Posts Tagged ‘St. Louis’

St. Louis ComicCon is fast becoming a yearly tradition for me. My good friend,Ginny Kruta, gets a booth out there to sell her chain maille nerdery and I help her out and get to spend time with her and mingle with all things geek for a few days. This time David Tennant (10th Doctor), Matt Smith (11th Doctor), and James Marsters (Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer) were top on my list to meet at ComicCon. And oh yes I did thanks to Ginny. This year my pilgrimage was darkened by some situations at home. I’d been doubting myself for months, trying to reshape the very core of who I am to fit into an image others insisted was better. I became terrified to speak up, laugh, get excited, or even share what was on my mind. I was so consumed with worrying about how I was being perceived, I quietly spiraled into the Dark Place (I’ve delved into that place in several posts here). Going to ComicCon was to be a break from holding my mental breath, but even there I fidgeted constantly and was on edge. My state of mind wasn’t helped by a giant stye (EWWW GROSS) that made an appearance just for the weekend, sat directly under my eyelid, hurt like fire, and was bad enough to almost fully close my eye at one point (I should have bought a black eye patch and run with it, but that’s hindsight for you).  That was until Saturday.

Saturday Ginny and I met The Doctors and I danced with Deadpool.

On our way to find protective sleeves for our pictures with The Doctors an upbeat song began playing; I don’t even remember the song, but I remember it made me want to drop everything and dance. And then there was a Deadpool cosplayer strolling up the aisle. I admit to not having seen the movie. My fellow nerds praised it, but knowing I’m not one to favor vulgarity, nudity, and sexually explicit material, they warned me to steer clear and take their word it was a well-done film. Anyway, there I was – with my hands chaotic with disorganized items – and I began to sway to the music. And there was a Deadpool, walking toward me, swaying as well. He began to dance, something ridiculously old-fashioned and goofy. In that moment I had a choice: walk on or dance.

I danced. Clumsy, goofy, awkward me danced with Deadpool in the middle of ComicCon. And my friend (who has the patience of a saint when dealing with me) didn’t balk or ridicule. The freedom in ignoring the crowd that built up around us to be in the moment was exhilarating. In those few minutes I soared. I soared above my thoughts, above my worries, above all the people who were telling me I was wrong for being me. And it was spectacular. When I came to my senses, I turned to Ginny and asked if I did, indeed, see cameras out in the circle that had gather around us. Yes, yes I had. Somewhere on the internet there’s video of me dancing a ridiculous dance with a cosplayer. And that’s fine. It’s probably the least flattering angle ever and I probably look like I’m having a seizure more than actually dancing, but for once, I don’t care. It was necessary. In that moment it was completely necessary.

Because in that brief span of time I thumbed my nose at the naysayers and those who’re far too critical in the short life we live. I defied my own hangups and self-doubt and did something “just because”. And in that goofy event I learned a simple, but profound lesson: it’s okay to be unabashedly you.

Sometimes you have to dance with Deadpool.

Are you ready for the fourth installment? Single Is The New Black: Patiently Waiting is from a young man’s perspective. You know the drill, show Ce some love on her page before or after reading the article below:

*This is a guest post by Cullen Williams*

The world is ever-changing. In fact, one doesn’t even have to look far to realize these are different times in which we all live. In regards to the political arena – parties, policy, procedure, politicos – they’ve all changed in the past twenty years. The Republican Party is shifting; the elite are trying to hang on to a dying message, and the youth are trying their best to revive a dying party. Unfortunately that isn’t the only hardship facing today’s conservative youth. Relationships. That word haunts me more than knowing that Jeb Bush and Rick Santorum have their eyes on the White House.

For a young, male conservative the dating game is shrinking faster than President Obama’s chance of saving his second-term in office; though I don’t view the latter as that much of a problem. You see, being a young, conservative male I have a list of requirements that I usually follow when it comes to whether or not I’ll take someone on a date.

  • Attractive
  • Politically conservative
  • Outgoing
  • Desire to have a family

 

Because of this list, dating isn’t as simple as going down to the ol’ watering hole and finding my way into a conversation. I mean… those conversations usually happen but they aren’t filled with small talk, the weather or sports. They’re filled with debates on foreign policy, information on up and coming politicians, and why issues like marriage and the drug-war should be on every Republicans’ mind. Trust me, your typical 20-something female doesn’t find this attractive.

However, once in a while I’ll get lucky and run across a female that does not mind politics. In fact, I’ve gone on a few dates where I wasn’t the one to bring up politics. Unfortunately, they usually wind up supporting abortion on demand or mentioning how they voted for President Obama, not once but twice! These are the type of dates that make me realize I should stick to my list of requirements.

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Though I’d like to one day marry and raise a family, perhaps the time isn’t right. I do find myself rather busy pushing up and coming candidates and helping out with numerous ballot initiatives. And while this may be my way of justifying defeat, I do have faith that conservative youth are on the rise. They just need a party to take interest in their ideals – liberty and less government involvement. Though until that day I may be single.

 

Cullen

 

Cullen is a political activist and writer. He resides in St. Louis, Missouri. He can be found on Twitter: @cullenwilliams_

Byron's Memorial - Cheyboygan 036My uncle passed in October. I was preparing to go to St. Louis for a premier that, in the end, was rescheduled after all our travel arrangements were made and for an in studio interview about a project I did with the website I write for. My parents waited until I was off the air to tell me. I am forever grateful to them for creating a bubble around me, cushioning me from the news until after I left the studio. My brain wouldn’t process the news and I told my dad the joke wasn’t funny. Surely it had to be some twisted joke (our family does crazy pranks and, while this would have hit high on the macabre scale, wasn’t out the realm of a possible joke). My whole body went numb. I thank God in heaven a friend was with me. Thankfully she was the one driving. We discussed staying in STL or going home. The decision was made to stay and finish what I went there to do. I’ve rarely been more eager to not go home and yet run there simultaneously as I was that weekend.

The election was a mere three weeks away and, being a political and pop culture blogger, I had no time to waste or give up. I trudged on, refusing to stop, willing all tears to stay locked away. When we had a small memorial for him at my parents’ church I sat in the back texting with a friend. She’s the reason I was able to keep going. I doubt she’ll know how much I owe her for saving me like that. As of this writing the cause of death is still undetermined. Until now I haven’t stopped. I haven’t allowed myself the time or space to process what this loss means.

My uncle’s “official” funeral service was held in northern Michigan. Firefighters and Marines gathered to give him a proper goodbye. One of my other uncles was given his fireman’s helmet and my mom was given the flag and saluted by a Marine. Someone photographed the service.

I finally have a copy of the pictures. I opened them thinking I was okay to look at them. It’s been close to three months since his passing and I honestly thought I had it all under control. For the first time I let the tears fall.

My uncle wasn’t perfect. I hold no illusions. But he was a hero. He was a Marine. He was a fireman. He was a father, grandfather, brother, uncle, cousin, friend. He made mistakes and had his demons. He was generous and unreliable. He was prankster and made us laugh. My best childhood memories include my uncle and his son (my cousin passed November 2011).

My uncle loved his God, his family, and his country. He served his God, his family, and his country in the Marine Corp., as a firefighter, and as a small business owner. He was hero but most importantly he was my uncle.

At ease, Marine. Semper Fi.