My cousin Randall was killed in a car accident yesterday. He was 27 years old.
It hurts to write that. Writing it makes it real, and I don’t want for it to be real. My brain cannot make sense of it. My brain cannot make this jump; it doesn’t want to. And I don’t want to either.
I don’t want to have to come to terms with the fact that my cousin is gone. And that he’s not coming back.
I didn’t know it was possible to feel so much loss for someone who, in many ways, I barely knew. I can probably count on one hand the number of times that I’d even seen him in the last 5 years. But despite that, I’d known for years that on some level we had connected; I’d recognized him as a kindred soul a long time ago, and I knew it was just a matter of time before we developed the friendship we were clearly meant to have.
When we were kids, I thought he was a brat: the annoying, mean “brother for a week” I had to put up with when we went to visit the relatives. My cousin Julie was the one I hung out with—Randall was just the older brother who spied on us and made fun and did all the things that older brothers do.
Then, for a number of years, I didn’t really see my cousins. We took vacations to Disneyland, New Orleans, San Francisco. We didn’t go to South Carolina.
When we finally did, I was a sophomore in college and was shocked to discover that we had all grown up. The mean older brother was now a grown man: smart, kind, funny. A bit of a smart-ass, just like me. Randall had become the kind of person that I wanted my friends to eventually marry. He had become the kind of person that I wanted—desperately—to be friends with.
Even though there were a million things that I didn’t know about him—or him about me—I knew that we were supposed to be friends, that he was supposed to play a role in my life, and I in his. Ever so slowly, we began taking baby steps towards building that friendship.
We wrote e-mails. Sometimes we’d shoot them back and forth in a flurry of thoughts. Other times months would go by without a reply. We were busy, but always, eventually, the thread got picked back up and we continued.
He talked about coming to San Francisco to visit. He never did; my crazy work schedule meant I wouldn’t have any time to spend with him. I talked about coming to hang out with him at the beach house at Easter. I never did; he changed his mind about coming home, staying in Lansing, at school, instead. It made me sad not to see him, but I didn’t worry. “All in good time,” I’d tell myself.
Randall was family, and I expected he’d be in my life for a long, long time. It never occurred to me that in one moment, an 18-wheeler could change all of that.
Tomorrow I’ll fly to South Carolina for the funeral. I die a little inside every time I think about it. If words on paper can hurt this badly, then what kind of pain will tomorrow bring—when I have to really let go of someone who had come to mean so much to me?
Friday, September 16, 2005
Sunday, September 11, 2005
5 ridiculous but loveable things. . .
To curtail the impression that I am some sort of anti-NoCal curmudgeon, I thought I'd throw out a few things that, despite being totally ridiculous, I really love about the Bay Area.
5) The port of Oakland. It's ghetto, it's industrial, it's a bunch of oversized metal structures marring an otherwise picturesque view of the San Francisco Bay, but I love it. At night, the whole area has this beautiful eerie glow and the metal structures look like post-modern Trojan Horses
4) The ubiquity of soy products and other vegetarian-friendly food options. No where else would a waitress ask you if you wanted milk, yogurt, plain or vanilla soy milk with your granola.
3) The word "hella." (Or, if you're really ghetto, "hecka.") It's the go anywhere, use anytime word. Seriously, it's even better than "wicked."
2) Spring comes in February, and September and October are the real summer. (A warning to tourists: if you're coming in June, July or August, you won't be needing that bathing suit or the shorts. Try packing a sweater, a fleece and a hat instead.)
1) Chirping and ticking pedestrian crosswalks. I'm so well trained now that it would never even occur to me to TRY to cross the street until I hear the bird start chirping, and if it never started . . . well, I'd probably stand on the street corner all night.
So there you have it. At least 5 good things about the Bay Area. Maybe I could even come up with more. . . .
5) The port of Oakland. It's ghetto, it's industrial, it's a bunch of oversized metal structures marring an otherwise picturesque view of the San Francisco Bay, but I love it. At night, the whole area has this beautiful eerie glow and the metal structures look like post-modern Trojan Horses
4) The ubiquity of soy products and other vegetarian-friendly food options. No where else would a waitress ask you if you wanted milk, yogurt, plain or vanilla soy milk with your granola.
3) The word "hella." (Or, if you're really ghetto, "hecka.") It's the go anywhere, use anytime word. Seriously, it's even better than "wicked."
2) Spring comes in February, and September and October are the real summer. (A warning to tourists: if you're coming in June, July or August, you won't be needing that bathing suit or the shorts. Try packing a sweater, a fleece and a hat instead.)
1) Chirping and ticking pedestrian crosswalks. I'm so well trained now that it would never even occur to me to TRY to cross the street until I hear the bird start chirping, and if it never started . . . well, I'd probably stand on the street corner all night.
So there you have it. At least 5 good things about the Bay Area. Maybe I could even come up with more. . . .
Friday, September 09, 2005
A rant against Northern California
When I first moved to the Bay Area from Boston, I loved it. So many things were better: the weather, the diversity, the food, the political climate, the people. (As in: they were actually friendly, smiling or saying hello on the street instead of just glaring, cursing and clutching their purse or briefcase tighter to their side as they plowed past you on the sidewalk.)
In three years, however, my love affair with the Bay Area has dimmed. In fact, I dare say, it might just be over. And it's not going to be a pretty break up.
Things that I used to think were cute I'm just f-ing done with now. The word "partner," for example. When I moved here I was so excited by the term and the concept: finally a way to describe people in a long-term, committed loving relationship who didn't want to be pigeon-holed into the traditional roles of a "marriage." The problem now, however, is that using the term "partner" is just what you do here if you want to be considered hip and cool and edgy and post-traditional (and of course everyone in the Bay Area seems to want to be all of those things) whether or not you are, in fact, in a long-term committed loving relationship. It seems that no one here has boyfriends or girlfriends anymore; they don't even have people they're dating. It's partner or nothing, because everyone knows how mainstream and limiting the term boy/girlfriend is. I am tired of people introducing their girlfriends of two months to me as their partner--"PARTNER IN WHAT?" I want to scream. "YOU TWO HAVEN'T BEEN TOGETHER LONG ENOUGH TO SHARE A COLD OR A TUBE OF TOOTHPASTE, SO CUT THE PARTNER CRAP."
The term "progressive" is another example of this PC hipster bullshit that I'm tired of. No one here likes to be called "liberal"--it has such a bad connotation. "Flaming liberal." "Bleeding heart liberal." "Crazy liberal." We prefer "progressive" because it sounds more reasonable. But guess what? A rose by any other name is still, well. . . a crazy liberal. I am tired of euphemisms that try to cover the truth. I am tired of people who can't see the truth. I am very tired of the black and white "us" vs. "them" fascist groupthink that passes as discourse in liberal or progressive--or whatever the hell you want to call it--circles. It's no better than the extreme fanatacism of the religious right. In fact, maybe it's worse, because at least the right is still making an effort to reach out to those in the middle, who haven't made up their minds. All the left has succeeded in doing is alienating all those people in the middle with their self-righteous "if you're not with us then you must be a stupid, evil Republican" schtick. Guess what kids? Writing off whole groups of people as stupid evil Republicans isn't exactly the most effective way to argue your case or gain any support.
One of the first things I learned about organizing is that you have to start with building relationships with people. Be willing to listen to where they're coming from and engage in a dialogue--not a 1-sided "I'm right and you're wrong" lecture--but a dialogue. When there is trust and open communication, it is possible for people to open up to new ideas, new ways of seeing. It is possible for people to move and change. Unlikely supporters will surface if you're willing to let them. If you're willing to do the humble--and humbling--work of meeting people where they are and engaging in real give-and-take dialogue, change will happen.
I mean, sure you can write off whole groups of people--because they're Republicans or business-people or they still eat meat or they drive an SUV or whatever--but the smug, self-satisfied thrill you get at thinking yourself to be intellectually or morally superior won't get you too far in an election year. Take one look at the administratio of this country to see that fact for yourself.
This leads me to the next thing that I've started to hate about the Bay Area. It occurred to me the other day that every single person I know here works for a non-profit. I find this sad in the extreme. But I suspect that for many people, it is a badge of honor not to be associated with "those" people. I am tired of the assumption that if you work for corporate America, then you "sold out." People do what they do for a million different reasons. Maybe they're good at it. Maybe their parents did it before them. Maybe they failed French and business was the only course of study that didn't require a foreign language (that's just for you, dad!) Maybe they want to make sure they'll be able to support themselves and their family. Maybe they just want to make buckets of money. I don't care. What I do care about is the fact that people on the left talk so much about how judgmental the right is; they worry so much about being labeled and pigeon-holed, and they're doing the exact same thing. Except that the left's judgmentalism is based on career choice, not skin color or sexual orientation. Does that make it any more acceptable? i don't think so. Grow the fuck up and learn how to get along with and appreciate others--even if they're I-bankers.
I could go on (don't get me started about how I can count the number of people I know who believe in God on one hand), but I won't. I'm all raged out for one day. It basically comes down to the fact that the Bay Area is a silly, self-absorbed mess of a place, where everyone takes themselves and their identity too seriously (me included). But even though it IS a mess, I know deep down I still think it's a beautiful, glorious mess that I'm glad I experienced, even as I contemplate running like hell for someplace saner.
In three years, however, my love affair with the Bay Area has dimmed. In fact, I dare say, it might just be over. And it's not going to be a pretty break up.
Things that I used to think were cute I'm just f-ing done with now. The word "partner," for example. When I moved here I was so excited by the term and the concept: finally a way to describe people in a long-term, committed loving relationship who didn't want to be pigeon-holed into the traditional roles of a "marriage." The problem now, however, is that using the term "partner" is just what you do here if you want to be considered hip and cool and edgy and post-traditional (and of course everyone in the Bay Area seems to want to be all of those things) whether or not you are, in fact, in a long-term committed loving relationship. It seems that no one here has boyfriends or girlfriends anymore; they don't even have people they're dating. It's partner or nothing, because everyone knows how mainstream and limiting the term boy/girlfriend is. I am tired of people introducing their girlfriends of two months to me as their partner--"PARTNER IN WHAT?" I want to scream. "YOU TWO HAVEN'T BEEN TOGETHER LONG ENOUGH TO SHARE A COLD OR A TUBE OF TOOTHPASTE, SO CUT THE PARTNER CRAP."
The term "progressive" is another example of this PC hipster bullshit that I'm tired of. No one here likes to be called "liberal"--it has such a bad connotation. "Flaming liberal." "Bleeding heart liberal." "Crazy liberal." We prefer "progressive" because it sounds more reasonable. But guess what? A rose by any other name is still, well. . . a crazy liberal. I am tired of euphemisms that try to cover the truth. I am tired of people who can't see the truth. I am very tired of the black and white "us" vs. "them" fascist groupthink that passes as discourse in liberal or progressive--or whatever the hell you want to call it--circles. It's no better than the extreme fanatacism of the religious right. In fact, maybe it's worse, because at least the right is still making an effort to reach out to those in the middle, who haven't made up their minds. All the left has succeeded in doing is alienating all those people in the middle with their self-righteous "if you're not with us then you must be a stupid, evil Republican" schtick. Guess what kids? Writing off whole groups of people as stupid evil Republicans isn't exactly the most effective way to argue your case or gain any support.
One of the first things I learned about organizing is that you have to start with building relationships with people. Be willing to listen to where they're coming from and engage in a dialogue--not a 1-sided "I'm right and you're wrong" lecture--but a dialogue. When there is trust and open communication, it is possible for people to open up to new ideas, new ways of seeing. It is possible for people to move and change. Unlikely supporters will surface if you're willing to let them. If you're willing to do the humble--and humbling--work of meeting people where they are and engaging in real give-and-take dialogue, change will happen.
I mean, sure you can write off whole groups of people--because they're Republicans or business-people or they still eat meat or they drive an SUV or whatever--but the smug, self-satisfied thrill you get at thinking yourself to be intellectually or morally superior won't get you too far in an election year. Take one look at the administratio of this country to see that fact for yourself.
This leads me to the next thing that I've started to hate about the Bay Area. It occurred to me the other day that every single person I know here works for a non-profit. I find this sad in the extreme. But I suspect that for many people, it is a badge of honor not to be associated with "those" people. I am tired of the assumption that if you work for corporate America, then you "sold out." People do what they do for a million different reasons. Maybe they're good at it. Maybe their parents did it before them. Maybe they failed French and business was the only course of study that didn't require a foreign language (that's just for you, dad!) Maybe they want to make sure they'll be able to support themselves and their family. Maybe they just want to make buckets of money. I don't care. What I do care about is the fact that people on the left talk so much about how judgmental the right is; they worry so much about being labeled and pigeon-holed, and they're doing the exact same thing. Except that the left's judgmentalism is based on career choice, not skin color or sexual orientation. Does that make it any more acceptable? i don't think so. Grow the fuck up and learn how to get along with and appreciate others--even if they're I-bankers.
I could go on (don't get me started about how I can count the number of people I know who believe in God on one hand), but I won't. I'm all raged out for one day. It basically comes down to the fact that the Bay Area is a silly, self-absorbed mess of a place, where everyone takes themselves and their identity too seriously (me included). But even though it IS a mess, I know deep down I still think it's a beautiful, glorious mess that I'm glad I experienced, even as I contemplate running like hell for someplace saner.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Thoughts on awkwardness
I like to think of myself as a writer. Correction: I'd like (someday) to think of myself as a writer. For now I'm going to have to settle for thinking of myself as someone who writes. And who doesn't even write as much as she'd like to. (I do, however, make up for the lack of actual writing with a lot of thinking and even more talking about how much I want to write, so that's something.)
My friend, Carrie (check out her blog at www.itstoolateforthis.blogspot.com) had suggested that blogging might be a good way for me to get my writing groove on, so here I am, despite serious reservations. I'm not a very technology friendly person--seriously, I'm writing this blog on a dial-up internet connection, and I still don't really get how to use digital cameras. And there's something a little unsettling about posting your thoughts in a place that anyone can see them, even when (like now) you're talking about nothing. But my motto for a long time has been to embrace the awkward, and even though I usually try to limit the awkwardness to the sphere of my personal life (ask me about the last date I went on), it can't hurt me to try this blog thing.
Remember kids, being uncomfortable and a little scared is good. It's gonna suck like no other at the time, but worst case, later on you'll get a damn good story out of it. (And thanks to the wonderful world of blogs, we'll all get to read about it later!)
Peace.
My friend, Carrie (check out her blog at www.itstoolateforthis.blogspot.com) had suggested that blogging might be a good way for me to get my writing groove on, so here I am, despite serious reservations. I'm not a very technology friendly person--seriously, I'm writing this blog on a dial-up internet connection, and I still don't really get how to use digital cameras. And there's something a little unsettling about posting your thoughts in a place that anyone can see them, even when (like now) you're talking about nothing. But my motto for a long time has been to embrace the awkward, and even though I usually try to limit the awkwardness to the sphere of my personal life (ask me about the last date I went on), it can't hurt me to try this blog thing.
Remember kids, being uncomfortable and a little scared is good. It's gonna suck like no other at the time, but worst case, later on you'll get a damn good story out of it. (And thanks to the wonderful world of blogs, we'll all get to read about it later!)
Peace.
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