Fran Tirado.
Keeping Tabs is a column where interesting people—sometimes anonymously, sometimes not—track everything they do on online for a day. For this edition, follow Fran Tirado—writer, speaker, former executive editor of Hello Mr., co-host of the podcast Food 4 Thot, and co-host of Broadly's podcast Queerly Beloved. Fran lives in Brooklyn.Sunday, October 21, 20186:50am
Wake up and turn off my third alarm. I play some Fleetwood Mac on Spotify with my Google Home, make sure I’m checked into my flight today (heading to Rome for a gig), read through my Google Calendar events, then quickly read my notifications for a few minutes on Twitter and Instagram for both my personal accounts and my podcast’s.7:20 AM
I’ve been trying to take the mornings to have an hourish of no-phone time. But today I give up quickly after my morning tarot and meditation. I get caffeinated then lost on on queer Twitter for a bit. I read some things the algorithm insists I have missed out on: Jaboukie Young-White, Ira Madison III, Harron Walker, Evan Ross Katz, Kimberly Drew, E. Alex Yung. I share an offensive meme to the group chat about gay Halloween costumes that I also post on finsta. Scrolling through the timeline, I save articles to read on my commute. I mosey over to Instagram and get lost on people’s Stories — some gay thirst traps posting bathroom selfies, and the goings on from whoever went out last night.9:00 AM
I take care of emails for about an hour to get ahead of work before the travel day. That includes answering some questions for an online interview, filling out some paperwork I’d been putting off, scheduling a paid talk on Latinx identity for a small corporate media brand, coordinating details on upcoming guest lectures at Boston University, University of Madison, and Northwestern, and confirming one at UC Irvine at the end of the week—all under my assistant's email, which I sometimes use pretending to be my own assistant.10:45 AMI see that the New York Times has obtained a memo from the White House suggesting that trans and GNC folks are not real, and should not be recognized by federal civil rights law. I follow majority queer folks on social, so my feeds are amuck. I read the article, then read a twitter thread by a trans writer on why some of the language is insensitive. I tweet the corrections and post on my Instagram Stories as well. I also post a graphic from one of my favorite trans illustrators that says “SHOW UP FOR TRANS PEOPLE.” I text a few trans and gender-nonconforming friends just to check in or talk shit. I don’t want to be too harrowing or overly supportive because I think it will make the situation feel more grave, even though it is. One or two text me back. I stay glued to my feeds, reading people’s reactions, reposting people’s words—of rage, of encouragement, of pragmatism assessing this crisis—partially on Twitter, but mostly on my Stories. Later, I see on my Moment app, which tracks how much I use my phone, that at this time I looked at my screen uninterrupted for 46 minutes.12:15 PM
In less than an hour, a few of my activist friends have organized a rally in response to the memo tonight with many trans and gender-nonconforming speakers. My friend Phill texts me the digital flyer and I post it across all my platforms.1:00 PM
I try to prepare for the junket interview I’m doing abroad for INTO. I'll be interviewing Claire Foy about being in the new Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movie. I dig through the research my actual assistant pulled for me, devising questions for her and watching how she composes herself in interviews. She’s very energetic and unpretentious, so it should be an easy one.3:00 PM
I call an Uber to the airport and can’t stop reading tweets. On one hand, the internet is playing Mama Bear right now, as people in my feeds repost the “SHOW UP FOR TRANS PEOPLE” graphic and messages with similar sentiments; support flows out from cis folks and people who don’t even normally talk about trans issues. On the other hand, Trump’s memo is a dystopian and backwards imagination of how to treat trans and gender-nonconforming citizens in this country. It’s so much worse that I could have imagined. I fall into something of a depressive episode, dissociating a little from the present moment because things just feel so fucking helpless. Moment says I was on for another uninterrupted 31 minutes.3:50 PM
My friend Robyn calls me. She never really calls, so I pick up. She just wants to talk. I assume it’s about the memo because I saw her tweeting about it, but it’s not really about the memo — she just wants to talk. “I can’t bring myself to even read the article,” she says. I describe it to her so she can hear shitty news about her identity from a friend instead of from negligent cis writers. We change the subject and talk about The Used and the fact that last night she played cornhole with two cops.4:30 PM
I can’t stop reading people’s reactions to the news. At the airport, I check at every available moment—before and after security, between checkpoints.5:00 PM
Waiting at the gate, I notice my boot heels (maybe 2.5 inches) are all worn down. I’m a hard walker. I check ASOS to see if I can rebuy. I can, but I also have like no money in my bank account right now, so I just save to my cart.5:45 PM
Internet on my flight is $19.99, so I guess I’ll have to read a book. Is it bad that I feel literally anxious about not being able to read news updates? I feel so depressed knowing I won’t be able to go to the rally and show up for my sisters. It’s an eight-hour international flight, so I practically have the shakes.3:00 PM
On the plane, I read about a dozen articles I’ve saved on my Instapaper. They include my Chani Nicholas horoscope, an essay about Lauryn Hill, an essay about Coco, an essay on feminist dystopian fiction, a profile of Solange, a profile of Phoebe Robinson, and a long-read about the state of art in the social justice era.1:45 AM (New York time)
I couldn’t sleep on the plane, and my brain is out of whack trying to figure out what time zone I’m in. As soon as we land, I check Instagram and Twitter for videos of the rally. My ex texted me a video they took of my friend Meredith Talusan giving her speech. She talks about how trans rights are human rights, and gives an emotional yet policy-driven speech. I also know she usually wings public speaking gigs with no preparation, but in the video she has things written down. I had just got drinks with Meredith literally the day before. She has been on a bit of a public hiatus to vacation and finish her book and when I saw her she was so happy, so living her damn life. I’m feel sad that her hiatus has been interrupted by this news and the responsibility to show up for her community. I watch and get teary as we wait on the tarmac. I wish I was there, but I feel grateful for my friends. Lots of positive things on my feed — folks posting trans people’s Venmos, donations to Trans Life Line, support from celebrities, etc. I know it’s superficial, but I feel a little better.2:15 AM
Someone has stolen my bag. Or maybe taken it on accident—it’s the same black Away carry-on that everyone has. I’m wigging out. For two hours, my life is hell. I’m stuck in customs because of a complication with my passport, or possibly for racist reasons. I know my luck and am sure the bag is gone forever. I post on finsta complaining about it. My friend Tommy in LA sees the post, immediately texts me to see if I’m okay, and even asks if he can Venmo me money. I decline but chat with him to feel less alone, since everyone else is asleep. I check to see where the closest Zara is to my hotel so I can buy one nice outfit and just rock it for my gig. There’s one within walking distance.4:00 AM
An Italian number calls my phone. My bag has been turned in at lost and found. Someone must’ve taken it by accident? What an idiot. I delete my post on finsta. I literally run from security to the lost and found desk where I get my bag.For More Stories Like This, Sign Up for Our Newsletter4:15 AM
On my Uber to the hotel, I check Twitter then put my phone down and look out the window at the city. The weather is the same crisp, autumny cold as New York. I thought it would be warmer for some reason, but I like this. I finally relax after almost 24 hours of compression.5:00 AM
I set my alarm for a power nap. The longest day of my life. Good riddance.
Wake up and turn off my third alarm. I play some Fleetwood Mac on Spotify with my Google Home, make sure I’m checked into my flight today (heading to Rome for a gig), read through my Google Calendar events, then quickly read my notifications for a few minutes on Twitter and Instagram for both my personal accounts and my podcast’s.
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I’ve been trying to take the mornings to have an hourish of no-phone time. But today I give up quickly after my morning tarot and meditation. I get caffeinated then lost on on queer Twitter for a bit. I read some things the algorithm insists I have missed out on: Jaboukie Young-White, Ira Madison III, Harron Walker, Evan Ross Katz, Kimberly Drew, E. Alex Yung. I share an offensive meme to the group chat about gay Halloween costumes that I also post on finsta. Scrolling through the timeline, I save articles to read on my commute. I mosey over to Instagram and get lost on people’s Stories — some gay thirst traps posting bathroom selfies, and the goings on from whoever went out last night.9:00 AM
I take care of emails for about an hour to get ahead of work before the travel day. That includes answering some questions for an online interview, filling out some paperwork I’d been putting off, scheduling a paid talk on Latinx identity for a small corporate media brand, coordinating details on upcoming guest lectures at Boston University, University of Madison, and Northwestern, and confirming one at UC Irvine at the end of the week—all under my assistant's email, which I sometimes use pretending to be my own assistant.10:45 AMI see that the New York Times has obtained a memo from the White House suggesting that trans and GNC folks are not real, and should not be recognized by federal civil rights law. I follow majority queer folks on social, so my feeds are amuck. I read the article, then read a twitter thread by a trans writer on why some of the language is insensitive. I tweet the corrections and post on my Instagram Stories as well. I also post a graphic from one of my favorite trans illustrators that says “SHOW UP FOR TRANS PEOPLE.” I text a few trans and gender-nonconforming friends just to check in or talk shit. I don’t want to be too harrowing or overly supportive because I think it will make the situation feel more grave, even though it is. One or two text me back. I stay glued to my feeds, reading people’s reactions, reposting people’s words—of rage, of encouragement, of pragmatism assessing this crisis—partially on Twitter, but mostly on my Stories. Later, I see on my Moment app, which tracks how much I use my phone, that at this time I looked at my screen uninterrupted for 46 minutes.
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In less than an hour, a few of my activist friends have organized a rally in response to the memo tonight with many trans and gender-nonconforming speakers. My friend Phill texts me the digital flyer and I post it across all my platforms.1:00 PM
I try to prepare for the junket interview I’m doing abroad for INTO. I'll be interviewing Claire Foy about being in the new Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movie. I dig through the research my actual assistant pulled for me, devising questions for her and watching how she composes herself in interviews. She’s very energetic and unpretentious, so it should be an easy one.3:00 PM
I call an Uber to the airport and can’t stop reading tweets. On one hand, the internet is playing Mama Bear right now, as people in my feeds repost the “SHOW UP FOR TRANS PEOPLE” graphic and messages with similar sentiments; support flows out from cis folks and people who don’t even normally talk about trans issues. On the other hand, Trump’s memo is a dystopian and backwards imagination of how to treat trans and gender-nonconforming citizens in this country. It’s so much worse that I could have imagined. I fall into something of a depressive episode, dissociating a little from the present moment because things just feel so fucking helpless. Moment says I was on for another uninterrupted 31 minutes.3:50 PM
My friend Robyn calls me. She never really calls, so I pick up. She just wants to talk. I assume it’s about the memo because I saw her tweeting about it, but it’s not really about the memo — she just wants to talk. “I can’t bring myself to even read the article,” she says. I describe it to her so she can hear shitty news about her identity from a friend instead of from negligent cis writers. We change the subject and talk about The Used and the fact that last night she played cornhole with two cops.
Advertisement
I can’t stop reading people’s reactions to the news. At the airport, I check at every available moment—before and after security, between checkpoints.5:00 PM
Waiting at the gate, I notice my boot heels (maybe 2.5 inches) are all worn down. I’m a hard walker. I check ASOS to see if I can rebuy. I can, but I also have like no money in my bank account right now, so I just save to my cart.5:45 PM
Internet on my flight is $19.99, so I guess I’ll have to read a book. Is it bad that I feel literally anxious about not being able to read news updates? I feel so depressed knowing I won’t be able to go to the rally and show up for my sisters. It’s an eight-hour international flight, so I practically have the shakes.3:00 PM
On the plane, I read about a dozen articles I’ve saved on my Instapaper. They include my Chani Nicholas horoscope, an essay about Lauryn Hill, an essay about Coco, an essay on feminist dystopian fiction, a profile of Solange, a profile of Phoebe Robinson, and a long-read about the state of art in the social justice era.1:45 AM (New York time)
I couldn’t sleep on the plane, and my brain is out of whack trying to figure out what time zone I’m in. As soon as we land, I check Instagram and Twitter for videos of the rally. My ex texted me a video they took of my friend Meredith Talusan giving her speech. She talks about how trans rights are human rights, and gives an emotional yet policy-driven speech. I also know she usually wings public speaking gigs with no preparation, but in the video she has things written down. I had just got drinks with Meredith literally the day before. She has been on a bit of a public hiatus to vacation and finish her book and when I saw her she was so happy, so living her damn life. I’m feel sad that her hiatus has been interrupted by this news and the responsibility to show up for her community. I watch and get teary as we wait on the tarmac. I wish I was there, but I feel grateful for my friends. Lots of positive things on my feed — folks posting trans people’s Venmos, donations to Trans Life Line, support from celebrities, etc. I know it’s superficial, but I feel a little better.
Advertisement
Someone has stolen my bag. Or maybe taken it on accident—it’s the same black Away carry-on that everyone has. I’m wigging out. For two hours, my life is hell. I’m stuck in customs because of a complication with my passport, or possibly for racist reasons. I know my luck and am sure the bag is gone forever. I post on finsta complaining about it. My friend Tommy in LA sees the post, immediately texts me to see if I’m okay, and even asks if he can Venmo me money. I decline but chat with him to feel less alone, since everyone else is asleep. I check to see where the closest Zara is to my hotel so I can buy one nice outfit and just rock it for my gig. There’s one within walking distance.4:00 AM
An Italian number calls my phone. My bag has been turned in at lost and found. Someone must’ve taken it by accident? What an idiot. I delete my post on finsta. I literally run from security to the lost and found desk where I get my bag.For More Stories Like This, Sign Up for Our Newsletter4:15 AM
On my Uber to the hotel, I check Twitter then put my phone down and look out the window at the city. The weather is the same crisp, autumny cold as New York. I thought it would be warmer for some reason, but I like this. I finally relax after almost 24 hours of compression.5:00 AM
I set my alarm for a power nap. The longest day of my life. Good riddance.