i live here now.
Hey friends. <3 Thank you all for following me over to this satellite account for a while. I needed a safe place to talk about movies while my transition got underway, and you all made that really special for me.
At this point, most of the important people in my Meat Life are aware that I'm transgender. So the need for refuge has diminished somewhat.
I hope you'll follow me back to my original account, which now has a brand new name, my name, Ruksana Faraon.
All my love,
Rookie / Kid Gorgeous
P.S."Was there ever even a ghost, Mother?"
It was strange to watch John Mulaney's new special right after this — Mulaney filling out Radio City Music Hall, Kondabolu in an 800-seat club in Seattle — both comics equally funny, at least in this girl's goofy heart. Not that 800 seats is a small venue, it obviously isn't, but it makes me dream of a world where Hari sells out RCMH too.
I'm sorry to be uncharitable, but I'm just so tired of this story. I'm tired of cis directors who think they're being sympathetic to trans women, but are really just fetishizing their suffering. I'm tired of narratives that are just relentless gauntlets of abuse. It makes my spirit sick.
It was still very powerful to see Daniela Vega, a trans woman, anchoring a polished and much-discussed independent film with grace and gravity. But I felt strongly that her performance deserved a better film, one that celebrates her humanity instead of merely gawking at the things she endures.
or, Waiting for Azaria.
Growing up, I was frequently asked if I ate monkey brains by jeering classmates. For one, that's Jello, you dumb mother clucks. For two, it's a great example of the kind of reductive idiocy the media landscape of the 80s and 90s led to.
I found this film deeply satisfying because its ultimate conclusion is that the presence of Hari Kondabolu in our culture is the exact antithesis of Apu. That is the greatest symbol of…