nirix5: (me!)
Dear Everybody,

Guess what? I don't really care that Whitney Houston died. It was weird in a 'huh' kind of way, because she's been around and part of the music scene since I was a kid. It gets the same kind of 'huh' from me that anyone does that was a household name who dies. I think the whole drug thing was a shame. Literally, I mean, throwing away a voice like that for drugs is shameful. But it's her life and she could do what she wanted with it.

Now. I am sick to death of all the displeasure that you're showing that ANYONE in the media is paying attention to her death. All of the macros with dead soldiers or starving African children going 'Whitney who?'-- are you kidding me? GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELVES.

Just because someone had addiction problems is no reason that they can't be mourned. Guess what? Soldiers have addiction problems. People from all walks of life have addiction problems. And believing that just because someone was in entertainment means that they never did anything to help society or individuals? Is BULLSHIT. Yes. Houston never picked up a gun to serve her country. However, she did:

- break down race barriers in a restrictive industry
- operate charities supporting children with AIDS, cancer, and who are homeless
- support the United Negro College Fund, helping to send people of color to college who might otherwise not have been able to go
- record and release her Superbowl rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner", donating ALL of her share of the profits to the American Red Cross Gulf Crisis Fund
- Staged a concert specifically for soldiers and their families
- refused to do any business with any agencies supporting apartheid
- supported charities that raised apartheid awareness
- become the first major singer to perform in South Africa after apartheid, donating proceeds from her concerts to various South African charities
- re-release "The Star Spangled Banner" after 9/11, with all profits going to the New York Firefighters 9/11 Disaster Relief Fund and the New York Fraternal Order of Police

Those are just the public things. You don't know how she affected individual lives. Guess what? When I was super depressed and going through a really hard time in my life, it was not a solider who saved me. It was a musician who got me through. Now, that wasn't Houston, but who's to say that her music never touched people, never helped them through hard times? I'm sure those people are mourning her right now. And newsflash: THEY HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO.

(Just like you have every right to mourn Steve Jobs, who was a tyrant and a slave worker, literally, but hey, he didn't do drugs, so he's all right. Whatever. I wish you could see the dismissive sneer on my face right now.)

And to the people in my parents' generation who are sounding off on this on Facebook:

SHUT THE FUCK UP. SERIOUSLY? I KNOW WHAT YOU PEOPLE DID DURING THE SIXTIES AND SEVENTIES. I'VE SEEN THE PICTURES. Pot and the kettle, much?

To sum up: Death is painful, whether big or small. Everyone has the right to mourn whoever they want, however they want. You don't have the right to judge or direct them.

.

Sad note.

Dec. 23rd, 2005 08:23 pm
nirix5: (me!)
Jason Breckenridge died on Dec. 17th.

Read more... )
.
nirix5: (KH fall wind girl)
Uncle Dave died today.

He died peacefully; just went to sleep and never woke up.

Uncle Kevin almost died.

His appendix got infected, the infection turned into gangrene, and the surgeons got it right before it burst.

Quinn, Manda and I dressed up as fairies and had our pictures taken. Jason wore a beach towel around school today- ostensibly to keep warm, but really as a symbol of his office as a Doctor of Divinity.

Both of my classes were cancelled, so I didn't really do too much. Plans were hatched for a New Year's Eve masquerade ball, complete with a reenactment of the "Masquerade" song (with dance and all) from the Phantom of the Opera.

Dustin called Phantom. Quinn called Raoul. Everyone else? Who knows.

It's starting to get cold out, now- the wind direction's changed; it's coming from the north. I closed all the windows before.

.
nirix5: (mrs. smith (w/gun))
May I present the most WTF news story ever. EV-ER.

WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?"
nirix5: (mrs. smith (w/gun))
May I present the most WTF news story ever. EV-ER.

WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?"
nirix5: (Default)
Uncle Phil died on Friday morning.

We found out on Saturday... which, incidentally, was my mother's 53rd birthday.

Kelsey and I had rushed out to Wegman's to pick up stuff for Mom's dinner and cake and whatnot. We had to rush because Dad needed the truck for work. When we walked back through the door with the groceries, Mom was sitting there, crying. Two feet farther in and we could see Dad sitting there, crying. And we all just kind of looked at each other for a second. It's horrible- when you know that someone died, and for those ten seconds or however long, you just think, "Who?" The Mom told us about Uncle Phil. Dad broke down all over again, crying into his hands and telling us that Uncle Phil hadn't even gotten to play the new drums he'd just bought.

Cried for approximately thirty seconds, went upstairs, read a chapter of Memoirs of a Geisha, and then went and cleaned the kitchen. Then I made Mom's birthday cake. Then I cleaned my room.

Now it's Monday and I still can't believe it.

I mean, I really can't believe it. After my brief crying bout, I decided that my entire family, immediate and extended, was collectively on crack and lying. Because Uncle Phil can't be dead. He can't be. It's absolutely fucking ridiculous. But it's obviously very real to them, so I tried not to get mad at Kelsey when she hugged me or spent most of Saturday afternoon crying.

The rest of the weekend was spent on the phone. Not me, actually. My mother was on the phone. Constantly. Everyone is freaking out. My parents are driving down to Staten Island for the wake today- assuming the transmission doesn't go. They'll be back sometime on Wednesday, and are allegedly staying with Aunt Sean and Uncle Kevin, after a giant fiasco of figuring out where to stay. They would have stayed with Uncle Mike except everyone there is sick and Uncle Mike is delusional with a fever or something.

Jesus. I keep saying I can't believe it, but I can't. This is all some horrible sick joke or something.

Uncle Phil. Christ. What are Aunt Patty and Katie going to do? Katie's younger than I am. We spent the first years of our lives together. I haven't talked to her since That Summer- I guess I was fifteen or so- and once when we ran into her on Castleton Avenue. But we all kind of knew what was going on with them, because Dad talked to Uncle Phil all the time... I was looking through a scrap book that my grandmother made me for Christmas last year. There's all these pictures of me and James and Katie. And I don't even know this girl anymore, really, and her dad is dead. God.

Spent the weekend studying and sleeping and not believing anything. Seriously, I'm developing this bad habit of not sleeping during the week and then catching up on the weekends. Which is why I was asleep when you called, Karen. I'll give you a call tonight, okay?

I am not going to cry in the computer lab. I will not disgrace myself like that.
nirix5: (Default)
Bleargh. Got a whole lot of nothing done today, at least so far. I'm going to write something- I just don't know what yet- and post it in the next hour or so. I hope. I've gotten all my distracting stuff out of the way (no new kimono on Ichiroya) and Oliver has finally relenquished my headphones.

I really need to get a computer at home. I always forget the stuff I mean to put in this journal. Like Jeannette sending my tiara back (I'm going to post the letter she sent me with it on Monday- my tiara saw action!!!) and Mr. Christopher dying. Mom's going to send a mass card and Nana's probably going to go to the funeral on Monday. It's really, really sad. I love the Christophers, although I didn't know the boys as well as Allison. I still miss them, sometimes.

Mr. Christopher's Obituary )

I hope when I die they have my funeral at Harmon's. They probably will. That's where everyone has their funerals.

Don't let Manhattan decieve you. The rest of New York is just like one big small town. Everyone knows everyone else, and everybody goes to Harmon's. Aunt Doris did.

I should really write out the story of Aunt Doris's funeral one of these days. I still think about that whole fiasco and crack up laughing. I found the pictures of it again the other day. I find it horribly ironic that one of the best pictures I've ever had taken of me when my hair was really long has a dead woman in a casket in it. Shame- it looks all pretty and shiny and stuff. Anyway...

Found some random crap floating around a notebook of mine from over the summer. Here it is.

“If you open the door, Romania will eat you alive.”
~ Gymnastics commentator

“I only get nervous when someone ties me to a chair and sticks a hand grenade between my legs. The rest is pretty much irrelevant after that.”
~Rob

Commentator: “As the captain of this team, can you tell me their emotional state?”
Mom: “Yeah, we’re all freaked out, you stupid old bitch!”

“I don’t know what kind of kid you were, or your brains are so old that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young.”
“WHAT?!?! I work my fingers to the bone all day for you, woman…”
“Yes, yes. …Do you want some teddy grahams?”
~ Mom and Dad


Hysterical rant written while canvassing for CCE )

The most spectacular piece of poetry you will ever read, written while waiting to be called up in traffic court a year and a half ago, when my mother and I were being Regency fangirls. We almost got kicked out of court for giggling so much... )

America is:
~ Jenna and Barbara Bush trying to be witty, failing miserably, and all of the Republicans laughing anyway.

~ reading the personal ads and not answering them.

~ people who are American telling everyone they’re something else and people who were born elsewhere telling everyone that they’re American.

~ possessed of an army of people who just joined up to get money for college.

~ porn. In other countries it’s sex, but in America it’s porn.

~ canvassing door to door without shame.

~ a giant crime scene, complete with angsty G/S, C/W, AND N/G overtones.
nirix5: (Default)
...so, Jonathan Brandis is dead.

This makes me very sad. He was my first ever crush. I told my cousin Alex a year or so ago that he was my Justin Timberlake... and she said, "Who's Jonathan Brandis?" I felt very old at the time.

My sister doesn't really know him, either. She told me that I need to loosen up a bit and develop a sense of humor. Hello, this guy's dead!

I remember when Jen used to get BOP back in fifth grade and she used to give me all the Jonathan Brandis posters. I put them on my walls and we'd kiss them with horrible, garrish lipstick. Good times.
nirix5: (Default)
I have another wake to go to tonight.

The Professor died the other day. He was my favorite character that was a regular customer at the store. He was crazy, always telling jokes and stuff. I’ll miss him.

In other news I got my hair cut today. It’s cool, all layered. Then we went and saw Hollywood Homicide. It’s a good movie. I give it a thumbs up.

In more other news Father John is leaving the church. This was a surprise, but my sister always takes thing like this badly- this time she burst into tears and would not be comforted. Told her not to be so emotional about it- if I had to deal with Fern Butler for seven years I’d be trying to get out of it, too, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Also told her that letter said that F. John wouldn’t be leaving CNY, but when Tess gets into crying jags she will not get out. V. stupid. V. girly, V. emotional.

Also told her that besides, Suzanne is one of my best friends in the world so will not lose track of them any time soon.

Ayako-chan, want me to pick you up an application for Smith’s? Cause it’s close and all. Don’t know what you want to do, so let me know. Or Hooter’s. Whichever- but Smith’s is closer and my car is falling apart. Anyhow, ‘twill be fun. Yes.

Off to wake now.

This has been Feather, reporting from BumFuckEgypt. Stay tuned for our nightly newscast at eleven.

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