I just cried my way through Billie Lourd’s essay about her late mother, Carrie Fisher. Knowing Carrie/Leia the way only someone who has been method acting as her for months possibly could, tears flowed down my cheeks as much from pride as sympathetic grief. I feel protective of Billie the way her Momby would have, I’m proud of her for growing into such a wonderful young woman underneath the staggering weight of her inherited fame, and like Leia’s legion of adoring fans, I miss Space Mama so much it hurts. Billie showed amazing strength holding the memory of her mom in her heart, rather than on a pedestal.
Through the pain of grief, we must continue Carrie’s work, making positive systematic changes for women in Hollywood. Billie is doing a fantastic job of carrying on her mother’s legacy, trusting us with her emotional honesty, portraying strong female characters, and inspiring us with her writing. I want to read more of Billie’s writing, even though it makes me smile through tears. I see great potential in her future.
Billie wrote about being her mother’s Keeper. If I may use a metaphor from another universe (and I’m gonna, because this is my blog), if Billie’s the Keeper, I’m the Seeker. Billie is the one playing the main part of the game, moving it forward, making sure our team wins. I’m the one seeking a tiny golden flying ball, dodging bludgers, staying out of everyone’s way, and holding onto my broomstick for dear life because I’ve never done this before. But, when I catch the snitch, it’s worth 150 points and the game is over. As Joanne Rowling can begrudgingly tell you, there’s always another Quidditch game. We will always fight for equality the way Carrie Fisher did. I’m so glad Billie is our Keeper.
I caught a snitch on Friday. Kinda. After months of schlepping down to the airport courthouse to defend myself against spurious charges by a jackass security guard, the case was given a “formal diversion” which means if I stay out of trouble until February 18th, 2020, the case gets dismissed and I don’t have to plead guilty or no contest. I’m supposed to stay 100 yards away from Fuzzy Door Productions unless I’m invited back. I haven’t been back to that sidewalk since I was arrested so that order is moot, but I would love to be invited back to discuss #AStarForCarrie, #OccupyFamilyGuy, and my #ScriptDoctor offer. So, basically, I’m not guilty… or I will be when the case gets dismissed.
To recap, the jackass who had me arrested incurred a grand theft charge and was assigned the same public defender as me, so my public defender had to quit. I fired the next lawyer they gave me because he desperately wanted me to take a plea deal, so I took the insane risk of defending myself. After a conversation with the prosecutor where she didn’t look me in the eye, I could tell she knew she was on the wrong side of this. When I got to court on Friday, I spoke to her replacement, a white man who repeated: “You were in jail for three days!?” Twice.
Yep. That’s when someone finally realized the system fucked up and continuing to put me through this nonsense would be an expensive waste of time. So instead of admitting all the wrong that was done to me, they’re just putting a pin in it until mid-February. I do still feel like I have this case hanging over my head, but aside from smoking weed on the street, I don’t break laws. I’m not guilty and although the arrest is still on my record, I feel freer now than I have since July 22nd, 2019.
A thick layer of depression has been scraped off of my psyche. The gargantuan weight of anxiety has been lifted from my weary shoulders. I’m already planning a music video to be filmed on February 19th, 2020, on the spot where I was arrested. I intend to write a rap song titled “Go Fuck Yourself, Kevin” about self-love and women’s rights. Yes, I will be cosplaying Princess Leia.