Feelings – Lemon Squeezy

Ring Around the Rosie

The Bachelor is back.

To be honest, did he ever really go away?

It certainly doesn’t feel like it, now that everything at the Bachelor Mansion seems to be back to business as usual. And by ‘usual’ I mean an interchangeable white male with a vague background which may or may not involve sports and absolutely no discernible personality traits. His story arc involves only one piece of information and it will be all that matters throughout the entire season.

Chris Soules was a farmer. Nick Viall was a regular. Peter Weber was a pilot. Colton Underwood was a virgin.

Clayton (Googles last name) Echard is…..

By god. He doesn’t even have ONE thing. Or rather, one thing we’re allowed to say out loud. In truth, Clayton’s Thing is being a whiteboard where the average American can project their “traditional values” and go back to feeling at peace with themselves.

It’s also no coincidence a new host has been chosen who’s nearly identical to both Clayton and Chris Harrison. The ways in which Jesse Palmer mimics Chris Harrison’s tone, cadences, stance and gestures is unsettling. It feels patronizing. “Oh, you all thought we were entering a new era? Joke’s on you, suckers! We just went full circle like a Neil Lane ring.”

Also, if Clayton and Jesse wanted to swap places for an episode and play out a fun Prince and Pauper switcheroo, they could absolutely pull it off. The women wouldn’t have a clue.

I confess, I’d watch the hell out of it.

Why the Hell Am I Watching Now?

Why do we do anything we know is bad for us? It feels good.

Watching The Bachelor (and The Bachelorette and Bachelor in Paradise) is consistently a refuge that provides my brain space to do nothing. It has been complete and total escapism.

It took me far too long to realize what a privilege that is. The very lack of variety on the show lulled me into a comfortable complacency and because I intentionally sought it out for it’s formulaic drama, I failed to see many of the most toxic elements of American culture embedded into its core. I just wanted to feel better about myself.

Am I still trying to use this franchise, albeit in a different light, to feel better about myself?

Yes. Yes. It’s shameful. It’s the truth.

When Clayton was rejected not once but TWICE before the first Rose Ceremony even happened, I felt vindicated beyond all reason. He was a terrible choice! Here was proof! There would be no discovery half way through, a’la Juan Pablo, that ABC had made a horrible error. This was going to be a train wreck not just before the ‘journey’ began, but during the boarding process.

As I rolled my eyes this way and that, it soon became clear that I could complain about Clayton all the live-long day, but in reality I was getting exactly what I wanted; an emotional dumpster fire that made me think perhaps my own engulfed trash bin of feelings didn’t actually smell like garbage.

Damnit.

Untangling the knot of moral quandaries around The Bachelor franchise is a series of posts unto itself, as well as a few solid therapy sessions. For now, in honor of two women saying “no” to Clayton’s “will you accept this rose?”, I’d like to say YES to the following Roses-

(NOTE: The following selections are based on fictional/cultural content (due to the theme of this site) and intentionally do not include real people of historical note. One real location is included as it is a theatre, as well as a real event also for theatrical means. End disclaimer.)

I Accept These Roses

Rose DeWitt Bukater Dawson

Kate Winslet as Rose DeWitt Bukater in Titanic (1997)

Rose outshines diamonds. Rose lives the life she wants in the wake of trauma and abuse. Rose is flawed. Rose is fearless. When Rose flies, we fly.

The Rose Theatre

An additional shoutout to the rose Juliet refers to when she speaks oh so eloquently about names and sweet smells and all the whatnots of romance at age 14.

Rose Tico

Confession. (Deep breath). I’m not a Star Wars fan. I’ve seen all the films and they’ve been fun, but I’ve never connected with them as so many do. That being said, I loved the addition of Rose Tico. It was a shame we didn’t get more of her in The Rise of Skywalker. She was bright and fierce and driven by both passion and duty. Her voice and spirit made so much sense within the Star Wars universe. Get it together, Jedis!

The Rose Bowl

Josh Radnor and Megan Hilty in the Kennedy Center’s Broadway Center Stage 2018 production

Very specifically Audrey singing the line “the Rose Bowl, Seymour, the Rose Bowl” in Little Shop of Horrors.

Moira Rose

Catherine O’Hara, Schitt’s Creek (2020) Season 6. Credit: Comedy Central / The Hollywood Archive

“It’s probably nothing but I think I’ve killed a man.”
Moira Rose

Roseanne Roseannadanna

It’s always somethin’! Also, no list of happiness is complete without Gilda Radner.

Detective Rosa Diaz

“You can’t let other people’s opinions get in the way of what you want, especially because other people suck.”
Detective Rosa Diaz

The Enchanted Rose

This rose is so vicious. I love it so much. You just know that each time a petal drops it makes a judgey little “hmph” sound.

Rose Nylund

Surely you knew in your heart it would all lead to this. Yeah sure, this Clayton dude is getting a ton of rose attention but we all know the real Rose we’re committed to loving for a lifetime.

Betty White lived an extraordinary life. It’s a testament to her character and talent that she will forever be seen as love and joy personified. To have a divided world universally agree on your excellence is no small feat.

As a culture, we err on the side of cynicism, we struggle to do what’s right, we’re cranky and miserable. Remember way back to the beginning of this blog post?

Complain, complain, complain.

Maybe 2022 is the year of second chances, the year of the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe it’s a year of patience and presence.

Regardless, for Betty, let’s laugh a lot more, enjoy what we love, and then share it as often as we can.

Cheers to you, Rose.

To Hades and Back Again…and Again…and Again

or Why I Looked Behind Me

It’s been a while, folks. But my excuse is solid. I’ve been dying.

Over and over and over again.

“WHAT?!”

Worry not. I’m very grateful for my good health here in the real world and owe an immense thanks to the scientists who created an incredible COVID shield that’s injected directly into my muscle. I didn’t pay a dime for it. It’s amazing.

“You’re not really dying?”

No.

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”

…that’s fair.

But this is true: I’ve been spending a lot of time in the Underworld.

Video Games and Me: a Non-History

I’m not a video game person.

I didn’t grow up in a big gaming household, though I did nerd out with the old school PC Carmen Sandiego games, as well as a Phantom of the Opera game that I LOVED. (It’s legit). We eventually acquired a console, a SEGA Saturn, which my husband insisted was impossible because NO ONE bought that console. “Everyone else had a Nintendo 64”.

We did not. SEGA Saturn. Real.

Eventually my youngest brother was gifted the Nintendo Game Boy and that told us everything we needed to know about our family rankings.

Regardless, I never took to video games. My instincts were terrible and my strategy of mashing buttons while flailing my arms and screaming got me nowhere.

Don’t even get me started on moving the camera around. I’ve decided Link is happier when he’s only looking at the sky and has no idea what’s coming.

Then I met and fell in love with my husband and entered the worlds of Red Dead Redemption, Shadows of Mordor, Death Stranding, and the most brutal of all, Mario Kart.

It used to be so simple, happy days of him slaying enemies while I sat next to him, content with my book. The thing about video game blood though, is that it splatters. Gradually, I became more and more invested in the characters, trials, and outcomes of every game he played.

I did not know I was at the top of the slippery slope.

Way Down Under the Ground

Twitter was screeching, as it always does, and the topic was a new offering from Supergiant Games; Hades.

As a devoted fan of the musical Hadestown, I was intrigued. This could be a game I’d enjoy watching my husband play. But the more I learned about Zagreus, Son of Hades, and his battle to escape the Underworld, the more I realized this was a game I wanted to play.

I told my husband. He was so excited I was asking to play a video game he bought it immediately. No questions asked.

At this point, I hope it’s obvious (to those who have not played Hades) that it’s a spectacular game. So it should come as no surprise that the true gamers of the household could not resist the call of the River Styx and were soon consumed by the Underworld’s maddening delights.

One by one, they advanced through the Underworld’s regions, crushing skulls, slaying witches, and gathering blessings from the Gods. I watched.

This was for the best. I learned quickly that trying to understand new mental and physical concepts with a cacophony of back seat gamers all trying to tell you what to do while they actively recoil every time you do something asinine is…chaos.

So, my husband and two of our boys victoriously rose to the Hades challenge, while the rest of our children made significant progress, and I clapped for everyone.

And then, over a year later, I found myself in a state of mental despair, by which I mean an average Tuesday.

My usual comforts were not offering the distractions I relied on them for. I couldn’t slow my thoughts or get enough air. I felt agitated, frantic, desperate for both concrete action and stillness. Worse, I was angry with myself. I didn’t have time for this. I needed a pause button.

I picked up the Nintendo Switch.

Hades: Reluctant Santa of the Underworld

Blood and Darkness

I died so hard.

I’d get my ass kicked and die. I’d turn into stone and die. I’d step in lava and die. Instead of running away from fireballs, I’d run into them…and die.

I loved it so much.

Every last breath sent me back to the beginning, facing new taunts from Hypnos, world-weary advice from Achilles, and romantic advances from anyone with eyes.

Yes, I spent a great deal of time partaking in a variety of violent acts. But Hades offers so much more:

Complicated Family Dynamics
Boy/Girl Love
Boy/Boy Love
Boy/Gorgon Love
A Sassy Narrator
Interior Decorating
Best Dog
Emotional Support Boulder
Bear Claws
Outstanding Filing Cabinets
One Committed Fan
Fishing

“What’s that?” you say? “You can go on a continual rampage of destruction and also find time for whimsy and love?” You bet your gorgon non-ass you can.

It’s the craftsmanship that ultimately makes this mountain of delight work. Hades is a genuine work of art. Each detail, no matter how small, makes an impact on the Underworld. The dead whisper their cause of death as they wander aimlessly through one epic landscape after another. Every room is its own beautiful sentence within the chapter of a level. The style is both modern and timeless, suggesting the comfort of the Gods in any era, so long as power is theirs to wield.

And then the music. Ah, the music! Darren Korb’s gorgeous and exciting score (made all the more stunning by his vocals as Orpheus, alongside Ashley Barrett providing the singing voice for Eurydice) is the pulse of the game. It’s also apropos for daily life here above ground. I often turn to Good Riddance, or Lament of Orpheus when I just need to have FEELINGS, while The King and the Bull aptly prepares me for meetings. In the Blood is my go-to for trying to get the kids out the door for school on time.

https://open.spotify.com/track/5M8tCPBRAGdAVAyKIaEh9l?si=10b9a28fb3d549d4

It’s the characters in the Underworld (and Olympus) that bring the game to life, each of them written and performed to be distinct and memorable, while clearly remaining integral to the ensemble as a whole. There isn’t a weak link in the bunch. Even Charon sighs with intention.

All the interactions with these characters, be it Zeus, Sisyphus, or Tisiphone is so much fun that they nearly make death in the game to be desired. Sure I had to start all over again but I didn’t care. There was Dusa having a panic attack or Ares asking me for Nyx’s number. I couldn’t get enough of the story and so I happily accepted defeat again and again.

I did worry at one point that my actual gameplay was so poor that the game would run out of dialogue for me. And yes, some of Hypnos’ taunts felt personal. But I didn’t give up and I’m very proud to say that I did eventually beat the game.

So, if I’ve already won, why am I still playing it?

There is No Escape

Has Hades turned me into an official video game player?

Yeah, it has.

Sure, button combos still don’t make sense to me and mostly I really like to talk to characters and collect random items. But at the end of the day, this is a new art form for me that’s finally beginning to click.

I’ve since enjoyed played Undertale, Plants vs. Zombies, and Stardew Valley while tacking cracks at Hollow Knight and Celeste. As you can see, there’s no rhyme or reason to the level of difficulty I’ll choose to jump into.

I’ve also made a vow to a very important young man to play Slime Rancher. It shall be so.

But I digress. (It’s my thing).

Hades provided something else, though. It was profoundly good for my mental health.

“What?! That can’t be true. Video games turn us all into murderers!”

Well, in this case, yes. That’s true.

While I played Hades, I killed a lot of negative self-talk. I embraced my enemies, Failure and Frustration. It turns out we work really well together. I rediscovered a determination I’d thought too pitiful for the real world.

For reasons I still struggle to articulate (how many words later?) the victories of Hades made me feel stronger as the COVID Hydra refused to give up. It gave me a sense of control I could carry into the unknowns of reality. I was happy. Even better, it was a happiness I could actively share with my family as we all found joy in the adventure.

It also reminded me that blessings show up in a lot of different shapes and sizes, and while they’re exciting to have, it’s really important to remember to actually use them.

Get vaccinated.

The Only Spot for Me is Mine

Well, it took being fired a record three times in less than a year to come back to this space.

I’m happier to be here. I feel released into the wild, allowed to roam, make noise, climb, leap, saunter, nap.

And yet I keep looking back at the cage and thinking “but that’s where I’m supposed to be.”

Every time I’ve tried to break this cycle, I swing right back into it within a week or two. The disgusting chomp chomp of Doubt Monsters eating me from the inside overtakes all my senses and soon enough I’m saying ‘yes’ to work I have no business accepting nor any desire to do and I hate myself.

Complicating the matter further is genuine gratitude. I’m profoundly lucky and privileged. My family is provided for. I work as a writer. That’s what I am. A writer.

Though…not the writer I’d like to be or maybe not the writer I’m ready to say I am.

Yeah, that’s it. If Michael Scott can declare bankruptcy, I can declare my profession.

A Declaration in One Scene

(A nondescript female stands in the middle of a cul-de-sac. It’s unclear where she came from. She might live near by…or not…but she seems pleased with this spot she’s chosen. She takes a deep breath and begins to shout)

Nondescript Female: I am a writer! A writer who reads! A writer who writes about what she reads!

(She begins to leave but then remembers that’s not all and runs back to the center of the cul-de-sac, reclaiming her spot)

Nondescript Female: That’s not all! I write about other things, too! Most likely!

(She pauses to consider adding a disclaimer)

(Yes, she should add a disclaimer)

Nondescript Female: NOT SOFTWARE. Mostly movies and shit. Like experiences. And politics, maybe. Or parenting. Or, like, podcasts? I don’t know! I’m figuring it out!

(She sees a child on a bike, staring at her. The child is confused. Is this woman stranger danger or should he feel sorry for her? His parents told him it’s not polite to stare but it seems like they would understand his choice to if they were here)

Nondescript Female: Sorry I said shit.

(She exits. The child remains unsettled for another 15 seconds, then goes home and eats a granola bar, leaving crumbs everywhere. Asshole.)

The Part Where I Commit to the Void

Yeah, I’m doing this. I mean it this time. For real. Really real. It’s happening. Can’t be stopped. I lit a fancy candle damnit, so clearly I mean business.

I’ve wasted so much time whining about not being able to write what I want to. The only thing standing in my way was me.

I thought I needed permission or an invitation. I thought I had to wait until a spot opened up and then stand patiently in line until it was decided I was ultimately not wanted.

Why have I been afraid of my own words?

I’ve spent years trying to find my place, my spot. By freaking golly, it was my own backyard the whole time. Boy, that message flew over my head. Sorry, Dorothy.

Alright! Putting words out there! Yes! Resisting strong urge to issue an apology!

Unless you ask for one, in which case I will very likely apologize and probably send you a pizza or some other token of desperation.

One of Us, One of Us

What are your “should’s”? What are your “like to’s”? Why have you stayed at “I will”? Why aren’t you ready for “I am”?

Believe me, I know that’s a hornet nest we all avoid disturbing. I don’t know about you, but my excuses usually were along the lines of:

“I’m not qualified”

“I don’t have the right tools”

“I will do a bad job”

“The hornets will hurt people I care about”

“I don’t have time”

“This is how the murder hornets get you and behold, I will devastate them with my indifference”

It took me far too long to admit that was all bullshit and the real answer was simple. I was afraid.

That’s…still true.

Join me?