The Cheese Grates It: It's Not Love

My trophy for the shit I didn't say but really wanted to

I abhor trolls who hide behind anon to say terrible things to people whose opinions they don't agree with, and most of the time I would never even consider going on anon. I'll either say what I have to say, or I'll say nothing.

That being said, I almost went on anon to cuss someone out once. 

My reason for potentially going on anon was the knowledge that the person whom I was considering lambasting had a cult following, and I didn't want to deal with the resulting personal attacks that I knew would come after. I was, however, extremely disgusted by this person's actions and was burning to tell her that she was a horrible human being.

The young woman in question, whom I will refer to as Little Annie Wilkes, had a blog dedicated to her romantic/lustful feelings for David Bowie. Little Annie spoke gushingly about how she had fallen in love with David as a young teenager. Little Annie wasn't like most of the teenagers who become enamored with photos taken 30, 40 and 50 years ago of men now old enough to be their grandfathers. She was articulate and managed to draw a fan base from the aforementioned demographic. I happened upon her blog while looking for pictures of David Bowie to add to my collection.

Initially, I ignored this girl's inappropriate gushing over a talented musician whom I felt deserved better than to be objectified. I told myself that she was a troubled kid. In fact, I thought I could be supportive of her. So I continued following her, every now and then leaving some sort of encouraging comment.

I realize now that what got under my skin was the way this young lady manipulated her followers so that the tragedy of David Bowie's death was now focused on her. In her words, she was so crushed by David's passing that she couldn't go to school or work, and her mother was terribly worried about her. She garnered great sympathy from her followers, encouraging her to keep her head up. Something smelled fishy, but I told myself to be kind. I wrote her a personal email, telling her that she evidently had strong empathic abilities and she should work to hone them. I told her that I felt she had the ability to help a lot of people. I said that David wouldn't want her to break down, that he'd want her to be strong and keep going. I related to her the story of how crushed I felt when I was 15 years old and Bon Scott died four days after my birthday in 1980.

The email I got back from Little Annie made clear to me that I wasn't wrong about the alarm bells and red flags warning me that something wasn't right. Her private persona was very different from the "poor sweet girl" persona she presented online. She was selfish and cold, and her "love" for David Bowie was not the result of being too emotional and becoming attached to someone who seemed kind and expressed himself in ways that touched her heart. 

As it turns out, Little Annie is the sort of person who mimics emotions well but doesn't have any real emotions of her own. I'm not sure why she dropped her guard with me, but arrogance is a reasonable guess. She thanked me for caring about her but said that she was going to be "just fine," she wasn't the sort of "weak" person who would try to commit suicide or such. She said that her "love" for David Bowie had "served her well" and that while she was "sad" he was gone, she was going to be "all right." 

Now that I knew that Little Annie was, in fact, a self-serving chameleon pretending to "love" David Bowie, a real person whom I had cared about and been a fan of since the 1970's, really upset me. Knowing that she was tricking vulnerable and ignorant teenagers into believing that she was some sort of "leader" for them made me angry. 

The icing on the cake came when one of Little Annie's followers wrote her a gushing tribute, saying how her "love" for David was so strong and beautiful and that he would have been "a fool" not to fall in love with her if he had met her. Little Annie published this tribute on her blog.

This really incensed me. Not only was I aware of this young woman's actual personality by this point, but I was disgusted that she continued to objectify a person who had recently died from cancer, a man who was a husband and a father, a man old enough to be her grandfather. I felt that her actions were utterly disrespectful, and I felt that it was disrespectful of her not to keep this conversation between herself and her admirer rather than broadcasting it for all the world to see so she could feed her ego when her followers gushed over how "beautiful" it was. 

Further, I was enraged at the idea that these girls thought it was okay to imply that David would leave the woman to whom he had been married for 24 years to pursue a tryst with a ridiculous child close to 45 years his junior.

It was at this point that I almost went on anon to demand that Little Annie Wilkes explain how she could possibly think it was okay to disrespect not only a man who had recently died from a devastating illness but his widow. I wanted her to know that I found her declarations of "love" for him disgusting, and that I knew she didn't love him at all, or respect him, or care about his music, but only lusted after his image in pictures from thirty and more years ago.

In the end I didn't do this because it would have made the person in question a martyr with her devotees. I would have ended up being painted as the "bitter old bitch" who was jealous of poor Little Annie's popularity. It wouldn't have helped David Bowie in any way and it would have made my life worse. So I kept my mouth shut, even though I was horrified and appalled by this young woman's disrespectful actions.

I'm not a hero for having been "kind." I wasn't kind, I was self-serving. I stopped following Little Annie and any members of her cult because I didn't ever want her blog coming across my path again. I do wish I knew the sources she used to find her pictures, though. She managed to get hold of some amazing rarities.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Note:

Annie Wilkes is the main antagonist from Stephen King's novel, Misery. She is an obsessed fan who kidnaps and tortures the object of her obsession.

The Cheese Grates It: No Such Thing as Good and Bad Food

I was inspired to write this after reading a post by Ragen Chastain of Dances With Fat regarding the moralization of food choices.

TRIGGER WARNING:

Discussion of food, diet, and body image

Stopping labeling food as "good" or "bad" has made an incredible difference for me in developing a healthier relationship with food. Due to my diabetes, it is preferable if I eat foods that have a low glycemic impact. Unlike the conventional wisdom holds, these are not necessarily ultra low carb foods. They tend to be foods with complex as opposed to simple carbohydrates. 

After initially being diagnosed with diabetes, I basically went on the Atkins diet and felt like shit. I thought I was going to pass out. The sweeteners used in their products (mostly Erythritol) caused digestive problems better neither imagined nor described. I felt like a vampire because I'd been trying to move to a diet that was more vegetarian than not. Plus, doing this did not really help my blood sugar readings all that much.

Eventually I threw that whole method in the trash. For a while I wasn't mindful about what I was eating at all. At this point I've moved to a mostly vegetarian diet with a lot of complex carbs, but guess what, I still like my dessert. I make my desserts with either real sugar, with honey, or with a blend of Stevia and sugar. I don't use artificial sweeteners because I feel like ass when I do and they make food taste terrible. And if I eat half a sleeve of Thin Mints at a sitting, even though this isn't the greatest idea for a person with diabetes, I'm not going to lambaste myself for doing it. 

There are foods which have better nutritional value, and we ought to be mindful of our food sources if possible. Some people really don't have that option because they're in a "living hand to mouth" situation. However, I no longer label foods as "good" or "bad," and it has made a world of difference in my self perception. 

I still struggle with my self image. I live in the world where I am the "worst thing" a person can possibly be: a fat, older woman. Seeing people with my body type and my age range constantly belittled does take a toll on my psyche. When I post pictures of myself, it takes a lot of courage because I know I'm running the risk of becoming a cruel Internet meme. However, even if I don't see myself as attractive, I realize that I and everyone else deserve to be treated with common decency, whether I am attractive or not. And certainly, my food choices have nothing to do with my worth as a human being.

There are no "good foods" or "bad foods" and I no longer play the "good fatty" with self-deprecating "humor" or calling myself "bad" for the times when I eat "junk" food. Interestingly enough, since adopting this line of thinking, the foods I eat tend to be more nutritionally sound. 

People tend not to take care of things they hate, including our bodies. Nobody should be bullied into hating their body. If you don't like the way someone else's body looks, you're welcome to look at something else. It's pretty arrogant to think that other people exist only to decorate your world.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It: A Brother's Worst Nightmare

I didn’t want to hijack anyone’s post, but when I saw this picture and this quote

He’s already begun to forget himself, everyone he’s ever known, ever loved. Even you. 

Soon, he’ll forget how to speak, how to swallow. Then he’ll die.

I couldn’t help thinking of a real life sibling relationship where that is the reality, because that is what Alzheimer’s does to those whose lives it devastates.

These brothers are two years apart in age, but the elder of the pair looks like he’s much older because of the disease process that had started destroying his mind. He was still able to recognize his younger brother at this point. He doesn’t any more.

I’ve always found a parallel between Sam and Dean’s devotion to each other and the devotion in this real life soul mate relationship, although I need to insert the caveat that while I eventually started shipping Sam and Dean as an OTP,  I sure as fuck have never seen anything but a very strong platonic bond between these guys. Fuck’s sake, I could slap the living crap out of the idiots who do the whole “oh you ship Wincest so you must see all siblings as sexually involved, including you and any siblings you may have.” Fuck’s sake no, you moron. Anyone who thinks this way (and I use the term “think” loosely) is welcome to either tie raw steaks to themselves and jump into shark infested waters or jump aboard a rocket ship bound for the sun. I have no patience for your stupidity.

I have thought about Malcolm Young every day several times a day ever since I found out about what is happening to him. I doubt I will ever stop thinking about what this damn disease has done to him as long as I live. I know I will always remember, because if I find out that I’ve developed a similar disease process, I’m taking myself out before it can destroy my cognition to the point where I don’t remember.

My father had vascular dementia. At the time of his passing, he still recognized members of his family, but he was extremely confused about everything else.

It is better to die some other way than by one of the processes resulting in dementia. Pretty much any other way.

One of the true horrors of a disease such as Alzheimer’s is the fact that it takes SO FUCKING LONG to kill its victims. By the time it finally does, there is pretty much literally nothing left of the victim’s brain.

This is a real photo, comparing a slice of a brain from a person without Alzheimer’s at the time of death to one from a person with Alzheimer’s at the time of death. Let that shit sink in.

My aunt, who was a very tough lady who survived many years of abuse at the hands of her first husband and retained her sense of humor and generosity in spite of the things he did to her, has this fucking disease. It is getting to the point where my uncle (her second husband--I refused to call the first my uncle) is looking at the possibility of having to put her in long term care. He can’t stay awake 24 hours, and her wandering is becoming much worse.

I hate this disease. I hate this disease so fucking hard. I want to cry but I don’t have any damn tears. My tears would be useless anyway. It’s not like they could help anybody. So I seethe and am angry and it is literally affecting my heart, but I still can’t cry because that feels weak and because I’m afraid if I started I couldn’t stop. I have to function. I have a lot of shit that needs to get done.

I see so many parallels in this episode to what real sufferers of Alzheimer’s and their families go through. There are funny moments, yeah. There are funny moments in real life situations with family members with dementia too. Angus recalled how during the band’s final tour with Malcolm he was trying to look after his brother without making it seem like he was being condescending to him. When Malcolm protested that he didn’t need Angus and Brian Johnson following him because he was just going to the bathroom, Angus said “oh, us too. And we need to go together so that Brian doesn’t get lost.”

When my son was a baby, I worked for about 6 months as a private aide to a man who had Alzheimer’s and diabetes. He liked to tip one back but with his health conditions, that wasn’t a good plan. So his wife locked the liquor cabinet. When asked why, she told him it was because I had a drinking problem.

When working as an aide in a long term care facility, I would sneak into one patient’s room while she was asleep and remove all the dirty clothes in the bottom of her closet. The reason I had to play thief in the night with the laundry is because she’d become extremely upset if she saw anyone touching the clothes.

Moments like this are humorous, but there is nothing funny whatsoever about this disease.

This intelligent, independent, creative person who wrestled and won against addiction to alcohol and fought valiantly against the Black Dog and severe social anxiety inspired me to remain in the land of the living and fight back against those who bullied me. They were legion and they nearly pushed me to killing myself. Once I knew about this fellow, though, I realized he wouldn’t want me to, and his opinion was worth far more to me than all of their bullshit combined.

At the point when this picture was taken, he still recognized the person next to him although he often didn’t know where he was. She’s his daughter. He no longer recognizes her.

There is a picture from 2015 which shows not only confusion but fear in the once very alert and determined eyes. It’s fucking horrible.

In Regarding Dean, Dean is okay at the end because Supernatural is fiction.

The reality looks like this, only it doesn’t get resolved.

The reality is the words “he’s not in there at all any more” being spoken by a devoted younger brother regarding his best friend and soul mate.

I’ve never been able to finish reading the interview where those words were spoken. I had to stop at that point. I’ve never picked the magazine back up. I put it on a shelf where it has remained since.

If this were Supernatural, this might be the end result for these fellows, although I reckon Angus would probably end up with horns and a tail.

I think it is the end result in the afterlife, but not on this plane. On this plane, there is only separation, deterioration and death. If magic or miracles exist in the material realm, they are in very short supply.

I know that nobody here gets out alive. But as Glen Campbell’s wife said when talking about Glen’s Alzheimer’s, it’s better to die some other way.

I know there are people who will think I’m an asshole for saying this, but I wish that Malcolm Young’s body had ceased to function when he had a stroke in 2012. Then at least he would have remembered the people he cared about the most up to the end.

Hell, I think it would have been better for my father if he’d died at the point when he had his stroke. He struggled for six more years after that, although he had vascular dementia as opposed to Alzheimer’s. Still wasn’t a picnic by any means.

I think about those fools who feel that people my age (I’ll be 52 on February 15) aren’t “allowed” to be fans of shows like Supernatural. To them I say, fuck you. I need a world where magic is real and the two people who love each other the most in the world save each other always.

I need that, because the reality fucking sucks.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Footprints of the Damned

I sometimes find myself worrying about how a god I no longer believe in—the Church God—will judge me and the footsteps I’ve left upon this Earth.

Most of the time I believe I have rescinded this god’s right to judge me. The Universe will judge my actions, and I will atone somehow for the wrongs I have done to others, but it will not be at the hands of an abusive parent.

Like a person who has severed ties with an abusive family of origin here in the world, I still find myself fearing the wrath of that abusive celestial parent. I wake up terrified, dreaming that I have been judged and damned for being a cosmic error.

~Cie~

Written for a writing prompt, but not fiction, flash or otherwise.

My words to live by

It has not been my intent to belittle or condemn anyone's spiritual beliefs in this piece. This is my personal experience. 

I am an agnostic. I am extremely critical of organized religion and have little good to say about it, but I am not the kind to sneer at others' spiritual beliefs. 

I think that organized religion is political in nature and has very little to do with spirituality.

Hilarious Signs of the Apocalypse: A Wee Scotsman on a Talking Horse

If you were a teenager in the 1980's like I was, and you grew up in the United States, you remember this shit. Come remember this shit with me, or, if you're too young to remember, you can read about this shit and wonder how anyone could possibly be so stupid.

http://www.vh1.com/news/54726/remembering-the-80s-heavy-metal-satanic-panic/

Taking this little stroll down Ridiculous Memory Lane has brought me to a startling conclusion about the end of the world.

Are you ready?

After reading (and laughing at) the aforementioned shit, I have come to the conclusion that the Apocalypse will be marked not by four horsemen, but by a single horseman: Angus Young, riding on Mr. Ed, while carrying a cache of Dungeons and Dragons manuals in his backpack. 

You see, The Apocalypse will be ludicrous rather than terrifying. I, for one, have my 20 sided dice ready to roll. Who's bringing snacks?

~Cie~

Not exactly a replacement for Nostradamus, but probably funnier

Here is like a for real top seekrit AC/DC Devil Worshiping Ceremony caught live on tape and stuff by our super spy team. Look at this wickedness. Just look at it! 

Angus Young's RED guitar and hat.

Malcolm Young's RED tank top.

Hordes of RED capped minions!

Giant iguanas!

Pterodactyls!

The only thing that could make it more wicked and diabolical would be Mr. Ed!

You'll have to read the article.

Jekyll and Hyde

In this case, it's more like Nurse Jekyll and Ms. Flake

If the two agencies I work for were to describe me as an employee, each of them would say "are we talking about the same person?"

It's kind of like I have a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on, but not in some sort of evil sense, more of a flakiness quotient sense.

With the main agency, I tend to be on time or early for my shifts. I have only once called off with short notice, and that was for a training shift. I had food poisoning.

With the secondary agency, I have never been on time for a shift, and while I've not done a same-day call-off, I've rearranged which nights I'm going to work on several occasions.

Now, in my defense, the home I work at for the secondary agency is in a place that's hard to get to from where I live. There's always a lot of traffic and my start time is an hour earlier than normal. Still, it's like my Plan Ahead chip malfunctions whenever I'm going to work a shift at this home.

I think if I worked as more than a fill-in, this agency would probably be questioning my value as an employee. But since I show up for my shifts and the family likes me, they let it slide. In fact, they asked if I could pick up more shifts since the regular night nurse left. Yeah, I'd be cool with that, if only I could get my Clone-A-Cie machine working!

~Cie~

A Wicked Interesting Not So Wordless Beautiful Wednesday

John Wetton

12 June 1949 - 31 January 2017

On the morning of January 31, I was sitting in heavy traffic on the way from one of the cases I work overnight to my son's place 40 miles from said location. It was then that I heard the news that John Wetton had died after a battle with colon cancer. 

For those who don't know, John was a talented bassist and vocalist. He worked with such great prog rock acts as King Crimson and Uriah Heep. In the 1980's he formed the immensely popular supergroup Asia. He was an amazing, amazing talent, and, it would seem, a very nice person.

So why, you might ask, am I posting on this blog, which is ostensibly a blog about "supernatural" happenings, and not on a blog more geared to music, such as KHEL 666?

Because one of those interesting things that normal people call coincidences but which those of a mind know are not coincidences happened.

At the moment when I heard about John's passing, which had happened in the small hours of Tuesday morning and had just been announced, I was sitting at the crossroads of 67th Avenue and Big Busy Street. I felt an energy. It was a pleasant energy, perhaps even a joyful energy. I believe it was John, giving a tip of his hat to someone who needed a bit of confirmation and a bit of hope from the spirit world.

I honestly didn't know much about John as a person, but I could tell that he was a good person. He was one of those musicians who really didn't care for the spectacle, which is why he ended up being That Guy--you know, That Guy you know but you just can't place him. John was in it for the music. He didn't mind being That Guy.

Is John Wetton beautiful? Well, I could say "just look at that smile" and defy you to tell me that he isn't. However, he was beautiful in more important ways. He was a decent person who tried to make the world a better place during his life. That's something truly beautiful.

A salute to you as you travel to what's next, John. Thank you for being That Guy!

Love,

Cie