Agnes Buckethead and Junny Kite: The Case of the Alien Monster

Koning Willem-Alexander, onderneem hiertegen actie! Wel lekker toeven op Sail maar dit soort kulradio tolereren? Doe iets van tederheid, achterlijk staatshoofd! Het roer moet om! Er wordt niet meer nagedacht, er wordt meegewaaid met elke debiele zooi bellers, ook al weet het van toeten noch blazen. Wat krijgen we in ? Waarom snapt een eencellige dit wel en blijft hier maar ons staatshoofd niet en moet daar met een Argentijnse naartoe? En in de tussentijd vooral niet gaan eten met Japanse 'hoogwaardigheidbekleders' die over Fukushima kritische schrijvers daar voor 5 jaar de cel insmijten terwijl u hier -gemaakt plechtig- op 5 mei onze vrijheid staat te vieren.

En jullie maar bidden: Hier is The Scene met Blauw. Daarna een zogenaamde dj die beschrijft wat luisteraars dit weekend hebben gedaan. Weer meteen een overdreven link tussen vlot babbelende dj en publiek. Gaat helemaal nergens over. Dan volgt een plaatje. Ik heb het 2 uur en 17 minuten uitgehouden. Bij Budapest gooi ik 3FM uit. Anders was ik knettergek van het eindeloze geouwehoer geworden.

Dus er zit al een ongelooflijk verschil tussen wat ik met muziek doe en wat 3FM met muziek doet. Er komt een plaatje en daarna moet er weer een opgelegde interactie tussen dj en massa plaatsvinden. Tijd voor een dj om zelf met iets te komen lijkt helemaal verdwenen. Hij moet constant tegen een publiek aanleuteren en mag er zelf geen originele individuele gedachten op nahouden, lijkt het wel. Maar het geouwehoer van de massa aan de telefoon heeft 3FM heilig verklaard. En na 2 uur en 17 minuten heb ik daar behoorlijk m'n buik van vol.

Het vleien van elke debiel die opbelt boekt een overwinning op de inhoud van een programma. Dit is duidelijk een de dj's opgelegd iets. De luisteraar is binnen een uur te vaak aan het woord maar heeft in feite helemaal niks origineels te melden. Hij wint een prijs en iedereen moet dan zogenaamd weer blij zijn. Maar de programmamaker zit gewoon uit z'n nek te lullen en probeert om de haverklap "1" te worden met de opbellende luisteraar.

Dus het is meteen al: Wie gaat zoiets 24 uur per dag zonder koppijn aan zitten horen? Na 2 uur en 17 minuten zit je hoofd vol onzin van een ander en als je de radio dan niet uitgooit word je knettergek. Maar eigenlijk kwam er een interactie tussen dj en luisteraar waaraan het hele programma ondergeschikt werd gemaakt. Alsof zijn invloed belangrijker was dan de inhoud van het programma en de rode draad alleen de idioten die opbelden waren. Ik heb weleens betere nachtprogramma's gehoord. Waarin het ook nog om nieuwe muziek ging..

Maar hier trof ik een jarig huppelkutje aan dat graag met alle winden meewaait maar mij helemaal niks zinnigs over muziek vertelt en voor wie de constant te paaien luisteraar heilig is. Diverse Radio Veronica-deejays die in het verleden voor de publieke jongerenzender werkten, weigeren aan het jubileum mee te werken.

Hilversum 3 is ooit bedacht als alternatief voor de toenmalige zeezender Radio Veronica. Nog steeds zit er bijna elk uur een andere club, met een andere kleur en een andere mening. De publieke omroep zegt graag te willen verbinden, nou, in mijn ogen is het eerder een splijtzwam. De helft van Nederland is vijftigplus. Een aantal hoofdrolspelers haken net als Erik De Zwart dus af qua medewerking aan de reeks 50jaar3fm. Toch dook ie 2 september in de aflevering over in uur 2 even op in de Tipparade op Hilversum III: Dat mag van mij morgen opgeheven worden.

Ze doen namelijk niks publieks; draaien oude hits net als wij bij Veronica. Wat ik veel belangrijker vind: Die motie is aangenomen, maar ik hoor er niks meer over. Ze mogen blijkbaar doen wat ze willen. Terwijl de nummers die wij draaien vijf jaar uit de Top40 verdwenen moeten zijn. En zoals altijd verzandt een topic van S: Ik schreef vannacht wat kwade woorden over 3FM, maar dat betrof een invalster voor Mark van der Molen.

Zal het goedmaken door hier later nog aandacht aan Mark zelf te besteden zodra ie weer terug is. En ik heb tot dusver maar 1 lijst gekopieerd en dat is die van de genres. Maar daar zal de 3FM Playlist nog naast gehouden worden. Dat is de komende maand niet van belang om 'ns goed naar te kijken? Waarom zouden we daar uit gewoonte onze ogen voor moeten sluiten? Het stukje over politiek Den Haag en Koningshuis is ook legitiem als je je beseft dat er in Japan een celstraf staat zodra je je daar vrij uit over Fukushima en Nederland in daar 'serieus' voor een sportevenement naartoe wil.

Daar mag ik tussendoor m'n ongenoegen toch gewoon over uiten? Dan kun jij de vloer er weer mee aanvegen en zeggen dat het niks toevoegt terwijl ik jou nog niet een topic heb zien openen.. In het verlengde daarvan is het ook interessant om te kijken of 3voor12 dit nummer ooit op 3FM heeft gedraaid.

En de kijk van Erik de Zwart op 3FM is ook hoogst actueel want die plukte ik vanmiddag net uit het nieuws terwijl ik het hier juist over 3FM had. De Zwart horen we trouwens rond 1 uur 43 in uur 2. Ook leuk om te horen uit de mond van Vincent van Engelen: Het interesseerde 'm niet wat anderen van 'm dachten. Wat heeft Veronica voor toegevoegde waarde eigenlijk! De meest waardeloze radiozender die er is! Ik luister ook niet continu naar alle zenders.

Het is inmiddels 1 grote wirwar van allerlei omroepstations die er allemaal hun eigen wetten op nahouden. Maar Patrick Kicken zou ik op Veronica volgens mij nog wel kunnen aanhoren. Alleen door het publiek daar op 1 te zetten krijg je te maken met 3X dezelfde track van Guns 'n Roses binnen 3 uur. Hoorde op de radio maanden terug ook dat ze op Veronica elke zondag 80's-zondag doen.

Weet iemand of dat nog een succes is geworden? Want ik haakte al na een week af. Na Patrick Kicken moet ik ook denken aan Jeroen Soer. En de Scherpe Rand Top 30 hield ermee op die op zich ook okay was. En nu heb je nog de Pinguin Top 30 en de Mania 30 maar die volg ik amper. Tipparade heb ik ook laten vallen.

Dus blijft voor mij nog iTunes over. Dat geeft per genre wel aan waar al die zenders in Nederland door elkaar mee aankomen. Dus als dat goed wordt gevolgd heb je ook genoeg leuke nieuwe muziek bij elkaar. En als je het goed doet meteen ook uit andere landen. Bij de NPO is het publiek de eigenaar.

Dat hoor je goed terug in de programma's voor wie het wil horen. Gaat het om de inhoud van een programma of om om de 5 minuten de luisteraar op een voetstuk te plaatsen d. Dus worden je kritische vermogens danig aangetast als je daar gaat zitten presenteren. En het komt ook niet in ze op om weer met een Mega Tip 30 te komen, wat ik ook een goed programma vond. Kan trouwens een topic openen voor de Mania 30 en die op DutchCharts elke week updaten en van een Spotify-linkje voorzien - ter compensatie van de door 3FM afgestoten Scherpe Rand van Platenland die op Kink FM misschien nog steeds had bestaan als Arjen Grolleman niet plotseling was weggevallen waardoor Kink FM later werd opgedoekt.

Dus ik ben zeer benieuwd naar het 3FM-programma van Mark van der Molen die door deze radiofreak de kneepjes van het radiovak zou zijn bijgebracht. Want op 1 staat daar nu: En die werd voor ie maandag bij iTunes met downloads van 11 naar 1 steeg op 3FM gedraaid. Dus hoezo 'ongerelateerd', 'volstrekt willekeurig' en 'onsamenhangend'? Hieruit blijkt juist duidelijk dat een 3FM directe invloed heeft op iTunes. Inmiddels zijn er sinds de start van dit topic al 25 uur 3FM voorbijgevlogen. Dus is nu de eerste stap dat ik in mijn volgende posting even uitzoek hoe dat zich allemaal verhoudt tot eerder genoemde iTunes-genres.

Hoe zit het trouwens nu met die bijzondere krachten die je eerder op dit forum claimde te hebben? Zijn nooit echt van de grond gekomen of wel? Wat heeft die vraag nou in godsnaam met dit topic te maken? Dus wie is er hier nu eigenlijk aan het afleiden naar en 'verzanden in niet-relevante informatie'? Bij het overgrote deel van je verhalen hier vraag ik me af wat dit met met het topic te maken heeft. Erik de Zwart draaft een beetje door. Maar wat radio 2 betreft heeft hij wel gelijk. While I tried to think of a response, he punched me.

He clocked me on my right cheekbone. He hit me hard enough that the left side of my head slammed into the window. Two kinds of pain, blossoming across my skull. I felt—I imagined—my face splitting. My head was two halves moving in different directions. In the unreality of the moment, I thought I had to hold my head together with my hands to have any hope of my face staying in one piece.

The bus driver, having heard the crack of my head on the glass, stopped, the back door opened, and the assailants escaped as the driver walked back to where I was sitting and asked if I was okay. I told him I was trying to keep my face from separating. He asked if he should call the cops. The guys were already gone. The bus was crowded. I said not to worry about it. He offered me an extra bus transfer. I had no need for an extra transfer, but I accepted it, to make him feel better about wanting to make me feel better.

Then he punched me. I expected a fellow passenger to say something, maybe even apologize for not intervening, but as the bus got under way again, silence prevailed. My shock at being punched rivaled my shock at the silence. So this is Seattle, I thought. I held it together until I got off the bus downtown, then I started sobbing.

It was either that or an attempted mugging with a shamefully accurate slur thrown in. There was no one on the planet I felt comfortable talking about it with. He made me tea and gave me bags of frozen vegetables to hold against my face. He told me that the gray and purple bruises I had for weeks looked tough.

He gave me advice about aggressive panhandlers: He gave me advice about the bus: Never sit at the very back. He gave me a book that made coming out easier: He helped me shed my skin. Three months after the incident on the bus, I met my first boyfriend. I went home with him the day we met, and never went back to that apartment in the U-District. He became my guide to adulthood. They ended up staying together another five years. I may have lived with Darren for only four months, but he had a bigger impact on my life than almost anyone. I kept staring at it. Was that really his mustache?

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He gestured for me to open it. On first glance, I thought it was a small brown piece of real shit. A second later, I realized it was plastic. Only five queers showed up to perform for an empty theater. It was and we were in conservative country in Michigan. I lost to a senior citizen who deep-throated the mic. The plastic poop was my consolation prize for coming in second. I was too polite or too stunned to ask him to explain it.

Was my performance really that shitty? There is nothing going on in this part of the world during the middle of winter. Snowdrifts sometimes get as high as 15 feet—three times the height of most people.

My friends and I were intrigued by what Moore was up to. We were bored with Adder- all and bad handjobs, and an arts festival organized by the rebel documentarian was a valid excuse to leave our boarding school campus.

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We convinced our hall monitors that we were very into comedy and they let us go off-campus— unsupervised. I felt so cool. Inside was a piece of shit. None of us knew who John Waters was. I was born in , 20 years after Pink Flamingos came out. The movie was Pink Flamingos.

We wanted something cool to post on Facebook, so we chose to go to that. A straight guy I wanted to blow thought it would be funny if we competed in the drag show. The drag show was supposed to increase attendance for the midnight movie. Anyway, after performing, and after the poop, I was in no mood for this John Waters person. Massey wears lingerie and holds a giant stuffed heart. Everything only got worse. Then atrans woman flashes her dick, tits, and scrotum, which causes him to flee. Sometime after that, a straight couple has sex on-screen while smashing a real live chicken between their bodies until it dies.

He left the theater for a lot longer than a piss. Alone, I continued to watch. But why was I so turned on by all of it? It is the grossest moment in the history of cinema. It also explains the fake poop Waters gave me. Sitting alone in that theater, I was too busy thinking about other things.

I realized that my drag act—and, to a greater extent, my life—could be a lot filthier.

Waters treated gender like trash. Gender, it turns out, could be thrown away and pissed on and recombobulated to my liking. A lot of gay artists probably have this experience: Waters is the artist who changed the rules, who brought absolute filth into queer pop culture decades before queer sex was even legal in most states. Today, whenever I tell this story to anyone who knows John Waters, they die.

I had no idea how important John Waters would be to me as I got older. As penance, I work hard every day to be a spectacular, mouthy, total piece of shit. Food Justice acts to remove the significant structural inequities that exist within both our food and economic systems. She woke up to more than 60 unread texts the next morning. I am so far removed from feeling like I have a community that understands me that the second I get a scrap of representation, I become overwhelmed. In the queer community, there is always racism and a lack of nuance about the intersectionality of my experiences as a queer Chinese American.

In the Chinese community, my queerness is a shameful, taboo subject, unacknowledged in public in order to save face. Queerness is swept under the rug in the Chinese American community. Community psychology shows that people who are alienated and excluded by society and their community are more likely to be mentally ill. I spent years closeted in Chinese circles and struggled with being unable to reconcile these two integral parts of my identity.

As early as sixth grade, I would come home bursting to talk about a myriad of social issues, queer ones included. She knew how important this was to me, and she trusted me to figure myself out. In March, I introduced my girlfriend to a Chinese family friend.

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You must mean guimi. We like each other. Well, not exactly gay. If you are queer and have tried to come out to someone, you know how it goes: These conversations are exhausting. Sometimes they hurt, even if the other person means you no harm. She is important to me and cares for me deeply, but she has also been surrounded by traditional beliefs her entire life.

In her mind, being queer is wrong, and being open about this shameful aspect of our family would cause us to lose face. Chinese society is firmly rooted in traditional family structures, and the modern Chinese mind, consciously or unconsciously, prioritizes family honor. For the queer folks I know, queerness is an important part of our identities that shapes our experiences as we navigate our lives. It is virtually impossible for me to form a close relationship with someone unless they understand that.

When I was 13, he visited for a week. He suggested that maybe I even had a secret boyfriend. I told him that, first of all, I knew better than to get involved with illegal substances, especially because someone close to me struggles with addiction. Secondly, I had no interest in sex. And thirdly, who said I would date a boy? When I asked if he had ever met a gay person, he said that no, he had never met a gay person in his life. I was stock-still, hyper- aware of my heart pounding in my chest, my fingernails digging into my palm.

Full moon, at our house, Jan 30, 2010

There was When he visited from China, I asked my dad if he had ever met a gay person. My dad has always put more pressure on my brother to help my mom run the house, even though I am older. He put us in the accelerated program at school, having come from the best university in China himself. In his mind, things should be a certain way, and those standards are heavily influencedby the society and culture he grew up in. Maybe I was just tired. Tired of not knowing him well enough to make educated decisions about our relationship.

If the person is a girl? What does that even mean? So I press on. Is that all right with you?

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That it could be a girl or boy or other? I start gushing and tell him that I was so afraid of telling him for years, thinking about what he would say, how his opinion would make me feel, if he would still support my college fund. He says that I should never have been afraid.

He will always love me. I tell him about my girlfriend, abest friend of 11 years whom he vaguely knows from when he was around and we were younger. I decide to rip the whole Band-Aid off in one go. His first concern is what he should call me. With English as their second language, they already mess up pronouns sometimes, anyway. I also mention that, when she remembers, my mom calls me her eldest child instead of her daughter in Chinese, and that cracks us up.

It sounds like something out of a period drama, but it works, and it makes us happy. I say no pretty quickly, and he accepts the answer just like that. No insinuations that he knows me better than I do. He takes it all so well that I actually ask if he had expected it. Meanwhile, I know only one other queer Chinese American who is out to a parent, but even then, she says her mother often unintentionally invalidates her identity. I hope that someday there will be an open, supportive community for queer Chinese American youth.

Donated vehicles qualify as charitable gifts and may be eligible for a tax deduction. Call for an appointment: Setting the standard in boutique-style fertility care. At least until I met the woman who would be my creative-writing professor. She made being a Walmart bagger seem like a fine option.

Worse, she usually had a Jeanette Win- terson paperback tucked under one arm. Most of the women in my holler would never admit to an attraction to anyone outside their husbands, except maybe for Jesus and Dale Earnhardt. I never understood this, why I, of all people, was so falsely and unfairly pegged as gay. Sure, I had a bowl cut and was completely uninterested in boys, but this was I mean, sure, I might have occasionally had feelings about women, but that was normal.

Everyone has crushes on their girlfriends—right? Besides, her sexuality was written into our course syllabus. Our reading list was entirely women who slept with women or looked like they did, from Virginia Woolf to Dorothy Allison, from Leslie Feinberg to Judith Butler. I was appalled by the whole thing, but especially by my teacher, who I was sure spent all of her nights home alone petting her 45 cats. I never attempted to hide my disdain.

I strolled in late and plopped down in the front row, and I slept in class more often than not. Back in my dorm. I was not, of course; I was a proud heterosexual. But these lesbians were cool. They were young and hip and had shaved heads and sculpted eyebrows. Lesbians, I realized, could be this. Three months later, I was dating a woman. Those years were the lesbian heyday.

Sometimes the thing you hate in others is the thing you fear in yourself. Queerness was still somewhat taboo, so when we found each other in small towns or big cities, we really connected.

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These days, if you nodded to every queer person you saw on the street, it would look like you have a tic—but in those days, when you saw dykes on the street, you made eye contact. These were the L Word years, and on Sunday evenings we would gather in the home of the one friend of a friend who had Showtime and watch The L Word in rapt silence, shushing each other if anyone dared to interrupt. These were my people, I realized—the dykes, homos, and lezzies. She was my people, too. She did remember, but we never talked about our past, and we gradually came around to something like peace.

If I squinted hard enough, I could see the resemblance. When her book tour came to Seattle, I went, and I bought a book. Later, alone, reading a chapter about myself, I clearly saw how terrible I had been. But I also knew by then that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. But she taught me a lesson that has served me well over the years: Sometimes the thing that you hate most in other people is the thing you fear most in yourself.

That, and the need for transitions. New "v s -. Many in Washington and Oregon have called on New Seasons to cut ties with the Murdock Trust, but all we've heard are excuses. We should not allow any corporation to use Seattle Pride to market products while its profits benefit groups that discriminate against its own LGBTQ employees, customers, and members of Seattle's community. Or as I like to refer to it, one of my big breaks. My first big break.

There will be more to come. I had prepared myself for any outcome, but I felt very confident that day. One of the hardest things about it was that I had grown so close with Alaska and Roxxxy, the other two finalists, that even though I wanted more than anything to win, I was also worried about my two new friends.

Knowing how much I wanted it, I could only assume they wanted it just as much. One of my favorite memories of winning Drag Race is getting banged in my hotel shower afterward. The night I won, I was thinking about everyone but myself, but I was also freaking out on the inside. Once it was all done, I got out of drag and went down to the after-party. I met this guy who was performing on Broadway in Chicago. He and I hit it off, and then we had sex in my shower.

Everyone wanted to party in my room with me afterward, but I had to kick them all out because I was getting banged in the shower. Sol really made the most of my crowning night. Throughout the filming of that season, I always felt like RuPaul knew exactly where I was coming from. Whatever I know, Ru also knows.

You guys want me to be myself, but then you also want me to amp it up. Everyone just wants to see you be the most fully realized version of yourself. CMiiumrc Td riicrtic yOur refund, send: ORtl irfliled td Ltw. It was more like: You not wanting to let people in? How can you remain yourself, while also taking it to percent, while also letting people in? I think you can see the turning point in the show, the point where I realize: In art school, you learn it does not matter the amount of work you put into something, or what your intentions were—none of that matters because all the audience gets is what they see onstage.

Other artists make this mistake all the time. I went to their house! I got to know them! My performance was spot-on! Because that was your job as the actor. Our job as the audience is to see what was put onstage in front of us and then tell you if it was effective or not. All that matters is what we get out of what you put onstage. You can see in my journey on Drag Race when that snaps into place. I just go on an upward climb from there. I was always in drag, or Ru was in drag, or we were both in drag. He loved The Vaudevillians. He went on and on about how it was not only hilarious but also smart, howyou could tell that we had put years and years of work into it, and that even though it was such a stupid premise, a stupid joke, that the intelligence we possess was evident in the performance.

I was so grateful to hear that. But like I said, we only had like five minutes to talk, and it felt like we were rushing through this conversation. It was just me and Ru and Michelle. But before we sat down to do the podcast, it was just me and Ru and Michelle having an actual conversation. I was so nervous leading up to this, because I knew this was going to be the first time in my life when I actually got to just sit and talk with Ru as two people, not as two performers.

He was just so personable. And you know what really fucking impressed me? But for special occasions, I paint on boy brows—you know, day brows. I had painted on day brows, and RuPaul was like: Ru knew the exact name of the color and the brand that I use. I think so many things about it. Co Dotain unbtr ft. We engage in all types of outdoor activities like hiking, camping, biking, kayaking, and more! You look lovely tonight, sir. To say Liza Minnelli looks like a drag queen is tired, you know? And when I made that comment, I had people tell me: I wrote back to that person and said: I remember that person basically said: We can use all the help we can get to help people to understand.

But this other person enlightened me, saying: The importance of that word is the importance we humans put on it. So if we created the word, and we assigned the importance to it, then we can also redefine the word and take the importance away. I saw it as tired and played out. Our audience is everyone, basically. Because drag queens have also always been trans women.

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Okay, stop using the word. At the end of the day, the show is about drag. Ru retracted a statement he made about trans contestants after seeing the backlash. I think they just thought they were going to have to rethink the whole formula. Sometimes I win, and sometimes they win. But the drag pageant is a pageant about drag, not about who has real boobs and who has foam boobs. Because no one thing should ever have to speak for everyone.

It is telling a story from the trans perspective, and my friend Lady J is a writer on that. I exist in the in-between. I go through TS A scanners several times a week. I was just dumbfounded that this happened. The TSA agent thought that I was female bodied, so she scanned me as a female. I came out and saw the screen, and there was a big yellow blob at my crotch. And then she said to me: I have a penis. Ifyou would have asked me howl should be scanned, I wouldhavebeen forthright about that. The gall of having a penis.

I give RuPaul all the credit for what she has done for the drag community, and I always make sure my fan base knows that. And it goes both ways. Ru has always been gracious about promoting my albums. My career at large, anyway. Before that, I was content with where my career was going in Seattle. Jerick Hoffer the theater actor was having success, and Jinkx Monsoon the dragperformerwas having success. Obviously, I love performing and I love being onstage. A New Spelling of My Name. The writing about the sexual assault is brief, candid, and strangely calm—far, far away from the fear festering in my chest.

In the book, I was seeing someone who had been in similar dark corners as I had. I was afraid that my own darkness was leaking through my eyes. I was afraid that if I let go of the book, I would fall apart with it. Lorde had brought me back two years in time, to the summer after my first year of college.

My truth was a burden then, and it was being carried by a dazed, sad, empty-eyed shell. I was volatile, impulsive, scared, and desperate. They only wanted to hear my diagnoses, not the traumas. When I turned to the hospital counselor at my bedside after my second rape, and told her what had happened, her face changed into a smug smile. The clatter ended my flashback episode, but I still did not blink. As the clock ticked toward the final moments of class, I saw, fully and clearly, what Lorde had just done.

Lorde had told a story of her trauma with Zami, but it was not the end of that story, or even that chapter. It was a portion of an ongoing truth that did not stop with, and was not only about, her pain. Lorde was a self-defined woman who lived by her truth, as she wished to tell it. Her legacy as a lesbian, and her love of women, is undeniable. However, for much of her life, Lorde struggled with her identity. She was closeted because of fear, shame, and circumstances. She was a lesbian who was married to a man—Edwin Rollins, a white gay lawyer—and had two children with him before their separation in Lorde then had a relationship with Frances Clayton, a white academic woman with whom Lorde co-parented her children.

Their non- monogamous relationship enabled her to live openly as a lesbian for the first time. I had experienced similar fears about being open about it, and have mostly dated cisgender, heterosexual men because of it. In reading about Lorde's life, I saw myself again. I was still who I knew I was. Because she had survived, I could survive.

My life was not hindered by, but actually informed and inspired by, my experiences. Suddenly I could see no good reason to be ashamed for telling my truth and allowing it space in my life. Biomythographies are a form of storytelling, a way of telling a truth that is accompanied by the mythologies of the self.

For Lorde, the truth was an open invitation, a vehicle that welcomed inter- sectionality, that welcomed invention, that welcomed art. Very few people can transform pain into love, hope, and healing. Even fewer can transform it into art. Her art invites others in. For the first time, I realized that telling my truth, and telling it the way that I not only wanted to, but needed to, was possible.

Not only was it possible: It had already been done. I was no longer afraid of being caught in my own pain, of having my classmates see how hard I was holding onto that poor book. I was going to embrace my pain, and transform it into something useful. I was going to be a writer. I was going to construct a biomythography of my own, my way, and bring others with me. Zami was the first stone of many on that path, a path of rebirth through writing that ultimately saved my life. I have been told it has saved other people, too. I openly discuss my journey with mental health on my social media, and to those who have come forward to tell me how my openness inspired them to get help, to let others in, I say: Agnes de Garron taught me not to be normal.

I had a great job as a dental assistant, but I was miserable. On top of all that, I was going through a nasty breakup. Afriend told me he was moving to New Orleans and asked if I wanted to go with him. I wanted to get out. So I said yes. I planned on being in New Orleans for a month. Then I met Agnes. Agnes de Garron was about 75 years old when I met her. The Sisters were atrailblazing group of drag performers who played with themes of gender and morality back in the s. They were dressed as nuns, but they also had full beards. The Radical Faeries had just started to form in San Francisco, too, and Agnes was a Faerie from the very first gathering.

The Faeries play with gender or nongender, too, but they also incorporate pagan traditions into their gatherings, which often happen in the woods or at clubs and involve a lot of sex and eating and long conversations. You know the Cockettes? Agnes was very into the Cockettes. She was also in the air force during Vietnam. When she talked about Vietnam, she mainly talked about gay sex. She had a boyfriend who was also in the military, and they were both in Vietnam.

She got a lot of backlash from the queer community at the time for being white and dating a black man. But Agnes has always been a radical who thinks outside the box. The first time I met Agnes, I was filming her at my apartment for a short video my friend wanted to make. The wedding, my sister said, would not be fancy. However, there would be a hair-metal band, a five-course local organic vegan dinner, and a life-size fair-trade chocolate baby elephant. The older sister wishes that she would write more, so this seems like a good excuse. She had been a successful Ivy-League writing instructor.

But she quit that and became a health coach. Which has been a miserable failure as her sister predicted. For just once, I would like you not to be a health coach and just be my sister. Oldest siblings, I learned on firstborns. All the first American astronauts to fly into outer space were firstborns. Oldest children are disproportionately represented in law, medicine, banking and engineering….

Oldest kids average two points higher on I. Oldest children are more self-righteous, insecure, and self-deluded than any other kind of offspring. I was just tickled with the nasty nature of this story. Then I had to stop reading for the night. She spent most of her time with her best friend, Haven. The stories about Haven seem to be touching with their mom always excited when she gets a Christmas card from her , but we slowly see that the feeling may not go both ways.