My Alix Dobkin Personal Anecdote

Famous lesbian activist musician, Alix Dobkin, passed away today at 80.  Alix was famous for the song “Amazon ABC” and others to all lesbians coming out in the 1980’s and later. During my illustrious but short lived standup comedy career 35 years ago, I had the honor of opening for Alix Dobkin in a Halloween concert in Olympia with the Righteous Mothers, a beloved northwest group.

I didn’t have show biz chops.  I trembled mightily before each show.  When I got to the theatre, I was told I would be introducing Alix after my first bit on stage.  In my naivety, I went up to Alix to ask her how she would like to be introduced.  I knew of her, of course, but that was the extent of it.  Alix’s response was, “I prefer personal anecdotes.”

In my nervousness, I clarified, “So, you’re referring to a story I have about hearing your music?”

She said, “Yes,” in a way that implied I was dumb as a post.

I said bluntly, “I’m sorry. I don’t have one.” I thought she had gall. She looked at me coldly. I went off to talk to the stage manager.  Alix did the same.  Shortly after, the stage manager informed me she would do the introduction.  Naturally, the stage manager did a marvelous job because she did have an Alix Dobkin personal anecdote.  Alix no longer made eye contact with me.

It was my first brush with a famous person.  I missed the mark.  When I put on my mustache for my second act, Alix did deign to tell me I looked “svelte.”  I repeated svelte stupidly, thanked her, and thought about what svelte might mean.

When I told this story to Ronnie this morning, she said, “I imagine Alix has forgotten.”  

“Undoubtedly,” I said. “Death will do that.” The good news is, “Hey, Alix.  I do have a personal anecdote.”  She probably wouldn’t want me to tell it at her memorial.

Here is the link to “Amazon ABC.”  (This was prior to the Amazon we all know so well.)

https://youtu.be/lmr3ZYa0Aaw

Rest In Peace, Alix.

Joceile

5.19.21

[Picture of a younger Alix Dobkin in jeans and a t-shirt.]

The Day I Went to Western State Hospital

What can I say?  It was transformative. It will always be transformative. This is why I pay homage every year. A fourteen year old girl was plucked from terror and confusion and placed in a time out. Not as punishment or penalty but as an opportunity to mentally breathe. 

Generally, we don’t think of mental hospitals or psych wards this way. Used well, they can be a place where we take stock, adjust our thinking, and make a better plan. I was one such lucky person, able to reorient the trajectory of my life. 

So, I say thank you to that fourteen year old, the mental health staff, and my grandparents. We don’t need to abolish the things that scare us. We need support to find a way through them. 

May 19, 1972, will always be as important to me as my birthday, though obviously, not as highly regarded. I was lucky to be born and then given an opportunity to improve my lot. I know many don’t get such opportunities and when given are unable to embrace them. There are two parts: luck and fortitude. I am grateful I had both.

To Life. 

Joceile 

5/17/21

[Picture of my counselor, Jerry, and I. 1972]

May 7th Again

It’s my mother’s birthday.  She’s 86.  I wish I could call her.  Call her up and say, “Hi, mom.  It’s been a long time,” and listen to a voice I haven’t heard for 27 years.  It’s not that I’ve forgotten it.  It’s just that it’s not safe for me to call her, even though, she’s alive; even though, she’s near.

Twenty-seven years ago, she was 59—four years younger than I am now.  She was angry then.  I understand she’s angrier now.  My mom is consumed by the world in her head, victimized by so many people who didn’t do right by her.  Any list I make would never cover them all.

Her mother couldn’t take care of her.  Multiple foster parents were abusive.  Relatives who molested her.  Her father had a second wife.  I haven’t even gotten out of her childhood.  Husbands that didn’t understand her or take care of her.  Money that didn’t come her way.  Denial of either of her uncles’ estates she believed she was entitled to.  My grandparents left her nothing in their wills.  Employers who didn’t treat her fairly.  My father who had more children with his second wife instead of her and married a third.  Men who took advantage of her and tossed her away in a world that didn’t teach her self-sufficiency.

Then, there’s me.  From what I could tell, I’ve been a grave disappointment.  I left her house at 14.  I sought help from counselors when my mother could have provided everything I needed.  I manipulated mental health professionals into believing I was abused.  My grandparents wanted to steal me from her.  I went to live with my grandparents instead of her or my dad.   I became a lesbian.  My partner is Jewish.  I withdrew from her to protect my daughter from her.  

On and on it goes.  My mother can recite line after line of the ways she was mistreated.  In fact, she’s essentially unable to converse about anything else.  It is heartbreaking and abusive.  She’s ten digits away on my phone.  I could hear her voice speak to me just before the cascade of wrongs becomes her sole focus.

My brother still tends to my mom’s needs.  He drives her to her doctor’s appointments.  I don’t think she sees his children much anymore.  She’s unable to respect verbal and physical boundaries.  My brother told me she ranted so much on the way to the doctor he had to tell her to stop talking or he would never take her again.  Is this anyway to live?

To enter into a relationship with her is to engage in a war of grievances.  There is no resolution.  No peace treaties.  No reconciliation.  No end to the recitation of harm.  It is an endless stream of bile.  Apparently, she had an exciting ride as a Trump supporter.  One lifelong friend I knew as a child reported her mother was exhausted from my mother’s constant political ranting.  Finally, she pissed my mother off in some imagined way.  My mother stopped talking to her.  My friend’s mom said to her daughter, “Well, at least I have two hours of my life back every day.”

My mom has had an endless stream of recycled friends.  A few years ago, she came to the end of the line.  Everyone is dead or too tired to go anymore rounds with her.  According to my brother, even Trump was a terrible disappointment.  She believed he would not leave the presidency.  The voting results not withstanding.

Regularly, I have to re-adjudicate my decision to continue our separation.  I made a file years ago of my mother’s crazy letters so I can remember why I’m not in touch.  Her birthdays are the worst because I know one day she won’t be on the other end of that phone number.  The fantasy will cease to have any possibility of reality.  I’ve done all I can do with her in this lifetime.  I’m sorry, mom.  Happy birthday.

Joceile

5.7.21

[Portrait of my mother.  Circa 1980]

My Bionic Ears

They say hearing is a precious commodity.  I’m sure this is true.  There is also research indicating that unaddressed hearing loss can contribute to dementia.  The good news is that we have options.  The bad news is that hearing aids are expensive and health care doesn’t pay for them.

Initially, my hearing loss was only in my left ear.  It was difficult to identify what I was missing with a loss in one ear.  I had to work at daily wearing my left hearing aid until it landed in my shirt pocket (where it is never supposed to be) and went through the wash.  It couldn’t go the distance.  Getting it fixed, resulted in an updated hearing test. I now also had a hearing loss in my right ear.  How helpful.  Rather than spend money to fix the one, I purchased two brand new hearing aids.  Yes, I get a $700 contribution from my healthcare insurer which doesn’t go far for $4000 hearing aids.

When I sported my new hearing aids at work, I wasn’t shy in talking about getting them.  People were surprised.  I assist employees with accommodations at work for medical conditions.  It is incumbent upon me to be a leader in normalizing accommodations, demonstrating there is no shame.  My openness about my hearing aids caused people to ask me questions allowing me to spread the gospel of addressing hearing loss to improve mental health, social engagement, and as a bonus, act against dementia.

I remember working with a man named Greg who was reticent about wearing his hearing aids even when his wife complained he couldn’t hear her higher voice.  When I asked Greg why he didn’t want to wear his hearing aids, thinking it was because they were uncomfortable or some such, he told me it was vanity, pure and simple.  Wow, I thought.  I’m vain but not wearing my hearing aids is just stupid.  With two, I can very clearly hear the difference when I am wearing them.  It’s worth it.  And, not just because I can listen to the ball game on my iPhone and no one knows it.  It gives me a break from asking people to repeat things three times.  Three is my absolute limit. If I don’t get it after three, I just give up.  This way lies loss of engagement with people.  Not a good look for someone working in Human Resources.

The bluetooth feature with iPhones and iPads is really cool but only if one has a high tolerance for technical nonsense.  I’ve learned to switch between my iPhone and iPad and most recently my work iPhone.  It took me a long time to learn to switch devices effectively and turn off bluetooth on the device I’m not using.  I hate having one ear in my iPhone and one in my iPad.  While watching Saturday Night Live clips, my right hearing aid keeps sounding like a slow alien.  If I toss my head around or move my iPad, it clears up.  I’m not sure what part of the system gets screwed up—my hearing aids, my iPad, or my head.  At times walking by a fluorescent lightbulb, my left hearing aid hums like it’s in touch with the heartbeat of the fluorescent.  I don’t like to think about what’s really going on there.

Other than listening to baseball during work meetings—I have to remember to not shout out, “Yes!” in the middle of the meeting when my team scores—I’ve learned other dynamic uses.  I love to hear birds singing.  The more, the merrier.  My hearing aid has 12 settings from -8 to +4 with 0 being normal.  To hear birds beyond my normal range, I turn my hearing above normal.  So, sweet.  When voices or media outside of my control are too loud, I turn them down to the minus range.  Recently while hanging out in a public park people watching and eavesdropping, I discovered I can eavesdrop better when I raise them above normal hearing level.  “Those two look intense.  I wonder what they’re talking about?”  I boost my hearing.  I might learn an important stock tip or a plot to take over the government or just two moony eyed idiots talking about their dating lives.  If it’s good, I listen.  Otherwise, it easily goes back down.

The bottom line is these things are pretty damn fun.  I’m not advocating hearing loss.  But if I’m gonna have it, I sure like to adjust my experience a bit.  Why the hell not?  There’s so much in the world I have absolutely no control over.  And by the way, technology companies maybe bringing the cost down.  Already there is a setting paired with bluetooth headphones that enable iPhones and iPads to act like remote microphones when placed on a table.  I mean the table in front of you not for spying in the other room.  I’m positive they weren’t intended for that!

To life and tech.  Gawd help us.

Joceile

5.7.21

[Picture of me laying on a couch adjusting my iPhone.]