Picking Generational Scabs

 I feel like a lot of families have like a slow-moving bomb at their core: children become adults, and then wait for the parents to die so they can tell the truth. Telling the truth is upsetting, especially among people you love and live with. It can be powerful, like a heavy iron sword; but it can also be quiet, like a half-crooked smile. But it is always, always, messy. Like picking a scab. Once you do it, there's no putting it back. And the damage is irreparable.

In the age of information, however, people have license to tell the truth more freely, even if the damage done is still the same, or sometimes greater. That's why I refuse to get involved with parasocial family strife aired out on social media through the lenses of the "no contact" daughter or the "estranged" father or the "entitled" grandparents. It's like watching a war zone livestream pov of a soldier...another one of my online icks.

The Mask is Off, Bitch: The Brutal Reality of Living Authentically in a Post-Capitalist World

I am aggressively noncommittal about my civic duties as a wage earner. I don't feel the need to "enter the workforce" when forcing myself to go to work nearly broke me the last time. I'm in my 40s, for fuck's sake.

I know that this is a problem that helps keep my family in dire financial straits. I know I need to be a grownup about this and just "get a job." An I fully intend to. On my terms. 

Sit on It

 So, I'm starting a new job, and it's kind of stressful. But I'm prepared for this now. I have a system. When I get stressed.

I do nothing.

I have found that it is the first step to becoming resilient. When I think back on all of the really bad fuckups in my life (and I've had quite a few), I have to admit that the actions were done out of fear. The urge to survive becomes so great, that I lose track of my thinking mind. When you're stressed or your adrenaline is activated, cortisol is released to keep your mind on high alert. It floods the brain with red-letter messages of preparedness. The problem is it gets too noisy for the wise or even the thinking mind to operate smoothly. 

When I was a teacher, I studied how the brain functions, especially when learning. And one thing is clear: the brain learns best when it feels safe - no perception of danger or the need for self-preservation. By extension, we could say that the brain functions better when it feels safe. We perform better when we feel safe. 

So, if your brain is on high alert due to stress or trauma, you aren't thinking clearly. In those moments, it can be hard to remember that you are behind the wheel of your own life, and any decisions you make will be yours to own. It reminds me of an undertow, or a rip current. The best way to survive one is to avoid them. But, as recent public tragedy would suggest, they are still very much a threat. The second-best way to survive is by swimming parallel to the shore an outside of the undertow's flow. 

The problem is, when people get caught in a rip current, they panic. And a panicking mind can force the body into dangerous situations. In this case, they try to swim against the current, get exhausted, and drown. The best thing you can do when you feel that pull is to do nothing until you can determine where the shore is. At that point, you can swim out of the current. Of course, doing nothing when you're caught in an external current is scary.

Focus on the basics: breathing and safety. The current will subside. You will get your bearings again. And you can plan your escape.

For some of us humans, doing nothing is the hardest part.

What Do You Want to Learn Today?

 A very serious case can be made for the need to shift education (especially at the secondary level) to a more student-directed pedagogy. The goal of course is the help train adolescent minds to think in a way that adds value to life in the 21st century as it moves from an industrial to informational economy. 

Virtual agile education.

Seeing the Face of Jesus in a Norm MacDonald Sketch

It's probably because I'm a little bit high, but I just had a spiritual experience. I'm watching Season 20 of SNL, which is arguably the worst season after the Weird Year. Right off the bat, you can feel the tension: sketches don't seem to work between the new players and the veterans, including the "Bad Boys of SNL.;" the vibe is off. The writing is weaker than usual. There's a lot going on, and it shows. SNL is at its best when the ensemble flows as well as the crew has to be in order to put on a live 90-minute show every week. Apparently, there was a lot of drama backstage, as you can read in this 1995 New York Magazine article. 

One of the few bright spots is Norm MacDonald who I could watch eating a cheese sandwich and find it entertaining. Also? Can we talk about just how HOT the young Norm actually is? Woof. Anyway. I will say that for a long time, I was decidedly not a fan of his humor. I loved his voice acting since I'm a fan of Seth MacFarlane, a frequent collaborator with MacDonald. But whenever Soren would try to get me to watch his standup, I never found it funny. But he was obsessed. There was a period of time after he died where Soren would listen to hour-long marathons of Norm MacDonald to fall asleep. I couldn't get into it. I thought it was too mean. There was definitely a gap in generations there, but my aversion ran deeper than that. And, as you can probably guess from my outburst of affection above, it was misaligned. I have obviously been won over to his charm. 

A piece of "fake news" that Norm reported on was the Shroud of Turin, another mystery that has alluded me for years. My father-in-law was obsessed. He had a six-foot framed replica above the door to his office. He would give lectures at the parish and in the community. I have a healthy skepticism of most empirical studies "supporting" mystical phenomena. I could never really see Jesus' face the way some of my more devout brothers and sisters do. Until now. As I was "getting it," I could also see it.

I Am Writing a Book

 Working title: Agile ELLI: 21st Century English Language and Literacy Instruction

It's a manual/survival guide for teachers on the front line of education: public k12 educators, teachers of English Language Learners, teachers of students with disabilities, homeschooling parents, private tutors, etc. As a subject matter expert, my focus is primarily ELA instruction, but my thesis is that special populations (underfunded, underresourced, underappreciated) need to rely on multidisciplinary structures to survive.

Who I'm Writing it for: First and foremost, this book is for myself. I ground through 10 years of public school instruction just so I could clear my credential and be considered a "real" teacher. Newsflash: I was a "real" teacher the moment I truly cried for my students. I'm not talking about the tears of frustration. I'm talking about the tears that come from seeing the connection between teacher and student. 

This is written for the teachers on the front lines of education who don't feel like a real teacher. You are! This book is written for those who are reassessing what it means for them to be a teacher in America right now. Gain insights into decades and centuries of academic discourse on the nature of knowledge, how students learn, what teachers do, and how all of those things are effected by our beliefs as individual teachers and society as a whole. 

I'm looking for teachers who are searching for a clan. Digital caves where we can share stories around a campfire. And then, eventually, taking the light out of the cave and sharing it with our students and colleagues. With teacher burnout at an all-time high, I think it is absolutely necessary for all educators to take a step back and reassess what it means to be a teacher, and what our role should be in 21st century schools.

Sir Ken Robinson once said that "education doesn't need to be reformed, it needs to be transformed." This book is an attempt to transform the hearts and minds of educators in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges and overwhelming circumstances.

Analogic Meaning is Rooted in the Heart

 I think I'm still processing the Trump election. I feel like 2024 was a crucial point in history. It was a true struggle of wills. And dominance won again. The political landscape of my entire adult life has been the weak being dominated by the strong. And then, I discover that I was buying into yet another narrative, like all the other narratives I would cling to.  Obama was the first president I voted for after Ralph Nader in 2000. My first political heartbreak.

So now, I'm watching SNL: my political landscape through a comedic lens. Hillary Clinton is about to beat Bernie Sanders. And here's the kicker: I really liked what Bernie Sanders had to say. So when he lost, it was an easy narrative to jump from poor to female. It was a rough time for my family and I. Soren was trudging through his own thoughts, the kids were having a hard time adjusting to school after being uprooted from their early childhood in Florida. I was just trying to keep it together: I was clinging desperately to the idea that I was a teacher. 

I'm watching Amy Schumer host, a comedian I spent years hating because everyone 'safe' hated her. I saw her after my awakening. Somehow, I ended up watching her documentary and loved it. She taught me that trauma can be funny.

Hence, my little experiment. I had to sweeten the deal with a Bill Hader marathon. That's how I discovered the Stefon Myers saga.

The title doesn't really match up. I have this idea for a book, but it turned into something else. I'm pretty sure it has to do with my current binge project: SNL in order of seasons in my life.

I Reserve the Right to Decompress

 Yes, I fully intend to roll my eyes during the last half of the meeting

then go home, smoke weed, and watch the entire Stefon SNL saga

I give and I give and I give 

when I teach

I need to come home and recharge.

I don't have time for 

my babies

my baby.

even my IAM 

When I teach

I feel like a conduit

stretched thin as I cover the multiple lines etched over sand

 by the sharp pebbles that cut my feet and wash away the day's

 work and present new patterns across the shore in an intricate web of thoughts,

 feelings, wills, goals, beliefs, hopes, dreams, kids, jobs, stress, bills, wages,

 earnings, taxes, fears, detainment, deportment, separation, divorce,

 court appearances, jail time, deaths, births, hospital visits, 

 

life

Okay, I got caught up in the structure and devolved into mayhem. But, seriously. I NEED to find a job that involves less people. I need to own something. 

 

 

Unschool Resources

 ●Dumbing Us Down, any John Taylor Gatto

●School Can Wait, any Dr Raymond Moore

●Any John Holt

●Any Peter Gray

●Teaching From Rest Sarah Mackenzie

●A Pocket Full of Pinecones (Karen Andreola, I think?)

Some Thoughts on Patricia George

 It's strange how easily people can slip in an out of each other's lives. We're born unaware of anyone but ourselves and as we grow, so does our circle. We weave a net made up of the fibers of personal connections. As we get older, the net grows bigger still. And some of the fibers come loose. They get lost in the noise and colors of our life. But the universe has a way of reminding us to "tighten the net:" marriages, illness, births, and deaths. Such an event has occurred this week for me.

I met Patricia George the first day of my freshman year of high school. She was our choir director and accompanist. We were a small but passionate group, branding ourselves as a show choir, choosing our favorite musical theater pieces and even choreographed some interpretive dance sequences using recordings of Carmina Burana. It was a ton of fun. As the year came to a close, there were rumors that we would be getting a choir director. A "real" choir director. I was nervous and bitter. I didn't want our little team to change. And I felt bad for Patricia. This was probably the misplaced angst of an emerging young adult.

And then Mo walked in and they just clicked. And something magical happened. She was a true accompanist, not just in music, but in life. She made each one of us kids feel like she was a partner in our lives; something some of us desperately needed. She was there when we forgot our words, missed our cues, or missed the high note and tearfully slinked off the stage. And she did it while being perfectly imperfect. She smoked like a chimney, and her car was a mess. But she was always classy, always unapologetically herself; and, above all else, always there.

I am forever grateful that this beautiful woman was a part of my life.

Trigger Rants

While reading the Vulture article and accidentally reading what he allegedly said in his voice. A habit of mine, I'll admit. It being "liquid sex" and all. I have found some strong runners-up on Literotica, though...

Somewhere, somehow, something happened involving a penis and it just...triggered me. I will admit that in my youth I was a frisky vixen. I looked good, and I could get myself to feel good. So it wasn't surprising that my first boyfriend and I would be on the fast track to pound town. But, and this was weird, and I totally didn't remember it until we reconnected again in our 40s. When he, you know, whipped it out, I cried. Like, full-on meltdown. I don't think whatever happened to me would have been enough to cause such a reaction on its own. But I grew up Mormon, so...that's a whole other boatload of trauma to unload. Anyway, he was actually really sweet about it, and we remained friends even as our romantic relationship soured and he proceeded to date the girl that I had had my first physical attraction to. With Jen, it was an emotional and intellectual desire. With Cat, it was physical and ethereal. She was just so cool. And her family was cool. I didn't know Mormons could be cool. I also didn't realize as a 10-year-old that money goes a long way in the pursuit of coolness. But it went beyond that with Cat. She introduced me to the scifi subculture. I started watching the X-Files. The first really big disagreement I got in with my parents was over it. She introduced me to music: The Beatles and The Beach Boys, Pink Floyd and The Doors. We listened to vinyl in their music room and we both played the flute. We had a little duo for a while. But, again, another boatload of trauma I'm not ready to unpack yet.

The next penis I saw might have been a serial killer. I don't know. He was working in HR at Disneyland. I desperately wanted to work at Disneyland. It was a dream. And I had received a scholarship to...no. This is not the time to tell this story. Back to the article.

Not Me Live-Tweeting the Vulture Article

Notes While Reading 

Look. I'll admit it. I had a mad crush on Neil Gaiman. I mean, menacingly, penetratingly mad. To the point that when I would read his books, it would be his voice in my head. That soul-crushing, desperate voice that I had once dubbed "liquid sex." Make of that what you will.

Note: I got triggered at this point when the author gives the victim's account of the "bathtub incident" (iykyk) and started digressing into my own repressed, hypersexual adolescence. It's there to read if you like, but fair warning, it is deeply personal.

Okay, so that was a twist to my schema. I was not expecting the perceived betrayal of a victim of sexual violence by THE Amanda Fucking Palmer. I mean, I love her, and always will. Her honesty is intoxicating. And "Bigger on the Inside" changed my life in quite literal ways.

I think I'm more sympathetic toward Neil at this point, I guess. Just...the way the Sandman shaped this whole...universe. So...which is the real Neil? The Sandman, or Richard Madoc? I believe it's a "yes, and" moment. He's both of those things, and more. As the trope goes, "we are all so much bigger on the inside." (thanks, Amanda)

What a sad, twisted tale. I was ready to forgive him. I really was. But, then I read this article from NPR. And clicked through to read his final words, "I don't accept there was any abuse."

In his last post on his personal website, Gaiman has once again woven together some beautiful words. For example, " Nah, I can't find anything redeemable in that post except for maybe this:

And I also realise, looking through them, years later, that I could have and should have done so much better. I was emotionally unavailable while being sexually available, self-focused and not as thoughtful as I could or should have been. I was obviously careless with people's hearts and feelings, and that's something that I really, deeply regret. It was selfish of me. I was caught up in my own story and I ignored other people's.

 

I’ve spent some months now taking a long, hard look at who I have been and how I have made people feel. 

 

Like most of us, I’m learning, and I'm trying to do the work needed, and I know that that's not an overnight process. I hope that with the help of good people, I'll continue to grow. I understand that not everyone will believe me or even care what I say but I’ll be doing the work anyway, for myself, my family and the people I love. I will be doing my very best to deserve their trust, as well as the trust of my readers.*

*but, of course i know that this is exactly the kind of thing you would say if you wanted to appear apologetic...I am praying it is sincere.

The 9,000 Reincarnations of Gwendolyn

 I binge-watch old TV Shows and then write about them. Because that's what my life has come to.

I write about failing at a teaching career after spending 13 years and $100,000 on a degree.

I write about my cooking failures because I don't have the attention span to pay attention to a timer.

I complain about everything...and people pay money to subscribe to my newsletter about it.

I write five million different story lines, but follow through on none of them. 

After Amy - Thoughts on "All American RAGE"

 

I think I feel drawn to this case because I see a lot of myself in Amy at first blush. At least from what I know, which isn't a lot. But Amy Bishop seemed to be the kind of woman whose whole identity was wrapped up in her job. I'm only presuming that Amy has some sort of personality disorder, which shakes a person to their core. You have no sense of who you are unless you practice at it. A lot. And if you're high-functioning like Amy Bishop: smart, pretty, white, wealthy; it seems you can get pretty far without ever having to face your demons. And her case just goes to show that you can't outrun yourself. And once it catches up with you, the rage that you feel will be overpowering.

Oh, never mind. What the fuck?!? She shot her kid brother? Nah, this bitch is just crazy.

I think I was trying to identify with her on a human level because I'm experiencing precisely this. Though, perhaps, not nearly as high-functioning. And the fact that she was an intelligent professional who did not belong in the classroom. 

Complex PTSD, The Wise Mind, and The True Self

 I Feel Like There's Two Sides to Me. The wacky one who comes up with all these crazy ideas while she's high.

And the normal one who tries to piece together all the random bits of creative debris that get left behind.

And I feel like the further I go into myself, the more these two halves are starting to communicate. Like a business merging two entities together. We started by just communicating with one another. Send a quick email here, tour the building, get to know the employees. You visit, but you're still an outsider. You're not ready to take up space.

But there comes a time when you have to move into negotiations. Just how much of me is "real" and how much is drug induced. That makes me sound like an addict, but hear me out. I feel like I've surpressed so much of my creative side that I need to get high to unlock it. If I have just a little bit of THC, usually 5 to 10mg around 3:00 in the afternoon, I find I'm really productive and motivated. I can juggle a few different tasks at once without feeling overwhelmed. I stop caring whether I'm stepping on somebody's toes. In fact, I'm GLAD I'm stepping on them. Because frankly, they haven't been stepped on in a very long time, and I'm not going to baby her the way other people have for half her life or longer. And honestly, even under the influence, saying that kind of seems like too much. Like I had to stop what I was doing and have a conversation with that inner voice, my Piglet self. 

"Oh d-d-d-dear...are you SURE it's okay to complain?"

"Yes, Piglet. There's no one here to harm you."

I'm not even sure WHY I think that there WOULD be someone to harm me. How is it possible to have loving parents who did their best for you and STILL feel like you're drowning? Am I just being paranoid when I think that there must have been some big, profound, traumatic experience in my past? Isn't it normal for a 40-year-old woman to have big chunks of her childhood missing from her childhood? And even if it isn't, do I really want to open that can of worms?

I think I just need to read up on complex ptsd more. 

I'm curious to know if anyone else feels that way. Like there's two people inside and you're trying to get them to work together. 

Musings about Autism

 Sometimes, I'll have these aha moments where I'll reinterpret my understanding of what's expected of me to fit others' expectations. Like, I have had about three or four therapists and we always get stuck on this question: 'What are your treatment goals?' because goal-setting is where I can't bullshit my way through it. For me, setting goals is the most vulnerable a person can be.

My responses have always been clinical. Almost like SMART goals. Maybe because I can't differentiate the nuances in the same word in different contexts. Maybe. 

But a therapist is looking for something authentic. And I can't be any more authentic than to create a piece of art.

The Human-Time Lord Paradox, or Some Thoughts on "Human Nature" and "The Family of Blood"

 The Human-Time Lord Paradox that Only the Doctor Could Pull Off

My all-time favorite episodes of Doctor Who are Season 3, Episodes 8-9. Hands down. On all levels.

I'd like to expound on that by live-tweeting these two episodes. Wait. Not live-tweeting. Annotating? That sounds much less sexy than live-tweets. Oh, well.

Also, there's something about Teresa of Avila's Interior Castle, but I will have to expound on that later. When I'm a partial bit more sober. Don't the Brits spell it 'sobre'?

Martha's just this big fucking badass. Literally the savior of the world! Not even joking. And here's ten reasons why:

"Mr. Smith, I think you should escort your lady friend to safety, don't you?" Appealing to his very human love to a human that isn't her to save his life. OUCH

"Oh, the little maid is full of fire!" "And you can shut up!"

"Scared and holding a gun is a good combination. Do you want to risk it" Mistress of no-fucks-given awesomeness.

"Do it, Mr. Smith, I mean you!"

Don't just stand there. Move! God, you're rubbish as a human." Because he was kinda rubbish as a Time Lord, too. Poor scrappy kid who never really fit in.

The human doctor is a man of war. The very thing the doctor is running from. His former self.

AFTER THE VILLAGE DANCE: And Joan enters into his world so easily. That world of secrets and layers and runs in the dark holding hands. How quickly she falls for a good man.

And THIS is why Martha is such a tragic figure. When it was just her and Rose, she could "chalk it up" to the fact that she was human. Holy smokes! That would make a great blog post! "The origin of the phrase!" Love it.

And...how UNFAIR that Joan gets shown a mere copy of the world that Martha's loved and enjoyed for so long! (9.42)

But Joan is SO perceptive! It's like Martha can't help but be impressed by how perfect they would be together. And THAT'S what makes her truly tragic. It's not just that he chose another over Martha, but the universe chose another over Martha.

"It's like he's left the kettle on, like he knows he has something to get back to, but he can't remember what."

"It's just him."

That difference in cadence perfectly criss crosses their experiences with the doctor. In the first few phases of love, there's so much to say. So much to explore. Like new lovers when naked for the first time. But Martha represents that everyday love. The one that sticks to your ribs and puts meat on your bones. Hair on your chest and all that. And her simple answer is, 'It's just him.'

And THEN, they throw in the race card and leave it there as motherfucking salt in the wound.

And THIS FUCKING KID who is at the lowest end of the totem pole and gets no respect is the one who gets closest to knowing who the Doctor really is.

'Cause he can read minds and shit!

And the here's the fucking Doctor enjoying his role as a male in a patriarchal society.

ABOUT BAINES: My husband: "Is he fucked?"

19.14: I love how Martha says hello to the TARDIS like she's an old friend...

...and then follow it up with that cockamamie nonsense about machines. Damn that rational brain!

19:52: That formulaic vehicle for exposition.

21:11: The TARDIS has to provide the Doctor with a backstory because an imagination is something beyond the doctor's biology. The inability to deceive is etched into his very soul. And that's why he was brave enough to decimate both races in one sitting.

27:02 Of course the TARDIS is looking out for the soul of her beautiful idiot when she sends him to be a teacher at a military school, especially given his own past as the rough child of war. She gives him Latimer, maybe they had a psychic connection, as a living embodiment of his reasons there is no such thing as a just and proper war. And just to show the depths of tragedy to which this episode will reach, the Doctor denies his own peace-loving ways to make himself as human as possible. Because we can be kinda the worst.

But maybe women's sexy wiles can root out the Doctor where a child could not. Seriously, she manages to be everything the Doctor ever needed. She's just like the TARDIS. Maybe she felt a psychic connection to Joan and trusted her to take care of her Beloved Doctor. The pain of widowhood. Because isn't he just as widowed to be the last of his species? The TARDIS is basically saying, 'This is the most equivalent human experience to match your own pain. And I'm going to make you fall in love with yourself."

28:56: and Joan finds herself confronting the one thing she hates so that she can move on.

30:09: "Everyday life can provide honor and valour and let's hope that from now own this country can find its heroes in smaller places. In the most ordinary of deeds." As he proceeds to commit a supernaturally heroic deed and chalk it up to luck. Because that's the Doctor. No matter how much he wishes he could take pleasure in those ordinary deeds, he is always called upon to do the extraordinary.

And it's while riding that high that he can break out of the biological shyness that the chameleon arc gave him and pursue his own desires.

And then he can't help but be drawn to the other alien life on the planet, and in that moment, a sliver if his old life slips through his psyche in one valiant word, "Gallifrey."

And then he does the most intimate thing he can think to do: draw his lover's likeness into his book of impossible dreams. That's like etching her into his very essence.

"We make such good wives." Followed up by this beautiful bit of dialogue:

"Widows aren't supposed to be beautiful. I think the world would rather we stopped. Is that fair? That we stop? "

"That's not fair at all." This is him accepting himself. Forgiving himself. Telling himself that it's perfectly okay to run in your sorrow. To keep moving forward. Like he did with Rose, who he also lost. Because this show is a tragedy.

Poor Martha! "Wasn't on the list." Four, you. Don't lete abandon you. "That's no good. What about the stuff you didn't tell me? What about women? Oh, no, you didn't think of that. What the hell am I supposed to do then? You had to, didn't you? You had to go and fall in love with a human. And it wasn't me."

 "Is there anything you're certain of?"

"Yes. Yes." TRAGIC!

"Cultural Differences" is Martha's motherfucking trigger, man. She's, like oh no, that is NOT happening. I'm not shedding my dignity for the sake of blending in. This bitch is DONE improvising!

"The thing is, you did have a fob watch." And Joan is coming right along with her! In the end, it's always two human women ganging up on the Time Lord.

Tim and Martha: I don't think I've ever heard of a psychic character connecting with a time traveler. It's an interesting dynamic to explore...

The liberation of Martha continues with, "Yeah, well think again, Mate." And it's such a delicious middle finger to the dominant white male rage of the time. Sorry, Melissa Villaseñor's Oscar-Worthy performance in 1917 has been on my mind since watching this again.

Martha convincing Joan that the Doctor is better than human is good practice for when she has to save he world. But it gets better than that! She has to try to convince the Doctor that he's better than human. She is given the gargantuan task of getting the Doctor to accept himself.

Martha holds up his sonic screwdriver and tells him to name it. She knows the power there is in a name. She learned it from the very man she's trying to save when he saved her and the Bard from an alien witch.

Jessica Hynes has this moment right before Joan gets a gun pointed at her head that is just a superb little bit if acting. When the Mother uncovers the Matron and the Doctor's connection, Joan's breath and shoulders hitch ever so slightly before she maintains composure. It just kills me.

"Run! Ah, this is super! We've been in hiding for too long! This is Sport!" Part of the reason this is one of my favorites is the fact that The Family is truly fucking terrifying. And they are akin to one of the most terrifying aspects of human nature: the Hunt.

Testing...Testing

 I've been trying to seriously start a blog for a really long time. I have so many ideas in my head that it gets loud sometimes. It was getting crowded in there. So...why Wanderland? Why not Wonderland, Alice? Why the change?

The way I see it, the internet allows one to wander. The first Alice had a definite goal (at least in the story according to Disney): to get home. She fell down the rabbit hole, sure. She went on several misadventures and took several detours, she always knew where she was going. What I wan to do is wander. 

I didn't realize just how much I had suppressed my wanderlust until I couldn't go anywhere. This pandemic has taught a lot of people to rediscover the joys of staying in. What it taught me was how badly I need to get out. It's demonstative of my perfect timing that I would catch the wandering blues just as travel bans are put into place.

MSMR - Hurricane

 The music video is pure art. Both of them:

In fact, I see them as sister videos, conjoined by the sliver of a theme.

But the second one seems to hold for me a higher place. For a few reasons, but I'll go over the big ones below.

First, this article on the video's subliminal messaging. 

Next, I came across this post by jacob c. green, who seems like a pretty cool artist, hinted at some pretty elaborate meanings behind the project. First of all, if you need a brush-up on what subliminal messaging is, this is a great refresher. 

But basically, it's like this: If the unofficial video is made up almost entirely of subliminal messages, the brain doesn't have anything to hold on to. So, in its search for meaning, it clings to those supraliminal, literally "above the threshold" of conscious attention and recollection, for meaning. It flips the script on the meaning making methods of subliminal messaging where subconscious value is placed on an image not consciously registered. 

Some Thoughts on Doctor Who 8.2: Into the Dalek

 2.00 - 2.23: In transitioning from the Universe's boyfriend, he has somehow become her father. Wait, ew. 

2.09 - "GET it right." Fuckin' Capaldi, man.

 2.26 - "big fella" I love it when the Doctor refers to space vessels as people. It shows his personal connection to the TARDIS.

2:39 - SPACE TURD

2:52 - The War Doctor. My eyes are raining on my face.

3:01 - The Doctor giving notes to his companions like a director gives notes to an actor.

4:40 - That. face.

***Opening Credits***  I actually really like what they did with these credits. It gives it a kind of steampunk feel. And this Doctor is definitely the perfect amalgum of science, magic, and steam.

6.40 - That's kind of a dick question, even by kid standards, right?

6.59 - I guarantee you a kid like that is not going to be puzzled by a sad face because he can't recognize emotions. ZING!

7.05 - 7.23: Okay, I had to go back to the beginning of this scene to confirm that beardy was Clara's colleague, and not her boss. I mean, it's kind of a skeezy comment anyway, but it would be totally weird if he was trying to set Clara up with someone like he's her dad.

7.25 - Goddamn, everyone wants a piece of Danny Pink.

7.42 - The first time I watched this, I kept thinking how Clara was being a little bitch about Danny's soldiering. Like, there's no way she would be so sensitive about it if she's seen everything the Doctor went through and shared in it. But this time, it makes more sense. She's seen the trauma it has caused him and doesn't want other kids to suffer the same fate. This season is all about Clara's arc. She's expanding her compassion beyond the Doctor to the others around her. Or, maybe she's just being flirty.

8.11 - Whenever Clara steps in it:

alt text: Tenth Doctor telling Donna, "no. no no no. don't do that."

8.23: Was that supposed to be a meet cute or a meet antagonistic. Because it looked more like a meet awkward.

8.51: Girl is thirsty AF.

9.16:...really, really thirsty.

9.36: She is treating Danny Pink like the TARDIS does the Doctor. Relentlessly trying to lead the pretty boy to his perfect arrangement.