Category: Musings

Pride

Pride Month is, or at least should be, about more than just rainbows and parades.

Reduced down to its most basic elements to be more palatable to the mainstream, so much is lost in translation. It should be about celebrating alternative sexual identities, yet fails to be truly inclusive. Some people still call it “Gay Pride Month” which does a genuine disservice to the larger queer community. Strides have been made to recognize greater nuance beyond the swath of hetero-normative values that dominated western society for all of recorded history, so why does it still feel like such a fight? Why is it still so hard to be heard? Why is it still so hard to be seen?

Do my words not matter? Are my colors not bright enough?

Purple, White, Grey, and Black Macarons

I’m asexual. Should I even say that out loud? I was always told to leave it unsaid, let people guess or come to their own conclusions. It doesn’t matter. No one needs to know if I am or am not having sex.

It’s true, but also incredibly shortsighted.

It isn’t even about me anymore. It’s about standing up and modeling the representation that I never saw when I needed it most. Asexual people are out there, being successful, living full lives, but remaining largely invisible. I didn’t even know that it was a thing until I was in my 30s. I thought I was just… Nothing. Or broken. Or wrong.

A label doesn’t change anything, but it does help things make sense. In a society that sexualizes everything, would it be so terrible to talk about something that runs in the opposite direction?

Asexual people are queer people. More importantly, asexual people are people. Let’s make this the new normal.

Hannah (BitterSweet)9 Comments

Artificial Intelligence = Artificial Ingredients

What’s wrong with artificial intelligence?

Well, to put it simply, AI has no taste.

Watching technology rapidly evolve and advance, it’s an effort to be cheered overall, with incredibly positive implications in countless fields. Some tasks never required human input and ideally, this substitution will free more people to use their talents where they’re needed. What critics get wrong is exactly which tasks are which.

AI-generated photo meant to represent food blogging

Creatives have been under acute pressure from the moment everyone and their best friend began generating stylized self-portraits to flaunt all over social media. Copyright issues aside, the hype was overblown from the minute it began; immediately, egregious, laughable flaws surfaced, namely in the form of missing or extra fingers, phantom limbs, and wildly exaggerated features. Even when the day comes when the fakes aren’t as easy to spot, let’s not forget the one key ingredient in this whole controversy:

AI cannot create.

From art to music, the results that AI can churn out on demand seem new and novel, but it’s really just yesterday’s leftovers mashed together with some pantry staples and spices, reheated, and served lukewarm. Anything that AI makes is only as good as what humans can make, and humans will always come first. AI doesn’t know how its creations taste nor can it give you an opinion about them. AI doesn’t know if the meal it served is edible or poisonous. Yet human taste testers seem to receive each plate as if it was thoroughly vetted and approved for consumption.

AI-generated photo meant to represent food blogging

Yes, these artificial concoctions will change the conversation around creative content, as does any societal progress at large. And yes, it may very well make life harder for creatives trying to make a living as they once did. We may need to reach a reckoning about what art is truly worth, and who’s willing to pay it; true art may be reserved only for the ultra wealthy, and artists may dwindle in numbers. However, it will never negate the need for actual artists. If you’re worried about these people or the beauty, life, insight, and overall joy they bring to everyday life, remember that what happens to them depends on other humans, not machines.

How will you address AI from now on?

Hannah (BitterSweet)3 Comments

Memories

Memories are like tattoos. They’re a permanent stain on our person, staying with us for life. Some visible to others, some not, they may change our perception of the world, or how the word perceives us. Indelible as they may be, no matter how many layers of skin the ink penetrates, no matter how deeply our thoughts alter our present, they do change.

Slowly, imperceptibly over the years, lines begin to blur. Colors become muddy. Once vibrant, sharp, crystalline pictures fade into confusion and darkness. Can you trust your own mind? Can you understand the symbols painted on your body? Does it all still make sense?

Memories can be painful, seared into our consciousness through traumatic events. Once they’re there, it’s almost impossible to remove their lingering outlines entirely, forever tracing around wrists and ankles like ghostly shackles. Cover-ups are like bandages with weak adhesive at best. No matter how many solid color blocks you add or intricate geometric designs, they’re still there, lurking beneath it all.

Sometimes our memories are tattoos, literally, and vice versa. If you could go back, would you change them? Would you paint a new picture? Would it even make a difference? The body underneath is always the same. It only matters what you do with it.

Portraits of and artwork by Squiggle Tats.

Hannah (BitterSweet)3 Comments

Luka Love


My beautiful baby boy, do you remember the first day we met? It’s hard to imagine life without you, but it’s true, we had no idea the other existed when you entered the world. Where did you come from, really? Not a parking lot in Hercules, CA where you leapt into my arms without looking back, that much is sure. I’ll never know what came before that, though. What became of your original home, and why did you first mama disappear without a trace? Who could surrender such a sweet child to a complete stranger?

My beautiful baby boy, did you know that they first called you, “Max”? Yes, short for Maximilian, or perhaps the Roman family name Maximus. Barely tipping the scales at 6 pounds, you were more like Mini than Max. Do you like being called “Luka” better, or is it too much like Loki, the God of mischief? I was worried about that myself, but you seem to have taken to it, and it’s grown to suit you, my little troublemaker.

My beautiful baby boy, how is it that four years have passed since that fateful moment when you adopted me? Do you recall that rough start, with so many sleepless nights, ruined rugs, and frantic vet visits? You’ve certainly trained me well since then. Now I’m a treat-dispensing, belly-rubbing, walking pro, just like you always wanted.

My beautiful baby boy, Happy Gotcha Day. I don’t know how I ever got so lucky, but I got you. Through the good days and the bad, that’s all I really need.

Hannah (BitterSweet)9 Comments

Thunder Lullaby

Thunder rolls ponderously, ominously overhead. Unseen but felt, like a heavy weight it rumbles and shakes, groans and snaps, sounding off on pain that mere mortals fail to comprehend. Speaking a language we can’t translate, it is unreachable, inconsolable. On and on it wails into the dark of night, interrupting the continuous staccato of rain bouncing of asphalt shingles and aluminum siding. For what, for whom does the thunder grieve so achingly? There is no soothing this profound pain. The thunder suffers alone, but with all the world in attendance, until it cries itself to sleep.

Hannah (BitterSweet)5 Comments

Thank God It’s FryDay

yEtiquette tip: Just order the French fries.

Your friends are lovely people, all of them, I’m sure. Some may just not have the confidence to ask for what they want. Perhaps they’re simply not self-aware enough to even know what they really want. They could be forgiven for all the salads, dressing on the side, no croutons, please, because this is the culture we live in. It’s polite to take the spartan, healthy path, while denying more decadent desires.

That’s why you’re doing them, yourself, and society at large a great favor by ordering the French fries. Don’t ask, don’t make a scene about it, still go for those giant bowls of frilly lettuces all the same. Nonchalantly push the glorious golden spuds into the center of the table, make subtle gestures to share if you must provide further encouragement, and consider the ice officially broken.

 

Hannah (BitterSweet)7 Comments