Silversmith Cradles

Two irritating things:

Charlie Gross going on about how cheap silver is in a passive aggressive way…while mixing in his usual genuine bits of real wisdom.

Throwing tomato soup at a glass covered Van Gogh…to protest climate change. …Did they pick a glass covered Van Gogh intentionally or not? I’d like to think they did. But I’m not that naive or hopeful…

1. Quality sterling silver is literally worth it as an investment piece purely because its silver.

2. Silver is…silver. Wake-up.

3. Sterling silver can be very expensive. Tea service sets sold for $50,000.00 isn’t cheap. Or tacky. They’re timeless and sublime to use. Just because Zales sells lab created sapphire pendants in sterling silver for a fraction of what they’d sell for natural in white gold doesn’t diminish quality silver. Again, it’s silver.

My mother’s family who handcrafted silver pieces for the elite in the 1800’s will not be diminished by Kay Jewelers making the bourgeois-elite feel insecure with their heart-shaped jewelry.

*smile*

*wink*

4. Use your brain. If it hasn’t been too polluted. Right?! Right?!

…Throwing tomato soup at irreplaceable Western art is idiotic. It makes you look stupid, vain, childish and insecure. It makes you look delusional. And sadly the harsh truth is that to the elite those people were trying to “reach” it just makes them seem extremely expendable. Like humans possibly not worth preserving to the most heartless elite. Especially if they’re childless, not well connected and/or troubled. …And we’re already overpopulated here on Earth, right?

Not to me. I’m not heartless.

But to the heartless-elite (whether I’m elite or not) who lack sympathy for those less fortunate than them, fake-ruining Van Gogh for climate-change-clout is like pleading to never be taken seriously ever again. And again, not all elite are that heartless. But some might be? Right?! Isn’t that why people think they have a right to hate them?

Hey! Here’s an idea: Stop pissing in the faces of the elite to get their attention. Your insecurities masked as “cool-kid-vibes” or “evil-baddie” aren’t helping you convince people not exactly like you.

“What do you know?! You silly, ugly, fat, boney, stupid-butch-bitch! You repressed queer hick! You evil, aging, homely, horny old toad! You ignorant, jealous, babbling, breeder fool! You…you…silver wearing boob! You…perfume addicted narcissist!” yells my haters?

“Welp…I am aging…I don’t know half as much as I’d like to about a great many things…but nothing else is accurate. At all.” I respond. “What’s you-“

“So you don’t want sex?!” they respond, interrupting. “What’s you’re problem?!”

“I didn’t say that.” I respond.

“Oh yeah?! I bet you piss in the faces of the elite for money!” they come back swinging.

“I do not.” I respond. “So I’m not straight or I am straight in your opinion?”

“You’re a closeted ugly-trans-man who is still closeted anyway by pretending to be straight because he’s actually asexual. Or you’re a closeted cis woman who’s a lesbian. Because you can never have sex with men ever again and enjoy it. …And, by the way, what do you do with Michael? I know who Michael is!” they say with conviction. “I’m not the idiot! You are!”

“Well, he’s dead. If he’s a ghost.” I say. “And no, I’m a straight, cis woman.”

“See! See! You wouldn’t have to keep repeating that line about being a straight, cis woman if you actually were. That’s clearly an admission of guilt! You’re a closeted homophobe! You’re gay!” another hater joins in.

“No. I’m not. I’m a straight, cis woman.” I repeat.

“See! There’s the proof again that she’s not!” says another hater.

The first hater looks at me confused as it occurs to them that maybe I’m actually just telling the truth.

Silence.

They look diminished. Then they look unconvinced again.

“Okay! Fine.” They sigh. “So if he’s not still alive, what can you do anyway?! What’s the flipping point?!” They seem to think they’re going to catch me at being queer.

“I experience him as essentially alive without flesh.” I respond.

They look fascinated, but don’t want to let down their guard. Another hater takes up the fight.

“You can’t be straight. If you are it somehow makes no sense to me. …What pleasure can a ghost give you? Or what pleasure can you give them?” they say looking at me with both fear and curiosity.

“We’ve made love. And yes, she’s a woman. And yes, I’m a dead man.” says Lem.

Silence.

Michael laughs.

“I’m not laughing because I’m happy about it. I’m laughing because it’s so human. And if I’m with her for eternity it’s something I have to forgive. …Which, if you knew her the way I do, you’d see isn’t that difficult to do.” says Michael.

“Well, I still care about the Earth for the living.” The original hater sighs, exasperated. “What the frick do you suggest we do to protest the use of fossil fuels?!”

Lacey can tell they’re sincere.

“I wish I knew. I think it’s a matter of getting people to look more honestly at reality. Ironically, I worry Mother Nature is letting us kill ourselves off, at least to some degree, by advocating for narcissism among us. I think the pandemic, whether caused by so-called nature or man…is the Earth fighting back. She’s possibly strangling us slowly. …And I think the best response is to listen rationally, calmly and with genuine kindness. But in order to do that one has to have things straight in their head.” I respond.

“Straight?!” yells a hater.

“Yes. I said straight.” I respond.

“I’m triggered!” the Gen Z hater yells.

“Try not to be.” I say sincerely.

“Whatever! You evil, ugly, stupid, rich-bitch!” she responds.