fromthemouthofmoi

The day after is a Wednesday. And today is like every day except it is eerily quiet. So quiet I become paranoid for a good five minutes that the silence is due to my neighbours converging on the streets deciding amongst themselves what the hell to do with me. How to punish me for being American and for having the audacity to show my face after that circus barker Trump became president of The United States. I feel ashamed today, as though I snuck into my new country, my new city, my new neighbourhood, my new home. Like I lied somehow when I came here almost six years ago. Last night I entered a bar here to watch the election proceedings. I don't have cable TV and going to my local seemed the logical thing to do. Others were having parties at private homes. The parties seemed divided too: American parties, Canadian parties, etc. Parties meant to mock Americans, parties meant for Americans to learn who amongst their midst were Benedict Arnold's. Really just another reason to par

Mallory Ortberg is the advice columnist for the Dear Prudence advice column in SLATE online. The day after the 2016 election night, I posed a question for her Monday November 14th, 2016 Live Chat Forum. Here is my original question, unedited by Slate, and Ms. Ortberg's response. The forum in its entirety can be found here . I do suspect however that once it goes out to email subscribers, it will be in a different format but the date (November 14, 2016) will remain intact and one will be able to Google it by date. This post emanates from this post . Question 11:18 AM Subject:  Etiquette for expats I am a former New Yorker living in Mexico and I went to my local bar to watch the election proceedings. I am of African American descent. When I arrived, the bar was filled with 99% white expats (and me) as customers eating and drinking and the entire wait staff was Mexican. Each time Trump won a state there were people who high-fived and were vocal in their joy. T

I have to get this one out. There are so many pieces that I am writing right now and so much going on in the world but this is the one that I wake up to each morning. Last year when my daily morning email arrived from, The NY Daily News, I quickly scanned the headlines and noticed the phrase: Headless Body in Topless Bar. The email only mentioned that the writer who'd coined that phrase had died. And then I heard someone knocking at my door and I failed to open the story or follow up on it at a later time. It was a phrase I was well familiar with and one that made me, as well as others, chuckle. What I did not know last year is that the writer of that phrase was a man I had dated back in the 1990's. Vincent Musetto. Everyone called him Vinnie. The only reason I didn't call him Vinnie is I think I started laughing when he suggested I call him Vinnie. It was such a goombah name and I couldn't say Vinnie without sounding like I was his Italian mother. And he introdu

Unnoticed, grace is acquired. When we tend to those that meander towards death; when we care for those that are older than ourselves, with patience and a love that insists, that despite the fading strengths the life shall go on as easily as possible never drawing notice to the wane, we learn grace here. It is a privilege to care for another human being as they slowly prepare to leave. It teaches us about life and it steadies us for our own demise. It is how we practice our own death. Death is hardest on those that are left behind. On those who must continue without the beloved. Now is the time when we begin to shuffle through our memories. Taking one out of the deck and placing it back leaving it there until it perhaps means something more profound later. Placing importance on the memories that will remain 'as is' since there is no more time to go back, to change. We will rummage through our memories finding long forgotten wisdoms, we will search our own faces recognizing

Dear Dad, I find myself thinking about you more and more the further removed I am from your death. You are in my thoughts in particular ways most of which, right now, seem to be from the perspective of others. I get a lot of people dropping me lines asking me if I am your daughter. They stop to tell me they performed with Mississippi Delta or knew you in some way. Many tell me that they are mad in love with your recordings. Your work has been catalogued in Germany and is actively rejoiced in Japan. YouTube has you sprouting up all over with young people sharing your music. I wish that part of you had been more recognized in your life but I'm glad to be telling you now that your legacy lives on. I wish I had known you better. I wish things had been different, but you should know that I understand. What may have been limited towards me was a fulfillment for you. I miss our many phone conversations. I liked that they were always late at night and when you were on a phone call  j

MY INTRODUCTION TO YOU Disclaimer: This blog entry is for consenting adults and is not meant for anyone who is in crisis mode, unwanted pregnancy, rape, suspecting an STD or domestic abuse. I am not qualified to deal with that in a written blog. For those who have stumbled across this blog and need urgent help, go to your nearest doctor or hospital. Even if your doctor is not fully comfortable talking about certain subjects he or she should be professional enough to direct you to the right professional. You also have the right, normally, to ask for a service provider with a gender you feel more comfortable speaking with. Go now! I promise it will be better than going it alone. This blog entry is aimed at heterosexual sex. I do not feel qualified to talk about sex between those with other sexual orientations though the premise of this entry is applicable to everyone. I write now from a place where men love and respect women; and where women listen to men offering their full re