in case you were having a bad day,
here’s a picture of Yo-Yo Ma, the famous cellist,
on the floor with a wombat.
You’re welcome.
More you might like
I keep forget to add image text, because I am a privileged so-and-so!
So here is image text:
The header text reads: Trans Problems #113: Sneeze Dysphoria
First panel: A white, brown-haired woman -hair in a braid- sits at a table. There are small paint bottles of green and yellow at her right elbow, as well as an old glass jar full of water, and and a crumpled paper towel with paint stains. She is holding a paint brush in her right hand, and an unpainted Griffin BattleMech miniature in her left. A blue and yellow velociraptor snoozes on the table, as is their wont.
PANEL THE SECOND! We see our heroine scrunching up her face, clearly undergoing something unpleasant! A weak "ah-" escapes her lips. The velociraptor's eyes pop open, an obscure 7th sense alerting them to approaching danger!
3rd panel: The woman's face scrunches up even further, and her mouth opens wide. She is either having a small aneurism, or this is a lead up to a terrible sneezing (as foreshadowed in the header text). A louder "AH-" sounds through the small panel! The velociraptor looks up, frozen in place!
4th panel: A horrific "CHOO!" sounds in this panel, and for the duration of this barbaric yawp, the representation of the young woman changes to that of a huge, bald, bearded man. The velociraptor is blown off the table.
5th panel: The woman appears as her self again, her magenta hoodie blown off one shoulder. She stared in wide. blue-eyed shock at the havoc she has rendered.
6th Panel: Essentially the same scene as the 5th, but the velociraptor has righted themselves, glaring at their friend. "Bless. You." they say, but you can kinda see from their expression, they probably don't mean it as much as they probably could.
And that's the end.
Hilarious, right?
I KNOW!
Okay, I love you! Sleep well!
I Saw the TV Glow is such a uniquely, devastatingly queer story. Two queer kids trapped in suburbia. Both of them sensing something isn’t quite right with their lives. Both of them knowing that wrongness could kill them. One of them getting out, trying on new names, new places, new ways of being. Trying to claw her way to fully understanding herself, trying to grasp the true reality of her existence. Succeeding. Going back to help the other, to try so desperately to rescue an old friend, to show the path forward. Being called crazy. Because, to someone who hasn’t gotten out, even trying seems crazy. Feels crazy. Looks, on the surface, like dying.
And to have that other queer kid be so terrified of the internal revolution that is accepting himself that he inadvertently stays buried. Stays in a situation that will suffocate him. Choke the life out of him. Choke the joy out of him. Have him so terrified of possibly being crazy that he, instead, lives with a repression so extreme, it quite literally is killing him. And still, still, he apologizes for it. Apologizes over and over and over, to people who don’t see him. Who never have. Who never will. Because it’s better than being crazy. Because it’s safer than digging his way out. Killing the image everyone sees to rise again as something free and true and authentic. My god. My god, this movie. It shattered me.
Please stop making pretty Mister Sinister