samjgrasso

[samjgrasso]

Status Update: Austin Protesters and Medics Injured by Austin Police Department

On May 30 and May 31, Austin Police Department shot near-lethal munitions of blunt impact bullets called “rubber bullets” and  pellet balls encased in small bags known as “bean bag rounds” at protesters during a demonstration. Austin’s protests were a part of the nationwide revolts against police, state violence, and the carceral state. 

As a result, police near-fatally injured two people by shooting them in the head, one a teenager and the other 20 years old, and injured several other people. More information on the number of people injured in Austin’s protests, from the Intercept, emphasis mine:

Over the first four days of protests in the city, paramedics responded to 53 calls for medical help. Twenty-nine of those required transportation to a hospital; of those injuries, 11 were believed to have been caused by beanbag rounds. Many were life-threatening, the city’s Emergency Medical Services chief told the city council.

Following APD’s violence against protesters, Police Chief Brian Manley said APD would stop firing less lethal projectiles into crowds, but would still use them in other instances. Manley’s restrictions are meaningless, however, as at least one of Austin police’s victims wasn’t in a crowd during the protests, and was in an open field by himself when they shot him.

According to the Austin Monitor, five officers have been put on paid leave while APD investigates certain incidents:

Nicholas Gebhart, 7.5 years with APD

Kyu An, 3.5 years with APD

Kyle Felton, 1 year with APD

Derrick Lehman, 10 years with APD

John Siegel, 3.5 years with APD

It’s been nearly 40 days since May 31. Many of the people who Austin police injured are still in recovery. Here are the latest updates on some of the people who APD attacked, and where they or their family is collecting donations for their recovery. 

I wasn’t able to find updates or social media posts for several people, but please email me at samjgrasso at gmail dot com if you have an update you’d like to share, or would like to add someone to this collection of updates.

Justin Howell

Screenshot via the Battalion

Justin Howell is a 20-year-old Texas State student who APD shot in the head with a pellet ball-filled ammunition at close range. His older brother Joshua, a graduate student at Texas A&M University, has been speaking for their family and writing about Justin’s experience for the university’s newspaper. In Joshua’s first article, he wrote, “He has a fractured skull. He has brain damage. Doctors anticipate that when he wakes up, he will have difficulty telling his left from his right.”

On June 23, Joshua wrote that Justin spent three weeks in the ICU following the APD’s attack, and was sedated for two-and-a-half weeks of that time because of his brain injury, which doctors confirmed was caused by the impact of the ammunition. He wrote that Justin still eats through a feeding tube, and that he recently transferred to a “long-term rehabilitation facility” for intensive neurological, physical and occupational therapy.

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Justin is still active, and has accumulated $213,269 in donations so far.

Levi Ayala

Screenshot via Texas Monthly

Levi Ayala is a 16-year-old student at KIPP Austin Brave High School. He had gone to the protest on May 31 to watch it when, and was standing by himself when Austin police shot him in the head with a bean bag round. 

According to Texas Monthly, the munition fractured Ayala’s skull and required a seven hour surgery, during which doctors removed the bullet, stopped the bleeding, and grafted skin onto the entrance wound. At a virtual city council meeting, Levi’s brother Edwin cried that the bullet damaged his prefrontal cortex and left him in immense pain. Edwin said at the time that Levi wouldn’t have permanent brain damage.

Levi left the hospital within the week, still in pain, including whiplash from being hit so hard. He’ll require various forms of physical and mental therapies over the next few months.

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Levi has been turned off for new donations, and accumulated $221,213 in donations.

Anthony Evans 

Screenshot via GoFundMe

Anthony Evans is 26 years old. He was protesting with his twin brother Arthur when Austin police shot him in the face with a bean bag round. 

Anthony told KVUE that he underwent two surgeries across three days, and would have his jaw wired shut for the following six weeks. Doctors also surgically implanted a titanium plate into his jaw. He said he was jogging away from police when he was shot in the cheek. 

Anthony also told Now This that his phone was dead and he didn’t know what to do, so he walked the 8 miles to his home. Three miles in, he asked some police in a car stopped at a sign for help because he was injured, and they said they couldn’t help him and needed to go shut down the protest near the highway. Doctors determined Anthony had three different injuries in his mouth.

Arthur posted on Facebook saying that they’re collecting donations for his medical bills via Arthur’s CashApp and Venmo accounts.

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Anthony is still active, and has accumulated $41,535 in donations so far.

Bomani Ray Barton

Screenshot via bomaniraybarton/instagram

Bomani Ray Barton is a 23-year-old musician. He was protesting on May 30 when, after following APD’s orders to back up, Austin police shot him three times, in the face, arm and hip with rubber bullets, another near-lethal ammunition. According to the GoFundMe page raising his medical funds, surgeons wired Bomani’s jaw shut after his mouth was ripped and his teeth were knocked out, and his jaw was fractured. Bomani said on his Instagram that his jaw will be wired for 6 to 8 weeks.

"The shots felt like blunt force swings of a bat impacting my body," Bomani told Austin Chronicle. "It didn't hurt as bad as the swelling and the sleepless nights though. The struggle of this financial and legal [fight] outweighs the pain of the shots."

On July 8, Bomani can be seen playing alongside Haris Qureshi and Kydd Jones for Jones’ set for Blues on the Screen, a virtual event to be screened on Fox 7 Austin and played on 97.1FM Austin City Limits Radio, curated by musician Jackie Venson.

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Bomani is still active, and has accumulated $21,635 in donations so far. He’s also taking donations on his CashApp.

Saraneka “Nemo” Martin

Screenshot via Fox 7 Austin/Facebook

Saraneka “Nemo” Martin is a 24-year-old pregnant Black mother with two children who was protesting with her husband when APD shot her in the stomach twice and the back, and the back of her head with bean bag munitions, then brutally dragged her onto the ground. Following the attack, Saraneka was described as sore, “barely walking,” and “pretty rattled.”

On Twitter, Saraneka created an account following the protest to identify herself, and shared graphic photos and videos of the welts left behind by the rubber bullets. At a June 12 press conference, Saraneka said her health was “day by day at this point,” and that her pregnancy is still seven weeks along but that doesn’t confirm there won’t be complications later on. She also said the bean bag munition shot at her head had been embedded in her wig and took days to remove, and she was using a cane as a result of her injuries.

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Saraneka is still active, and has accumulated $32,275 in donations so far.

Nikki Underwood

Screenshot via RatBath/YouTube

Nikki Underwood is a musician who was protesting the police when APD shot her from about 10 feet away, shooting down at her. The bean bag ammunition required surgery to be removed from the side of her chest. (You may have seen a photo circulating of the munition, bloody, in the palm of a gloved hand — this was a munition removed from Nikki’s body.) On a video in her GoFundMe, Nikki said she was released from the ER following her surgery and asked that people continue to donate, as she didn’t know what was next for her. 

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Nikki is still active, and has accumulated $12,225 in donations so far.

Maredith Drake

Screenshot via GoFundMe

Maredith Drake was a medic volunteer with Austin Street Medics during the protests. While she and other volunteers attempted to carry an injured Justin Howell to APD headquarters, Austin police shot at them. Meredith, who held up and crossed her hands to indicate that she was coming for medical attention, was hit in the hands by a bean bag munition. 

A GoFundMe page created for Maredith says her husband recently lost his job and that she couldn’t move her hands to perform household or work duties. On June 9, she posted that her left hand needed surgery, and that it’d be permanently damaged without it. 

I’d also like to point out that Maredith has posted on Facebook and told press several times that she thinks her story isn’t important and that they should be focusing on the stories of people of color. 

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Maredith is still active, and has accumulated $10,986 in donations so far.

Steve Arawn 

Screenshot via GoFundMe

Steve Arawn is a 43-year-old volunteer medic who was part of the Austin Street Medics team assisting injured protesters, and was helping a woman who had been shot when Austin Police shot him in the arm with a bean bag munition. 

On YouTube on June 8, Steve thanked the donors to his GoFundMe, and required an MRI for his injuries — his fingers felt sensitive and painful when he put pressure on them, or straightened out his arm. On June 15, Steve still didn’t have information about his condition but was still in constant pain, but the findings of the MRI got him referred to a hand specialist.

His GoFundMe page describes him as a gig worker, and on Facebook he’s asking for opportunities to work that don’t require him to use his dominant hand while healing. On Facebook he recently posted an update describing his hand as having experienced nerve damage.

The GoFundMe page collecting donations for Steve is still active, and has accumulated $2,991 in donations so far.

[samjgrasso]

What's something you can't stop talking about?

Six months ago, the New York Times put out an open call for recent college graduates to contribute to their newsletter The Edit. As part of the application, applicants had to write a >500 word piece answering one of the provided prompts. I was one of over more than 20,000 applicants, and, long story short, was not selected for the opportunity. 

Regardless of the rejection (and my lack of rejection email to show for it), I really enjoyed the piece that I wrote for my entry, answering the question, “What's something you can't stop talking about?” I knew that I wanted to share it somewhere no matter the outcome of my application. So, like most things I’ve written and received no credit for, I’m publishing it here. 

Thank you very much to my amazing friend Sarah Jasmine Montgomery for reading and editing this piece. I am always blessed to be guided by your eyes.

The sensation feels a lot like learning how to swim by Samantha Grasso

The sensation feels a lot like learning how to swim. Doggie paddling, the shortness of breath, heartbeat and oxygen meeting bluntly in your throat. The ripple of exhaustion seeping into muscles as lungs heave, tendons flexing in heavy limbs, treading water.

I remember hatching a plan to stop this drowning, subtly, then obsessively, one night as I went about washing my hair.

“You need to do something. You’re going to write out a statement. You’re going to tell people what happened to you.”

Suds traveled down my nape as I massaged the shampoo, fingernails tenderly scraping scalp underneath matted curls.

“You’ll find the girl he used to take to the gym. And the girl whose naked pictures he sent you. And the girl he taught private lessons to. The girl he cheated on you with, and the girl who tried to turn him in. You will talk to all of these girls, and tell them, ‘It happened to me, too.’”

Suds slid down my hips and thighs, they melted under the shower spray, they circled the drain.

“You’ll ask them for their stories. You’ll ask them to trust you. You’ll tell someone, you’ll find someone to report him to.”

I combed my fingers through knots, my thoughts drunkenly feeding off brazen confidence. My understanding of life at 18, 19, 20, had visited every point along the spectrum between denial and acceptance, once, twice over. A half-decade of thinking, and re-thinking. Of processing and learning and unlearning. I was no longer questioning, and defending, and explaining away the shallow gasps. The shortness of breath.

“You can help the unsuspecting girls. This is where it ends. You are how it ends.”

I told the plan to my friends, individually, as if I were an executor informing the devisees of a poor, distant relative’s death. I told the friends who knew him. Who too, unknowingly, suffered from his gaze. His eyes that peered beyond a pulpit, or stared down from high in the sky. I will affect this change, I said. I promised, he will face judgement, too.

And yet, talking is all I’ve done. I talked myself out of my master plan. Talked myself back into talking, for the girls who will, undoubtedly (but hopefully not), one day feel the shortness of breath, the shallow gasps. Who won’t be able to fathom the idea of uttering a word.

I drunkenly talked to strangers, in the backs of bars and cars, about my righteous, martyrish intentions. I rambled to my therapist, with whom not a single hour-long session has passed where I haven’t mentioned his name.

As a teenager, all I could talk about was how exciting and mature it felt to hold his attention and affections. Years later, I still can’t stop talking about him—sometimes I’m afraid I’ll never stop. Never “move on.” Never “let it go.”

But, I’m more afraid of what will happen if I do.

[samjgrasso]

Leavenworth, WA • 4/21/2018

[samjgrasso]

A list of things I’ve realized are no longer in my possession since moving

I moved into my new apartment about two months ago, and over the last two months have slowly realized that I am missing things. Not a lot of things, but enough things to make my question just how many boxes of things I’m missing. So, this is a running list of all the things I appear to be missing. Maybe one day I’ll find them.

Molly Ivins: A Rebel Life signed by author and former j-prof Bill Minutaglio

Juno on DVD

Donnie Darko and S. Darko movie combo on DVD

1 mixing bowl

1 cookie sheet

8 blue picnic plates

5 glasses with ducks painted on them

[samjgrasso]

The world’s first LGBT Mariachi: a story that never was

Photo via arcoirisdelosangeles/Facebook

I’ve always been scared to pitch stories. Selling myself has never been my strong suit—if I had a story idea, I didn’t have the confidence to think I could report it, and if I had the connect, I never had a story. So when I pitched a profile of the first LGBT Mariachi of Los Angeles, Mariachi Arcoiris de Los Angeles, at my first Big Time Magazine internship a little more than two years ago, I was ecstatic my editor accepted the pitch and assigned it to me, no questions.

I finished the story while I was in California but didn’t receive feedback months later, when I was finishing up my second-to-last semester in college. I’ll be the first to admit that my writing has grown a ridiculous amount in the past year, and that initially when I received the edits I was overwhelmed. So I reinterviewed Mariachi Arcoiris’s director in an attempt to get the process rolling, but I let the story fall through the cracks—I was burned out from school, and from what I can recall, I didn’t send back my edits, though my editor followed up. A month later I checked the magazine’s masthead and found out she had left the publication. 

I was off the hook for the story, but I felt awful—I really wanted this piece to work out, but it didn’t. I thought it was decent, with strong historical and societal context on why an LGBT mariachi is so groundbreaking. I still think it’s decent. It's not the best written, but the narrative itself is so immensely important to share. So I’ve fixed the piece up and I’m sharing it on my blog, because I never repackaged the piece to shop around, but I think the story is valuable itself, regardless of price or merit. 

Mariachi Arcoiris: Paying Tribute to, and Expanding Inclusivity of, Mexican Culture in Mariachi Music

Written in Aug. 2015 by Samantha Grasso

Carlos Samaniego is a self-proclaimed mariachi purist, a stickler to detail. He sits in a bright living room in East Los Angeles, Thursday night after Thursday night, listening attentively to his semi-circle of six musicians surrounding the rehearsal space. 

In between balancing the sound of his own violin arrangements to the ensemble, he stops rehearsal, addresses rhythm and intonation issues with prompt solutions, and counts the group off with a tight, “ONE-two-three.” Samaniego pauses, critiques and repeats. The band plays on.

As the director of Mariachi Arcoiris De Los Angeles, the first LGBT mariachi in the world, Samaniego says he feels the mariachi is already scrutinized for its inclusive take on a century-old Mexican tradition. Strict weekly two-hour rehearsals aren’t overkill—they’re necessary to keep up impressions.

“I feel like we’re always under the microscope in…the mariachi world—they’re going to say things anyway. They’re going to make fun of us, they’re going to talk badly about us,” Samaniego says. “I don’t want them to say bad things about how we play. I want to sound really good, so we can shut them up.”

Mariachi Arcoiris, which is Spanish for Rainbow Mariachi, performed for the first time on Valentine’s Day 2014. With this ensemble, Samaniego sought to create a safe space for LGBT-identified mariachi players. 

This isn’t Samaniego’s first organized gay mariachi—his previous group was a short-lived ensemble initially prepared for a pride week event at California State University, Los Angeles. But this mariachi is his first to actively challenge the masculinity of the mariachi world.

“I wanted a safe haven [for people] who identify as LGBT to perform the music that we so love to do,” Samaniego says. “Here, no one’s going to make fun of me. No one’s going to talk smack…to each other. Nothing about like, ‘C’mon Carlos, check her out, you got to like her,’ forcing that on me. Or…[straight mariachis] trying to ask ridiculous questions…Things that are none of their business.”

Photo via _nataliamelendez/Instagram

To give you a sense of the mariachi environment, here’s a brief: From 1969 to 2007, mariachi enthusiasts in Los Angeles could catch fine-tuned performances by Nati Cano and L.A.’s Mariachi los Camperos at Cano’s restaurant, La Fonda. 

In addition to Los Camperos, Grammy Award-winning and –nominated ensembles including Mariachi Sol de México, Mariachi Reyna De Los Angeles and Mariachi Divas de Cindy Shea brought distinction to both the genre and the city. Mariachi music classes offered through the Los Angeles Unified School District, and facilities such as The Mariachi Observatory and Mariachi Heritage Society preserve the tradition with the youth of the city.

Even women of Los Angeles punctuate the mariachi scene, including notable pioneers Rebecca Gonzales, the first female mariachi of Los Camperos, and the late Laura Sobrino, the first female mariachi of many groups in the ‘70s and ‘80s, among other titles. And yet, even with the integration of women in the profession, mariachi itself still holds deeper cultural impressions. In the 20th century, mariachis portrayed a model of machismo: strong, aggressive, prideful masculinity.

“Sobrino admits that being a Latina in a macho mariachi mundo is exactly what propels her to push harder, talk faster, stay a step ahead, stand tough,” a 1995 article from the Los Angeles Times states in a profile about the former director of Mariachi Reyna de Los Angeles. 

The article continues: “Again and again she has heard the same refrain: ‘You have no place here. Your place is having babies.’” Samaniego, who has performed in numerous mariachis over the last 20 years, said these ideals of masculinity, of being tough, macho or womanizing, are ingrained in Mexican culture. Samaniego says these impositions from other mariachis in former groups felt uncomfortable and taxing.

“Now there are a lot of women in groups, but even then, a lot of these hardcore traditionalists are like, ‘Women…don’t have the same kind of feeling in the music,’” Samaniego says. He lists examples of this mentality: “Most of Mexico is Catholic, and they’re against homosexuality…Sort of putting a woman in her place, where she needs to serve her man or take care of the children…Old school traditional conservative. These mariachis are just a product of that.”

Samaniego’s skepticism of being accepted by this pervasively masculine mariachi community almost prevented Mariachi Arcoiris from participating in an annual Los Angeles tradition. 

In November 2014, the mariachi was invited to perform at the Mariachi Festival at Mariachi Plaza in Boyle Heights. While the mariachi has straight allies, Samaniego says he worried about security of his musicians, including Natalia Melendez, the first openly transgender mariachi in the country. With the support of festival organizers, Mariachi Arcoiris performed at the festival and received an overwhelming ovation.

“I said, ‘Well, I’m really concerned about our safety…I don’t want nothing, no violence, no verbal abuse…The organizer who reached out to me made it clear that we…would be protected,” Samaniego says. “I was told that not until we performed had [the audience] wanted more, like ‘Otra, Otra,’ or an encore…With us it was like they wanted more, more, more.”

While challenging cultural normality, Mariachi Arcoiris maintains the integrity of mariachi traditions with their full-bodied, emotive renditions of songs such as “Ella” and “No Vale la Pena.” They display their pride for the culture with their own personalized trajes, clean-pressed suits embellished with silver and gold, with rainbow flags adorning the belt buckles, rainbow fabric bowties, and rainbow horseshoes pinned to the sombreros.

Still, between preserving the culture and expressing modernity, it’s a balancing act. Samaniego emphasizes being inclusive in his careful attention to masculine and feminine pronouns when selecting songs to perform. While some traditional mariachi songs don’t specify gender, others are heteronormative, or only have men singing to women and vice versa.

“I’ve got to be careful that if I’m going to sing a love song, or a song about betrayal. I’m not singing it to a woman. I need to sing it to a man,” Samaniego says. “To our gay audience, they really enjoy it because these guys—who have grown up seeing and listening to mariachi and have witnessed how the mariachi serenades sings to the girl—they always wanted that. Like, ‘Oh man, they’re never going to sing to me.’ And finally with our group, they get that.”

Though Mariachi Arcoiris is but a short year-and-a-half old, the mariachi’s distinctive mission has already garnered attention from outlets such as L.A. Weekly, Telemundo and NPR’s Latino USA. Even the Mexican American culture museum La Plaza De Cultura Y Artes in Downtown L.A. requested to include Mariachi Arcoiris in their six-month-long exhibit “Corazón de la Comunidad: A Story of Mariachi in Los Angeles.”

Samaniego aspirations to round out the mariachi’s second year don’t fall short of the group’s present success: Mariachi Arcoiris is accompanying Mexican singer Sheyla Tadeo in August, performing at Oceanside’s “Pride by the Beach” in October, and recording their first album. In the meantime, “purists” like Samaniego and avant-garde audiences alike can find Mariachi Arcoiris De Los Angeles performing every Sunday night at Club Tempo in Hollywood, where they’re navigating the celebration of culture among the nuances of self-expression, one guitarrón strum at a time.

“We’re here to perform for everybody, but especially for our community,” Samaniego says. “We’re a mariachi who’s true to itself… We’re there to perform and to put on a good show, and for [Mariachi lovers] to see something they’ve never seen before.”

[samjgrasso]

January 2, 2017 - Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona Spencer's Big Move! (2/8)

[samjgrasso]

January 1, 2017 - Amarillo, Texas VW Bug Ranch Cadillac Ranch Spencer's Big Move! (1/8)

[samjgrasso]

A list of things that give me the same amount of internal conflict as writing cover letters

Watching men on the train put their hands anywhere near their crotches

Seeing someone walking their dog and then trading off between smiling at the owner and at the dog multiple times before we cross paths

Getting chastised by my dentist for not flossing enough

Drinking coffee without eating anything beforehand

Thinking about how I have friends in my neighborhood that I could ask to hang out with and then realizing I wouldn’t know what we would do that doesn’t involve getting something to eat

Wearing a blazer

Thinking about having to find a new place to live at the end of the month

Informationals

People looking at my laptop screen

Researching for weird internet stories and going down a series of rabbit holes and then wondering to myself if I’ve dug up too much and if someone might be out to get me

Talking about being unemployed with friends who are also unemployed

Buying groceries in a new supermarket

Any time I consider nannying or dogsitting as a temporary gig

Also any time I consider going to a temp agency

[samjgrasso]

An indefinite list of quotes that I think about far too frequently

1. "This place, where so many people would die to work you only deign to work. And you want to know why she doesn't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day." –Nigel, The Devil Wears Prada, 2006

2. "Sex is the reason why you’re taking a cab to this douchebag’s apartment at 4 a.m. Sex is the reason why you bought those $200 jeans. Sex is the reason why you ordered a salad instead of a burger. Sex is the reason why you’re still dating this person, even though you know you’ll never be able to love them." –Ryan O'Connell, "10 Things No One Tells You About Sex"

Yes this list is 2-quotes long but it's 4am and I've been wanting to get these quotes out of my brain for the longest time.

[samjgrasso]

A list of things I have considered doing since moving to New York

- taking bollywood or fusion dance classes (I did this in high school) - getting a deva technique haircut ($120) - pitching more story ideas to more digital places - becoming a freelance writer for a local NY publications - spending less money (not a new consideration just ongoing) - losing weight (not a new consideration just ongoing) - volunteering at an animal shelter (dogs specifically) - downloading bumble bff - renting out a storefront for an internet cafe where freelancers to pay me $3.50 to use the wifi (coffee not sold) - moving back home - buying a new backpack - buying new sneakers - buying more contacts - finding a real place to live - start going to church again - texting friends who are also here to hang out more often - visiting my sister - stop drinking coffee - start reading more - tell Facebook that I’ve moved to New York - quit one of my freelance jobs - learn how to run - see more comedy shows - buy winter things (coat, boots, scarf, etc.) - go to the pool - find breakfast tacos - make breakfast tacos

A list of things I have done since moving to New York

- buy a new water bottle - walk a lot - cut down on my phone bill - sleep a lot - got a new job (fellowship) - bought coffee many times a week - gone to a planet fitness once - saw a UCB show once - cut down on bread, pasta, white rice, etc. - bought a box fan - gone to the grocery store a lot - listened to more podcasts - stared at people more - get visited by my sister - went to Coney Island - call my parents a lot - avoided Starbucks - done a lot of Daily Dot freelance work - gone on a lot of “informationals” with older journalists - gone to the movies a lot - met a lot of Teach For America people - finally received notice I was getting my kill fee paid for a freelance piece I wrote in December - felt lonely - drank more water - made some friends - spent too much on food - spent too much on alcohol - bought goods from HEB online - ate bad Mexican food

[samjgrasso]

I moved from Austin to New York and tried not to tell anyone.

I graduated from college a week ago, and then five days later I got on a plane to New York with a one way ticket. And between the day about a month, maybe a month and a half ago when I decided to make the move, to today, to this moment as I’m typing, I tried not to tell people I was moving. I still don’t want to tell people I moved. And I’m still trying to figure out why I didn’t want to tell people, why I didn’t want to notify anyone who wasn’t nor isn’t directly impacted by my presence. But I’m writing it all down to understand it myself, and to help someone reading this post understand it, and maybe also absolve myself of the guilt that leaving home brings.

I visited New York for the first time this March. I stayed with my friend Hannah for a few days, and then participated in this career-related seminar hosted by my college. I didn’t get as much out of the seminar as I anticipated, but I did get an amazing feeling being in New York, just a lot opportunity and hope I didn’t see in Austin. I talked with a few of Hannah’s friends about what it was like to be here, and spoke with other alumni about what it was like working in the game. And then while walking into the New York version of a Walgreens one afternoon, I ran into a college friend, Katie.

Katie has always been kind and welcoming, honestly one of the most selfless people I’ve met, and she continues to reaffirm my thoughts of her each day I’ve been here (less than three). Despite my visit to New York being so short, running into Katie was kind of like a sign. Like, hey, you have work you could do here, you have friends here, you have a support system. You might want to consider living here. 

I didn’t want to tell anyone how I felt running into Katie, that it convinced me to be here, because it was so unlike me. I still think it’s so unlike me. I thought my notion was jumping the gun. You just don’t visit a place for less than a week, run into someone you know, and then become instantly hooked on the idea of moving there. When I interned in Los Angeles last summer, it took me nearly all of my time living there to understand that I loved LA, and yet I had dozens of friends there with me. I worked there, and had so many amazing experiences, but it wasn’t until the last few weeks of living there that I realized, yeah, I would move there if I could. Maybe I’m romanticizing LA, but I digress.

So I just told everyone how I ran into a close friend on the street, and how I got a really good feeling from it. In my conversations with friends and coworkers, I didn’t really focus on the possibility of moving after I graduated. When asked about that specifically, my go-to response was, “I don’t know! I don’t know, who knows.” I always pitched the thought as a maybe-positive, and then emphasized how Katie bought me my first New York hot dog from a Halal cart before we parted. Everyone seemed very impressed by this, so it became my go-to segue.

The day I decided I did want to move, I talked it over with my parents and I cried about it. I worry about them because they’re classified-old-folks and have qualified for the Denny’s senior citizen menu for a majority of the past decade. But my dad assured me they would be fine, using a “flying bird” metaphor to indicate I should leave. That night I subleased my room in Austin to my childhood friend Alex, and a few weeks later I started selling my furniture. 

I kind of let those “for sale” online posts speak for myself. I just couldn’t outright tell people, “I am leaving!” I’m not sure if I just didn’t have the courage to tell my close friends, my boyfriend, my Facebook friends, but if people asked, I answered. I started talking about the move openly with the people who I wanted to know, the people who I didn’t want to leave behind, the people in Texas I wanted to see at least once more. The people who I felt wouldn’t make a big deal about it.

I didn’t tell much of my extended family until the day after I graduated, and I guess I’m mostly sorry for that since “family is family.” I didn’t even really intend to tell them that day; weeks before I told my parents I didn’t want to publicize my moving, but my plans slowly unraveled during my small graduation get together regardless. They were more excited than concerned or critical, but even if they expressed the latter, it wouldn’t have mattered much to me at that point—I was four days from leaving.

At the time, I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want people to know, and I’m still not sure I completely understand it now. I didn’t withhold information to be hurtful. I wasn’t selective of who I told to be arrogant. I think a part of it was that choosing to move away isn’t a huge deal to me. I still don’t have a full-time job out here. I don’t have a lot to be proud of yet. I’m just someone who had the cushion to leave, so I did. In general, I don’t like attention for things I’m proud of, so to try and get a reaction out of something so unaccomplished felt less than humble. Maybe I’m wrong to think it’s unimpressive. 

I think a part of me also didn’t want to announce my move and get fear-mongering responses in return, like attempts to convince me to change my mind. I felt like if I gave people the chance to give me their two cents on my decision, I’d end up leaving a few folks with negative last impressions and something to prove. I’m not here to prove anyone wrong, and I didn’t want the feeling that I was hanging over me, either. 

Ultimately, I think the reason I tried to keep this decision to myself is because I didn’t want people to set expectations for what I came out here to do, myself included. I didn’t want to end up embarrassed if I couldn’t “make it.” I didn’t want to make a big deal of moving and then unceremoniously fall on my face. I didn’t want to be open about it and have people congratulate me, just to end up failing in New York, jobless. 

The day after my graduation when I told my high school newspaper advisor about my hush-hush attitude, she anticipated this, while I myself couldn’t self-diagnose the feeling for weeks. “Still trying to control how people think of you?” she asked. I did realize she was right—that, yeah, if things fell apart I would at least be able to sweep the experience under the rug and chalk the time up to being “my stint in New York” without the painful fanfare. “Let me tell you something,” she told me. “People who fail are more likable. It means you’re human.”

And so, as I sat here in a random uptown Starbucks trying to get some work done this evening (old habits die hard), I started feeling this need to explain why I did what I did—or didn’t—to myself, first, and to the people who might care, second. Without getting into specifics, I’m staying in Manhattan with a friend, and I’m currently working some freelance gigs, submitting job applications, and looking for a permanent place to live. 

And yes, regardless of who I did or didn’t tell, I am still afraid of failing. A few weeks ago I asked Pam Colloff, an amazing, accomplished journalist at Texas Monthly, how she pushed herself to pitch and freelance write when she first moved from New York to Austin after she graduated. Surprisingly enough, she told me she was motivated by her fear, her unnerving expectation that if she didn’t work her tail off, she’d go home feeling like a failure. At the time I couldn’t really relate to feeling that amount of pressure, but it’s here, now. I get it.

Writing all this has affirmed my belief that I’m allowed to be selfish regarding what I do and don’t share about my life, and I’m really not that sorry. In the name of “journalism and transparency and having a marketable personality and whatever else,” I publish a lot of my life onto social media as it is, and because of that (compounded with my general distrust in and skepticism of people) I take solace in the fact that there are certain things I do get to keep for myself. 

However, I do want to tell people, now. This is what I have done, and this is what I’m hoping to do, and maybe this ends up not working out and I move back to Austin, but I really hope not.

[samjgrasso]

My Fave Selfies of 2k15 - all Me

[samjgrasso]

I'm a Bad Personal Essayist, And Other New Year's Resolutions

San Jose International Airport at Sunset, one of my many stops while visiting LA and California this past summer.

Last semester, I announced on my blog that I was participating in a 10-week program in Los Angeles over the summer. And that was that. I never posted anything weekly about my crazy celebrity encounters. I never curated photo stories of selfies of me featuring various iconic LA backgrounds. I spent 10 weeks in the heart of Hollywood having the time of my life, and I didn’t say shit about it.

I’ve written about this before, about how I’m a bad writer. This might even be my most popular topic to write about, just behind women in business, and the many ways in which my life relates to “The Office,” if we’re counting tweets. But for some reason, it seems that no matter how otherworldly my experiences are, no matter the wondrous things I’ve gotten to do in 2015, I still can’t fucking write about it. I refuse. My brain refuses. My whole complete being just flat out rejects the idea.

This is not without trying, however. I have three drafts of a “What I Liked/Hated/Learned about Los Angeles,” essay in my Tumblr drafts. They’re all relatively long, a nice, warm brain dump of my thoughts as of six, four, and two months ago, respectively. I have another draft sitting in my Google Drive that I just popped out an hour before I started writing this piece. And I purposely stopped myself from writing that fourth draft to start writing this. Because I thought, “what the hell is my point here? What am I even saying?” Because I, again, am a bad personal essayist.

Los Angeles isn’t even the beginning of it. When I was 16, 17, 18, I followed Ryan O’Connell on Thought Catalog with unabashed admiration. His stories always moved me, always taught me something about him, and made me analyze myself, too. It wasn’t long after that I tried the same thing—long, uncensored personal essays about my suburban life in a nuclear family, spending time with my blonde-haired, blue-eyed boyfriend. I had no material.

When I went to college, I got a new job, among many things. I got dumped, got harassed, and got some nerve. And yet, nothing in my writing changed. I’d get inspired, start typing, then grew bored of myself. To this day, tens of unfinished drafts of long-forgotten subjects sit cold on my laptop’s hard drive, waiting for me to unexpectedly trip upon them while searching for an old resume or a saved utility bill. “Oh, you’re still here,” I say sheepishly when I get around to revisiting them, a polite smile on my face. My unfinished personal essays are my one-night stands, and I am the casual drafter who had no intention of calling them back.

They’ve got some really angsty, albeit click-baity, titles, I tell ya. A peep back into the folder shows me some one-hit wonders from freshman year of college, such as, “X Reasons Why You Will Never Have a Better Summer Than in 2012,” and “Why I Unblocked My Ex’s New Girlfriend.” I was a budding millennial set on showing my network how witty I was, how stylistic I could be outside of my quote-paragraph journalist formula. But there’s always something. Some other distraction from personal writing that takes precedence. Or maybe it’s just that I’m not good at this gig. Maybe I should realize I’m less of a personal analyst and more of a reporter. Not even this idea, “Sam Grasso Drinking Game,” was strong enough to pull me out of this pattern of a slump.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean I should stop. Just because I’m fickle and don’t stick to my personal writing guns doesn’t mean quitting will make me any better. For this, I’m pushing myself for next year. As the second time writing about being bad at writing, I give myself a(nother) call to action to change that, along with a few other things.

Sam Grasso’s Reasonable List of 2016 New Year’s Resolutions

Write one reflective piece for this blog every two months Asking myself to write one piece a month would be setting myself up for failure.

Train for a 5k Note: This does not actually mean I need to participate in a 5k. It just wouldn’t hurt me to learn how to run, or do any form of physical activity in general...

Pitch freelance assignments one to two times a month Again, outright asking myself to pitch twice a month might be asking for a little too much. I’m a part-time student and a part-time intern, not a superhuman.

Cook food in bulk I am a terrible cook, and a worse eater.

Get a job that is more emotionally satisfying than getting paid alone This one is lofty, I admit. I’ll be lucky to find a company to hire me, much less satisfy me emotionally. At least, that’s what I’m led to believe.

Make fewer unnecessary purchases I’m a terrible spender, and a worse financial tracker.

Listen to more podcasts that aren’t produced by NPR “I listen to podcasts.” = “I subscribe to This American Life and Serial.”

Drink less beer, soda, calories, etc. 2015 was the year of the beer, and I have the gut to prove it.

Listen to more new music. This year I listened to nothing but Years & Years, Kendrick Lamar and Bombay Bicycle Club. Not bad, but it’s not great either.

Walk my parents’ dogs more The dogs are chubsters, as am I. Together, we are a family of chubsters. The least us chubsters could do is walk together.

[samjgrasso]

T-minus 12 hours to Los Angeles

I leave for California in 14 hours and instead of packing, I’m sitting in my childhood bedroom in Round Rock, sipping on a soda and forcing myself to catalog this experience lest I regret not doing so three months from now.

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while. I’ve never spent an extended amount of time in any place outside of Texas, unless you count the three weeks each summer when I would visit my grandparents in Missouri. This is a huge experience for me, and yet, I haven’t figured out how I want to manifest it with words. Do I write about how I’m feeling? Do I bullet point a listicle of my top five somethingorothers? So, I’m taking the most-certainly-last-possible-moment-in-the-world to sit myself down, and just write.

I’m going to California to participate in the Semester in Los Angeles program through the University of Texas at Austin. For the next 10 weeks, I’ll be taking two classes at the UT Los Angeles center while interning with one magazine and hopefully snagging a second internship with a video production company when I arrive.

I learned about the program before I even applied to the university. I made up my mind during a campus visit that if I was admitted, I would apply instead of electing to study abroad. I typically don’t keep such long-term goals from my teen years. If I did, I would be in the process of applying to med school and would fit a size double-zero. Alas, this goal was promising enough to hold onto.

I applied my freshman year, was put on the waitlist and admitted into the program around June 2013. I was set on going to LA during the summer of 2014, but I wasn’t prepared to go so early in my college career, so I declined the opportunity. I reapplied last spring and didn’t get off the waitlist until this January. I move in this Friday, and my first day of work is on the following Tuesday. Cue internal and/or external screaming. 

My dad and I are road-tripping up there, and then he’s taking a flight back to Austin. We’re stopping at a few landmarks and notable locations along the way. I am most excited to visit the location of the scene where Forrest stops running in “Forrest Gump.” My cousins gave me $100 for the excursion — specifically for slots in Las Vegas, they said. 

I know I want to see the beach, where I want to take a surfing lesson. I want to marvel at how small the Hollywood sign is. We have a day planned on the program calendar for a trip to Disneyland. I have a ticket to see my favorite band, Say Anything, in their own hometown. I just recently found out the Kardashian sisters own a store called DASH in the city. I want to take agonized-looking selfies with the price tags and send them to my roommates back home. I want to feel LA.

I want to be successful at my internships. I want to prove myself as successful.

I’m two parts anxious and one part afraid because I don’t know what to expect. My friend Adrienne says she’s had the most amazing time while in the program, and says I will, too. I’ve been told the traffic is bad, but the weather is wonderful. I’ve listened to a few Red Hot Chili Peppers songs to prepare myself for the experience. 

My friend Kira will be there in June, so I’ll get to see her. My friend Adriana is moving to California over the summer for grad school. My friend Alex might be there for a post-grad internship. I’m currently hustling 20 or so other friends to visit me over the summer. I’m ready to explore on my own, and with my program/journalism friend Kyle, but I like to share my happiness with other pals, too. I think I’m mostly afraid the city will swallow me whole. 

After typing and backspacing and venturing to Facebook for some light clickbait before returning to this blog post again, leaving to procrastinate once more then finishing up this post, I leave for California in 12 hours. I am admittedly, obviously, nervous about the experience, but above all else, I am so damn excited. 

Thank you to all of my friends who listened to me cheer and bitch for the last three years about my trials in applying for and attending this program. Thank you all for being so supportive. 

Thank you to my parents for helping me with this opportunity and for resisting the urge to helicopter-parent into oblivion. 

Thank you for reading this unapologetically long brain dump of a blog post. 

I promise to pay all of your kindness forward when I’m stuck in Los Angeles traffic and tempted to hardcore road rage my way past the palm trees and power lines. 

[samjgrasso]

New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Fest 2015 - The Sights

[samjgrasso]

New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival 2015 - Adriana, Alex and Maria

[samjgrasso]

“They,” and the False Perception of Gender Neutrality

Two weeks ago, the White House released a statement from President Obama calling for the end of LGBTQ+ conversion therapy. The statement reacted to a petition to ban such therapies, which was created after the suicide of transgender teen Leelah Alcorn last December. This stance helps create a safer environment for the LGBTQ+ community in the United States, and while a journalist’s stance on the topic may not have as large an influence as the Obama administration, journalists create a similar impact with their coverage of LGBTQ+ topics.  

In the New York Times this February, writer Julie Scelfo covered a facet of LGBTQ+ inclusion efforts at The University of Vermont. Scelfo discussed UMV’s validation of a third gender through the eyes of transgender student Rocko Gieselman. While Scelfo’s interpretation of Gieselman and the agenda of The University of Vermont appears to be a positive reflection of the inclusivity created on the UMV campus, Scelfo inadvertently holds the transgender community to the gender binary with her choice of syntax and character details.

Though Gieselman said they do not identify with the male or female genders, and identify as transgender and “genderqueer,” Scelfo proceeded to describe Gieselman’s features and personality characteristics with overtly feminine descriptors. In the opening paragraph, Scelfo wrote that Gieselman is, “a little prettier,” and has “porcelain skin,” “bra straps,” “a silver necklace” and “décolletage.” While Scelfo creates this feminine image of Gieselman to surprise readers and destroy stereotypical gender norms later in the paragraph, the use of feminine descriptors is misleading and reinforces the idea that Gieselman is a woman instead of transgender. Scelfo wrote that Gieselman “blushed and smiles shyly,” “certainly appears feminine” and “frequently ends sentences with a gentle laugh.” These details invalidate their identification as transgender since Scelfo defines their personality with feminine characteristics instead of more gender-neutral terms.  In using Gieselman’s femininity to contrast her transgender identity and deconstruct the gender binary, Scelfo mistakably boxes them into a rigid, heavily feminine personality and gives readers a skewed perception of their identity.

Though Scelfo even wrote that they prefer “they/them” pronouns, she never referred to Gieselman using pronouns. A week after this article was published, Times public editor Margaret Sullivan wrote an opinion post addressing the lack of pronoun usage, and though Sullivan promoted using pronouns a subject identifies with, her post did not forecast change in the publication’s style manual any time soon. In the same post, writer Dashka Slater said she chose to safely avoid pronouns altogether when editors shot down her proposal to use her subject’s preferred pronoun, xe. Standards editor Philip B. Corbett said the staff of The Times wants to be more inclusive, but doesn’t want to confuse readers with inconsistent pronouns like xe and they. Corbett called for a more consistent standard of pronouns that their audience finds familiar. Yet, how is an audience supposed to become familiar with a set of pronouns that isn’t actively used? How are pronoun standards supposed to become more consistent when they are established on the principle that there is no one consistent gender and sexual identity? Though Sullivan’s opinion post clarifies why pronouns aren’t used to describe Gieselman, the lack of pronouns hinder Scelfo’s intent to educate audiences on transgender issues and veil an important aspect of the transgender community.

Scelfo continued to misrepresent the transgender community with other details throughout the article. When Scelfo mentioned LGBTQ-friendly campuses, she framed campus inclusivity with the argument that incoming college students always had access to these resources. Scelfo’s examples, “Gay-Straight Alliances in...high schools,” “transgender people represented in the media,” and “transgender rights percolating through the courts” appear positive, as if listing off societal accomplishments within the LGBTQ+ community. In claiming that students commonly grow up with these experiences, Scelfo projects this idea that transgender needs are met across the board, but according to a 2005 national survey of secondary school students, only 22 percent of all LGBT and non-LGBT students reported that their school had a GSA or another type of student club that addresses LGBT students’ issues. 

Just as well, though transgender icons such as Carmen Carrera and Laverne Cox garner fame, transgender persons continue to make headlines in much more devastating ways — the Transgender Day of Remembrance 2014 update found a total of 226 cases of reported killings of transgender people between October 1, 2013 and September 30, 2014. And while representatives debate legislation concerning transgender rights, it is not in the community’s favor. Scelfo’s details about incoming transgender freshmen are misleading and allow audiences to wrongly believe that conditions for transgender youth have significantly improved. 

While Scelfo’s article is interesting and compelling, her framing of the article does less to educate audiences on LGBTQ+ issues. Instead, she perpetuates outdated ideas of the gender binary and misinforms readers on the state of transgender youth today. As journalists, we have a responsibility to convey and represent the truth to the best of our ability. When writing about the transgender community, we cannot reach full inclusivity without using a person’s preferred pronouns or reporting facts and details accurately.