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A killer whale (orca) swims in the ocean.

Weekly Open Thread with 103 year old orca

tigtog

The world’s oldest known killer whale, Granny, hosts this week’s Open Thread. Please natter/chatter/vent/rant on anything* you like over this weekend and throughout the week.

A killer whale (orca) swims in the ocean.
Granny, the world’s oldest known orca, has been spotted again. At 103-years-old, she is the matriarch of a killer whale community known as the “J-Pod.” | Source: thewire.com via Teren Photography

So, what have you been up to? What would you rather be up to? What’s been awesome/awful?
Reading? Watching? Making? Meeting?
What has [insert awesome inspiration/fave fansquee/guilty pleasure/dastardly ne’er-do-well/threat to all civilised life on the planet du jour] been up to?

* Netiquette footnotes:
* There is no off-topic on the Weekly Open Thread, but consider whether your comment would be on-topic on any recent thread and thus better belongs there.
* If your comment touches on topics known to generally result in thread-jacking, you will be expected to take the discussion to #spillover instead of overshadowing the social/circuit-breaking aspects of this thread.

80 thoughts on Weekly Open Thread with 103 year old orca

  2. Granny, the world’s oldest known orca, has been spotted again. At 103-years-old, she is the matriarch of a killer whale community known as the β€œJ-Pod.”

    I take it a J-Pod is a step up from an i-Pod? πŸ˜‰

  3. Today was spent receiving text pictures of her awesome new apartment. The view etc. And her Facebook is full of statuses on how HAPPY she is and how she LOVES Austin. I’d like to vomit now.

    1. Oh and let me just say THANK GOD I FIXED THE AC!!! Sunday is going to reach 103 and Monday will be 105. Yes, I live on the surface of the sun.

      1. Keep chanting to yourself: “new home soon … new home soon …” How is the fundraising going?

  4. [CN: dysphoria]

    Last night I went to another trans support group. It had a decent variety of trans folks, and most of them were nice. (Although it seems pretty white to me. I may have been the only WOC in the room.) I vented to them about my fears of coming out to the rest of the family. Some family members I have come out to have told me that I should avoid coming out at all so that my grandparents don’t find out – with the implication that if I come out I will risk killing them due to the stress of the news. Or something along those lines.

    And it turned out that a lot of other trans folks have had this experience with family members and coming out. They all told me that it’s just a form of manipulation and that the possibility of coming out actually harming anyone is 0. It was really comforting to hear all of that, especially since they’re trans as well, but I’m still scared. I’m almost ready to come out to the rest of them – I just need to push myself more and gain some extra grit for this ordeal.

    It will be a turning point in my life – once the cat is out of the bag, I will start to stop living as a “guy.” I’ll finally be free to transition, even if I can’t start right away. I’m terrified of coming out to all of them so soon, but the alternative is a life of depressive self-loathing, insecurity and anxiety for the sake of their comfort zone. I can’t just let myself waste away like this. I need to keep telling myself that I’m not at fault for any bad reactions on their part. It’s really hard to not blame myself for every little thing, but I’ll try my best this time. I can’t afford to mess up. (Sorry if this comment sounds obnoxiously anxious…)

  5. I think my father is going to die very soon, like in the next few days. When I visited him in the hospital again last night, I went from hopefulness to realizing immediately that he looked pretty much like my mother did right before she died all those years ago. So I’m now about to have two parents who died because of horrible medical malpractice. Two weeks ago he was perfectly OK mentally (amazing for a 94-year old) and getting ready to accept a lifetime achievement award from the Lexington Democratic Club, for which he had already composed a speech in his head. Now, after entering the hospital with mild pneumonia, falling on the floor in the middle of the night trying to go to the bathroom because his private aide fell asleep and the sides of his bed weren’t up, having a broken rib in the back, as a result of the fall, go undiagnosed for a week because they never got around to doing follow-up X-rays despite his having incredible pain in his back (which one doctor denied because “he didn’t complain to me that he was in pain”), having a lung punctured and collapsed as a result of the broken rib (also undiagnosed for a week), having the pneumonia (which they said was gone but wasn’t) spread through his chest cavity from the punctured lung, becoming completely disoriented mentally within 48 hours of the fall and going from talking about politics to having no idea where he was (dismissed as “oh, that’s how old people get in the hospital”), being sent home (“don’t worry, he’ll be fine when he gets home”), suffering at home for four days, not recognizing that he was home despite having lived there for the last 55 years, sitting on the toilet for hours thinking he was in bed, crying from the pain and yelling at everybody because he didn’t understand what was happening to him (neither of which was typical of him in his life), finally being brought back to the hospital where they finally diagnosed what happened and are giving him oxygen and massive doses of antibiotics, all probably too late, to where he is now.

    I can’t believe it.

    So much for “major hospital in New York,” one of the best, blah blah blah. I’ve spent my time in almost every hospital in Manhattan except for that one, and plenty elsewhere, and don’t trust a damn one of them.

    2. Oh, no, Donna, that’s awful! I’m so sorry about your Dad and his declining health (and his horribly botched medical care too.). You are definitely in my thoughts.

    4. I’m so sorry, Donna. That’s awful. I’ll be thinking of you and your family.

    5. Ugh, simply reading about what he’s going through felt painful, and I can only imagine how it feels for you. πŸ™

    6. Jesus fuck. I’m so sorry Donna. There aren’t enough words to convey how goddamn awful that is.

    8. Huh. That’s twice we’ve heard “oh, that’s just how old people get in the hospital” used to dismiss relatives’ concerns.

      No prizes for guessing who the relatives are in the other case. >.>

      And it looks like he’s closer to death than he was before he went into the hospital, too, thanks to a TIA they completely failed to notice even when his speech got worse. Doesn’t help they keep shuttling him back and forth between the general and a smaller satellite, either. We haven’t figured out why.

      So… yeah. You have our literal sympathies.

    10. Thank you all very much.

      They’ve actually taken very good care of him and been very “on” everything in the ER and on the acute care floor where he is now. Especially a couple of very young doctors whom I met last night, including a young woman who said to me when I introduced myself, “It’s been my honor to help take care of your father the last few days.” And another one who stopped by very late, on his way home, just to say good night.

      On the geriatric floor, where he was last week, not so much. It’s as if once you’re on that floor, especially when you’re as old as he is, they don’t care so much anymore and don’t really see you as an individual. As if it’s just a waiting room for the morgue. My father’s wife tells me that some of the doctors were really very cold and dismissive. (And, perhaps, concerned about avoiding liability. As they were about the aide who fell asleep: the hospital, which contracts with that agency to provide aides and private nurses, apparently thought they could buy my father’s wife off by giving her a different person the next night for free — $300 off! — and, believe it or not, when my father was sent home last week, actually gave her a coupon: 20% off the next time you need an aide! We care about our customers!)

    11. My son and I visited my father again last night, and stayed until about 11 pm. Very sad. He’s semi-conscious now — he didn’t really wake up all day, according to his wife — and doesn’t seem to be able to speak anymore (unlike yesterday, when he kept saying “no, no,” and “enough, enough” whenever anyone tried to pull up his blankets or anything similar). He opens his eyes now only very rarely. And instead of continually trying to pull off his oxygen mask, like he did yesterday, he just sort of touches it now.

      But I think he knew who we were. My son and I took turns playing music on our smartphones for him, holding them up to his ear. Old Jerome Kern and George Gershwin tunes, his favorites, some sung by Ella Fitzgerals. “Someone to Watch Over Me” was the last one I played for him. It was pretty clear that he heard the music and was responding to it, moving his hands a little and moving his head closer at times. He always loved songs from Broadway musicals in the ‘teens, 20’s and 30’s — not the ’40’s; he never liked big band music, swing, Frank Sinatra, etc. When we would go on family vacations when I was a child, we would go hiking together a lot (since my mother and sister didn’t really enjoy that very much), like when we were in the White Mountains in New Hampshire or the Shawanguks up the Hudson from NYC, and sometimes he would sing old songs like that while we were going up the trail; I specifically remember him singing “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

      I remember when a nurse said about my mother, the night she died, when she was in a coma or something similar, that I could talk to her because “she can still hear you.” I always kind of think they just say that to people to make them feel better, but maybe it’s true. I do think my father heard the music. And heard my son and I take turns saying in his ear that we loved him, and felt us stroke his head, before we said good night.

    13. They’ve put him on a morphine drip today, so he doesn’t feel any more discomfort from his difficulty in breathing. He’ll die today, probably. The doctors have expressed amazement at how long he’s held on. He really did want to live, because he still enjoyed his life, but I guess it’s not to be. I hadn’t been crying much about all of this, but when I got off the phone with his wife a little while ago, and was really hit with the finality of it all, I burst into tears and haven’t stopped.

        5. I’m so sorry, Donna. The same thing (shouldn’t-have-happened fall in a hospital) caused my grandmother to die. I remember the sheer frustration and feeling of meaninglessness with the sadness.

          Χ”ΧžΧ§Χ•Χ ינחם אΧͺכם גם שאר ΧΧ‘ΧœΧ™ Χ¦Χ™Χ•ΧŸ Χ•Χ™Χ¨Χ•Χ©ΧœΧ™Χ Χ•ΧœΧ ΧͺΧ•Χ‘Χ™Χ€Χ• ΧœΧ“ΧΧ‘Χ” Χ’Χ•Χ“

        6. I’m so, so sorry, Donna. It’s terrible to lose him to such stupid incompetence. You have my deepest sympathies.

        7. My sincerest condolences to you and your family, Donna. I’m so very sorry for your loss.

        11. Donna, my thoughts are with you and your family. Your words here are a beautiful tribute to your father.

        12. I’m sorry for your loss, Donna.

          Your father’s smile reminds me of my Polish great-grandfather, and the Tuwim poem Dancing Socrates, which was one of his favorites.

          “I roast in the sun, old wretch…
          I lie, and yawn, I stretch.
          Old am I, but full of pep:
          When I take a slug from the cup
          I sing.
          My ancient bones bask in the sun’s glow,
          And my curly, wise, grey head.
          In that wise head, like woods in spring
          Hums and hums a wiser wine.
          Eternal thoughts flow and flow,
          Like time.”

          May his thoughts be eternal.

  6. Meta irl

    You know the Weird Al video Amish Paradise?
    My friend played it for his Amish coworkers πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ He thought it was hilarious (the Amish fellow)

    They had to explain the original song first. The video did get the costumes right too.

  7. I just did something I haven’t done in a few months. I squatted down to clean the kitty box. I wasn’t even thinking about it, and I just did it. And then I suddenly realized what I was doing. More importantly, I realized that it didn’t hurt.

    Praise Jobu!

    Also, my head stuff has been better this week.

      2. Heheh they all know the power of the Cute Kitty Face.

        Our Fribs takes maximum advantage of that – waits until she’s bedded down on your lap and then emits the Smell from Hell.

        1. Mr D tries that sometimes, too. I get him back by waiting for him to insist to crawl under the covers with me, and then I give him a Dutch oven.

        2. Our cat, who happens to be named Stinkybutt, is actually pretty decent about flatulence. Our rat terrier, Skip, though, is a terror. When he’s awake, he’ll fart and startle himself and run away from it. But sometimes he’ll cuddle up next to you and put his head on your leg, because you’re his best friend and all he wants to do is be next to you and also share that blanket please, and he’ll fall asleep and stimmer like as to clear a room. It’s incredible. And I have, indeed, Dutch ovened him on occasion just to get mine back.

    2. Oh no! I loved that site dearly. His sense of humour and gentleness were amazing. Those who haven’t read his work: please give it a try, you’ll be doing yourselves a favour.

      1. Can’t believe I said “that site” instead of “his writing” or thoughts or pretty much any other phrase. Ugh. It’s late here and I’m not composing myself well in this terrible surprise.

    1. My daughters teen years weren’t bad. She was a wee bit melodramatic sometimes, but I lucked out. Maybe you will too.

      1. Truth be told, mine is a pretty good kid. Also a little moody,and rather lazy, but if that’s the worst I have to deal with, we’re doing okay.

  13. Powwow season is here. And I cant go anywhere because of this stupid housing shit.

    But yeah. Powwow season. Hoka!

    1. I know, I know! I was just thinking this yesterday! ‘Ya gotta do it somehow, even if it only means watching watching video clips.

        1. Um, some of them dancers ain’t fucking around, they came to win! Thank you so much for sharing.

        2. I thought the lime green and yellow dude was about to bust out with some running man hip hop. He was throwing DOWN.

  14. “I wish I had the money to buy all of your hormones for you. I read about how much happier Janet was once she started taking hormones, and now I really do believe that they will help you as you say.” – My mom, after finishing Redefining Realness by Janet Mock.

    Slowly but surely, my mom is finally gaining a solid understanding of trans issues, particularly trans women’s issues. This is the best thing that has happened all week, amid my persistent anxiety attacks and depressive episodes. I’m crying right now, just deeply appreciating the fact that I have her as my mom. I never expected her to be so passionate about the issues I care about and affect me personally. I mean, at this rate, she may even become an anarchist like me. (Not that she has to, but it would awesome.)

    No one has ever known her has an intellectual type, especially since most people know she dropped out from college upon the birth of my older brother, but she seems to care so much about what I’m going through that she’s willing to read any and all books relating to trans women’s experiences. (Save for TERF literature, which she finds “horrifying”, as she puts it.) I’d like to think this is her way of lending me additional support before I attempt to come out to the rest of the family, which she knows is going to be a rough ordeal for me.

    1. (Of course, I’ll add that I don’t personally believe that her – or anyone – dropping out from college is a sign of anti-intellectualism.)

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