April 18, 2013
One of my close friends, Becky Hurwitz, is currently living in Boston. She was one of the first numbers I frantically texted when news of the bombing began spreading over Twitter. She is, thankfully, alright, but she sent me an email this morning about raising funds for one of the victims of the bombing, below.
Maybe you're unsure how to help from wherever you are in the world. This is one way you can reach out and touch a family who was very seriously affected.
The email:
Feel free to pass this on to whomever is looking for a way to help.Hi friends,Thanks so much for all of the messages on Monday checking in about my safety. It seems that all of the people I know here are safe and well. Sadly, one of our grad students, Chris Peterson, lost a family friend, the young boy, Martin, who was killed in the bombing. Martin was waiting with his mom and sister near the finish line for their dad to finish the race. His mom and sister are in critical condition still. This is Chris's blog note about Martin.Chris, his brothers, and our lab group put together a way of receiving donations for the family. Funds will be gifted through WePay and received into a special fund administered by their neighborhood community group. All of the funds will go directly to the family.If you are inclined, please consider donating a bit for the family. They have a long road ahead of them in so many ways.Here is the link to the Richard Family Fund: http://richardfamilyfund.org/My love,Bex
ps. There are many families affected by Monday, of course, and if you are inclined to donate something, but would rather donate to a more general fund, Boston City Gov set up this fund -OneFund, to receive donations to support recovery.
Love. Love. Love.
March 28, 2013
I used to be a little obsessed with Robert Johnson.
Several years ago, I helped put together an alternate reality game for Amanda Palmer, and Robert Johnson was one of the characters. There was a whole site about it, here.
The story goes (which you may have heard on Radiolab, or seen alluded to in Oh Brother Where Art Thou?) that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads to be able to play blues guitar. It's a crazy story, filled with murder and sex and voodoo and music-- and a lot of contention.
In my mind, the crossroads is desolate and spooky and deeply romantic. Like this:
Ooh, spooky.
In actuality, it's in Clarksdale, Mississippi, and looks like this:
Devil keychains are 99 cents!
My best friend is there right now, on a road trip, and he took a picture for me of the BBQ restaurant now spitting distance from the crossroads.
BBQ for lost souls.
If I were writing a story? Tourists would come to the crossroads, shrug at the kitsch, go to the BBQ place and find the devil looking inconspicuous in an apron and tee shirt behind the counter.
"What's on the menu?"
"Here you go."
"No, no, the OTHER menu."
"Ah. Well, Banjo'll cost you your firstborn, harmonica's cheaper: we just take your innocence. But guitar: we'll have to do a credit check."
March 26, 2013
When I was 19, I had the good fortune to work crew on an Ani DiFranco show.
Over the course of my life, Ani was the only person I have ever considered myself to be a true fan of. I hung out on message boards, I over-analyzed her lyrics. As a girl growing up in the rural South with few to no examples of empowered women, let alone empowered artists, I was enraptured by her.
So, there I was, working crew for her show. I was the only woman; the other men were hefting amps and lighting rigs around, and I was shuffling my feet looking for something to do. I made a catty remark about how no one would let me lift anything because I was a GIRL.
The head of Ani's crew sternly looked me up and down in a way that implied he knew my type, and immediately started giving me the heavy lifting.
I was definitely trigger-happy when it came to my sense of lady-power. I felt like the odd girl out, and I was, often: I knew my way around computers at a time when girls weren't officially aware of the internet, and more than once in a computer lab, a man would ask if I had been HIRED by one of his buddies.
Because I couldn't be a girl, and know things about tech.
I'm going somewhere with this.
I recently came across this Kickstarter where a mom was raising funds to help her 9-year-old daughter make an RPG.
It was framed as: Mean Boys Want To Tell Sister She Can't Make Games!
The internet rushed in to give support. Because the internet now has the same trigger-happy reflex about girl-power I once did. And though the Kickstarter had only set out to raise eight hundred, it has raised over twenty thousand dollars to date.
Due to some insane internet backlash, the mom running the Kickstarter is now backing off the original ask. She doesn't want to use the money, it's too much, she doesn't know what to do with the excess.
And in my opinion? She should still use it to fund her daughter's game, as well as the games of other girls.
I suggested on Twitter, "...you should use $829 of [the money] to send your daughter to camp, both for HER sense of empowerment, & sticking to what people signed up for. I suggest opening up the funding to [other] girls who want to make RPGs. Each girl gets $829, & each backer gets an additional game made by an awesome gamer girl. At current math, [that will fund] 26 games."
I won't get into the drama surrounding the Kickstarter (you can read here, if you care to); but I can't help thinking about the 9-year-old girl. That the original intent of this small Kickstarter was to give a tiny boost to her self-esteem, and aim her a little closer towards her dreams.
Because the things that we are passionate about when we are young are insanely formative.
Because the opportunities we are offered in our youth forge our future selves.
And because the memory of a woman from a long time ago intensely shaped my future decisions and desires in ways I would never have guessed.
