Jaime

Facebook: you have four events today! Me: I bet I don't...

Rest in power Breonna Taylor. Today, we mourn six years without her, and six years without justice or accountability. On this day in 2020, Breonna Taylor was killed by Louisville Metro Police Department officers after they forcibly entered her home. Although one of the officers responsible was eventually convicted of violating Taylor's civil rights, none were ever indicted for her murder. As we take today to honor her memory, we also reflect on the struggle for justice that is as of yet unfinished. I’m praying for her family, friends, and loved ones today. #SayHerName

I know everything costs a lot more now but at least it's also worse quality

De La Soul performed “Me Myself and I” in their latest Tiny Desk performance:

Anyone else remember being taught that America was a melting pot and that it was something to celebrate?

One of the worst things I’ve ever read. This is criminal.

bitch i’m tryna release my inhibitions and feel the rain on my skin

What if a good thing happened? That might be a fun change of pace

One thing I love about traveling, is that it breaks the illusion that your current life is the only possible one.

Shoutout to every theater kid who played a tree in their school play. This one’s for you 🌳🌳

Puttering around the house is an underrated form of self-care. Make some tea or coffee. Put on a podcast. Sort the mail. Tidy some pillows and fold some blankets. Start the laundry. Thaw some soup. Just casually wander around aimlessly doing little things to make your space and life a little nicer. Who cares if you get distracted or only do a little? You aren't being productive. You're puttering.

Moira Rose taught us how to fall apart with dignity. Catherine O’Hara taught us how to build a career that peaks at 66. She started as a waitress at Second City Toronto. The director told her to keep waitressing. She replaced Gilda Radner anyway. For 50 years she played women who couldn’t see themselves clearly, and she loved every one of them. Delia Deetz, the worst artist alive, convinced she was a genius. Kate McCallister, who forgot her kid at Christmas and spent two movies trying to get back to him. Cookie Fleck, whose romantic history kept showing up at dog shows. Then Eugene Levy called. He’d created a show with his son about a rich family who loses everything. Would she play the mother? A former soap star who copes with poverty by refusing to acknowledge it? She almost said no. Thank God she didn’t. Moira Rose wore wigs that had their own ambitions. She spoke in an accent from nowhere. She called her children “bébé” like it contained the entire history of motherhood. And underneath all of it, O’Hara let us see the terror of a woman who had never learned who she was without an audience. When Moira finally broke, in hospital rooms and at weddings and rehearsing for community theater, O’Hara showed us what she’d known all along: the performance was the protection. The delusion was the survival mechanism. She won the Emmy at 66. In her speech, she thanked the Levys for letting her “fully be her ridiculous self.” Last year, someone asked which role she wanted to be remembered for. “Mother to my children.” She was 71. She left behind her husband Bo, her sons Matthew and Luke, and millions of us who learned from Moira Rose that you can lose everything and still refuse to be diminished by it. Bébé, we’ll miss you.

Please, my friends, consider reading this. There is a lesson here. I feel like I just lost a part of me. I am devastated at this news I am going to tell a story I have never ever told anyone including Russell. Of course everybody who knows me well is aware that my parents disowned me when I came out of the closet. 20 years later in 1996 I took a huge risk to call my mother after pleading with my sister to give me her phone number. I heard my mother's voice for the first time in 20 years when she said hi. I can barely do this post right now. There is such a heavy lump in my throat. And then my father grabbed the phone and told me to go to hell and he hung up. At least I heard her say hi. I fell into a depression while at the same time I was treating my own patients with their depression. I could mask mine well in the office. Russell knew something was wrong but I didn't speak about it. After weeks of a broken heart accepting that I would never see my mother again eliminating any wish for reconciliation as a possibility, I on a whim went to a movie theater in Cambridge. I had no interest in the movie. I didn't even know what was playing. I just knew I had to get out of the house after only going to work and nowhere else for the previous weeks. The movie was called Waiting For Guffman. It was absurd and brilliant and a comedic genius and Catherine O'Hara's timing is unlike anybody's. I made it a point that day to see everything she ever made including my favorite performance of hers in a movie called For Your Consideration. She made me laugh so hard that dark day sitting in that dark theater in Cambridge and it was the first time I had hope. I knew how to help everybody, all my patients and friends but I didn't know how to help myself. I went back the very next day and sat through that movie again. Her death today is totally unexpected. I tell you this story because I want you all to know you have no idea of the impact you make on people and when and where and especially how. Catherine O'Hara could not have known this about me but I am fully confident that her spirit is now aware. RIP. And thank you Catherine.

I am one “breaking news” alert away from walking directly into the ocean

Me on january 1: “2026 is my year" Me on january 28th 2026:

“The shooting of Porter, who leaves behind daughters aged 10 and 20, was not caught on camera” How convenient for ICE theguardian.com/us-news/2026/j…

I would offer that Alex Pretti putting his body—with his hands up—between a woman and the BP agent who had just violently shoved her into the snow, offer stark competing visions of manhood. Pretti, a nurse caring for veterans, who took a face full of pepper spray to shield that woman, is a much better masculine ideal that the masked coward shoving the woman and executing a man on his knees. MAGA may venerate the latter, but most people in a healthy society want the former.

Alex Pretti’s hospital colleagues hold a moment of silence in his honor 💔

We are so lucky there is so much video these days. Think of the lies they’d get away with if all we had was the regime’s narrative. Black Americans have known this truth for far too long, long before Trump. Now everyone gets to see it — in real time, undeniable, and on the record. And yet they still lie about it all.

Billy Crystal's THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS entrance at the 1992 Oscars.