Man in the Mirror...

30 October 2005

So...I actually started writing this blog about six hours ago...but I got up and went to the bathroom...came back...and Friendster had eaten my blog. I was less than amused. If this were the old days...and I was still Queen of some Renaissance power...I would have ordered the immediate execution of anyone now or ever employed by the company. But...alas...my power is llimited to only creative language and ritual cursing.

But back to today's topic...when I was in the fifth grade my favorite song was Man in the Mirror...except...I thought the lyrics were..."I'm talking to the man in the river." Stop laughing. One day I decided to do a karaoke megastar show for my Mom and assorted paparazzi...and I sang a very soulful acapella version of Man in the Mirror...except when I got to the chorus...and I belted out with great enthusiasm that I was talking with the man in the river...my always honest but tactless Mother decides that it is better to interrupt my debut crossover performance...to inform me in front of all my fans (my Mom's boyfriend...my little brother..and a couple of Santa Bears)...that the lyrics to the song...in fact were "I"m talking with the man in the mirror." Well...needless to say that ended the performance right there (smugly thinking about how they would be sorry they missed out on the encore performance of Ashford and Simpson's Solid As  Rock...with both parts flawless sung by me...with a broken mop head to represent the duos trademark jeri curls...I grabbed my egg beater/microphone and stormed into my dressing room/bedroom I shared with my little brother)...and I would not accede to demands of a refund of the 25 cents I required all attendees to pay for the show...considering Mom shelled out all the money...she wanted her 1.25 back...plus backstage passes to my next show. She's been blacklisted every since. So there I was...my dream of being on Star Search and joining the likes of Britney Spears and Rosie O'Donnell in the cornicopia of stars born on Star Search completely shattered...and I also had to come to terms with the fact that Michael was not talking to a kindly chap in the river (which is only polite...even men in the river deserve to have good conversation) but that MJ was probably schizophrenic since he spent his time talking to his own reflection and thought it was this "man" person.

Lately I've come to understand that Michael's mental issue had nothing to do with schizophrenia...we could start with the fact that he is the first trans-raced person in history and leave off somewhere around the point when he decided that in his version of Neverland Peter and the Lost Boys meet the good fairy Chi Chi Larue...and Hook lost his hand in a terrible fisting accident. What I've realized is that Michael...like myself...was attempting to really take a look in the mirror...and see not what we've been programmed and socialized to see...but to try and see ourselves...as horrifying or as terribly beautiful as that might be.

Now...I don't know of anyone that is a part of my world that has any problem making an absolutely comprehesive list of everything they believe is wrong with themselves. They can give you that list cross-indexed, with supporting primary resources and an annotated bibliography...regardless of the reality that 99.999 percent of what we believe about ourselves is utter and complete bullshit. Now... before anyone that knows me starts posting comments on here telling my business...let me be the first to say that the days that I am able to look at myself in the mirror and really see myself as a beautiful and talented individual happen less frequently than W Bush doing something intelligent.  What's even more f!cked up is that I can look in the mirror...I can hear the tapes playing in my head telling me that I am ugly-fat-not smart enough-not productive enough-that my head is too big-my hands too small--etc. etc. I know that those tapes are products of centuries of oppression and savvy marketing by Maybelline (Maybe she was born with it? You're damn right she was.) But I can't shut them down once they start going. I just have to ride them out and hope that my self-esteem hadn't taken a critical hit (you sank my battleship...and now I have another two years of therapy...thanks).

What is really amusing is I have some of the most beautiful and talented people in the world in my life...I can listen to them listing off their self-perceived faults as if they were doing the stations of the cross...when I attempt to correct them I sometimes think they are going to command me to return to hell in the name of Christ...but when I reveal that I perhaps don't have the best self-image...it's like I was speaking in tongues...and they just look at me...say something dismissive...like...you fool...and go back to flagellating themselves as they are sewing together their hair shirts. And that's when I get them with the holy water and a might cry of "The Power of Christ Compels YOU!" Sometimes their heads actually rotate completely around. I generally take that as a moment to end our friendship. I've got limits.

But back to the topic...I've been doing a better job (compared to what?) of seeing myself as someone worth the complex carbon based molecules that are the sum of my physical existence. But I've also noticed what seems to be a ridiculous increase of brilliant people...particulary people of color..that are doing things like oh...med school...but can't seem to believe that anything they are doing has any meaning or value because they themselves believe they have no inherent value...and what makes me truly sad is that at times...I find myself believing that about myself...way down deep (please ya'll I am not running around like Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice). But somewhere in the very core of what I believe or was taught as a child was truth in some way tries every day to negate the person that I really am (including the real flaws...not the Martyr Extra Value Meal Flaws that I believe I have...just like the Monkeypox..don't laugh...I have 'em...should never have eaten that Guinea Pig).

This entry is getting on the shy side of ridiculously long without any heartfelt conclusions...but I'll end with a story. Last Spring Chris and I were having one of our weekly Tuesday iced turtle mochas and getting to know you time at Wilde Roaste in Minneapolis. We were talking about something or another...and I decided that I needed to say something to him. I told him that I had a hard time finding myself attractive and that because of that I definately have a lack of self-confidence in anything resembling a relationship. Chris gave me this look that I can't really describe accurately...it was a mixture between incredulity...disbelief...a little sadness...and perhaps the most sincerity I've ever seen in one person's face and said to me...but Brandon...you're beauitiful. The way it came out of his mouth was like he was telling me that compasses point North, the sun comes up in the East, and the 13 hour sale at Dayton's (it is NOT Marshall Fields) is the greatest gift of commercial retail to the consumer. I still don't have anything resembling the conviction around my "alleged" beauty that Chris had...but I do know that as I try and see myself in a little better light (underlighting girls...) I am also more aware of all the truly blessed and gifted and gorgeous people around me that are walking through a world with someone elses face taped to their mirrors.