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Current Curiosities
[Reading] The Stranger by Albert Camus [Listening] Soul Christmas [Watching] The Holiday The Gospel Truth: Percy Jackson Goes the Distance Much like Real Housewife of Salt Lake City Angie Katsanevas, I'm obsessed with being (half) Greek. Indeed, you can only reread Stephen Fry's Mythos, Heroes, Troy, and Odyssey or relisten to the back-catalogs of Let's Talk About Myths, Baby!, Natalie Haynes Stands Up for the Classics, or The Ancients so many times. I binged the first season of Percy Jackson and the Olympians over a weekend and loved every bonkers minute! And the second season is off to a legendary start, even featuring an ironclad! Since elementary school, I have been obsessed with Civil War ironclads, which is funny for a pacifist ironically named after a twentieth-century general. But I've been gripped by these silly ships since playing Pigskin and Slamjam in Social Studies. Both were ten-week U.S. geography trivia worksheets that required using actual atlases (books of maps, not the Titan) and encyclopedias (because the internet was off-limits and honestly not super helpful in the 1990s). Anyway, one of the perennial questions asked something like which team would fly closest to a sunken ironclad? and what cape did the ironclad sink in? and bonus: what is the name of the ironclad? Obviously, the last answer is the USS Monitor. The thing I like most about Percy Jackson and the Olympians is how the show (I know it was a book series first, but I haven't read it and do not plan to) translates Greek mythology into a contemporary setting. The show achieves this by layering different historical aesthetics onto the present. In addition the aforementioned ironclad (crewed by the dead), the show also incorporates Art Deco architecture and motifs, which lends an air eeriness and spiritualism and opulence to the show. Percy Jackson also does a stellar job of imaginatively mapping the mythical Aegean onto the continental United States with the Sea of Monsters translocated to the Bermuda Triangle or the Gateway Arch in St. Louis morphing into a temple to Athena (and a brief critique of American settler-colonialism!) or the secret entry to Hades' realm being guarded by a tacky 1970s-inspired Procrustes in a Los Angeles mattress store. This show! Anyway, here is the good, the bad, and the queer for Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Good
The Bad
The Queer While the queerness of Greek mythology and society seems to have been erased for the comfort of Disney audiences, viewers familiar with the mythology can still glimpse it in palimpsestic relief. And Percy and his fellow demigods offer a parallel for queer and trans audiences, existing out of sync with dominant human (hetero-patriarchal) society. As Percy and company navigate their non-normative godlike identities, LGBTQ+ viewers have an opportunity to safely explore ways of being and accepting their own identities. Finally, Percy Jackson offers viewers a Harry Potter-like experience without all the violently anti-trans, occasionally racist baggage. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Spoke Design Icon [Fountain Pen] | Noodler's V-Mail Midway Blue [Ink]
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Current Curiosities
[Reading] And Don't F&%k It Up: An Oral History of RuPaul's Drag Race by Maria Elena Hernandez [Listening] It's A Holiday Soul Party by Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings [Watching] The Rocky Mountain Mortician Murder We Wish You A Merry Christmas (As Long As We Benefit From It) It's that time of year again when anti-trans red kettles clutter store entrances and organizations begin laundering their reputations through nonprofits and via official social media posts of team members volunteering in the community. The motivation behind the publicity photos shifts the narrative from helping those in need to focusing on the organization appearing to be made of good white people. Motivation matters. And it's clear organizational giving and volunteering is actually about increasing profits and gilding reputations damaged by credible complaints of discrimination and harassment from marginalized employees or by harming communities and the environment. For example, a while ago I volunteered at a local food bank with some friends. We wanted to bond and have fun and do some good. We arrived at the same time as an organizational volunteer group from a well-known financial institution. As my friends and I sorted nonperishable goods and toiletries into individual and family-sized packages, I noticed the organization's group was standing off to the side chatting with each other and looking at their phones. Not one of them was actually volunteering. When their time was up, the organization's group made sure to take group photos that were immediately shared across social media in order gain local accolades for the financial institution's alleged community engagement during the holidays. The financial institution's opportunism and the hollowness of their engagement at the food bank shocked me and changed how I see organizational philanthropy. I began to look critically at LinkedIn posts of local organizations laying out their collections of toys or school supplies or shelf-stable food on tables in the same manner the DEA lays out drugs and guns seized during raids. These photos are less about the act of giving to and service to others and more about the quantity of stuff (including money) collected. Through social media, organizational giving and volunteering is not only profit-driving and reputation-laundering, but also has become a capitalist size-measuring competition. Organizations document their piles of collected stuff, with the biggest piles given awards and status by nonprofit gatekeepers. If organizational philanthropy isn't documented on social media and recognized by nonprofit gatekeepers does it even count??? Motivation matters. Organizations have lost sight of why we volunteer, why we serve others. It's our responsibility to our fellow humans. We volunteer to give back to our community because we are part of the community and a thriving, healthy community supports everyone. Motivation matters. Here are some considerations to make when coordinating your organization's annual philanthropic efforts:
Showing up and volunteering is not enough. Successful organizational philanthropic efforts are scaffolded learning opportunities. This is why Learning & Leadership Development teams should plan, execute, and debrief giving and volunteering opportunities. Volunteer teams need to understand the causes and impacts of the particular issue targeted by your organization's philanthropy. Volunteer teams also need a chance to debrief their experience serving, to unpack their thoughts and feelings, to reflect on high-level systemic issues and the lived experiences of those whom they're serving. Moreover, sustained and ongoing giving and volunteering opportunities are more impactful (for volunteer teams and nonprofits) than one-and-done events. One Final Consideration: Does your organization need to photographically document its philanthropy? And what motivates your organization to publicize its giving and volunteering? Maybe skip the official social media posts this year and just be present in the experience of giving and volunteering. Motivation matters. That all being said, I hope y'all get out there and thoughtfully and purposefully give back to our shared community this holiday season — and beyond! Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Nahvalur Triad [Rollerball] | Monteverde Capri Blue [Ink] Current Curiosities
[Reading] Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 by Tim Hamilton [Listening] Lovett or Leave It Presents: Bravo, America! (with Dorinda Medley) [Watching] Heated Rivalry World AIDS Day Today is World AIDS Day. And for this first time in nearly 40 years, the United States government will not recognize World AIDS Day, a day honoring those we've lost, reflecting on the medical and societal progress we've made, and celebrating the resilience of the diverse communities impacted by HIV/AIDS. Trump and his Republican Party continue to pass legislation, sign executive orders, and update policy guidelines targeting and harming queer and trans communities, stripping us of basic rights. Not recognizing World AIDS Day is part of the wider MAGA agenda to erase LGBTQ+ communities from American society. Trump's violence against queer and trans communities is not limited to the United States. His administration made cuts to global HIV prevention programs denying nearly 2.5 million people access to preventive medications. A true accounting of the consequences of Trump's callus and deadly decision may never be known. This is why real, active allyship matters. This is why supporting and voting for diverse candidates for public office matters — because our health and our very lives are on the line. Local LGBQT+ Healthcare Resource The two major hospital chains in town are not always affirming or welcoming to queer and trans patients and often their providers do not have the necessary education to address the specific healthcare needs of LGBTQ+ communities. Canopy Medical Center is a safe, affirming option for LGBTQ+ healthcare in Fargo-Moorhead. I received my Mpox vaccine doses at Canopy in 2023 when Sanford Health refused to provide it. My experience at Canopy was great — and I cannot recommend Heidi and her team more highly! Matthew Shepard | 1 December 1976 - 12 October 1998 Today is also Matthew Shepard's birthday. He would have been forty-nine years old. I was twelve when I watched the initial coverage of Matthew's brutal murder in Wyoming on The Today Show while getting ready for school. As a closeted queer kid living in red-state North Dakota (which has sadly only become redder), I became terrified of my own identity. That morning, I learned being myself could get me killed. That morning, I doubled-down on concealing my identity, choosing to become (or at least outwardly appear) straight. I spent the next decade actively hiding my real self from others. I dated girls. I played football (for a season — gross). I joined track and cross-country. I developed a frat boy persona (uff da) based on straight guys in movies like American Pie. I wanted to be Josh not Christian, though that I was using characters from Clueless should've been, well, a clue that this was not going to work. In college, exhausted, my straight-presenting veneer slowly and unexpectedly began to crack. Between freshman and senior years, I went from exclusively dating women to discreetly exploring my identity. But senior year, an argument with a roommate in which I was outed sent me running right back into the closet. (And while I firmly believe no one should be outed, I kinda deserved it.) An invasive grilling by a campus pastor earlier in the week also didn't help. When I turned twenty-five, I decided it was time to finally and fully be myself, to come out. I was ready. And I did. (More on that later. Maybe. Who knows.) For me, there are two legacies of Matthew Shepard's life and death. First, I take my safety and the safety of other LGBTQ+ folks incredibly seriously. As a queer adult, I felt safest living in Lawrence, KS. I lived in LFK, a liberal bubble in red Kansas, for nearly a decade while working on a PhD. In Lawrence, I felt safe dating and holding hands in public — just existing. Then, I moved back to Fargo, ND. Even though West Fargo is my home, the metro has become increasingly more conservative and reactionary over this Trumpy decade. In Fargo, I realized I was reverting to old habits — concealing my identity, locating quick exits when near groups of cishet white men, etc. Ultimately, I prioritized my safety and moved to Moorhead, MN, on the east bank of the Red River. Moorhead feels safer, more affirming and is filled with community-oriented and curious folks. In Moorhead, I live comfortably as myself. (And yes, I avoid crossing to the Fargo side of the Red as much as possible. Ha!) Second, Matthew's life was cut short, and he was never able to become a queer elder. At nearly forty years old, I suppose I am (becoming) a queer elder. Now, and in new ways, I feel like it's my responsibility to be visible and vocal and take up space because queer and trans people have historically not had long life expectancies. And to bring this post full circle, we do not have many queer elders in the generations above us due to the silence and inaction of the Reagan Administration during the early days of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Being a queer elder is a privilege — one I'm taking increasingly more seriously. Today is World Aids Day. Today is Matthew Shepard's birthday. Today we honor both. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Jacques Herbin Converter-Filling [Fountain Pen] | Sailor Shikiori Zaza [Ink] Current Curiosities
[Reading] Travels with Charlie: In Search of America by John Steinbeck [Listening] We Can Be Weirdos with Dan Schreiber [Watching] Thunderball Stumbles Are Steps, Too This morning, I finally watched The Fantastic Four: First Steps. I wanted to like the movie more than I did. On paper, what's not to like??? Pedro Pascal??? Yes. Sarah Niles??? Absolutely. Julia Garner??? Please. Natasha Lyonne??? Love. Retro 1960s futurism??? Stellar. PanAm blue supersuits??? Fabulous. And yet the stakes couldn't feel lower even as the fate of the world (and a baby) hangs in the balance. Normally, I'm just happy to vibe in the MCU and catch up with existing and new characters. So I wonder if I didn't connect with Fantastic Four because it doesn't feature an established MCU character like Black Widow or Nick Fury — yet. (I felt similarly about Eternals until Brave New World.) First Steps feels untethered from the MCU, and yes, I know it takes place on a different Earth in another universe, but this lack of connection to the broader MCU made the movie feel more like a live-action The Incredibles. The Good
The Bad
The Queer Johnny Storm is a closeted homosexual, no??? Well, let's look at the evidence. First, he sports a (bad) platinum blonde dye job and thick dark eyebrows. Nothing broadcasts post-break-up white gay male angst quite like abrupt and drastic hair changes. Second, little about his overcompensating performance of heterosexual masculinity reads as authentic. He talks about women like he's never been with one, but not in that shy, adorable Captain America way. Johnny does, however, scan as someone desperately trying to overcompensate for and hide his true identity (novel for a superhero movie, I know) from those closest to him. Third, he features a seemingly impressive package in every tight-pantsed outfit — a classic gay sartorial choice. And fourth, Johnny's superpower is flaming. He's literally a flamer. Has there ever been a clearer metaphor??? (I haven't read the comics, so maybe Johnny eventually comes out — or maybe he doesn't and that's his choice.) I may need to give The Fantastic Four: First Steps a second chance with fresh eyes in a few weeks. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Ooly Fab [Fountain Pen] | Sailor Shikiori Zaza [Ink] Current Curiosities
[Reading] It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror edited by Joe Vallese [Listening] Lovett or Leave It Presents: Bravo, America! (with Dr. Terry Dubrow) [Watching] Have I Got News for You Today, Wednesday, October 1, marks the beginning of LGBTQ+ History Month, which began in 1994 by a Missouri high school teacher. This month we reflect on our queer and trans history, honoring those who came before us, and continue our fight for equality, liberty, and justice. This LGBTQ History Month is particularly important as Trump and his MAGA regime strip rights away from queer and especially trans communities across the country. Below are a few queer and trans selections from my bookshelf. What additional titles would you suggest folks read to learn more about LGBTQ+ history and the current fight for our rights? Sections From My Bookshelf
If you're a Fargo-Moorhead local, be sure to check out More Than Words Bookshop in person or support them online via their Bookshop.org storefront. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): TWSBI Eco-T [Fountain Pen] | Noodler's V-Mail Midway Blue [Ink] Find It Where You Can Get It
Originally, I planned a post interrogating my internal cop. But in our season of rapidly rising fascism and eroding First Amendment rights, I wasn't striking the right tone for a reflective post on internalized policing. I'll continue revising this short essay until I find the right feel. Until then, I thought I'd share some things that are giving me joy during these heavy times. In no particular order, here we go:
Of Possible Interest On Friday, October 3, I'm presenting a workshop on navigating Human Resources for queer and trans folks at the North Dakota LGBTQIA2S+ Summit. I plan to cover why HR system are not meant to work for or support marginalized people, how to document harassment and discrimination, and explore some local, state, and federal (LOL) resources. After the workshop, I'll write up the biggest takeaways. Check out that post in November. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Sherpa Total Blackout Pen Cover [Sharpie] My Postcolonial Brain Doesn't Have an Off-Switch
I'm hella late to this, but I'm finally watching Hulu's Shōgun, which I'm loving. I'd avoided the show for two reasons. First, I've always looked sideways at cishet white guys who fetishize Japanese culture and women. (Marvel and Star Wars have plundered Japanese culture for decades for mostly Western audiences.) Appreciation or respect is one thing, but fetishism or appropriation is another. I made assumptions about Shōgun based on experiences and observations of this particular kind of white cishet dude in high school and college and did not want to participate in their problematic aesthetics and politics. (However, I do adore Japanese stationery.) Second, after leaving academia, I found it hard to read for fun, and with Shōgun's subtitles, I was hesitant to watch, not sure I would have the focus needed. My mind now wanders to past experiences in the silence of reading. But this past week, I finally started watching Shōgun, and with two episodes left (I'm trying unsuccessfully to pace myself), I'm hooked. It's stunningly shot; the costumes are gorgeous; and the acting is brilliant! And yet, I cannot turn off my brain's need to analyze, to contextualize, to theorize about this fascinatingly complex show. While others may have already written on this (I have not checked, as this post is more reader response than researched essay), I was initially concerned Shōgun represents a sort of exoticism 2.0. The show is based on the novel by a British author. I'm generally suspicious of white men writing about the lives, experiences, and cultures of others. That one of the show runners is of Japanese descent gives me hope this is not another orientalist (in the Said sense) take on Japanese history and culture. Again, I do love this show. Anyway, Blackthorne's brutish behavior is rightly off-putting (though his behind is deeply engrossing). He's like an other-side-of-the-world John Smith to Mariko's Pocahontas. (That is truly a shit analogy.) I find Blackthorne deeply irritating. Though, perhaps as a Western audience, we need him as our in to the story and this particular period of Japan's history. I do like Blackthrone's unlikability. And in this way, he presents a more complicated, less mythic version of the prototypical English explorer. Protestant Blackthorne becomes slightly more likable when juxtaposed with the Portuguese Catholics, both faith leaders and merchants. It's not hard to turn historic Catholics into villains when for over two millennia the Church has pillaged and raped, enslaved and genocided all over the New World. And while English Protestants were equally as barbaric in their imperial enterprises, there's something more sinister about the Catholic Church actively participating in these practices, without atoning, to enrich its own coffers in the name of God, whatever that means. (This critique may sound harsh, but as a queer person, I have little patience for the Church's anti-LGBTQ+ practices and policies and the harms the Church has committed on generations of queer and trans people, again, without atonement.) The women of Shōgun are the most fascinating to me. For example, Mariko is caught between an abusive husband and Blackthorne as well as Toranaga and the remaining four regents. Mariko shows wisdom and strength and calmness in the eye of this powerful storm. As interpreter for Blackthorne and Toranaga, Mariko neutralizes aggressive sentiments, creating stability for this new shaky East-West alliance. Lady Ochiba's revenge-fueled rise to power confounds the patriarchal regents as she works to ensure her son remains the heir of the deceased Taikō. There's Usami Fuji, Blackthorne's consort, who overcomes the death of both her husband and infant. And there's Gin, the enterprising madam of the tea house, who argues in favor of the unionization and professionalization of courtesans to protect and lift up women. While the men tear each other apart, the women scheme for a better existence, a different world. Surprisingly, Yabushige became one of my favorite characters. I was ready for him to die after the first episode, but man, has he won me over. Did he boil a man alive??? Yes. Was it hella gross??? Also, yes. But is he funny as he attempts to survive the political power struggle??? Absolutely. I'm curious what's in store for him, Mariko, and the rest of Toranaga's clan in the remaining two episodes. And I'm happy to learn two more seasons are in the works! UPDATE: I finished the season. A little shellshocked. Uff da. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Lanbitou 3088 [Fountain Pen] | Monteverde Horizon Blue [Ink] Current Curiosities
[Reading] American Teenager: How Trans Kids Are Surviving Hate and Finding Joy in a Turbulent Era by Nico Lang [Listening] Unicorn Girl [Watching] Thunderbolts* Transparent Writing Whenever I'm feeling anxious or need to start a new writing project, I close my laptop, set aside my iPhone, and either journal or outline essays by hand. Lately, more often than not, I use a fountain pen. The controlled pressure and movements slow down my brain, allowing me to deeply consider my thoughts and feelings, to take stock of what's going on or what I need to accomplish. I have a theory about particular writing instruments and what they connote about my own frame of mind. I've noticed when I'm feeling afloat and needing a sense of permanence, I write with Sharpie. When I'm exploring new ideas or need space for mistakes, I use pencils (either wooden or mechanical). While engineering marvels, I usually avoid ballpoint pens, as their ink is clumpy and inconsistent. But when I'm feeling confident and content, I return again and again to fountain pens. I'm probably overthinking these everyday tools, but their usage often corresponds to what's happening in my life. Working with children or for a construction company? Sharpie, it is. Working in Higher Education, pencils offer the pretense of impermanence. Pencils' erasability communicates writing is a process and nothing is fixed permanently in place. And then there's fountain pens. Thought, sometimes I'm too shy to use fountain pens in public — either in the office or at a coffeeshop — because Fargo-Moorhead is weirdly conservative for a relatively diverse Upper Midwestern metropolitan center, and as a queer person, I try not to draw extra attention to myself. But fountain pens are where my writing heart lies. In first grade, my parents asked me what I wanted instead of flowers for my first piano recital. (As a shy, anxious kid, I was ready to have the experience of playing an oversimplified Ode to Joy behind me.)I thought long and hard about what I wanted. A new Lego set??? Something else??? Then one Saturday a few weeks before my recital, my parents took my sister and me to Zandbroz, a now-shuttered eclectic home goods and stationery store anchoring Downtown Fargo. (In the 1990s and early 2000s, Downtown Fargo was hella queer. Sadly, in recent decades Downtown Fargo has been Burgumized, lobotomized, sanitized of queerness and culture in favor of the beige comfort of conservative white women.) Anyway, I wandered around the store, discovering glass display cases full of pens neatly knolled — ballpoints, rollerballs, and of course, fountain pens! While my dad browsed books and my mom and older sister perused bath and beauty products, I scoured the pen cases. The shopkeep (a queer woman, who I'd later encounter again working in my undergraduate library) came over and asked if I wanted to see anything up close. Fuck yes! I asked to see a blue plastic Lamy Safari, an ACME Studios No.2 Pencil, and a black-lacquered Cross, among others. But what caught my seven-year-old eye was an inexpensive colorful Parker Vector. The barrel was covered in a Mondrian-inspired pattern and had a black arrowhead clip. I told the shopkeep what it was for, and she asked if I wanted a box, as this particular pen was open stock. As she boxed up my new fountain pen, she slid a few extra blue ink cartridges on the house. What a kindness! Now, I had to wait a couple weeks to receive the pen after completing my Ode to Joy performance. I thought about that pen every day until the day of the recital. As everyone else received carnations and roses, I was handed a wrapped box. I was so excited to open it that I barely made it to the car before tearing into the package. I slept with it and a spiral-bound pocket notebook under my pillow for weeks and found excuses to write anything and everything down. One of my favorite books (and movies) growing up was Harriet the Spy, and like Harriet, I wanted to explore and document the world around me. I used that Parker Vector until the plastic barrel cracked from my screwing the section and barrel too tightly together. Overtime, I've forgotten what became of that pen. Maybe it's in a box of childhood stuff in my parents' basement??? During my doctoral program, while trying to find anything to do other than research for-profit immigration detention centers, I got the urge to find another colorful Parker Vector fountain pen — either used or new old stock (my preference). I still have yet to find one, but I have purchased several of the rollerball version on eBay. Nostalgia is a helluva drug. When I studied in Spain junior year of undergrad, my family would send occasional care packages. My sister and brother-in-law sent an iPod Shuffle after my blue iPod Mini died on Day One in Segovia, as I danced to the Spice Girls "Wannabe" across the Plaza Mayor on my way to class. (Can you believe I was still passing as straight???) I say sent because when I opened the box, there was no iPod in the package among the candy and jars of peanut butter. (Peanut butter is my favorite food, and it was not very popular in Spain at the time.) I called my sister on my Orange Mobile cellphone and asked if the missing iPod mentioned in the enclosed card was a joke. Shocked, she said no. Later, we learned the person who packed the box at UPS had stolen the iPod before sealing package. So I read a lot of books on buses and trains and planes and between classes. The next package I received was from my parents. Hidden among the jars of peanut butter (I don't think y'all understand my deep love of this pantry staple!) and other surprises was a box the size of a glasses case. On the outside of the brown box Cross was embossed in gold foil. I dropped the care package on my bed and opened the smaller box (more carefully than my former Parker Vector). Inside I found a royal blue Cross Century II fountain pen with several black ink cartridges. I used this pen every day to take notes in my art history, literature, and Guerra Civil classes. I used this fountain pen when I sat (in-need of introverted recharge) and journaled in the sunshine on the steps next to the Roman aqueduct or in the shade of the scenic Alameda or outside La Colonial drinking chocolate. (Not realizing I needed to empty and clean the fountain pen before flying home, my Payne's Grey military-inspired jacket, which I bought in Barcelona, still carries a small black reminder next to one of its pockets.) While I loved this Cross fountain pen (and still do), I noticed I would become anxious not knowing how much ink was left in the cartridge or converter. I'm a planner and wanted to easily know if I had enough ink for the day. This might be a symptom of my low-key anxiety, which is conveniently complemented by post-traumatic stress disorder (a lovely gift from my doctoral program). How could I comfortably use fountain pens, if they were causing additional stress??? While scouring one of my go-to online stationery shops, JetPens, for new pen(cil)s and notebooks, I discovered demonstrator fountain pens. Demonstrators feature transparent barrels, usually clear, though sometimes shaded, allowing the writer to see how the pen's internal mechanisms work, and more importantly, how much ink is left. From childhood through adulthood, I've always been curious about how things work. I'd take apart any and every ballpoint or rollerball pen hand to me. My favorite question to ask has always been why?, which annoyed several teachers, both of my parents, and a few past supervisors. I need to know the how and why. (I think this is why I'm good at translating complex theories and systems and STEM concepts into understandable copy in my professional life.) While writing with demonstrators, I witness the mechanism in action. I see the ink move from the chamber, through the section, and down the feed using capillary action as the knife-like nib connects ink to notebook paper. I can monitor ink levels and the inevitable settling of shimmering elements. Demonstrators have become my go-to fountain pens by removing the unknown. Some demonstrators use visible cartridges or converters. Some are high-capacity eyedroppers (pens that don't use cartridges or converters, but instead are filled by loading ink directly into the barrel). Others have built-in filling systems (piston or vacuum), which free you from the messiness of converters and the waste of plastic cartridges. These are my favorite style of fountain pen. Having taught interdisciplinary courses on literature and Environmental Studies at the University of Kansas, I'm particularly drawn to this ecological angle of fountain pens. Not only can I see how much ink I have for the day, but also I am contributing less plastic waste by foregoing cartridges. The other thing I appreciate about demonstrator fountain pens is they show off the vibrant color of each new ink. Most of mine are inked with blue hues (see below), though one is loaded with Noodler's Borealis Black ink for boring official documents. I usually have four or five demonstrators inked at a time, as each model has its own idiosyncrasies depending on its weight, material, and nib size. Different inks also change the way a particular fountain pen writes. (The combinations of foundation pens and inks and papers is endless and a way to unleash my curiosity and experimentation.) One of the cool things about fountain pens is over time nibs conform to your individual pressure and style of writing. (Never lend someone your fountain pen; unintentionally and just by writing normally, they will fuck up the conditioning of your nib.) Your hand learns the singularities of a specific fountain pen and the pen adapts to your touch. It probably doesn't surprise you that I outlined and initially drafted this essay using a demonstrator fountain pen (TWSBI Eco with Noodler's V-Mail Midway Blue — see below). Writing by hand and especially with a fountain pen, slows down my anxious brain. Writing with demonstrators grounds me, in the way dog walks used to, in the way others use the 5-4-3-2-1 grounding technique. Writing with fountain pens allows to me to silence, to exorcise my anxious inner cop (more on this in the next post). Writing with demonstrators, with their exposed mechanisms and visible ink chambers, keeps me curious about the world and its machinations. And now that you've made this far, here are some of my favorite fountain pens and inks. Current Favorite Demonstrator Fountain Pens
Demonstrators on My To-Buy List
Current Favorite (Blue) Inks
Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Sherpa WTF Pen Cover [Sharpie] Current Curiosities [Reading] How to Lose Your Mother by Molly Jong-Fast [Listening] "The Trial of Tommy Manzo" Parts I-III on The Bravo Docket [Watching] Final Destination: Bloodlines Diego Brown | 5 May 2014 - 10 June 2025 Yesterday, I picked up Diego's ashes. Diego died suddenly one week ago today. During the last ten years together, Diego and I bonded over long walks and sharing french fries. We soulmated harder than I expected. I'm heartbroken, yet happy and grateful to have known Diego.  Diego during his first afternoon at his new LFK home When I finished my doctoral coursework and prepared to read for my exams, I decided adopting a dog may be helpful to break up long periods of study and get me out of my apartment regularly. I was newly diagnosed with anxiety and PTSD after experiencing some truly bizarre and unexpected workplace mobbing from fellow graduate students and a few faculty members in my department. (For what it's worth, my PTSD manifests mostly as sleeplessness. I hate I feel the need to clarify my symptoms, but folks often assume you're dangerous with this diagnosis.) Breaking up study sessions with regular walks would not only help me process and make connections among the texts I was reading, but also walking would (hopefully) improve my sleep. While attending a Kentucky Derby party, I learned the Lawrence Humane Society was hosting a Clear the Shelter day because they were overflowing with recently rescued dogs and cats. The next day, I drove to the edge of town, took a deep breath, and entered the shelter. I wandered about the crowded kennels, seeing so many surrendered bully breeds, one after another. Then I turned a corner and saw two dogs sitting calmly together in their own kennel in the midst of all the excited, agitated chaos. One was an overweight Chocolate Lab; the other was a black and tan terrier of some unknown variety. They were a real George and Lenny. (Until last week, whenever anyone asked what breed Diego was, I'd say Humane Society Terrier.) Immediately, I fell in love with both dogs. I asked a staff member what their story was. She told me the boys were picked up the day before wandering together on the streets of Kansas City, MO. And they'd only been at the shelter for about eight hours. Even though I was apartment living, as underpaid graduate students are wont to do, I was prepared to adopt both dogs. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the Chocolate Lab, whose name I cannot remember, was adopted by a family with small children. This left the terrier, Pauly D, a name given to him by the staff. I rushed to fill out the paperwork. Pauly D, named after a Jersey Shore character, hopped onto the leather backseat of my silver Jeep Grand Cherokee, looking a little anxious. We drove to PetCo to pick up the essentials: kennel, collar, lead, food, snacks, and a Chewbacca stuffed toy. We also bought a new tag for his collar. Do I stick with Pauly D even though it was a name new to him and I'd never watched the show? Or do I choose something else? Previously, I'd had a dog named Frida (after Kahlo), so I decided Diego was the perfect name to pay homage to his predecessor.  Diego snoozing with his Chewbacca stuffy (we went through six of the furry guys) On June 6, 2015, Diego, joined Watson the Cat and me in the apartment. Watson immediately took to Diego and cuddled him, showing Diego he was home. That night it became apparent Diego had trauma of his own. I will never know what happened to him and his Lab buddy on the streets of KCMO, but whatever Diego experience had a lasting impact. Watson and I tucked Diego into his new kennel, complete with new memory foam pad and blankets that smelled like me and his new cat friend. I climbed into bed and turned out the lights. Diego started panicking and crying. His kennel was in my bedroom, and Watson and I were close. But the kennel must've reminded him of being trapped earlier in his life. I let him out and Diego slept next to Watson on the bed. After that night, we never used the kennel again. And Diego slept in my bed (whether or not I had a manfriend) for the next ten years. Slowly, Diego found his happy places around the apartment — the bed, couch, cold tile floors (kitchen and bathroom). But his most favorite place to sleep was under my bed. Overtime, it became his little bear cave, his wolf den. If ever I could not find Diego, I knew to look under my bed. Under my bed became Diego's safe place. For example, when that drunk frat guy tried to break down my front door in the middle of the night (and the Lawrence cops refused to do anything about it), Watson the Cat stood with me by the door ready to fuck up this straight man, but Diego was nowhere to be found. Once the dust of night's events settled, I found Diego shaking, hiding under the bed.  Diego snuggling with his best buddy Watson in Northfield As I mentioned earlier, Diego had trauma of his own. This might be why he and I bonded so completely. Diego was sensitive to loud noises, such as the sounds of a drunk frat guy trying to break and enter. I learned to keep my tone even around Diego, especially when talking about challenging topics — queerphobia, police brutality, the 2016 election — with friends and family. Diego was also wary of UPS trucks, not other delivery trucks, only UPS trucks. On walks, he would lose his mind when one drove by, even more so if one stopped near us on our route to deliver a package. I've always wondered why UPS trucks are such a specific trigger for my little walking buddy. Diego also panicked whenever he heard fire alarms or other warning systems. This not only included every time I set off our fire alarm frying green tomatoes, but also anytime a klaxon sounded on the TV. My reaction times became faster than a sprinter at hitting mute on the clicker as quickly as possible when sirens blared. (Curiously, thunderstorms and fireworks did not affect him.) His reaction to his triggers followed the same pattern. He'd start shaking from nose to tail and then either run under the bed (his safe place) or sit next to me and Watson. I'd give him tight hugs and act as a kind of human weighted blanket. Over time, I'd feel Diego's shaking subside and his muscles relax. Then he'd be ready to play or walk or (more typically) snack. One of Diego's cutest peculiarities was nursing on throw pillows when he was feeling anxious. Sometimes Diego would feel overwhelmed when friends and family visited. He'd greet them and then find his current favorite pillow and begin sucking and nibbling on a corner while watching them out of the corner of his eye. Honestly, it was so sweet and adorable. Though, we did go through too many throw pillows to count. So every time I visited Target, I'd pick up a few discounted pillows from an end cap. (I love Target end caps; they're such a mishmash of sale items that I don't yet know I need.) Until last weekend, Diego had a fully stocked stable of throw pillows at his disposal. I learned so much about how to care for Diego. I restructured my life to support my buddy and his trauma. And I would happily do it again.  Diego posing in the fall leaves in Northfield On our walks, Diego paid little attention to other dogs (except a Great Pyrenees named Denver in our LFK neighborhood) or other animals — except rabbits. On sight, Diego would morph from my sweet, sensitive 25-pound terrier into a gun-toting Elmer Fudd. Over time, I became adept at spying bunnies before Diego, so I could redirect or distract him or tighten my grip on his lead. (Years of Where's Waldo and Find Freddy came in clutch.) One time, as Diego and I walked through the park, he started sniffing a spot near a large oak. I wasn't paying attention to what he was investigating because I was distracted by the Queer Eye team filming at a house in our neighborhood. When I realized what he was up to, I screamed with horror. Diego had the decaying tail of a gray squirrel hanging out of his mouth. Dry-heaving, I used a two poop baggies like latex gloves to pry it out of his mouth and wrap up the tail. The rest of the day, Diego only ate Greenies. To paraphrase The League, Diego was now forever unclean. You can take the dog off the street, but you can never take the street out of the dog. Indeed, while Diego was pampered, he remained a street dog at heart. On walks, he'd find chicken bones, which we wrestled over and which were curiously scattered all around LFK. Were they from dead backyard chickens? LFK had many backyard coups and a healthy fox community. Regardless of where the bones came from, Diego would find them. He was such a silly boy. In addition to our LFK neighborhood walks, Diego and I walked through Oak Hill Cemetery, which is a sprawling historic graveyard on the east side of town. It's hilly and filled with gorgeous landscaping, stunning memorials and mausoleums, and labyrinthine paths. Several times per week, Diego and I would hike through the cemetery exploring new smells and processing theoretical texts. Walking with Diego through this graveyard are some of my best memories of living in Lawrence, KS.  Diego in our LFK happy place — Oak Hill Cemetery After leaving the academic side of Higher Education, Diego moved with me back to Fargo, ND, to lead LGBTQ+ Programs and Inclusion Initiatives on a one-year contract at a hella conservative land-grant university, and then to Northfield, MN, during the early days of the pandemic to coach private college students on how to write grants and collaborate with community partners. Finally, we moved to Moorhead, MN, to be nearer my nieces and nephews and aging family members. Diego adapted to every move. As long was he was with Watson and me (and had snacks), Diego was happy and relatively (for him) relaxed. And in each of these new homes, Diego helped this introvert engage with neighbors along our walking routes. Walking with Diego provided low-stakes opportunities for conversation with folks living in my different neighborhoods. (What a cute dog! He looks like Benji! What breed is he?) And Diego must have a thing for Great Pyrenees because he immediately made friends with another one in Moorhead named Bowie. I haven't had the heart to tell Bowie's mom that Diego is no longer with us. Every conversation about Diego feels like I'm losing him all over again. I need to remind myself it's only been a week since we visited the emergency vet and things fell apart. I hope it becomes easier with time.  Diego and Watson always cuddled (usually imitated by Watson, rarely by Diego) This past week, I've struggled to understand what my life looks like without Diego. He was my organizing principle, the cadence to my day. He's why I woke up every morning ready to walk and explore the world. He's why I took breaks throughout the day to go for walks. He's why I could sneak out of social gatherings early to go home and snuggle with him. He's why I've become softer, calmer, more open with my love. I miss his breath, snaggletooth, and soft belly. I miss the way Diego used to silently bark for the first few years of his life with me before eventually finding his voice. (But man, do I miss his barking lip syncs!) I miss how much Diego hated bananas and cucumbers, but loved whipped cream and an occasional coffee bean. I miss Diego's anger at shower time. (He'd get so mad about being clean that he'd jump up on my bed, lock eyes with me, and pee.) He was such a goofy and very particular little man. I miss sharing french fries with him. I miss walking with him. I miss him. Every day, I catch myself still peeking under the bed to see if he's sleeping in his safe place. This might be a sign that the best place to put Diego's little urn is under my bed. Diego was indeed the puppy love of my life. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form.
Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): Platinum Preppy [Fountain Pen] | Noodler's Borealis Black [Ink] Current Curiosities
[Reading] Hola Papi: How to Come Out in a Walmart Parking Lot and Other Life Lessons by John Paul Brammer [Listening] Britney Spears Greatest Hits: My Prerogative [Watching] Shōgun Selections From My Bookshelf
If you're a Fargo-Moorhead local, be sure to check out More Than Words Bookshop in person or support them online via their Bookshop.org storefront. Thank you very much for your time. If you have recommendations or curiosities, please fill out this nifty contact form. Sending y’all supportive, well-caffeinated vibes, Creighton Today’s Pen(cil): TWSBI Go [Fountain Pen] | Noodler's Firefly [Ink] If you're curious about my former life as an academic and teacher, check out "On Common Books, Civic Engagement, and Claudia Rankine's Citizen," published by the brilliant Assay: A Journal of Nonfiction Studies. |