#and then pulled out a gay flag during take me to church

[hanaaria]

saw hozier live today and literally the only thing i can say is that it was quite literally a spiritual experience

[morvantmortuary]

the tiny!Morvants and I went to Pride in our city for the first time today!! we’ve missed it for years bc normally during the summer I’d be crashing at my folks’ place in texas by now (and then miss Pride in my hometown in september bc I was already back here teaching, sigh :’D)

pictured: local homicidal bisexuals take a break amidst festivities, have pretty good time 👍🏻

(eta: this got long and sappy so I’m putting it under a cut)

we live in a city but not, like, a huge one, so our Pride is nothing like NOLA or other more populous places. it’s thankfully indoors, and consists of a resource fair of local businesses and corporate sponsors (including a big gas/oil corp, bc siiigh louisiana), a main stage for drag and other performances, some stalls from local restaurants, and little craft fair of local artists. we spent most of our time walking between their tables, and the tinies demanded I buy them this suitably sized artwork below:

(ft. Bayou Guillaume Evangeline Lafitte Landry de Lioncourt III, they/them, our gay weighted gator gayeightor whom I haven’t introduced before but has been a huge help for my sleep lately)

it was small, but it was just… really nice. sure, there were some Westboro Baptist wannabes crowding the door when we got there, but I walked in with a family consisting of a mom with a babe-in-stroller, a lesbian teen with fabulous eyeliner, and whom I think was either her slightly older sibling or her friend. the baptists didn’t stick around more than a couple hours after Pride kicked off anyway, their convictions apparently unable to withstand midday temperatures bc they’re fucking babies. (I’m definitely already outlining a small something where a similar group tries to pull that shit at Greymoon’s first big Pride fete in ages, only to get the fear of god put in them in quite a different manner, but anyways.)

mostly it was just families. groups of college kids clearly there together and taking things in, older queer couples, parents with babies and toddlers with little rainbows painted on their faces and riding on shoulders to see the drag acts. I watched a little girl who couldn’t have been more than five run up during a queen’s set to hand her a dollar, and both their smiles were so huge in that moment. people crowded onto the open floor and line danced when certain songs came on. I saw kids running around with Pride flag capes in their particular colors, some of them still freshly creased from just having come out of the plastic from a booth in the middle of the room that was selling flags big and small, blankets, bags, etc. there were adults everywhere with “Free Mom/Dad/Parent Hug” t-shirts. I got a million compliments from people of all ages on the vampire-themed Pride battle vest I’ve been working on (to be posted to a different blog soon lmao).

I eventually just had to head home bc my heart was so full, I was pretty sure it was going to leak out my eyes (and the body heat in the room was kinda brutal with a mask on, but mostly the first thing).

I’ve talked about it before in places, but I came of age during the Bush II administration in texas, at a pretty nasty baptist high school to boot. Westboro Baptist Church was only considered extreme in their “God Hates Fags” phrasing but not their message. there was a seemingly interminable time I didn’t think I’d live to see to my own graduation, mostly by my own hand but occasionally wondering about what would happen if I got outed.

to see kids so much younger than me there with their flags around their shoulders, with moms and dads and parents who obviously loved them and were willing to lead them safely through shitty people with bullhorns trying to scare them, to see little ones who would grow up knowing that loving others is nothing to be ashamed of, to get to trade compliments with strangers because we were all there for the same thing — this was more than I had ever dreamed of when I was younger. I spent the ride home trying to keep my shit together because that kid would’ve been so happy, so relieved, that they could just go exist in public exactly as we are and not have to think twice about it. to have it celebrated, even.

I know it’s really easy to get cynical during Pride when it feels like corpos have taken the bite out of it and there’s so much other injustice going on in the world, but today meant so much, even if it was only a little while.

I’ve been spending what free time I have this month thinking about how the necromancers must have felt when they figured out they were different from people their age in other ways, too. I know for the Morvants, getting to go to any sort of Pride would feel like something loosening in their shoulders after decades — feeling like they finally have one less secret they need to keep to hide amongst the rest of the town.

I hope you get to have a similar feeling, whether that’s this Pride or the next. I promise it will come eventually if it’s not this one. things can get better, as cliche as it sounds 🖤🖤🖤

we’re heading to texas for a week tomorrow to spend the fourth with my grandma, and so I can finally bite the damn bullet and finish this diss chapter revision I’ve been avoiding since I started my job. but I’m hoping since I’m not at the office, I’ll get to pop in more than I have been lately. thanks to everyone who’s still around — I know I’ve been quiet for a hot minute, but your patience is always appreciated 🙏🏻

love yall 🥰

[foccaccia]

my sister shares a video on facebook, some art piece with poetry and acting about how a man has to decide if he'll kiss his boyfriend goodbye in public. hes worried, because people around him scream or glare or proselytize or pull him away. our old high school teacher comments on the video and tells her "dont be paranoid, there are plenty of us who believe in living and let living and not to judge".

paranoia: mental illness characterized by systematized delusions of persecution, a tendency on the part of an individual or group toward excessive or irrational suspiciousness and distrustfulness of others

dont be paranoid. mental illness, delusions of persecution, excessive and irrational suspiciousness. lots of people wont judge, lest they be judged. stop making a big deal out of this, youre being irrational.

i wear a bag with a small rainbow pin on it and get hate thrown at me just as i walk down the street. children are thrown out of their homes, couples are denied homes to buy. i hang a huge rainbow flag in my apartment and jump through hoops so my mother never sees it.

dont be paranoid. when i went to school with you, mr my-former-high-school-teacher, i got in trouble for cutting my hair short and wearing a tie. two of my girl friends, catholic as can be, tried to take each other to prom as friends to get the discounted pair-tickets just to save a few bucks and were shut down immediately - because thatd be gay.

dont be paranoid. i went to a gay club the other night, and got grabbed by multiple men who saw a pretty girl dancing with her friends and couldnt possibly conceive of her being gay. my dad leans over at mass and makes a snickering crude comment about nonbinary people and an altar server girl who looks a little masculine. my mother calls my sisters fianceé 'that girl', unable to even say her name without shuddering.

dont be paranoid. i mention an ex girlfriend in my college class one day and see rows of startled looks and winces and i see a few people start to avoid me. someone invites me to her weekly church meetings, and i see her post something homophobic on facebook a few days later. i told my first actual boyfriend that i thought i might be bisexual and he told me he was uncomfortable and asked me not to talk about it anymore. years later a man hit on me and i told him i was lesbian and... he told me exactly what he thought about that.

dont be paranoid. im not out to everyone, you know. i hear what they say about us, i hear it as they lean over during mass and whisper it and i hear them during dinner conversations. and i hear what they say, what they scream, out loud, in public. and i see what they do. i see them corner us in dark alleys and i see them shoot up our clubs and i see them deny us human rights and i see them in half the world line us up against walls and let loose.

"dont be paranoid", he says, "there are plenty of us who dont judge." sure there are. you stand by and you dont judge as the school dean calls me into his office and says that its not technically against school dress code but i cant cut my hair like this anymore, its too masculine. you stand by and dont judge as people attack my sister over her life choices. you stand by and you dont judge as we are hated and spat on and beaten, because you dont judge the other side either and we are dying and you tell us we are being paranoid.

[otmacamera]

Queen Marie of Roumania on the visit of the Imperial family (1st June/13th June 1914)

Photo : Alexandra Feodorovna, Maria Nikolaevna, Olga Nikolaevna and Crown Princess Marie, 1st June 1914. from: Olga Nikolaevna's 1913-1914 Album

[sartle-blog]

Art History Meets Fashion at the 2018 Met Gala

  Art history, but make it fashion.

  Is the Met better known for its art collection or for its luxurious annual gala? Yesterday our favorite (and not-so-favorite) celebrities appeared at the 2018 Met Gala for “Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination.” The theme was one of the event’s most controversial yet, and a large number of people didn’t dress accordingly (why anybody would willingly not follow a Met Gala theme is beyond me) while others showed up in outfits featuring bedazzled crosses and halos. A few others went above and beyond to incorporate art into their outfits. Here are some of our favorite parallels to art history in this year’s Met Gala costumes.

  In the most obvious nod to art history, pop singer Ariana Grande displayed the “back wall of the Sistine Chapel” in her gown designed by Vera Wang.

The Last Judgment, Michelangelo, 1536-1541

It doesn't get much more Roman Catholic than this!  The painting that graces Ariana Grande's dress also graces the back wall of the Sistine Chapel, a building at the very heart of Roman Catholicism. The chapel is part of the apostolic palace, AKA the Pope's very own house, and is used for ceremonies such as the Papal Conclave, when a new pope is selected. Michelangelo completed this wall in 1541, some time after he finished the ceiling, and it depicts the final judgment of man in a tumultuous swirl of motion and rippling muscles. The placement of this scene on the East Wall rather than the West wall, where such scenes were typically painted to remind visitors of the coming judgment as they left, was an interesting choice; the only person who went in and out of the door on the East side in the right corner was the pope, which placed the pope's entrance directly inside Hell! (Did Michelangelo have some beef with the pope, or what?) And speaking of interesting placement, check out where Jesus is on Ariana Grande's dress! Not where you usually find Jesus, to say the least. (Though maybe one could say he is directly over her heart, which makes it a little better.)

    As always, Rihanna stole the show with her expensive pope get-up by John Galliano. Her papal tiara looks incredibly similar to one on this mosaic of Pope Clement VIII by Jacopo Ligozzi.

Rihanna's filet-shaped hat is a super-glam version of the Mitre, a type of papal hat worn since at least the tenth century after a long evolution from the Roman camelaucum. There are several kinds of mitre, each worn on designated occasions and differing from each other in level of ornamentation, from the heavily ornamented mitre pretiosa to the mitre simplex, the most plain.  Rihanna's hat is a little more pretiosa than simplex. The only people officially allowed to wear mitres are Popes, cardinals, and bishops. Ri-Ri over here probably didn't get a special dispensation from the Pope to wear that headgear, but since she was one of the overseers of the entire Met Gala this year we'll let it slide.

  Triumph of Religion, John Singer Sargent, 1916

A number of the outfits were heavily inspired by a popular type of Marian imagery called “Our Lady of Sorrows,” which is a religious devotion including specific prayers and meditations relating to seven episodes from the Virgin's life that caused her great sorrow. The standard depiction of Our Lady of Sorrows includes a golden halo or crown, prominent tears, and seven swords piercing her heart.    

  Lana del Ray in Gucci

  Lily Collins in Givenchy Haute Couture

  SZA in Versace

  (we know who really inspired the resurgence of the halo crown though)

Halo crowns weren’t the only type of headwear at the Met Gala, but they certainly did make a splash. The halo, depicted as a disc or small circular nimbus, was used in Classical Rome in the depiction of certain gods and emperors, and while early Christians tried to resist incorporating the halo into their imagery because of its Pagan origins, the Halo was too powerful an attribute to make disappear. I mean, what else could be so effective at representing holiness than this symbolic use of light? By the sixth century CE, the halo was standard in depictions of all the most important saints and angels, and even Jesus. While Michelangelo eschewed halos for his more earthly looking saints, the halo made a big comeback during the Counter Reformation, during which time the Church was using art to reinforce its own majesty and glory.   

Consider these art-inspired headpieces for your next music festival outfit.

  Rita Ora in Prada and Lorraine Schwartz

Ghent Altarpiece, Jan Van Eyck, 1432

  Janelle Monae in Jennifer Fisher

Madonna Enthroned, Giotto, 1306

  Rosie Huntington-Whiteley in Ralph Lauren and Anita Ko

Madonna of the Candelabra, Raphael, 1513

Kate Bosworth in Oscar de la Renta and Tacori

Mary with the Child and Singing Angels, Sandro Botticelli, 1477

With her golden hair parted chastely down the center of her head and covered with a transparent, fringed veil, Bosworth looks the very image of a Botticelli Madonna. While Mary is typically shown in a blue mantle over a red garment, Botticelli also liked to show off his skills by painting transparent silk. Her head covering is representative of her virginity, which according to Catholic dogma, she retained her entire life, despite her marriage to Joseph. The virginity question aside, Kate Bosworth shares the Madonna's beauty and regal bearing.  

  Sarah Jessica Parker in Dolce & Gabbana and Jennifer Fisher

The Adoration of the Magi, Giovanni di Paolo, 1460

Sarah Jessica Parker seems to live by the motto “Go Big or Go Home.” The ornate quality of her headdress is reminiscent of many late gothic reliquaries, which were often covered in gilding, encrusted with jewels, and decorated with little figures, including Nativity scenes. The red heart that tops her church of a hat may also be a reference to the Sacred Heart, a common symbol in Catholic devotion that refers to Christ’s divine love of mankind as the reason for his sacrifice.

  If crowns aren’t your thing, don’t worry- the Met Gala’s got you (mostly) covered when it comes to clothes. These outfits were not only dazzling but also took inspiration from major period artists! What more could you want?

  Lena Waithe in Carolina Herrera

The Annunciation, Jan Van Eyck, 1436

The rainbow is a powerful symbol in Christian art, denoting God's promise to never again wipe out all of humankind in a devastating flood. The insanely gorgeous rainbow wings Van Eyck gives the Angel Gabriel in this Annunciation scene may refer to that promise of old while also enforcing the idea of a new covenant God would create with man in the birth, death, and resurrection of His son. Since then, the rainbow flag has been adopted as a symbol of Gay Pride, reflecting the diversity of the LGBTQ community. And who said you can’t have pride and be religious at the same time? Certainly not the Bible.

  Emma Stone in Louis Vuitton

Mariana, John Everett Millais, 1851, Tate Britain

Millais isn’t exactly Catholic art, but the stained glass windows in his painting sure are. The painting depicts Mariana from Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure," a play that takes place in Catholic Italy and grapples with Roman Catholic themes such as chastity, piety, corruption, lust, hypocrisy, and repentance. Mariana waited patiently and chastely for her ex-fiance Angelo after he dumped her when she lost her dowry in a shipwreck, only to take part in a crazy bed-swapping trick to lure Angelo into marrying her. Whether or not Mariana is a good Catholic role model is debatable, but that dress is clearly inspired.       

Jasmine Sanders in H&M

Shrine of the Virgin, anonymous, 1300, Metropolitan Museum of Art

  If this dress wasn’t inspired by this piece, there’s still an uncanny resemblance between the two--the slit in the dress is in the exact same spot as the opening for the shrine. The volume of the dress and its golden color also reflect the Marian imagery found on many shrines, including this one from Medieval Germany that was gilded on wood and opens to reveal a mystical image of the Trinity. What mystical treasures this dress conceals are for Jasmine to hide or reveal as she pleases.

    Misha Nonoo

Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia, Sofonisba Anguissola, 1599

  We can only hope this dress isn’t as uncomfortable as it looks--for both of them. You have to give her credit for going the Renaissance Noble route, celebrating the fancy Patrons who would have commissioned all the fabulous art. Sofonisba Anguissola was a rare female artist who actually worked at the Spanish Court in the reign of Philip II, during Catholic Spain's fight for dominion over the Low Countries. Anguissola was able to render her royal sitters and their fabulous clothing and jewelry delicately and soberly. Misha Nonoo, denizen of the London Fashion world and matchmaker to Prince Harry and Megan Markle, takes that classic little-black-number-and-white-ruff Spanish court look, and gives it a contemporary, more subtle edge. The Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia probably wouldn't have been able to get away with a sheer midriff, but it's a perfect update for 2018. 

Christian Combs in Dolce & Gabbana

Portrait of Jacob Boncompagni, Scipione Pulzone, 1574

  If you’re ever wondering what P. Diddy is up to these days, he’s apparently taking his son to the Met Gala. Young Christian "King" Combs is no stranger to the catwalk, and he can pull off pretty much anything. That gold embroidery on black, studded jewels, and velvet crown hearken to the most fancy armor seen in 16th century portraits, making Combs look positively kingly. Such armor, while great for getting your picture painted in, would have been far too costly to wear out and about or, God forbid, in combat. "This is just my fancy dress armor," Jacob Boncompagni would have said. "I only bust it out for things like the Met Gala."

    Zendaya in Atelier Versace and Tiffany & Co. jewelry

Jeanne d’Arc, Albert Lynch, 1903

Roman Catholic attire can't be summed up by silly hats, robes, and jewels alone. There's also a little something called "crusader chic," and it is full-on medieval. While Joan of Arc was no crusader, she is now one of nine secondary patron saints of France due to the prominent role she played in the Hundred Years' War. When just a girl, the peasant Joan received visions of various saints telling her to support Charles VII and help free France from English rule. She attended the military campaigns wearing protective armor, but after several French victories, she was captured by a Burgundian faction working for the English and burned at the stake. Now canonized by the Roman Catholic Church as a martyred saint, Joan of Arc continues to inspire, as can be seen in Zendaya's surprisingly sultry, but very heavy-looking chain mail outfit. Somebody just give her a sword already!

    Katy Perry in Versace

Angel, Abbott Handerson Thayer, 1887, Smithsonian American Art Museum

  Katy Perry looks ready to take flight any minute now. And that's because she did the right thing and went all out for her gala outfit! Despite the fact that the word "angel" comes from the Greek word for Messenger, and there is no standard description of their appearance in the Bible, Thayer's painting largely sums up the popular conception of angels: virginal, dressed in flowing white robes, and with wings, of course! There's no halo here, however, and that may be because the model for this was actually Thayer's own 11-year-old daughter, and he was trying to depict her as the personification of spiritual beauty, not specifically an angel, despite the painting's title. Thayer himself thought art was "a no-man’s land of immortal beauty where every step leads to God." And that's pretty much the same plane where traditional Roman Catholicism places Angels, majestic beings close to God.   

Emilia Clarke in Dolce & Gabbana Alta Moda

  The Triumph of Galatea (detail), Raphael, 1514

  The Mother of Dragons always slays, no matter what she's wearing. With its elaborate, curvilinear gold embroidery and frolicking putti, this dress looks like it came straight out of the Rococo. While Putti were originally found on Classical Pagan sarcophagi, the motif was revived during the Renaissance in Italy, where it was utilized in paintings of classical myth, and was adopted into Christian Iconography. What was once a little cupid underwent a conversion experience into an angel (along the lines of a cherub). In the Rococo, Putti also became symbols of leisure and playfulness, which is why Putti often scream of wealth and excess. Dolce and Gabana clearly know that, like leopard print, putti are most tasteful in small doses.

    Stella Maxwell in Moschino and David Yurman

  “Tenderness” icon of the Mother of God, 1521

  Wow. Where do we even begin talking about this beautiful dress? This mosaic-styled gown features various images of Mary that you’ll only be able to find in churches and on prayer candles. Indeed most, but not all, appear to be inspired by Byzantine icons of the Madonna. While most strongly associated with the Eastern Orthodox Christian tradition, such radiant and opulent images could be found in pre-Renaissance (and therefore Catholic) art in Western Europe as well. Images like this were meant to be venerated as conduits to saint Mary herself, who could then intercede for you. "Our Lady of Tenderness" is one such icon that was depicted, either with the Christ child in her arms, or with her hands over her chest in that heart-felt position.

  Migos in Versace

  There’s too many references in these matching sequin outfits to count! One jacket is covered in solely Christian images while the other two primarily feature classical Greek and Roman artworks. We were able to spot the Venus de Milo, The Victorious Youth, and several variations of Madonna and Child currently exhibited by the Met (shown below).

    Madonna and Child, Duccio di Buoninsegna, 1290

Madonna and Child, Berlinghiero, 1230

Madonna and Child, Giovanni Bellini, 1480

Salma Hayek in custom Altuzarra

  Garden of Eden with the Fall of Man, Peter Paul Rubens and Jan Brueghel the Elder, 1617, Mauritshuis

The branch of parrots and white horse trotting in the background scream this classic Brueghel/Rubens collab, even if Adam and Eve are nowhere in sight. The Garden of Eden and the Fall of Man that took place therein are central to Roman Catholic dogma, so this makes a fabulous choice of subject for the evening. Jan Brueghel the Elder and Rubens were both Catholic and their artwork shows the influence of the Counter-Reformation, during which the celebration and cataloging of natural phenomena (such as flora and fauna) was used as a way to understand the divine revelation of God. Nature was how God revealed himself to man, so observing it carefully was good for one's spiritual health. But don't forget, this is the 17th century. Don't get too scientific now--stay outta here with your gravity and Capernican Heliocentrism. You can keep that nice, zoological dress, though.

With so many options for themes, ranging from Roman Catholic dogma, to Bible stories, to priestly vestments, to works in museums and churches, and the patrons who commissioned them, this sure has been a fruitful year for fashion creations. Kudos to all those designers out there getting really funky with it, sacrilege be damned.

  Today’s lesson: if you’re heading to a museum to look at art, the best outfit to wear is art itself. Let us know what your favorite Met Gala looks were this year!

By Alannah Clark and Jeannette Sturman

[meridianrose]

“Last Temptation of Midnight”

Not a full review more of an overview and a rant.

Midnight continues to be both entertaining and to increasingly piss me off.

Manfred running away because he's scared of his destiny; acceptable. Manfred running away because his dull love interest broke up him; not acceptable. The latter implies he doesn't even care about saving the town (the world?) or anyone else. None of his friends matter, just the woman he's been screwing. And few things piss me off as much as the false relationship hiearcharcy of "person you're screwing" at the top and every other relationship way down below.

Xylda tells him she had a vision of his destiny but didn't do enough to prepare him. Very trope-y, the unprepared/reluctant hero. Not buying teetotal Xylda, she's one of the few non-Puritans in the Harris novels. Nasty "be sober at all times if you have a child" vibe. She was smoking a hookah pipe in one episode for God's sake. And I seem to recall her chainsmoking in the Grave Secret novels. Hence the throat cancer. Would have been better off giving up the cigarettes than the gin. The flashbacks show her affection but also failings in raising a psychic.

With no pills left, no phone reception, and the van broken down, Manfred starts walking. He veers off the path, a good use of tropes around the dangers of leaving the trail and the spirtual experience of a walkabout.

Back in town things are getting nasty. This seems to be drawing on the final book of the trilogy, where people are ritualistically commiting suicide at the crossroads to bring forth the demon (according to the blurb and my knowledge of the other books). Crossroads are a mystical power source, traditionally. Fiji prevents a suicide. Everyone meets in the church. They need to do something. Joe's taken Chuy out of town before his demon-half takes over, Manfred's run away. It's up to them. Also Creek's father left her the deed to the house so she can move the hell out of Manfred's place. The only sensible thing for her to do at this point is to rent/sell that property and leave town, go to college as she wanted, far from the demon. But her sole job is to be the thin white girlfriend so she's going to stay :/

The "priest" hoping to ressurect the demon is killing people on the way to Midnight, stealing their faces and has stolen a van to put the bodies in to offer them as a sacrifice. When Manfred's RV breaks down he wanders off to get help.

Not buying Manfred's withdrawl either. Don't know how many painkillers he was taking but he had one left and it would take a while for symptoms to kick in I think (and he gets over it pretty quick too). His vomiting and brief collapse serves as the episode's Manfred whump which happens every episode. I'm not complaining about the whump, far from it, though some more hurt/comfort than outright whump would be nice too.

While Manfred is lying in the sand Xylda appears, no longer tethered to the van, to encourage him and then pass over. They don't even get a proper goodbye (she says they spent a year doing it when she was dying from cancer). Manfred staggers off, no longer in withdrawal, possibly hypothermic, hasn't even had a drink - his RV frige always had beer and soda in it, why didn't he take something with him before he wandered off into the desert.

I bet we'll never really address Manfred's grief. He may have mourned before but she was still with him and now she's gone. And Xylda was a great character and I'm annoyed they wrote her out and I'll come back to that later.

Manfred flags down the creepy priest but sees the ghosts of the dead. He jumps from the vehicle and runs but secretly doubles back and hides in the back with the bodies. He finds a cellphone and calls Fiji, who's glad to hear from him. He warns her that the bodies are being brought to raise the demon.

Fiji makes a potion to stop people being compelled by the demon who's going after the supernatural and the humans who are sad. The Rev is eating meat while Lem gets hungry for Olivia's blood. Lem and Olivia have a fight. He wants to turn her. She doesn't want it. I'd have preferred him just being overwhelmed by his hunger and unable to control himself at all, that would be easier to forgive I think. It's very physical. Olivia's a badass but she's still just a human female. It's brutal to watch in places. Also how/why bother to cut her hair during this situation?!

Creek wanders around being Sad and the poor acting really shows here. Maybe a better actor would give the one dimensional character more depth. Manfred arrives seconds before she kills herself for the demon. "Creek's not the only one acting out of characer," Fiji says, dosing her with the antidote to compulsion. You call that acting? Character? OOC?

Manfred goes to help distribute the antidote and sprays Lem before he can turn Olivia. He asks them to table whatever "this is" until they deal with the demon.

All the bodies are piled up to bring forth the demon. It's called Colconnar which might help them defeat it, to know what they're dealing with. It wants Fiji. Manfred calls on the spirits of the dead to help. Together they shove the priest into the flames. Fire comes forth, Manfred pulling Fiji back in a hug, a moment I loved. They're safe for the moment but the sacrifice has been made. Bobo promises he won't let the demon take Fiji.

Manfred's RV is still in the desert. I hope he gets it back. Lots of his stuff is still in there - most of the occult items were stored there. Manfred sums up Xylda's loss as "Xylda moved on. Which is how it's supposed to be." Really show? That’s it? In an attempt to show she's not completely devoid of affection Creek asks if he's okay. Manfred's going without pills despite headaches. You could get some over the counter stuff you idiot instead of completely going without. And maybe Fiji has something that can help or a book that can teach you to better manage your abilities.

Creek asks "Why did you come back?"

"I had to come back, it's my destiny to save the town, prevent this demon from entering our world. I had to protect my friends." Is not what Manfred says even though it's true he finally accepted his destiny and at the start of the show the writers acknowledged Manfred's friendships instead of pushing only Creek at him.

"I came back so I can stick my penis in you when you stop sulking." Is not what Manfred says but what the writers mean. They're obsessed with this dull ship - why does he like her? Unattached white girl is all she's got going for her. We never see them talk about anything but her fucked up family (now all gone) and how that impacts on their screwing. Not a single shared interest or complentary quality between them. Why should I care about them? I rewatched "Deadpool" this week. Wade/Vanessa is a ship rooted in sex but they have more than that. He takes her on a date when he's paid for sex that first time. They're both geeks. They play a "whose life is worse" game as flirty banter. She's determined to save him when he's diagnosed while he's resigned. He leaves to spare her seeing him suffer (she's rightfully angry) and won't return because he thinks she can't love his damaged face (he's wrong). In an anti-hero action movie there is the love story the trailer promised and they make me believe they love each other.

"Naked truth? Um What you and I started, it's, um I never felt that with anyone." Is what Manfred does say because he's goddamn obsessed with her for no earthly reason (supernatural reason? I'd buy that :P) "And I I get that a lot's happened, and I get that you need time to process, and I'll give you that time. But when, or if, you ever feel ready to pick up where we left off, well you know where I live." aka please resume our fucking. "Besides, my RV's dead"  pretty sure you can find a mechanic. Stop taking away everything from Manfred’s pre-Creek life. Let him stay because he wants to, not because his van is broken down. "and Midnight's as close to a home as I've ever had" FINALLY SOME ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THAT "so I figure, if the veil to hell is opening, might as well stay, fight for it." Don’t sound too enthusiastic about saving the world Manfred! :P

Final note about Xylda: it comes off that he doesn't need her now because he has Creek. Once again, "person you're screwing" over all other relationships. If you have to sideline or erase all other relationships to push your ship, you're doing it wrong. Give me the close friend as well as the lover. That way when things get tough they have other people to talk to. Your lover should be your friend but you should have other people in your life.

Joe will come back next episode yes, because can at least one of the only confirmed gay/non-straight characters* make another appearance please and who better to fight a demon than a fallen angel? *Bisexual Olivia? Bisexual Fiji? Bisexual Bobo? And do we know if Joe and Chuy are gay or bi? What about the Rev? Is Lem straight? Still here for actually asexual Manfred, bisexual Manfred, or Grey-ace Bi Manfred. Here for many diverse sexual and romantic orientations (biromantic heterosexual Fiji?). Just not here for the bland “because we said so” ships.

[jnat4life]

So I am in a vulnerable state right now.

I actually had a summer relationship that pretty much took lot of my free time. The person of interest had a name. His name is Kyle. It was with a 29-year old black gay man, very nerdy appeal, very intelligent. Very much my type physically. We met online and we just started hanging out. No real dates (but just spending time together). I learned that he, one month prior, started a new job and ended a one and half year relationship with someone he, I later learned, was deeply in love with and arguably the love of his life.

We started meeting at bars and restaurants and I didn’t really know much about the city of New Orleans. So, honestly, he was a bit of an introduction for me to the city outside of the French Quarter.

We spent a lot of time together and it eventually went quickly. And I can actually pinpoint the weekend where I really knew I enjoyed spending time with him.

I remember the weekend of Boogaloo Bayou. I remember that Friday night that I told him that I enjoyed spending time with him. That Saturday, we took a two hour walk to the Bayou Savage Wildlife Refuge. He discussed his family and inquired about my life growing up. To be honest, I told him in so much detail about my life and how I grew up that I realized that I never told that much detail to other guys I’ve dated. And I got the feeling that he genuinely seemed interested. That Sunday, he came over to my apartment after church and hung out. I remember wanting to give him a kiss all day but wondering if he would even receive it. It was during Homecoming on Netflixx that I gave him a kiss. I tried to cuddle but he never would relax to enjoy the cuddle. The thing about him was that was most impressive were the nature of the conversations we’d share. And especially after sharing how I grew up. I started to become increasingly more comfortable with him.

Was he my type physically? Yes. But that can be a dime a dozen. I was more interested in his conversation. We would have pretty interesting discussions: he could talk about his admiration for Kamalah Harris, I turned him on to Mayor Pete Buttigieg (who I was still having conflicts myself), how he had immense respect for Beyonce, how crude Charlamagne the God is, or him educating me on the different painting media for artwork, because I hadn’t really payed much attention to it, because art is not a prime interest of mine.

But there are some signals that I saw very quickly about him and that ultimately led me to pull back.

He could, at times, come across crass and seemingly judgmental. And I learned that he attended a year in law school. It made sense because he always thought in logical terms, ALMOST ALWAYS. And to be me, not everything in a relationship, is completely rational. So these things consistently started to unnerve me.

But over time, I would get the sense that he would indirectly question or interrogate me. For instance, a whole text conversation about how older men who seek younger men to control them and that was a red flag. And how I had to justify that that was not the manner in which I behave and how he never sensed that in me. Oftentimes, in this discussion, his tone seemed indicting, but he would disclaim it, as I’m not talking about you. But now, I’m becoming hyperaware of my behavior, because he is sensitive to this situation.

In fact, I realized that I started to become hyperaware of a lot of things in are interactions. And I have a bad quality of doing that when I really like some, when I value who they are, and have a romantic interest in them. And in my experience, when someone speaks of a theoretical sense about a situation that seems very close to home, that’s an almost definite sign of hesitation on the other party’s thinking.

I realize that during conversations, he could get so heated that he’d talk over me or attempt to discredit my point of view. Other times, he could challenge how I saw and thought about things and ultimately made me take a look at myself. But it also made me question, if he valued my perspective at all.

I remember when I would see him in a particular view or particular smile, it would make me smile or lean over and kiss him. However, I started to wonder after a couple of weeks about something. I have the ability to wonder if something one party appears to be acquiesce because I’m nice and indulges me for other reasons that are unbeknownst to me. So I started to not initiate the kiss but he would and the kisses did not seem the same. Something just felt off.

I remember the moment that I knew that I wasn’t the one for him. He would bring up his ex on multiple occassions but he told me about this one guy of whom I reminded him. This guy seemed straight-laced, middle-of-the-road, and he said that the guy had feelings for him. But that he never felt those feelings back and broke off everything. At that point, I knew….I’m not his type. This wouldn’t last. But I never said it.  He even mentioned that early on that he needed to change the way he looked at guys because he would find himself dating the wrong person.

Needless to say, it came to a head and we split ways. But he cited many things for the split. He concluded that we have different value systems and beliefs that make a relationship between us almost impossible for him.

There is so much that I have to say about all of this and to be honest, I accept the challenge. He, as part of our break-up, actually reduced by existence to me living in a “bubble world of Jeff.” He told me that he did not understand what really matters to me, whats really important to me. And he, indirectly, described my life as self-centered and challenged me to dispute that claim. And he challenged me to do it, while in an active discussion of us breaking up, when I started to feel myself unravel and attempted to emotively hide , although verbally express, my hurt and my disappointment.

Now I realize I have shortcomings too. One is doubt. I, often, doubt if the other person in the relationship really wants to engage in this relationship and at times, my actions may actually signal doubt. I’m one that needs some level of reassurance, initiation of intimacy, expressive love languages, gift giving, something that reinforces that the feeling is a minimum, mutually shared. And Kyle.....Kyle never did that. 

When I think about, I don’t think I had the mental flexibility in that mixed emotional state of anger and pain to really attempt to respond to the exact ways his depiction of me was a miscategorization. But the only way I knew how to respond appropriately, was to write it. So I will. Over the next fews days, I will just write about of some his misgivings of me and post them in my blog.

Why? Not necessarily to make rebuttal to his claims (although it eventually has a dual function to be this too), but to actually work through some of my thinking and feelings and personal change, as a result of the relation. In all honesty, for several hours, I really started to believe that I was self-centered, living in a bubble world, indifferent to the world around me. But ultimately, I “snapped myself” out of my love haze, to really challenge that this is a miscategorization. One thing, I know, is that I’m one of those “googly-eye, seeing my partner with rose-colored glasses type of people.” It does not necessarily show externally but my thoughts have that energy.

But now, I have charged myself with the task to refute a miscategorization that is so inept and to dissuade myself in believe this weak-minded thinking. How can I think so poorly as to let someone who doesn’t really attempt to learn things about me that are blatantly in front of his eyes to miscategorize who I am as a person. I realize that Kyle will likely never read my blog, like had done previously. But if he wanted to he could.

He does make some points but he also miss the mark quite far away. 

And ultimately, this is the second time my emotions have gotten the best of me and have made me hyperaware of how I behave around the person in who I have developed an interest. 

This is to my detriment, not my benefit.

[cowboystatic]

DUDE HOW WAS HOZIER LAST NIGHT?

my gay ass was living for it. cherry wine live??? nut. not to mention from eden oh my God. the ancient fae jumped out for that one. pulling out a pride flag during take me to church? the true gay agenda

[judemurdock]

hey there demons, it’s me, ya boy, back at it again with another character.

rip, anyway this is jude, he’s very angsty and he hates everyone, i love him so much.

TRIGGERS BELOW: rape, heavy transphobia, murder. read at your own discretion

Ten Easy Steps to Creating a Monster

Step One: You’re born into a body that feels wrong and a name that doesn’t fit right. Sierra Murdock, they tell you it is, until you have no way not to respond to it, to feel that unease in your chest, like something is off but you can’t place exactly what it is. You go to church with your parents every week, and listen to the parents of people in your youth group talk about the dirty gays and the transgenders that will certainly go to hell. You aren’t meant to have overheard that, and your parents don’t know how to react when you ask them, at the age of six, “who are transgenders?” You are innocent, Sierra, with wide eyes and curly hair, and a soul too young to be tainted. When it’s explained to you, everything makes sense, and you understand. You understand why your skin feels awkward and you always feel like crying. It’s nothing that can be helped, when you’re not sure that you can verbalize it or even if you want to. So you continue being Sierra for several years, feeling all sorts of anger at the people in your church so you leave it, and your faith, behind. With it go all of your friends, some of whom have adopted their parents belief that you’re going to hell, just because of who you are. The ones that don’t believe that are told by their parents they’re not allowed to play with you, like being not trans is contagious and they could catch the disease next.

Step Two: Before you hit puberty, you come out to your parents, hands shaking and throat closing up on you. Your mind is racing as it imagines every possible outcome, kicking you out of the house, calling you a tranny, threatening to kill you, disowning you, or worst of all, ignoring what you say. Telling you it’s just a phase and eventually you’ll grow out of this, so stop being stupid and get out of my sight. The worst doesn’t come to fruition, thankfully, but while your father embraces you as you sob and shake and try not to break down any more than you already are, your mother distances herself from her family, from you. One week later, her bags are packed and she hasn't looked at you once since you came out, though she says, forlornly like you’re doing it to hurt her, “You will always be my daughter and that bond we have … if you ever want it back, just drop the silly attitude, Sierra.” Her words cut and sting and make you nauseous but you hold your head high as she goes and try not to cry.

Step Three: At thirteen years old, you start hormone blockers, preventing your body from developing any more female than it already has. It’s a bit late to be starting them, honestly, but money is tight since your mom left and you just hope that while it’s late, it isn’t too late. Your hair is cut short and your name isn’t Sierra anymore, it’s Marcus, but people don’t call you that. They call you tranny and dyke and all sorts of names that attest to just how cruel children can be. Prejudice isn’t born, it’s taught and the few friends you have that call you Marcus aren’t enough to offset the ones who still think of you as Sierra. It’s flat out hatred they have for you and you know that it doesn’t get any easier. Not for a long time and you won’t make it to a long time if it keeps up like this. Eventually, you’ll snap and like an exploding star, you’ll destroy everything around you.

Step Four: The names persist. They want you to cry at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years old. They want to see you hurt and struggle because it’s proof that you aren’t a boy, because the people who push you down in the hallways are boys, who pull your pants down in front of the urinal and demand you pee standing up are boys, the teachers who conveniently don’t see anything are boys, and you, Sierra, you’re not a boy. You’re just a little girl trying to get attention. Your skin is littered with cuts from being slammed into lockers and bruises from being stuck with a team of boys who hate you in gym class which must be fair because you’re the one who wanted to be treated like a boy. And boys get pushed down in flag football, even though there’s clearly a no tackling rule, the gym teacher was watching another group play.

Step Five: The final straw comes on your sixteenth birthday, when you’re now Samuel. When your not so friendly group of flag football buddies corner you in the locker room and your shirt is pulled up, revealing your binder. They say that you’re just a little bitch and you can’t be allowed to go out into the real world like this, so really, you should be thanking them. They’re helping you. One goes to watch the front door to the locker room, another goes to watch the back, leaving just you and the ringleader, Sierra/Samuel, and no one is coming to help you. Unless you figure out a way out of this, the skin that already doesn’t fit right will be even worse, even more unbearable. When his hands reach for your jeans, you lose all sense of time and you don’t remember what happens next. You just know that he’s only the floor in front of you, bloody and bruised and beaten to a pulp. There’s a teacher in the room, and another, followed by the vice principal and the principal and a cop. They see you, curled up in the corner of a bay of lockers, shaking, crying and with your assailant’s blood on your hands. You’re taken out in handcuffs, stuffed into the back of a police car, and your dad leaves work to go to the police station. Your birthday present, your first dose of testosterone, is forgotten on the kitchen table.

Step Six: The parents of your abuser want you in jail for the rest of your life, they scream at you, call you a murder, yet it’s still a name you prefer to the slurs their son hurled at you. They can’t believe their son would do that and even if he did, trans lives are worth less than normal lives. He was going to go to a good college, play football, and maybe go pro. And because of you, he never will. People stand outside the court where you are due to stand trial and shout at you, say you’re going to hell, and a small, sarcastic part of you appreciates the almost bookends like way it echoes your life ten years ago. The boys who stood guard testify after being told that they would be accessories to rape and you are set free because you acted in self-defense. It wasn’t premeditated and there was nowhere you could have retreated to. It’s justifiable homicide and you truly are the victim here.

Step Seven: Your father doesn’t quite meet your eyes in the aftermath of it all, flinches a little when you let it slip just how jaded and bitter you’ve become. It’s a huge blowout that day, with you shouting at him for letting it escalate to that point. He’d seen the bruises, listened to you cry every day after school, and yet, nothing was solved. Each day you went back to the hell hole they dared to call an institution of learning, each day you came home just a little more broken and depressed, each night you went home and barricaded yourself in your room. Now, to be fair, whenever your father would ask if you were okay, you’d snap and scream and tell him to get the fuck out of your room and he isn’t a mind reader so how was he supposed to know that you meant I’m not okay. I’m sad and scared and I need you. Please don’t leave me. It’s all your fault that he never put the effort into being there for you and it’s because you rebuffed him at every turn. You did this to yourself.

Step Eight: Out, damned spot! Out, I say! You are Lady Macbeth and the blood on your hands doesn’t let you sleep. The few friends you had either hate you or are afraid of you or have simply just drifted away but regardless, your phone doesn’t ring anymore. During the nights, you pick up your guitar or you wander the streets aimlessly, trying to come up with something to make the buzzing in your head quiet, to drown out the little voice that says you’re a murderer and what you did is unforgivable in gin or rum, or whatever you can get your hands on. It used to call you Sierra, say that you’re a girl or something equally hurtful but you were able to ignore that because that you knew wasn’t true. Murderer, on the other hand? Hurtful, yes. Accurate? Hell yes. One of those nights, wandering the city awash in the neon lights, people attempt to bash you, but this time, you don’t let anyone hurt you. You know better now, know that they’re going to judge you anyway and this time, you won’t take it lying down because maybe they’ll leave you alone after. You fight for all you’re worth, put all of your pain and misery into beating the people who would beat you given the chance. When you look in the mirror after returning home, with a black eye and a swollen lip, instead of feeling upset, you feel proud and that is the moment you refuse to let anyone try to hurt you ever again.

Step Nine: Some people you meet through your more illicit hobbies clue you into an underground fighting ring and when you step into the club for the first time, you feel alive, skin tingling and blood pumping. You want that to be you, to be in the ring, fighting to hurt someone while they’re looking to hurt you except there’s no malice behind it. This is all about the money, not because you’re trans or because you’re a killer. You lie about your age, tell them that you’re eighteen because you need this and truthfully, for the first time, you’ve allowed yourself to want something that isn’t necessary to your survival. You rise through the ranks quickly and they introduce you as Jude “The Unbreakable” Murdock. The name sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins every time and you’re unable to resist the smirk you get when you hear it because you know that it’s true. You kind of love it.

Step Ten: Unbeknownst to you, someone from the Sanctum observes all of your fights and places their bets on you every time. You proceed to win every round you enter, because you’re small but you’re fast and quick on your feet, used to being on the lookout for people about to hurt you at any moment. You use your opponent’s size against them, striking hard and fast before you’re gone again. On your eighteenth birthday, that someone approaches you and offers you the one thing that you’ve been saving up for. They offer to pay for you to transition, in exchange for selling your soul. Without so much as thinking about it, you sign on the dotted line, shake their hand and within the next few months, you’re a changed person. It happens so fast it’s basically a whirlwind, but the how it happens doesn’t matter to you as much as it happening. It takes a few months to fully recover from surgery, but once you’re fully healed, it’s back into the ring you go, this time with more confidence. During your fights, you’re quick-witted, fast on your toes, and constantly analyzing. Outside of them, you’re jaded and angry still, but it’s the best defense you have, the best way to keep people at bay. People are a weakness, they only bring pain, and you’re not about to let anyone close enough to hurt you again. They may call you a monster now but you’re only Frankenstein’s Monster, Jude, and everyone who hurt you or stood by? They’re Frankenstein. Go destroy those who made you.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

It would be fair to say that Pete Butttigieg is experiencing something of a moment. Again.

Earlier this year, he splashed down into America’s consiousness as the young, gay, veteran mayor of South Bend, Indiana, who wanted to be president and would definitely appear on your podcast or morning show. His press coverage was so ubiquitous that it merited a profile of the person arranging it, his communications director, Lis Smith, and helped get him a bump in the polls and fundraising. But the Democratic primary race got crowded and others had their moments, too. Buttigieg faded somewhat — he fell from an 8.4 percent peak in the Real Clear Politics national average and settled into the 4 to 6 percent range. He was a nice young man who always looked dressed for a wedding dance floor — suit pants, shirt and tie, but rarely a jacket — who would perhaps have his shot somewhere down the line, but not now.

That changed this fall. Buttigieg has surged back into the conversation about who the top tier of candidates really are. (He recently said he thought the race was getting down to a two-way one between himself and Sen. Elizabeth Warren.) That confidence — or overconfidence, depending on who you’re talking to — has to do in large part with his performance in Iowa polls and in the money race. The most recent Monmouth University poll of the state shows him leading the race at 22 percent. Buttigieg raised more money than Joe Biden, the leader in national polls, according to third-quarter fundraising reports, trailing only Sen. Bernie Sanders and Warren in the cash grab.

As voters have developed Goldilocks syndrome about the leading Democratic candidates — too old, too liberal, too … female? — Buttigieg has benefitted from the strong vanilla flavor of his political porridge.

Which is why I found myself on a curb in Manchester, New Hampshire, on a recent morning, waiting for the Buttigieg campaign bus to arrive. When it pulled up in all its tricked-out Trailways glory, it was promptly loaded with the suitcases of a couple dozen journalists, who then headed into the Rex Theatre, where a moderate-sized crowd of New Englanders waited. The Veterans Day weekend bus tour junket had begun.

Inside, country music and Lizzo played while people milled about, dutifully sporting all manner of “Pete” gear. The campaign’s main colors are blue and gold, same as his hometown University of Notre Dame. But according to the campaign’s official “color story,” the gold is actually “Heartland Yellow” and there are all manner of blues, including one called “Calm Blue” that appears next to a picture of Buttigieg himself. The page notes, “Pete Buttigieg is unapologetically substantive yet salt-of-the-earth.” A more succinct rendering of the Buttigieg campaign ethos you could not find.

Many of the voters at the morning event were older and seemed interested in what they saw as Buttigieg’s potentially broad appeal. Janice Williamson, 67, of Wakefield, Massachusetts, and Diane Gaucher, “older than she is,” of Manchester, said they were Buttigieg-curious in large part because of his seeming strategic advantage in the race — his “electability,” to use the language of punditry.

“I feel he’s well positioned,” Gaucher said. “The country is ready for a more gentle approach.” Williamson said she liked Biden, but felt he was too old. As for Warren? “When I hear her talk, I want to slap her, even if I agree with her,” she said.

As voters have developed Goldilocks syndrome about the leading Democratic candidates — too old, too liberal, too … female? — Buttigieg has benefitted from the strong vanilla flavor of his political porridge. His stump speech is about “American values, correctly understood,” addresses “the crisis of belonging,” scolds the “cheap nationalism of hugging the flag” and encourages “Republicans of conscience” to come on into the Democratic Party.

Joe Raedle / Getty Images

Like Biden, Buttigieg is selling voters on a nostalgic return to some age of innocence and patriotism that existed before Trump. The next target is New Hampshire, where he’s mostly been trailing Biden, Warren and Sanders in polls. The Buttigieg team is betting that the momentum of good performances in these two early states will leapfrog their candidate into the broader Democratic primary voter consciousness — think California and other Super Tuesday states.

“Figuring out a way to call on white Americans to think about race, to be conscious of race without triggering the immediate kind of defensive mechanisms or going into this place of apology and guilt that also isn’t always productive, that’s really tough,” Buttigieg said.

But while fundraising is healthy and Iowa and New Hampshire are filled with just his kind of voters — white and college educated — Buttigieg has struggled to build broader appeal among voters of color, a critical constituency in the party’s electorate. He’s down by double digits in recent polls of Nevada, a heavily Latino state, and is far behind the pack in South Carolina, a stronghold of critical black votes. He’ll need to capture their support or his moment could be fleeting.

The Buttigieg bus is a part of the same clever nostalgia play as his stump speech. The tour is a nod to John McCain’s “Straight Talk Express,” which barrelled through New Hampshire during the 2000 primary loaded with journalists and an off-the-cuff candidate. (Call Buttigieg’s version a “schtick” and you get a healthy eyeroll from his staff.) But Buttigieg isn’t exactly an off-the-cuff guy, and his maneuvering to the top of the heap has been deliberate, seizing on the weaknesses of the two frontrunners, Biden and Warren. His “Medicare for All Who Want It” plan — basically a public option with a heavy dose of “we won’t take away your private insurance and God-given freedom” rhetoric — is a savvy play to the center. It’s meant to grant safe harbor to Democrats who think Warren’s Medicare for All plan is too radical a move. (Warren and Buttigieg voters are white and college educated, though her supporters tend to be much more ideologically liberal than his.) Warren-interested voters might be attracted to his sheen of intellectualism (the foreign languages, Oxford, yada, yada, yada) and some of the policy reforms he’s suggested but rarely mentions on the stump these days, like getting rid of the Electoral College and changing the makeup of the Supreme Court.

He brought up these so-called “democracy reforms,” along with automation and K-12 education, when I asked him what he’d like the primary campaign to be about besides just health care reform, an issue that has far and away come to dominate the race. Still, he conceded the role he believes health care has played in his rise. “The value of the health care debate is it helps you see what it looks like to have a very progressive proposal that’s not as alienating or extreme as some of the alternatives. So to that extent, it helps me convey what we’re trying to do in this campaign.”

The campaign’s message of moderation is one that, theoretically, could speak to black voters just as well as it does to Buttigieg’s base of white ones. Black Democrats tend to identify as more moderate or conservative than white Democrats and so far in the primary, they’ve tended to lean toward Biden’s camp. And Buttigieg’s rise once again has brought a hefty dose of criticism that he can’t seem to appeal to voters of color.

“A huge part of whiteness, at least in America, is being able to not have to think about race much,” Buttigieg said.

When I asked what retail politics steps he was taking to appeal to black voters, Buttigieg brought up church visits — he thinks his faith is one central point of connection with black audiences — and an appeal to black sororities, which he called “a huge area of social capital.” But did he feel as if he was playing catch-up in forming relationships in the black community?

“We need to engage a lot of folks in ways that are beyond the kind of visible on the record kind of appearances,” he said. “I think that there’s a level of catch up really throughout the whole campaign, just because I don’t have years or decades of national exposure or Washington experience to lean on.” This lack of experience and his presumption to the office has grated on his rivals with longer resumes; several are quoted in a recent New York Times story with the headline, “Why Pete Buttigieg Annoys His Democratic Rivals.”

In the afternoon, the bus stopped in Stratham for a “barn party,” which was like a regular old voter town hall, except held in an uninsulated barn in 26-degree weather. The candidate entered cinematically through doors draped in American flags and wore only a short leather jacket slightly reminiscent of Obama’s post-presidency “cool dad” wardrobe. Buttigieg gave his speech and then it was time for questions. One woman, who was white — as was much of the crowd — stood up and expressed concern about Buttigieg’s lack of appeal to black voters. How would he improve the criminal justice system, she asked? “That’s the problem they have.”

Buttigieg gave an answer about racial inequalities that appear more broadly in American life and ended with what seemed like a gentle admonition about generalizations, “We’ve got to talk about this in majority white audiences too.”

The event ended and the press corps hustled onto the warm bus for another hour-long drive. Reporters asked about his experience level, impeachment, the fact that he resonates so much with Boomers — “I sometimes wonder what a 19-year-old me would have thought” — tax policy and health care. It was the third ride of the day, which meant it was the third time reporters had peppered Buttigieg with queries for an hour or so. At a certain point, even inquisitive journalists start to run out of earth-shattering questions. I asked what he was reading. A Roman history, a Seneca book — “it’s very quotable” he said of the stoic philosopher — and someone had given him James Baldwin’s “The Fire Next Time,” which he was rereading for the first time since college. “His account of whiteness was very timely,” Buttigieg said. Did he think a lot about whiteness on the campaign trail, I asked? Was he able to appeal to swing voters — likely more conservative — in part because he’s white (and they’re probably white too)?

“One thing I’ve found, definitely engaging with white law enforcement officers back home, is the struggle in terms of the readiness of a lot of white folks to engage issues of race can’t be overestimated,” he said. South Bend’s police department and Buttigieg himself have been under scrutiny since the summer, when a white officer shot and killed Eric Logan, a 54-year-old black man. During a town hall held after the shooting, residents were openly confrontational with Buttigieg about his failures. “The real problem I think is you’ve got people who have a self-conception such that they can be horrified by the implications that they are in any way biased or racist having therefore a very hard time confronting the fact that everyone has biases. And added to that the fact that everyone has a race, everyone’s implicated in a racialized reality. But a huge part of whiteness, at least in America, is being able to not have to think about race much.”

My last glimpse of him was through a cracked door, watching a TV tuned to CNN as he tied his tie one last time for the day. It felt a little like watching someone put on their armor.

Implicitly, the conversation turned to interactions with voters, like the one in Stratham who’d made a comment about black Americans and “the problem they have” with the criminal justice system.

“Figuring out a way to call on white Americans to think about race, to be conscious of race without triggering the immediate kind of defensive mechanisms or going into this place of apology and guilt that also isn’t always productive, that’s really tough,” Buttigieg said. “It’s really tough for something as sensitive and risk averse as electoral politics to struggle with. But America has no better mechanism for handling any social challenge than the American presidential election. It is the place that brings everybody into one conversation.”

The bus was pulling up to the last event of the day, another town hall, this one much bigger than the morning’s. Reporters gathered their coats and recorders and Buttigieg retreated to a room at the back of the bus to prepare. My last glimpse of him was through a cracked door, watching a TV tuned to CNN as he tied his tie one last time for the day. It felt a little like watching someone put on their armor, and it made me think of a passage in Buttigieg’s stump speech when he asks the crowd to imagine the day after Trump is out of office.

“This country will need to be brought together,” he’d said that morning in Manchester. “It’s going to require a president, as I’m running to be, who can stand on the rubble of what has been busted in our society and in our politics.” The image made me pause — it was a bit apocalyptic. And what was Buttigieg supposed to be in it? A conquering hero? A savior?

Whatever he was, he was standing atop the rubble.

[kendra-inthemedia]

Rainbows in the Street

In honor of Pride month, I’m dedicating this blog post and assignment to the LGBTQ+ community as well as my big bro and his hubby. They were kind enough to let me take up ¼ of their living room, rent free, for the summer while I take classes and intern.

The LGBTQ+ community is finally getting the attention they deserve and I think in a time of backlash it’s always best to let your brightest colors shine. So to honor these fabulous people I decided I strut my five-foot tall booty around New York in search of all the colors of the rainbow, no matter what gender or being they occupy. (Not going to lie, I giggled at some of the unexpectant faces of the lucky ducks in my photos.)

According to Who What Wear, bright colors are all the rage for S/S 17. (As if we WANT to wear black in 90-degree heat? I do it anyway, buuuuut….)

Everywhere you look there are colors and rainbows everywhere. It almost makes you wonder how gender equality and equal rights are an issue. You don’t hear the colors of the rainbow arguing about why blue is next to purple. Why argue about why a guy is kissing a guy? It’s better than if a guy is killing a guy. I guess death is easier for some people to handle than love. (P.S. I REALLY wanted to buy flowers, but I was on my way to donate blood.)

On Wednesday, I took pictures during an outing for my internship. We went to the 7 for all mankind holiday collection preview.

I love flowers.

Just so happened to take the subway station home that had an appreciation for rainbows. Refreshing, to say the least, for a subway.

Thursday, after my study tour session ended, I walked from 35th and 7 Ave. to 49th and 10 Ave. Along the way, I got candid shots of people on the streets.

Them pink pants though. (Note the annoyed child in the red hoodie. Hoodie in 75-degree weather? No wonder he’s annoyed.)

Loved this dress.

I didn’t see many purples out, but this girl broke the cycle.

Lots of orange and reds.

Looked pinker in real life. Work it, boy.

Love a man in lavender.

This lady’s face made the heat worth the walk.

Man on a mission in peach.

Can we all say Snow White during menopause? I think yes.

Not much green either on Thursday. Although it wasn’t bright, I admired her posture.

Pretty in….raspberry? Sure. Raspberry.

Slay my life. The neon tangerine crayon escaped from the box and became a skirt. This chick rocked it. (But let’s be honest, the jacket made the look for me.)

RED. (Featuring ginger ale guy.)

You have to be comfortable walking these mean streets.

Thomas Gainsborough’s The Blue Boy. A la 8th Ave.

Rocking that 20′s dropped waist that I love to death. Definition of a risk taker: a redhead in a blood red dress. Work it, Bumblebee.

And last but not least on my Thursday stroll was this nice old gentleman with a love for sunflowers. He was very flattered to have his picture taken.

On Friday I had the day off from my internship in celebration of my boss’s birthday. I made use of the day by going to The Met Museum. What a great place to people watch! Everyone is taking pictures anyway so no one notices when you’re actually taking pictures of them! I felt slick.

These three lovely ladies all pulled off funky colored hair very well. I’m a lover of fancy hair color and I think it’s a fun way to express yourself.

On my way to the museum, I captured these peeps rocking out bright colors. My favorite combo was probably the blue and yellow. Very chic.

It seemed every part of the museum offered a fresh take on art. The most interesting to me was the fashion exhibit where the designs smacked you in the face more than the colors did. (I really wanted a custom colored pencil set.)

The people in the museum were probably my favorite part.  (HAHAHA)

Cool texture for the bag.

#mintybooty

Caught these two best friends at different times, both while taking pictures. #snipe

Men can be bright too!

Hello, yellows.

Love emerald. I wish there were more of it on the market.

This guy was nice enough to pose for a picture, even though he didn’t speak English very well.

Saturday was spent at home doing research for my internship.

According to Who What Wear, bright colors were predicted to be the go-to choice for S/S 17.

Here are some of the combinations they predicted to be hot for the summer.

It takes a certain kind of fashionista to pull of such massive color combinations and make sure they don’t clash in the process. I have serious respect for anyone that can pull off hot pink and red in one outfit.

My final entry for my style diary occurred on the same day as the NYC Pride March. I watched it on tv with my two brothers and was happy to learn about the history of the pride flag. The rainbow flag was popularized as a symbol of the gay community by San Francisco artist Gilbert Baker in 1978.

I think that as someone involved in fashion, it is important to remember that the colors we work every day represent something different to the LGBTQ community. We see color every day, but in the Pride flag, we see unity and compassion. We should represent that kind of compassion all the time.

After the parade was over, my brothers and I went to Sunday Mass. Along the way, there were many left over parade goers decked out in pride gear as well as many colorful New Yorkers.

My big brother caught off guard in his snazzy blue shorts.

After church, we got food and eventually frozen yogurt and sat in Columbus Circle.

Overall, this week was very colorful for me. I will probably continue to look for colors in the street while in NYC for the rest of the summer. I loved having the opportunity to let this blog be about something worth discussing. I have not only family but also many friends in the LGBTQ+ community that I would not be able to live without. I believe they deserve proper representation. I cannot think of a better symbol for such amazing people than that of a rainbow. You cannot have fashion without color. You cannot have fashion without Pride.