Glinda: The Passive Aggressive Witch

See Glinda’s vacant smile in this picture?

GoodWitchIndeedShe’s smiling because she’s evil! Eeeevil I tell you!

Think I’m kidding?

If you recall, Glinda started the conflict by giving Dorothy the shoes that were Ms West’s only remembrance of her sister, who was so tragically killed by a falling house.

Imagine how you’d feel if the cops gave your dead sibling’s shoes to the person responsible for his or her death.

Glinda is a trouble maker. She interrupts a distraught Wicked Witch, who is trying to find out what the hell has happened to her sister, with the antagonistic, “Aren’t you forgetting the Ruby Slippers?”

Huh?

The Ruby Slippers magically appear on Dorothy’s feet.

The Wicked Witch pleads for the tokens of her sister’s memory.

The very defiant Glinda says, “There they are. And there they’ll stay!”Movies names "The Wizard of Oz"

Meanwhile, you can see Dorothy’s terror. Clearly she does not want to get involved. …and she sure as hell doesn’t want those shoes! – well, maybe.

Glinda further stirs the pot when she commands the Wicked Witch, “Be gone! Before somebody drops a house on you.”

Somewhat unsettled by this, the Wicked Witch takes her leave, – but not before threatening Dorothy and her dog Toto with bodily harm.

Formulating a plan, Glinda says to Dorothy, “I’m afraid you’ve made a rather bad enemy of the Wicked Witch Of The West.”

 You just know Dorothy is thinking,  “Wait.  What?  NO! I do not want to be part of this!”

This is where I think Glinda, upon sending Dorothy off on a wild goose chase, sets her plan in motion.

It's a shortcut to Emerald City.

It’s a shortcut to Emerald City.

In my warped mind, Glinda sets off in her bubble to the Emerald City in order to convince the Wizard to use Dorothy as a means to finally rid themselves of Wicked Witches. Why not? She already killed one witch. what’s another? That’s why she sent Dorothy to the Emerald City by way of the more scenic Yellow Brick Rd, instead of the more direct Red Brick Rd. Everyone in Oz knows Yellow Brick Road runs right past Ms West’s Castle! It’s one of the premier tourist attractions of Oz!

My conspiracy theory comes from one single moment at the end of the film when you realize that Dorothy has been played.

Glinda, with a big smile on her face, says to Dorothy, “You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.”

Are you kidding me?!

I just wanted Dorothy to look Glinda straight in the eye and say, “I. Killed. The. Wrong. Witch!”  I wanted Dorothy to beat the living daylight’s out of Glinda. …or maybe look around for another bucket of water. If it worked for one witch, maybe it would work on another.

Glinda, the “good” witch. Ha! I wanna smack that vacant smile right off that bitch’s face!

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Dear 16 year old self;

I realize you know everything about everything, so I’ll make this brief.

  1. Be true to yourself. You may not believe it now, but you are one hell of a kid. You’re definitely smarter than what most people give you credit for. You should be proud of that.
  2. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Most of what you’re going through right now is small stuff. Enjoy yourself. That’s what being a teenager is all about.
  3. Try not to take any undue risks. Remember how I said you’re smarter than what most people give you credit for? Well, if you pay attention to that little voice in the back of your mind, you’ll be just fine.

Oh. One last thing. When you get older, there’s gonna be this thing called the internet. It’s gonna be huge! It’ll be a great outlet for creativity. But please, please, please, please, PLEASE try to come up with a user I.D. that’s easier to understand than ADignorantium! I mean, seriously… What the hell were you thinking? 😛

My Inner Nerd Is Screaming With Delight!

I am in awe of brilliance and PBS Idea Channel host Michael Rugnetta is nothing if not brilliant.

The most recent installment of this delightfully mind blowing mind candy centers around the concepts of reality, fact, and fiction.

In part one, he uses War of the Worlds as a means to illustrate how fiction exists within our collective consciousness.

In part two, he continues the exercise using Harry Potter.

Is anyone else as turned on as I am right now? 😛

 

The 40 Year Search!

Ever have a tune stuck in the back of your mind that just won’t go away, but you can’t play it because you don’t know the name? So it sits there, and every once in a while rears it’s taunting head.

Carla Morrison – Eres Tú (letra)

I discovered the above tune while searching for a 1973 song, whose title I could not remember.

I searched for what seemed like forever. I tried every variant of “Et Eschtule” and “Edest Tu” and everything in between.

I even tried humming the mystery song to friends, but that only confused them more.

Part of the problem was that I thought it was an Italian song. I was eight years old when the song came out. The only language other than English that I had heard was Italian, so naturally I thought the song was Italian.

Finding this Carla Morrison song was a big break for me. Of course! Eres Tu! Seeing it in print made so much sense.

So I typed Eres Tu into the YouTube search bar and Lo and Behold…

“Eres Tu” by Mocedades

The sad part is, now that I’m hearing Mocedades again, I kinda prefer the Carla Morrison cut better. 🙂

Out Of The Closet, Into The Fire!

NCODI wanted to write something brilliant and inspiring for National Coming Out Day, something that would give future generations hope and pride. Then like most of my “inspiring ideas” I put it off until the last minute. So here I am at 12:15 AM with a head full of thoughts and nothing on paper … er, document file.

My earliest conversation about homosexuality was a curt one. I was maybe six years old. The idea of marrying a person of the opposite sex was alien to me. I knew that’s what people were supposed to do, but It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I didn’t think girls were yucky, or had cooties. It’s just that I knew I didn’t want to spend my life with a girl. So, one day, I casually asked my grandmother if two boys could get married. Well… I will never forget the look in her face. You would have thought I had grown another head. “NO!” she snapped. “It’s illegal.” And just like that, the conversation was over. But I held onto that thought. I filed it away for later use. The acrimony in her answer would become the foundation upon which my closet was built.

As I grew older, I discovered that people did not approve of gays. Many, like the men in my family were downright malicious. My grandfather made racial epithets part of his everyday vernacular and saved a few choice words for gay men. He said the word “faggot” with such vile hatred I used to cringe. My father might not have been as aggressive, but he was his father’s son. — Perhaps being on the receiving end of that hostility helped me to empathize with others.

By the time I was ten years old I was discovering sex. My best friend found discarded Playboy magazines and was eager to share with the gang. We gathered round, gawking and giggling. Everything is giggles with boys that age. — I tried so hard to be interested. I wanted so much to find something appealing in those images. I really did. I wasn’t put off. Women’s bodies don’t repulse me. I just wasn’t interested.

It was about this time that I happened upon a Playgirl magazine. It probably belonged to my stepsister. I took a look. This was the moment. This was the game changer. Suddenly, I knew. – And I was filled with a combination of relief, exhilaration, and dread. The fact that I had finally experienced sexual excitement was such a relief, but that relief was short lived. All of a sudden panic struck. No! This couldn’t possibly be happening! Why me?? Yes. The $64,000 question, “Why me?” I was so distressed by the thought that God felt it necessary to pile such a huge burden on my shoulders. It wasn’t enough that my parents divorced and I don’t know my mother, now God was against me too? My feeling of despair was made worse because I had no one to turn to. — A young person of color goes home to a family of people just like him or her. LGBT youth are most often alone in a family of heterosexuals. They lack representation in their own family, their own home.

I made it my mission to learn all I could about homosexuality. I was already spending lots of time in the library, so I started there. The resources were slim. I searched every dictionary, encyclopedia, and medical book I could find. I uncovered little more than clinical definitions and misguided assumptions, but I never stopped looking. —  To this day, I soak up every bit of LGBT history and culture I can find.

As puberty took hold, I learned to reinforce my closet door. Attitudes towards gays at school were negative at best. Kids can be so cruel. Anti-gay epithets could be heard from students and teachers alike. I was on constant guard. But I also kept an eye open for clues that there might be others just like me. I sought out allies, but was convinced I was the only gay person in my town. — Silly me.

By my fifteenth summer I was swimming at the nearest YMCA, conveniently located a mere ten miles away. After a swim I’d go to a nearby book and magazine shop to pick up something to read on the long trolley ride home. One day, while perusing the periodicals, the words “gay pride” caught my attention. Oh. My. God. Could it be? The clean cut moustachioed man on the cover smiled down at me. I was nervous. How was I going to ask the cashier to sell me this magazine? I looked for something else to buy. There was no way I’d have the nerve to buy this one gay themed magazine alone. Maybe if I asked for a bunch of titles the clerk wouldn’t notice the gay one. — Does that ever work?–  I continued scanning the rack, but my eyes kept returning to the smiling man. In a panic, I mispronounce the name of the magazine. I had to point it out to the clerk. I was nervous and somewhat embarrassed, but I managed to buy a cooking and a gossip magazine to go with that wonderful window into gay life, The Advocate. The minute I got home, I stashed the magazine where every teenage boy thinks no one will look. Say it with me… “under the mattress.”

My first job was at a local convenience store. I was friends with a few of my coworkers and got together with them after work on Saturday nights. It was nothing elaborate. We piled into a friend’s beat up old car and went to a movie, a diner or bowling. Sometimes we would just drive around, carrying on like teenagers do.  It was on one of those nights that everything changed.

My friends dropped me off at home so I could change out of my work clothes. My parents were quietly seated in the living room.  I said hello, and proceeded upstairs to get cleaned up. I was shocked by what greeted me. My bedroom was in shambles. More importantly, the mattress had been tossed aside. They knew! I was convinced my father was going to throw me out of the house. I was crushed.

I gathered all the courage I could and without looking at my folks, calmly left the house. My friends were waiting in the car for me. I must have looked pretty bad because one of my friends asked what was wrong. I told them I might need a place to stay for a while. When asked why, I skirted the issue. Eventually, the truth came out. Surprisingly, my small group of friends was supportive. We talked for more than an hour. The car never made it out of the parking spot. After encouragement from my friends, I reluctantly returned home to face my fate.

My parents were more upset that I didn’t feel comfortable enough to open up to them than they were about the magazines. My dad was disappointed, but not surprised that his son was gay. “Straight boys “ he said. “don’t usually hang around with girls.” The fact that there were boys in my group didn’t matter to him. There were more than three girls in the group, so I was gay. – Sounds logical to me.

My parent’s told me the reason they searched my room was because they suspected drug use. For the record, I was not using any kind of illegal substance. I didn’t even smoke. I was under the misconception that LGBT folks didn’t do drugs. Yes. I was that naive.

After graduating high school, I met my first love. We weren’t really a good match, first loves rarely are. He helped me through the death of my grandfather, but his habit of sending love notes outed me to my grandmother. She opened a birthday card that was addressed to me and didn’t like the romantic nature of the enclosed message. My grandmother took it as a personal affront, like in some bizarre act of rebellion I decided to be gay. She demanded that I find a nice girl and change my ways or she would disown me

Up until that moment, my grandmother and I had always been close. She took care of me for the three years between my father’s divorce and his marriage to my stepmother. I learned a lot about my Italian heritage through her. I learned how to cook from her. So it was especially painful to hear her say that my being gay made her “sick to her stomach”.

A friend of mine told me to have patience. He said that I had the advantage of time on my side. It was a few years between the moment I discovered I was gay to the time I accepted it as a fact of life. I was going to have to give my family the same about of time to get used to it. He was right. My parents came around within a few months of that awful Saturday night. My grandmother took a little longer, but she did manage to adjust to the idea in her own way. She preferred no to discuss it.

As I learned, while gawking over pictures of scantily clad women, I can’t be anything other than who or what I am. There’s no amount of praying that will change it. Once I accepted that simple fact, I was much happier.

New York AIDS March (1985)

New York AIDS March (1985)

By the end of the 1980s, I was living on my own. I was fortunate enough to have made friends with some truly remarkable people, most of whom are no longer with us. Those men took me under their wing and became my secondary family. Their struggles helped pave the way for my self acceptance in a way that I hope my generation might have done for the next. I know they would be extremely disappointed with me If I didn’t live life in my own truth, on my own terms. So I strive to make them proud.

In the words of *Polonius, “This above all – to thine own self be true,”  It wasn’t always easy, but it did get better.

*(Hamlet act 1, scene 3) William Shakespeare

Which Would You Rather…

Here’s a rather gruesome thought.

I was asked, yet again, which I’d be willing to give up if I had to choose, vision or hearing.

I don’t know why my friends feel the need to ponder such hypotheticals.

I can’t even imagine the situation in which I’d have to offer up one of my senses. Would it involve some 007 super villain?

Because I love music so much, my initial answer would be sight – but then logic took over. Our world is so visually oriented, it would be difficult, if not expensive to get around without sight. For starters, I’d have to get a seeing-eye dog and learn learn braille. Furthermore, I’m not very organized, so I’d always be tripping over all my stuff.

Giving up sound would mean missing music. But I’m at the age, quickly approaching the half-century mark, where I’ve stored enough aural information that I can call upon it almost at will.

Not to mention the movies that I love so much that I know the dialogue by heart. I wouldn’t need subtitles.

Now I’m gonna be thinking about this crap all day. :\

—————————————

Please note: The above may seem insensitive. I do realize there are people who have no choice in the matter. As the saying goes, “I complained about having no shoes until I saw a man with no feet.”

Interpretation

Remember this song? I maintain that it is not about sailing on the open water at all.

Bear with me…

Take this verse, for instance.

It’s not far to Never Never Land

No reason to pretend
And if the wind is right you can find the joy

Of innocence again

The canvas can do miracles

Just you wait and see

It’s not far to Never Never Land

1- According to Wikipedia

Neverland (also spelled Never Land or expanded as Never Never Land) is a fictional place featured in the works of J. M. Barrie and those based on them. It is the dwelling place of Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, the Lost Boys and others. Although not all people in Neverland cease to age, its best known resident famously refused to grow up, and it is often used as a metaphor for eternal childhood (and childishness), immortality, and escapism.

The operative word here is “escapism” – as in losing oneself in dreams. …or art.

The canvas can do miracles

2- They don’t use canvas as sails. They use lighter, man made fabrics, like nylon or polyester. They DO however, use canvas for art.

Of course, I could be wrong. 🙂