Tag: 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

An Everyday Kinda Birthday

Happy Belated Birthday To Me!

What does it say that I’m late to my own party?

The law of diminishing returns would suggest that I’ve passed peak celebratory years, jaded to the passage of time. While there’s a good dose of truth in that statement, it’s far from the full picture. Let’s turn the concept on its head for a moment.

Cupcakes with "Happy" Candles

What if, instead of reserving the festivities for a single calendar date, we lived every day a little bit more like a celebration?

  • Instead of saving the best bite for last, we dug right in and savored it along with the rest?
  • Instead of keeping prized collectables pristine in their packages, we tore them open and played without restraint?
  • Instead of saving cake for special occasions, made the act of eating cake a special occasion in and of itself?

Becoming an adult requires you to do one of two things: Give in, or give it your all.

So here I am, another year older. It doesn’t feel significant because, quite frankly, it’s not. It’s one birthday of many, not the greatest but absolutely not the worst, with many more to follow. It’s special precisely for the reason that it’s not.

I’ll be out here living everyday a little bit more like it’s my birthday from this point forward. Who’s with me?

Hannah (BitterSweet)16 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

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

Hummus

Hummus is smeared across my shoes, embedded into the breathable synthetic fiber, clinging tenaciously inside the vents. It’s as much a part of me as it is my footwear now, inextricably melded into the very foundation of existence.

In Israel, hummus is not an appetizer or a condiment; hummus is a meal. Thick swirls of silken chickpea puree undulate behind lashings of fiery red or green schug, mountains of minced garlic and onions, whole beans, and a flurry of smoked paprika, to be scooped up in warm, soft, pillowy pita bread, all in one fell swoop. Mind you, that’s only the most basic preparation, the bare minimum for admission.

Generous pools of toasted sesame tahini and grassy olive oil meet and mingle, blending, harmonizing together. Tiny rafts of minced parsley float on top, pushed along by the lively desert air. A few heavenly bites in, and small dish of fresh chopped tomatoes and cucumbers suddenly arrives at the table, unannounced. Are they complimentary? Did I order them and forget? This is best left unquestioned, because their brightness is an indispensable part of the party now.

More people pull up chairs, dropping mashed eggplant and strings of pickled red cabbage as they land. Roasted mushrooms sparkling in the midday sun, teasing umami flavor across every bite. A pinch of za’atar here, a sprinkle of sumac there, herbaceous, tangy, tart; no two tastes are ever quite the same. Chasing the same high becomes maddening, an impossible pursuit, yet never once does the endeavor disappoint.

Temperatures begin to fall as the sky glows orange, slowly fading to deeper and darker shades of red. Still, the central bowl remains as bountiful as the conversation, changing shape and color as friends filter in and out, adding their own flavors into the mix. Sometimes spicier, sometimes saltier, the unique blend always seems to suit the personalities gathering around.

Should the bottomless platter of pita travel too far out of reach, outstretched forks and spoons dart out like heat-seeking missiles, locked on to the central schmear. For all intents and purposes, it’s a creamy salad at this point, so why not skip the formalities and go straight for the good stuff?

When the moon trades shifts with the sun, stars blaze ahead, never once allowing darkness to descend. Alley cats cautiously emerge to scavenge for scraps; perhaps an errant chickpea that escaped, a messy dollop of baba ganoush splattered on the sidewalk below. The day continues on heedless of time, interrupted only by the intermittent silence of chewing. Only when the spread is fully demolished, dishes wiped clean, does the party finally pack it in.

Hummus is not just a type of food. Hummus is a way of life.

Lest I leave you hungry for more, here are a few of my favorite hummus recipes:

Broccoli and “Cheese” Hummus
Curry in a Hurry Hummus
Hummiki (Hummus-Tzatziki)
Hummus Primavera
Nacho Hummus

Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments