Shared joy & pain
shared joy & pain
Next year in Kansas City, we will be hosting Worldcon (“we” meaning we Missourians, not me personally, as I am a minor player at best in this drama). I am thrilled and excited to finally be in a place in my life where I can participate in person instead of through my endless babblings on line. Last night I stayed up way past my bedtime to watch the Hugo Awards 2015, and I have opinions. I started to write them as a Facebook post, then decided to move them here: My more coherent (daylight) thoughts on the Hugos: The puppies got socked in the nose with a newspaper last night, and they are yipping that they meant to get socked, and besides, the Hugo isn’t so great after all and they didn’t really want it. Which is par for the course. There is so much spin in their position at this point that if they were to stop spinning there would be no there, there, at all. I have a great deal of compassion for many of these folk. They will never be able to live their support of this down, and some (many) of them will probably eventually realize how
Lucky came into my life in February of 2003. I was getting new tires on my 1992 Ford Tempo (and a good thing – a week later, they probably saved my life, when I had the accident that resulted in changing careers and going back to college to be a social worker). It was unseasonably warm, and I was hanging out in front of the tire shop with the owner. I only half paid attention when he yelled something at the street, where someone passing had just thrown a bag of trash out of their car at 35 miles per hour. A few seconds later, a passing school bus screeched to a halt. In the road, out of nowhere, was a small terrier puppy (possibly a mini schnauzer – we were never quite sure). I ran into the street, snatched up the puppy, and brought him inside. He was infested with worms, filthy, and shivering in terror. He still had a bit of the trash bag caught on his leg. As luck would have it (hee!), we were looking for a dog. But not a terrier. My husband was hunting for a bird dog. I picked up the phone and
The State of the Puppies Up to Now For those of you not familiar with the current controversy about the Hugo Award in Science Fiction, go here, here, and here to read up on what is happening. I do have skin in the game. I am a Worldcon supporting member, and I have long standing friendships and correspondences with several authors and editors and artists in science fiction. I am also a feminist, an anti-racist ally, an LGBTQ ally, and overall what the Hugo Sad Puppies would call a “SJW” (social justice warrior, meant as a pejorative when they say it). I am not going to try to diagnose anyone involved in this issue, I am only going to discuss some broad psychological principles that apply. I am trained in social work, and hold a license to practice in the state of Missouri. My “day job” is as a psychotherapist in my own practice, and I have specialized over the last ten years on issues of poverty, trauma, and personality disorders, with a lot of depression and anxiety thrown in. I have had a fascination with, and have done a lot of work with, people who abuse. The basic premise
I live in Independence MO, which is an unusual town in many respects. It is overshadowed in terms of size by Kansas City to the west, but Independence is the older city, and the county seat. It is the first home of the Latter Day Saints before they moved west, and when they left they left the Community of Christ, an offshoot of the LDS church, to form their own religious center here. Both churches firmly believe that Independence is the literal paradise the Bible promises, which many find ironic due to the severe methamphetamine epidemic that swept through here in the late nineties and still leaves its mark on the town. Independence is also the home of Harry Truman, and the town from which pioneers headed west left in their wagons. Like our town, the people are a well of contradictions, and this is reflected in these two deaths. And two teenage boys died last week here, Mason Atagi and Dylan Thompson. I didn’t know either of them, but this is a small enough community that I was affected by both of their deaths, and my youngest sons was “friends of friends” with both of them. What I say
Goodbye, Leonard Nimoy. This “half alien” geek girl will miss you. I first watched Star Trek (the Original Series) on a small black and white television when I was about eight or nine. We had to hold the rabbit ear antennas just right to get the signal, and it was a revelation to me years later that they all had brightly colored uniforms. A lot of girls identified with Uhura. She was beautiful, intelligent, commanding, and oh, so cool. And she could speak “side eye” code sooooo well. But I didn’t identify with her. I wasn’t cool. I wasn’t beautiful. I didn’t do subtle. I was the stick thin girl with thick glasses and buck teeth, straw colored hair and pale skin covered in freckles, usually dressed in homemade dresses and smocks or hand-me-downs, the one who climbed trees to read books in peace and laughed like a horse.