The name comes from a line in a terribly problematic movie, Shag. The antagonist hollers the phrase "Your roots are showing!" at Melana as an insult. And that line always stuck with me. Always. I said it all the time. And in 2006 I saw the movie But I'm a Cheerleader on one of my first dates with Mallory (of course she helped expand my queer touchstones). And that whole scene of them talking about their roots. This one.
They call it the Frequency Illusion (or the Baader–Meinhof Phenomenon), that once you see something, you can't stop seeing it. And now all I can see is Icarus flying, falling. It started with Private Rites by Julia Armfield. Our queer book club loved Armfield's debut novel Our Wives Under the Sea so much so that when her sophomore novel came out, we immediately placed it on our to-read piles. The novel's drenched in literary allusion...
The view from the front row at the U.S. Figure Skating Championships was so much different than the one from my couch. For one, I was struck by the depth of the fans' commitment — I met more than one person who’s been to the championships every year for over a decade. And being rink-side... Continue Reading →
Django walked past me this morning, gave me a harsh look, and kept moving until he stationed himself resolutely on the dining room rug. And glared at me. Intuitively, I knew. He shit in the back room. The turd. (Please note: I cleaned the litter box yesterday.) I got a text from Mallory: the furnace... Continue Reading →
If it's possible for the Winds of Change to knock about the chimes of my heart, boy have they! I'm itching for change. I can feel it in my bones. Deep within me. It's resonating through every. single. thing. I contemplate: moving furniture, organizing clothes and dishes and what's in the fridge, trying and trying... Continue Reading →
shelly. walston. writes. 