Mai | 舞

Kevin’s mom: *hyperventilating into a paper bag* I can’t believe I left my son home alone, he has to be so terrified, my poor baby boy all alone I need to go get him-

Spent today taking photos & testing a new photoediting workflow & experiencing photoediting woes soothed only by how charming all of these fellows are

after “Burn” a powerful song about feminine weaponized indifference i.e. “because you hurt me I am going to erase the fact that we ever loved each other from history”, the story turns around and gives us “It’s Quiet Uptown” which says in the face of the pain that overwhelms us beyond choosing, there is an unimaginable moment of grace which is extended between the person who is hurt and the one who hurt us, that forgiveness isn’t another accomplishment that can be girlbossified, because it is always a grace, so that the hurt is beyond all imagining but the forgiveness even more so

Moana navigates the treacherous waters and rocks when Maui couldn’t, she surpasses him in skill and does what he wasn’t brave enough to do—but it isn’t her skill that wins the day! she doesn’t succeed because she is strong and brave enough to defeat the enemy, but because she is compassionate enough to look into her enemy’s eyes and say “they have stolen the heart from inside you—but this does not define you. this is not who you are. you know who you are.” she trusts and loves the monster before the monster is trustworthy or lovable. she extends grace in the middle of a fight, seeing that the violence that has hurt her and poisoned the home she loves comes from a place of hurt itself.

and in Encanto, Mirabelle has compassion for the hurt which caused her grandmother to hurt her so deeply! it would have been easy to run away from their broken home, to shake the dust off her feet and say they never loved her for who she was and they don’t deserve forgiveness—but she recognizes that this hurt can only be healed by forgiveness, by more love not less!

in all these stories there is a moment where the traditional ending of success or vindication is presented to us, an ending that’s about who has more power. would it be enough for Eliza to beat Hamilton at his own game, destroying the legacy of his humanity? would it be enough for Moana to confidently sail between the rocks and defeat the monster? would it be enough for Mirabelle to be proven right and set free? and every time the answer is “well, maybe it would be enough. but in the vast generosity of grace, there is more.”

I trained for years to be a con artist. I told my friends and family that I wanted to be a magician, but that was just a cover for why I was constantly practicing sleight of hand. 

In junior high and high school, I would shop lift a bunch of candy on my way to school, sell it to kids at the morning break, and use that money to run a crooked poker game at lunch.

Finally, when I was 19 or 20, I felt I was ready, and I picked my first pocket. I was on the bus, bumped a guy as I passed down the aisle, got his wallet, super clean.

In the wallet was several hundred dollars. A huge first score, I had been hoping for a couple twenties. I sat there looking at the, like, 400 bucks, thinking.

That was my rent at the time. We were both on the bus. It was likely his rent too. Lord knows the only reason to carry that much cash on the bus is you’re on your way to pay a bill. We were both on the bus, you know? That’s not someone I was comfortable stealing from.

I tapped him on the shoulder and told him “hey i think you dropped this” and gave it back to him with all the money still in it. It was the first and last time I ever picked a pocket.

Picking a rich person’s pocket is a loosing game. They probably have credit cards and not cash, those credit cards probably have the best anti-theft measures their bank can provide, and you probably can’t get close enough to those people to pick their pockets unless you’re already rich yourself.

The people who’s pockets you can reliably pick are the people around you. The people who are also on the bus, who are in this same shitty situation with you.

i’m obsessed with this painting called tomato king and i’m even more obsessed with the man who drew it. his name is stuart dunkel and he is a classical oboeist and he also paints tiny little oil paintings of mice living their best lives. he looks like this.

And dreidels, apparently