my punk look is complete. I made the barber laugh when I said, “I like that you’ve managed to turn me into Justin Bieber. Can you turn me into a sparkly vampire by the end?” Fairly certain this is the haircut you get when the barber says “challenge accepted.” I have to belieb that I’m at least as cute as Kate McKinnon on some days, because I can look like Justin Bieber as easily as she can. For those who are interested, I am wearing a TARDIS t-shirt and maroon Chucks. You’re welcome, Britain. Either way, my haircut comes from the Commonwealth. Bieber is Canadian, the sparkly vampire is British. Whether I look the part is up for grabs, but whether the haircut is cute is not. Neither Zac nor I are interested in hairdryers. That’s just a little too much girl shit in the bathroom.

All the crap I put in my hair is the reason I use a shampoo that’s close to detergent. I can’t let that much wax build up on my head…. although it is a truism that when you decide you need to wash your hair, it’s the cutest bedhead in your life. I also love a cut that’s so fine-tuned it doesn’t need product at all.

So here is his card. I told him I would promote him, and I am proud to do so. He was proud I wanted to promote him, and I had to say “no pressure” a lot. Because it really is a win-win situation. I wouldn’t have told anyone he was the wrong barber, but the wrong barber for me. Thankfully, I genuinely like him because he’s cut my hair three or four times now.

It’s Raphael’s Barber Shop, but he’s not Raphael.

Sometimes you have to call on someone else’s guardian angel when you can’t feel yours. I feel lighter than I have in a long time. More handsome, more beautiful, more all the things because I don’t care what gender I am, the haircut looks good either way.

In another stunning recommendation, I don’t think that David goes to Ebrahim, but he does go to the same barber shop. He’s not punk and I am. Yet, it’s still the cool place to be to get your hair cut.

The Particulars of Nowhere in Particular

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I don’t have the inspiration to ask Carol any more questions right now, because I have exceeded the limit to which I really want to be interviewed. They were intimate portraits for people who have never been introduced to my world, and they were questions I wouldn’t have asked of myself but based on what she read on my own blog. Sometimes, she pulled prompts from people who sounded like me; people also writing personal blogs. That’s because there are hundreds of web sites for bloggers with jumping off points. Again, I don’t use Carol (AI) to write my entries for me, but to analyze my past and give me hints on what I should write about next.

In the moment, I’m thinking that I should get out the immersion blender Zac got me and see if it will froth milk. If it does, the coffee my dad sent me to try would be the perfect cafe au lait. I’m drinking it with plain whole milk now (padding down the possibility of acid reflux). I love spice, tomatoes, and alcohol. All three are no good later, so I avoid them. Zac and I had great mocktails at the sushi restaurant we went to- just Asian fruit syrups that you wouldn’t think to put together, frosted with egg white. I also learned that AA has a different stance on O.O proof distilled spirits, because it’s not fermented to have any alcohol, rather than something like a kombucha or a beer. It’s not that they’re loaded with alcohol. That’s not the problem. It’s that tasting the flavor at all is a trigger for some people. It’s not the quantity that matters. It’s what you taste, even in something as innocuous as a Fentiman’s Curiosity Cola, because they use fermentation for CO2 instead of infusing the soda with gas later. It’s a balance with me. I want to be able to make great drinks no matter who shows up. I am not opposed to alcohol, but I am pretty solid about wanting to divorce stomach problems.

Therefore, coffee is one of my go-to favorites in creating nonalcoholic beverages, but I still have to be careful with how much I drink because the hangover is no sleep and lots of sugar to help fuel the manic call of workaholism when writing is your response to life. It’s a natural high and crash, so not as crazy as alcohol……… and absolutely no less a drug.. But, a few B vitamins, lots of water, and maybe a little more coffee on the way to work is all it takes to fix you and not two days of saying “a hangover at 24 is different than at 46.” The older they are, the harder they fall. I don’t make the rules.

When I first met Zac, I made the mistake of thinking that I was still a line cook. That my tolerance was still up at “Navy.” It took me twice of being absolutely so hung over that I threw up everywhere that I realized, “you are a different person now. Your tolerance is in the toilet. Let’s keep it that way.” The flip side of the coin is that I learned that Zac is a real boyfriend. I learn that all the time, but this was early days, so it’s a moment that sticks with me. I had luckily fallen asleep before I’d drunk so much that I was still plastered in the morning. That’s what gets you. When you’re still drunk, so you think you’re fine. Then, about 9:00, just about the time you get to work, you realize you have made a terrible mistake. I knew this in my line cook days, so I knew when I woke up that it was better to feel like ass at Zac’s house than it would’ve if I’d been drunk enough to wait until I was on the train to be in dire straits.

My beautiful boy sat a large glass of water with ibuprofen on my nightstand, along with a cup of coffee, and kissed my head. He had to get to work, but luckily he was working from home (at least for the morning), so I could sleep right up until we had to leave if I had to, or when the ibuprofen kicked in and I was again human. Ibuprofen is your friend during a hangover, because it’s an anti-inflammatory and stops your brain from swelling. Sudafed also helps by shutting down your capillaries. Tylenol is good if you’re in pain, but most of the time the pain is caused by the swelling and you won’t need both.

This is the one instance I would choose naproxen sodium over ibuprofen because it’s such a strong drug that you are unlikely to need a second dose. The problem with Naprosyn (what we call it in the US and in the South, pronounced “Napperson” most of the time. 😛 ) is that it wears off before it’s time to take a second dose and you’re stuck. Ibuprofen is king because you can take some more frequently. Fresh doses matter. I would also take a second dose 30 minutes before the time runs out on your dose so that you do not experience an interruption- i.e. all of the sudden feeling like walking is too much work.

Keep in mind that this is my experience from growing up in a rheumatologist’s house, a HIGHLY specialized form of medicine, and having been her medical assistant for a number of years. The only reason I couldn’t follow her to Methodist is that the hospital required you to be certified as an MA, and she didn’t require that of me in her private practice.

Let me tell you why this is my recommended advice and nothing you should take as seriously as you should with your own doctor.

I have fucked up. Like, really fucked up. I read something wrong and told a patient something that was a note to her, not a note to me. It was in the same place that she left notes for me to give the patient when I was calling them back to tell them about their bloodwork. 90% of the time, it was innocuous, like “you’re fine,” or “the doc says you’re fine, but you need to take some OTC Vitamin D pills.” or whatever.

So, in this particular case, the note said that the patient had rheumatoid arthritis and I told him that. I immediately regretted it because he completely freaked out. I understand him so much better now that I’ve had my own reaction to autism. A patient’s reaction is not based on a medical diagnosis. A patient’s reaction is to the stigma around what they have. This man thought he’d never be able to walk again, and I was crushed. I switched into minister patois and got off the phone. Doc called back and cleared it up immediately. That was in the 90s and I still feel bad about it, even though she was laughing on the phone with the patient within minutes, and none of it was at my expense. Therefore, it couldn’t have been so bad a mistake that I was going to be punished forever.

Because here’s what no one tells you when you become a medical assistant. You become as attached to the patients as the doctors, especially the ones you’ve seen over years and years.

Even half the doctor she is could see that I would beat myself up better and more often than she ever could, and it wouldn’t happen again. I kept my mouth shut about all sorts of things, but talked inside baseball with my dad and stepmom as I learned more on the job and got into the rhythm. Because of my childhood, I am DAMN GOOD at patient care, because it is a job I can do while ADHD. It doesn’t get so overwhelming because you’re only talking to two or three people at a time, and when you’re in a patient room, you have enough bandwidth to talk to someone and take notes at the same time- now patients understand that you’re filling out their chart based on their actual dialogue, not what they remember from the conversation at the end of the day. I don’t know how other patients feel about it, but my stepmother and I type like demons. It was never a problem in our case.

And because I’m an IT geek, I set up the first content management system in the office, called “Soapware.” I don’t know and I’m too lazy to look up whether it was bought out and turned into something else, or whether another company’s content management system became more popular, like Centricity. I just know that it’s possible, because it happened to me at University of Houston. WebCT was bought out by Blackboard. It wasn’t the same product, the way I have loved and hated WordPress over time.

In any case, I can’t think of anyone who needs a content management system more than a doctor, one that connects to an encrypted cloud so that the files are always up to date when the server goes down. All you have to do is either fix the server and re-sync, or replace the server and re-download everything. No downtime, especially with physical backups off-site AND an encrypted cloud. With backups off-site, you only have to sync a day to a week’s worth of files, not everything on the entire system. However, with the kind of internet connectivity a hospital has (the ability to move images in RAW- enormous file sizes- in seconds, syncing a backup would take less than an hour, depending on how many TB of information are missing on the fixed/replaced server. By images in RAW form, I’m talking about MRIs, CAT scans, PET scans, etc. They’re ENORMOUS, and yet the connection can transfer information to the radiologist in seconds.

I learned this when I had to have a CAT scan of my shoulder to make sure nothing was torn. The x-rays were taken on top of a tablet that costs more than a Lexus so that it was SO fast with SUCH a stable internet connection that the X-ray machine itself could transmit the images. I was impressed out of my mind. It’s the same with any procedure. Broken leg, mammogram, whatever. Images fly fast and furious. Because the images were so large, I literally got a DVD (4.8 GB of space) full of images by the time I left the office. Beat that with a stick. It was a miracle I still had a DVD reader on my computer, though. ;P

In a hospital or private practice setting, the CMS does not just stand for “Content Management System.” It also stands for “Customer Management System,” because even though patients aren’t customers, you manage them internally the same way. Every patient has a file, and all of those files need to go into a database that contains your name, your address, your insurance information, and every note the doctor has ever written about you. It is far superior than paper charts, because again, they don’t expire. The paper doesn’t yellow and the ink doesn’t fade. I think you’re only required to keep medical records for 7-10 years, but I’ve had good luck with doctors’ offices that have digitized records, because sometimes you’ve gotten within the window where something has been scanned in by a doctor that just keeps everything on the server in case the patient comes back.

I have never had good luck with meeting gay teachers as role models, but I have had several queer doctors and all of them allies. I like the axiom in medical school:

“What do I do if treating someone conflicts with my personal beliefs?”
“Find a new profession.”

Here’s the other thing that I would love to do if I actually thought I’d be worth a damn at medical school. I’d go into trans medicine, which in my world the connection is vegan cooking. It’s an area I know absolutely nothing about. I got interested in vegan cooking because I was bored with my current repertoire, and I had friends making insane dishes that drew me to it, like mushroom pate and amazing olive oil pie and pizza crust. Salad with only oranges and shaved fennel.

Everything weird and exotic to the palate, I just don’t like filters. No liver, no kidneys…. however, if someone orders fois gras for the table, I will take a bite of the corner just to taste the crispy edges. Everyone else can have the rest, because even if I only eat the corner, I’ll taste it forever and the burnt edges are as much as I can take, especially if it comes with raspberry jelly.

I like nose to tail restaurants, because my favorite meals are very simple. Excellent toasted bread. Bone marrow to spread on it. A simple table wine. Maybe a salad.

It’s Mel’s fault that I love dessert because she’s a pastry chef and tempts me all the time. She keeps saying she’s going to mail me a postcard, and I can’t wait. I just don’t put any pressure on her because she’s in the middle of opening a new restaurant that is going like gangbusters. She hasn’t said one way or the other if she wants me to promote her, but if she does and you live in the Norwich area, you’ll want to stop by. She’s got some amazing pictures and they’re already doing well, like only being open for a few months and already being able to pay off their business debt. That is some seriously good food. I hope they get a Michelin, because The Michelin guide isn’t about fancy. It’s a travel guide. Even tiny restaurants get three stars, but then they become three star restaurants and create their own traffic.

(It’s also a brilliant marketing strategy- planned obsolescence for the tires no matter where you live.)

This leads me to a really funny story. My car needed tires, all four replaced. So, I go to this place called “Bridgestone,” and because I didn’t see any branding on the side of the building, I told them that I would take any set of tires, but that I preferred Michelin because I’m a cook. I looked like a pretentious jackass because I pronounced Michelin in French because it’s a force of habit. I. AM. A. COOK.

They looked me deadass in the face and said, “ma’am, this is a Goodwill store.”