Between Obsession and Madness

Some people are just wired differently. We experience the world in a different way— need different things out of it, want different things from it. For example, some people— in fact, most people, can get up every morning at the same time, work at the same job at the same desk with the same people for years, and seemingly not be bothered by this routine. They don’t need or want more, don’t ask for much except for everything to remain at the same even keel.

The rest of us need—no crave—not just variety, but randomness. We welcome the unusual, the unforeseen, the dramatic. We are bored by the ordinary so we seek the extraordinary, often not realizing we are walking the thin line between normalcy and obsession. We often work at the same Monday through Friday jobs as the rest of the working world but see them as no more than a means to an end. We crave the tension, the drama, the singleness of focus that comes with being so devoted to a cause, a sports team, a band, a TV show or film that we will disrupt our entire lives to get closer to it. And we are not annoyed by the necessity of such disruption—in fact, we welcome it, almost seek it, and often fall into deep depression when it’s gone. We don’t know what to do with ourselves without the excitement, the stimulation, and yes, even sometimes the chaos.

Is this behavior something we should concern ourselves with? I believe that the answer is different for every person. Are you still able to discharge your responsibilities as an adult? Are you harming anyone else? Are you harming yourself? Are you running away from something, running to something? Are you dealing with the issues in your life, or are you avoiding dealing with them? It is impossible to get inside someone else’s head to answer these questions—hell, it is hard enough to get inside our own heads and figure these things out. And it most certainly is not fair to judge what others go through on a daily basis, what they need and want from the world to get through life. Yet, there are (as there most certainly ought to be) times when it is right and proper to inject oneself into a particular situation, to intervene on the behalf of someone else. But we must be very careful when doing so and examine our own motivations for intervening. Is it possible we are guilty of the same behaviors of which we accuse others? Will the other person be helped by our intervention or are we just assuaging our own guilt?

Ultimately, each person must assume responsibility for his or her own actions, and only that person can decide if and when it is time to make a change. Many times, though a behavior pattern may seem odd or unusual, it is in fact not harmful--in fact, it may be the only thing that that allows that person to get through the day. It is very easy to sit on the outside of someone else's life and judge, but most times there is very little we can or should do. Some people fall off the edge of addiction, obsession and chaos into madness and self-destruction, and there is, quite simply, nothing to be done.

And this descent into the vortex is a truly frightening thing to watch. Frightening for the rest of us who also live on the edge—because we are not so sure we are very far from following that path ourselves. And that is a truly terrifying prospect.

All They Want is Everything

I have watched with growing consternation the behavior of my fellow music fans as regards the objects of their obsession, musicians. It seem to me that the complex artist/fan relationship has, paradoxically, become increasingly dysfunctional as the world has become more “connected” through cell phones, the Internet, etc. The easier it is to monitor what an artist is doing, the more control people seem to think they have over that person. The more license they seem to think they have to intrude upon that person‘s life in any way shape or form they see fit. To pass judgment not just on the artist’s creative decisions, but on his/her life decisions.

It has always been difficult to be in the public eye, especially when one is shy and retiring to begin with. Some artists handle it more easily than others. Some attempt to be as “normal” as possible, appearing in public often, letting fans approach. Others lead very private existences, barely emerging from their cocoons except to appear onstage. This was once a part of the pact artists had with their fans, and no one ever questioned it. However, with the increasing dominance of the entertainment industrial complex here in the U.S. (America’s only true export), there is now a correspondingly insatiable, nonstop demand for informational details about musicians and their lives. Encouraged by the ever-intrusive media, fans have grown increasingly demanding of personal details and, paradoxically, less receptive to being challenged by what truly is their business: the creative output of the artist. In 2005, the artist must create exactly what the fans want when they want it and live his or her life in accordance with the fans’ wishes, or there will be hell to pay.

Now I have no problem with fans criticizing a musician’s artistic choices—that is a natural part of the relationship, and every fan is entitled to his/her opinion. Where I really have a problem is with the fan who feels entitled to dictate to the artist how to conduct his/her personal life: how/when/where to create, whether or not to buy that house, get that nose job, whether or not to marry whomever he/she chooses. The right to tell the artist whether or not he or she is entitled to use the stage—the artist’s stage—as a platform with which to communicate his/her personal or political beliefs. It is as though the right to speak out in the very setting in which he or she is most comfortable is somehow denied to the artist precisely because he or she is an artist. It is as though the fan owns the artist, as though the artist ought to function as a person’s own private jukebox or trained monkey, or better yet, a puppet on a string that each fan has the right to manipulate in whatever fashion suits his/her fancy. Film aficionados may recall the Martin Scorsese classic that deals with this complex, fascinating subject, The King of Comedy--an eerily prescient tale about a couple of obsessed fans who stalk and kidnap the object of their mania in a misguided effort to force him to capitulate to their increasingly intrusive and bizarre requests. At the time the film was released, it seemed almost cartoonish. Now it just seems, well, like real life.

And that’s too bad, because this level of fandom, now accepted as “normal,” is a real hindrance to artistic creativity. The artist, who exists only to create, to express the complex feelings that buzz inside the brain because he/she must do so or go mad, must now fend off constant, ever more intrusive barrages from “fans.” Must receive unrelenting criticism, must constantly justify his or her entitlement to the same beliefs, personal opinions, and personal life as anyone else—as though because someone is an artist, he or she is no longer a person deserving of rights as a human being—that he or she belongs to us, the fans wholly and completely. The fact that we, as fans, have been graced with this person’s gifts—art that somehow makes a harsh, sometimes unlivable world seem infinitely less so--seems to mean nothing anymore. The artist must have artistic output only when, where and how the fans dictate. Must not speak his mind onstage or off. Must dress a certain way, think a certain way, be a certain way. And woe betide the poor soul who puts up an argument.

This is, of course, an impossible situation, one that, as the creative sort myself, I find increasingly difficult to stomach. Where will it all end? Will we all have our own personal holograms of the artists we admire, our own Sims characters that we can order around? What’s great about art is that it confronts, forces people to think about and see things in new ways. I do not subscribe to the belief that I ought to be able to dictate what someone else’s art ought to be, what it should say, how, when or where it should exist. Once it is out in the world, it is now mine to interpret for myself, and to incorporate into my life as I see fit. I remember when that used to be enough.

Things I Like Vol. 22

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) "Reason to Believe" - Rod Stewart
2) Matchless, Brooklyn NY - where the cool kids hang out
3) the Washington Nationals - exceeding all expectations
4) the Washington Wizards - ditto
5) "Time Has Told Me" - Marah cover version
6) To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee - proof that Americans do create art
7) Ludwig von Beethoven - Sonata No.8 In C Minor, Op.13 ('Pathetique')
8) Cafe Ole, Asbury Park NJ
9) Gram Parsons
10) the Order Sons of Italy in America - telling the truth about the Italian American heritage

Hero of the Week: Sen. Harry Reid (D-NV), who has led his party ably through a quagmire of moral issues with great dignity and passion

Villain of the Week: (tie) Sen. Bill Frist (R-TN), for threatening to throw the Senate into chaos to enforce the president's agenda, and Sen. George Voinovich (R-OH), who spoke out strongly against U.N. ambassador candidate John Bolton and then refused to vote him down in committee

This Must All End

From the Washington Post today:

Marines Who Survived Ambush Are Killed, Wounded in Blast

By Ellen Knickmeyer
Washington Post Foreign Service

"HABAN, Iraq, May 11 -- The explosion enveloped the armored vehicle in flames, sending orange balls of fire bubbling above the trees along the Euphrates River near the Syrian border.

Among the four Marines killed and 10 wounded when an explosive device erupted under their Amtrac on Wednesday were the last battle-ready members of a squad that four days earlier had battled foreign fighters holed up in a house in the town of Ubaydi. In that fight, two squad members were killed and five were wounded.

In 96 hours of fighting and ambushes in far western Iraq, the squad had ceased to be.

Lima Company drew Marine reservists from across Ohio into the conflict in Iraq. Some were still too young to be bothered much by shaving, or even stubble."

___________________________________

Two years after "Mission Accomplished," five months after the "elections," a U.S. Marine squad was, quite literally, wiped out in Iraq. What in God's name is going on here? And why are we doing absolutely nothing to stop it?

A Good Man is Hard to Find

This was played last night in St. Paul, MN. It speaks for itself.
--L

A Good Man is Hard to Find
by Bruce Springsteen

It's cloudy out in Pittsburgh
It's raining in Saigon
Snow's fallin' all across the Michigan line
Well she sits by the lights of the Christmas tree
With the radio softly on
Thinkin' how a good man is so hard to find

Well once she had a fella
Once she was somebody's girl
And she gave all she had that one last time
Now there's a little girl asleep in the back room
She's gonna have to tell about the meanness in this world
And how a good man is so hard to find

Well there's pictures on the table by her bed
Him in his dress greens and her in her wedding white
She remembers how the world was the day he left
And now how that world is dead
And a good man is so hard to find

She got no time now for Casanovas
Yeah those days are gone
She don't want that anymore, she's made up her mind
Just somebody told her
As the nights get on
When a good man is so hard to find

Well she shuts off the TV
And without a word
Into bed she climbs
Well she thinks how it was all so wasted
And how expendable their dreams all were
When a good man was so hard to find
Well it's cloudy out in Pittsburgh


Copyright © Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP)

Exhausted

I am so tired.

I am tired of fighting the world that tells me I am not quite good enough.
I am tired of fighting my looks, which tell me I am entitled to certain things I never ask for and don’t really want.
I am tired of fighting my intelligence, which tells me I am smart enough to handle certain things but am denied those things because that’s the way things are in this man’s world.
I am tired of denying my true self to keep other people from being threatened by me.
I am tired of suppressing my feelings and my beliefs so others will be more comfortable.

I am tired of a world that tells me the most important thing for an adult to do is to raise a child and then denies me the tools and means to do so. And then tells me I am useless if I am not a mother.

I am tired of being told I have too much experience, too little, too much education, not enough. I am tired of being told I am not the right person for the job.

I am tired of being told I am too opinionated, too aggressive, too pushy, too loud, too generous, too open, too giving. Too pretty, too smart, too sensitive.

I am tired but I will not apologize because I have been through way too much to get here and I’m not about to stop now. There are plenty of reasons to give up but that would be too easy.

So I guess I will continue to slog along, doing the best I can every day. And there is no guarantee that any of these things will change. In fact, it is entirely likely that I will continue to run into these issues every day for the rest of my life. And I suppose I can be ok with that.

But I am just so tired of fighting, tired of the battles inside my head, tired of dealing with it alone. Because that’s what happens to smart women who threaten the status quo—we are the ones who are marginalized and cast aside.

We are almost always alone, and it is exhausting.

Love & Hope & Sex & Dreams

What do you do when everything you care about turns to shit, when people betray you and you feel like there is nothing left? You go back to the things that helped you when you were a kid—in this case, the music.

So tonight I am listening to “Can’t Hardly Wait” and the connection is immediate and needs no explanation. The demons in Westerberg’s head drive him to push people away; music is the only thing he knows. So he goes out on the road because he is an artist and a performer and that is what he does. And it is paradoxically the most lonely and most accepting place he has ever known. People who, like him, live for the music are in front of him every night and they understand. They don’t want anything from him except for him to get up and play those songs and take them to another place for a while.
So he goes there with them, and he forgets the chaos inside his own head for a while. But then he gets on the tour bus, and the roads all look the same, and the lights flash by, and he has never been more alone.

I go on the road a lot following bands around—it is part of what I do as a writer. And a lot of it is for business reasons, granted. It is about schmoozing, making contacts, after show parties with the band.

But I would be lying to myself if I said it was purely for business reasons that I am ready, willing and able to pick up and fly, drive or crawl at a moment’s notice if there is a band I want to see. For me, it is also admittedly about running from the demons in your mind, about getting that fix once again that for an hour or two takes you away from whatever ails you. Sometimes what ails you is fixable, sometimes not. But you have to work on it and recognize it and deal with it, and I am, despite all appearances, trying my damndest. Because it is far too easy to just run around on the road with those cute boys with guitars and not deal. That is indeed a large part of why the job of being a musician is so attractive—someone else is always there to pick up the pieces.

In Paul’s case, he fights the demons every day, but he is still here, and he is still the Talented Mr. Westerberg. It may not come out as often, maybe he lets the hard work of songwriting and performing slide more than he used to—but there he is out there working it out, and we are out there with him and waiting for the magic which, while rarer than it used to be, still happens on occasion.

As for me, well, I continue to work on my multitude of issues, but I will also keep on listening to the music and following wherever it takes me. And I will not apologize for it. Because the only person who knows what I need, what is going on inside my head is me, and only I can judge what is right and proper to do. So the music will continue to take me on that mystery ride, and I am happy to follow. I hope someday that someone will be able to join me there, but it is entirely possible that that is not the case. I have been and will continue to deal with that, too.

For now I, like Paul, am high and lonesome, holding on to the white lines on the highway by just a thread. Until that song comes on the radio…

“Lights that flash in the evenin’/through a hole in the drape
I’ll be home when I’m sleepin’/I can’t hardly wait.”

Things I Like Vol. 21

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) Great Falls, the mighty Potomac in full effect
2) "Moneytalks" - AC/DC
3) Cold Roses - Ryan Adams & the Cardinals
4) the Center for American Progress - making intellectualism fun again
5) Sister Helen Prejean
6) Patti Smith, high priestess of cool
7) the Melrose Diner, Philadelphia PA
8) Johnny Depp
9) viewing the Philadelphia skyline from the Walt Whitman Bridge
10) Bebe Neuwirth

SPECIAL PROPS TO THE ALLTIME MASTER OF ALL THAT IS FABULOUS: DAVID JOHANSEN

Hero of the Week: Jimmy Carter - sometimes what you do after the White House is more important

Villain of the Week: Peter Angelos - AGAIN -- for denying the citizens of Washington a chance to see/hear their brand new MLB franchise in action so he can inflict his sorry excuse for a team on us instead

Great Day in DC

Sometimes living in the Nation’s Capital doesn’t suck after all—in fact, sometimes it’s pretty damn cool. Like today, on a sunny, windswept afternoon when I drove my car down to Capitol Hill, parked beneath the shadow of the dome, and walked over to Senate Park for a rally against Social Security privatization.

It was truly heartening to see that despite all sorts of construction and other impediments, despite roadblocks and tight security, out of town visitors were all over the Hill to see democracy in action for themselves. I walked across the west front of the Capitol grounds, entered the park and sat down on a set of bleachers next to an older looking woman dressed in sun hat and t-shirt, who, as it turned out, was also from DC, and was there because she had recently qualified for Social Security and felt strongly about the issue. Surrounding me was a group of female AFSCME retirees—some of them old enough to be my grandmother, I’m sure—who had traveled to DC to take part.

Despite being comprised of a variety of organizations, the rally was well-organized—union people know how to do that—and loud. A staffer from the group in charge of the rally handed me a sign and some bottled water expressly ordered for the event (it had anti-privatization slogans on the label—they don’t miss a trick getting the message out, do they?) Things were running late, as they are wont to do in DC, but about ten minutes later the first group of speakers arrived and, one-by-one, took the pedestal to address the crowd. Having grown up here and having attended many of this type of event, I knew what to expect—a lot of slogans for the media (which was there in numbers, both print and broadcast), a lot of catch phrases and rah rah. Truth be told, if it were just these folks speaking, I might have considered staying at home. But a large group of House and Senate Dems was scheduled to appear, so I stuck around past the scheduled ending time to see the grand finale. (Hey, you don’t get opportunities like this one that often, even when you live here.)

And it was pretty damn grand indeed, even by Washington pomp and circumstance, everything-is-a-photo-op standards. Instead of walking the group of elected officials up to the stage from the side, the rally organizers walked them through the assembled crowd and right past the bleachers where I was seated. I know most people will not understand this, but to many here in the Nation’s Capital, politics is a spectator sport, and these people are its first-teamers. I live here, and I seem them all the time, so it’s very easy to get jaded. But even I was stunned to see the parade of familiar faces that walked so close by me, stopping to shake hands as they walked. Despite the obviously choreographed nature of the proceedings, it was nonetheless awe-inspiring to see the leaders of our democracy walking among “the people,” especially given increased security concerns here in DC. Sen.s Patrick Leahy and Paul Sarbanes, Rep.s Charles Rangel and Barney Frank, all familiar names and faces, heroes to many. There was Hillary, shaking hands, smiling at the dozens of women calling out her name. And before I knew it, there was Sen. Ted Kennedy with his lion’s mane of stunning silver hair, his ruddy complexion glowing as he reached out to greet people.

[Note: My parents both voted for Jack in ‘60 and worked for Bobby’s ill-fated 1968 presidential campaign. I myself worked on Ted’s campaign in 1980, so what follows should come as no surprise to anyone: When Sen. Kennedy walked by, I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and I shook his hand. And I’m not sorry.]

The rally was spirited and lively—Rep. Rangel got by far the most crowd response with his uniquely New Yawk speech and demeanor—but all to soon (hectic schedules being what they are), the busy politicos filed off to walk back across the Hill to their respective offices (after first signing a pledge to protect Social Security to the strains of Tom Petty’s ubiquitous rallying cry “I Won’t Back Down”). Parading in ones and twos, stopping to greet well-wishers and constituents, they walked purposefully back across the sun-dappled lawn toward the Capitol dome. Joining beside them, I was both thrilled and awestruck to finally have the opportunity to shake hands with the great Rep. John Lewis of Georgia, a truly larger than life figure who, despite my being a lifelong DC resident, I had previously seen only in history books. This is the guy from the documentary footage, the guy who truly put his body (and his life) on the line that day in Alabama, the guy who got his head bashed in on the Edmund Pettus Bridge. The guy who spoke at the March on Washington, one of the founding members of the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, truly one of the great figures of the modern civil rights movement. It’s not often living history walks right in front of you, and you have to seize these chances when you can. I approached him and mustered something to say—what do you say to one of your heroes?—and shook his hand. He very graciously smiled, responded, and with great dignity went on his way. That right there, I thought, is all that is uniquely American, truly what makes this country great: That figures such as this are still here, and are still, after all we have been through, so accessible, is nothing short of a miracle for which we should all thank our lucky stars every day.

As mind-blowing as this all was to me, even this was all fairly normal, and fairly typical by Washington standards. Typical, that is, until I became aware of a flurry of activity to my right as I continued to walk across the Hill beside the parade of politicians. It was Sen. Barack Obama.

Those of you who do not know who he is yet, I have two words for you—you will. This man is a rock star. People ran out calling his name, chasing after him just to touch him. As I parted ways with the main procession and stood on a corner to cross the street, I encountered a group of kids from the Close Up organization, a group that brings school kids to Washington to witness “democracy in action.” Well they got that and then some when Sen. Obama suddenly appeared in their path. There was a group of about ten kids, probably eighth grade or so, of mixed ethnicity and gender. I have lived here all my life, and I have never—repeat—never seen kids react to a politician like they did to this man. They stood there on the corner in open-mouthed awe, daring each other to step forward and greet the freshman senator from Illinois. Finally, one girl bravely ran up to get his autograph, (which she did) and then ran back to the group screaming like she had just met Elvis (work with me here, no one gets this reaction in today’s music world, at least not that I have seen). I mean, this girl was jumping up and down with a look of crazed adoration I have seen only in footage of Beatles concerts.

Jaded person that I am, this sight truly brought tears to my eyes. Yeah, I am a political junkie and probably place way too much value on these things, and yeah, I have lived here and seen it all, but I honestly thought that the next generation of Americans just didn’t care about anything, that “the kids” were disinterested and disengaged, and that things were in a very bad way as a result. I truly held out little hope that the kind of selfless passion for public service and activism that I had witnessed as a child of the ‘60s would ever return. In fact, I had pretty much given up on the idea that the “youngsters” could be convinced to care passionately about much of anything beyond the latest cell phone accessory. To see them care enough to come to Washington, and to know who these people were by sight, and then to see them recognize them as real heroes–role models even—was positively stunning to me. I really have believed for a long time that one of the biggest problems facing this country is that children today don’t look to public service as a career choice anymore, that they all aspire to be basketball players or musicians, to make lots of money and participate in the greed and conspicuous consumption that have all too sadly become the norm. Today, however, I am happy to report that I have been convinced otherwise. There is indeed hope for America’s future—at least there is as long as there are kids who genuinely care as much as these kids clearly did about the persons who, as duly elected representatives of The People, speak for them.


It’s not every day you get to see history, get to shake hands with one of your heroes, get to have your (ever-waning) faith in humanity and in the future of the Great Experiment that is the American Republic restored. Many days, living here in Washington really is everything it is cracked up to be—a depressing treadmill of sycophancy and dysfunction. And as Washingtonians, we have grown quite accustomed to hearing about how other cities are bigger, better, or just more "real." But on bright sunny, star-crossed days like today, living here in the Nation’s Capital “doesn’t suck” at all—on days like today, it just out and out rocks. (Take that, New York City.)

Oh, and watch out for this Obama fellow, I hear he’s going places.

Things I Like Vol. 20

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) the Paramount Theater, Asbury Park NJ
2) "Tougher Than the Rest" - live solo piano version - Bruce Springsteen
3) sunrise over the Manhattan skyline
4) Cerphe Colwell, one of the coolest DJ's ever
5) "FDR - A Presidency Revealed" - History Channel documentary
6) Julia Ward Howe
7) Walter Cronkite
8) The Great Unraveling - Paul Krugman
9) "Why Independent Record Stores Fail" - Marah
10) Prince

Hero of the Week (tie): Eleanor and Franklin D. Roosevelt, two great minds who saved America from disaster

Villain of the Week (tie): Rep. Tom DeLay (R-TX) and Sen. Bill Frist (R-TN), for showing America the depths to which politics can sink when personal agendas are allowed to prevail over the rule of law.

On Mother's Day

I have tried for years to get to the root of why the Mother’s Day holiday bothers me so much. Part of it is certainly the Hallmark card forced emotion/guilt of the day—you MUST buy you mom flowers or you are a BAD child. (No mention, of course, of what you are supposed to do if your mother is deceased, or the details of how such forced rituals might affect people who have lost their mothers). Wonder how much money the greeting card, flower, and restaurant industries make on this.

Then there’s the whole notion that we must somehow celebrate the fact that a certain segment of our female population has chosen to procreate. I’m sorry, but I don’t see why someone else’s reproductive choices are more culturally “worthy” than mine. After all, wasn’t one of the goals of the Women’s Movement to gain reproductive autonomy? And at the rate we are using the worlds’ resources, it seems downright selfish for all American women (citizens of a country that consumes a disproportionate amount of the worlds’ resources to begin with) to have children. Further, just because a significant majority of American women can physically have a child, does that make these women “mothers” in the true sense of the word? Does it make them somehow more “special” or “”valuable” to our society? Why should we reward women who have children with this “Hallmark holiday” while we ignore the other women (such as myself) who, for health, sanity or a million other very valid and personal reasons have chosen not to become mothers--to say nothing of the thousands of women who desperately want to become mothers but have fertility issues. What are we supposed to do, and how are we supposed to feel? Remaining childless is every bit as valid a life choice (and certainly more earth-friendly), than is having a child. Why don’t childless women get a “day”? (And of course, we won’t even get into the cultural and economic issues surrounding motherhood and working women—the hypocrisy of a culture that celebrates “motherhood” while failing to provide equal pay, childcare, etc. for working mothers.) America is no longer the huge, untamed wilderness in need of populating that it was when prolific childbearing was the norm. Isn’t it about time our cultural values caught up?

Alas, does any of us really know what Mother’s Day is and why it is celebrated? If you don’t, don’t feel bad, it’s not like they teach this kind of information in grade school. I myself was only made aware of the historical origins of Mother’s Day in the weeks before the Million Mom March here in the Nation’s Capital a few years back. Ironically, it is really supposed to be an active, not passive holiday, a day for action and reflection, not mindless consumerism. The national Mother’s Day holiday is, in part, the direct result of the horrific carnage of the Civil War—a day envisioned by poet Julia Ward Howe (of “Battle Hymn of the Republic” fame) in 1870 as a means to galvanize women across the globe to rise up and proclaim their opposition to war as a political tool, to find common ground as a gender across international borders and to inspire political leaders to consider non-violent public policy alternatives, leaving war as an instrument of last resort. It was, in other words, a significant attempt to organize women on a global scale in order to achieve specific political goals. So it seems that rather than a somewhat generic excuse for guilt-associated gift giving, the Mother’s Day holiday is truly a milestone of the international Women’s Movement. Of course, Howe’s idea didn’t catch on right away, but by 1914, the entire nation was enthusiastically celebrating Mother’s Day (needless to say, the history of how the holiday shed its idealistic origins is a discussion for another time).


However one feels personally about the ongoing American military engagement in Iraq and Afghanistan (and god knows there are many good reasons to be disturbed), isn’t it about time we gave some thought to the sacrifices American mothers, fathers, sons and daughters continue to make every day so that we can spend the first Sunday in May contributing our hard-earned dollars to the greeting card/flower/restaurant industrial complex? This Mother’s Day, instead of contemplating which restaurant has the best dessert tray, how about taking some time to think about how we can assist our friends in the armed services who continue to sacrifice so much for us. About how these conflicts in the Middle East are being conducted, what this says about America as a society, and about what has happened to the core American values that we once held dear. Beats thinking about the bland salad bar at Ruby Tuesday, I think.

___________________________

Want some alternatives to “traditional” Mother’s Day activities? Visit Code Pink’s site for a list of great ways to spend the day promoting peace and economic justice (mother—child bonding opportunities abound)!

Things I Like Vol. 19

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) Turbotax
2) "All I'm Thinkin' About" - Bruce Springsteen
3) Apple iTunes
4) the Washington Nationals - baseball is back in DC!
5) Tambourine - Tift Merritt
6) "Let it Ride" - Ryan Adams
7) "Adam & Dave's Bloodline" - unreleased demos by some Squad boyz
8) IOTA Club and Cafe, Arlington VA
9) Woody Allen: A Biography by Eric Lax
10) Glamour magazine, 'cause sometimes mindless entertainment is fun

Hero of the Week: Johnnie Johnson, the sideman who invented rock'n'roll piano - R.I.P.

Villain of the Week: DC Mayor Anthony Williams, milking the return of baseball while ignoring the rampant, ongoing dysfunction in the Nation's Capital

Things I Like Vol. 18

Ten People/Places/Things That Rock My World:

1) Elsie's Sub Shop, Red Bank NJ
2) "Jesus Was an Only Son" - Bruce Springsteen
3) Paul Westerberg, my future husband
4) The Randi Rhodes Show on Air America Radio
5) high speed wireless Internet access
6) diet Coke with lime
7) cold Corona with lime
8) soccer, the beautiful game
9) daylight savings time
10) Bruce Springsteen

Hero of the Week: Maureen Dowd of the New York Times, whose graceful wit makes you laugh instead of tearing your hair out

Villain of the Week: Peter Angelos, who has managed to keep the local MLB team's games off of local TV so he can force-feed us his Baltimore franchise instead

The Marage, Philly, 3/26/05

The Marage, Philly, 3/26/05
Originally uploaded by MrBadExample.

Dave Bielanko in full effect. Need we say more?

Bad Wednesday

Isolation is a terrible thing. Whether it is self-imposed or not, it has the effect of negating a part of your humanity. This is why it’s such an effective punishment and oft-used torture tactic—the human mind can and does convince itself of almost anything.

There are many places in which one can feel alone—a penthouse tower, looking down on the masses from above, a tiny, poorly lit tenement that reeks of garbage and humanity. But why is it that for many of us, the worst kind of loneliness occurs when one is surrounded by other people?

The worst part is that people seem to notice that something’s wrong, and want to help. But the more they try to help, the more one tries to explain, the worse it gets. Smile, they say, come join us. But the isolation is a shroud that hangs over you, a hood that protects you from having to function in the world outside your own head. You want to try to explain, but you can’t because you don’t know how to verbalize the chaos inside.

And so you stand there in crowded, noisy rooms and smile on cue, but you don’t really feel it. Feeling trapped inside your own head does strange things to people – makes them want to lash out at others not to ease their pain, but to feel something, anything. Some people go through their whole lives feeling this way, living and dying alone. Others take up arms against their fellow man, usually turning their weapons upon themselves as well.

Isolation does funny things to people. Some handle it better than others; some can’t handle it at all. It seems as we increase our population of the earth, we are becoming increasingly isolated from one another, each participating in our communities via computer keyboards and cellular telephone connections. Whether or not we have sought it, we have created our own solitary confinement cells from which we are seldom forced to emerge. And so we are drawn into virtual communities where we can hide behind walls and create false identities for ourselves, hiding the darkest recesses of our minds and our souls behind a façade, or worse, exposing these recesses without showing our faces.

It is an odd world we have created, an odd world we live in. Sometimes the loneliest place is a crowded room.

Things I Like Vol. 17

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) Devils & Dust album cover shot by Anton Corbijn
2) The New York Dolls, now and forever
3) Denzel Washington
4) "Dude Looks Like a Lady" - Aerosmith
5) EZ-Pass
6) the cherry blossoms, Washington DC
7) myspace.com
8) the Hip-O Select label
9) Steven Van Zandt
10) This Divided State, film by Steven Greenstreet

Hero of the Week: Robert Reich, one of the smartest, most humane people to have served in public office

Villain of the Week: Rep. Tom DeLay (R-TX), for inserting his own personal morality crisis into the tragedy that is the Schiavo case

Another BullShit Day in Suck City

Yeah, DC still sucks. And will as long as there are dull, egocentric, ideologically driven people here with no imagination, no sense of purpose other than pushing a political agenda. Congress was convened over the weekend to grandstand about an issue that bears little relevance to anything right now--the president left instructions to be awakened so he could sign the "emergency legislation"--and yet there are so many issues that are genuinely worth his time and attention...it boggles the mind. (To cite one example, thousands took to the streets this weekend to protest the war in Iraq, and yet there was next to nothing in the major papers, who were too busy covering the above "story." Go figure.)

In my youth, DC, for all its flaws, was a fun town, a forward-thinking city filled with young, vibrant people who, it seemed, only wanted to do good things, who were inspired to serve. Of course the last vestiges of that hope got smashed in 1968, when it all came crashing down...

It's an odd city--a place that assumes the character of whomever currently resides at 1600 Pennsylvania. Today it is bland and boring and whitebread and lacks vision and hope and character. The people who handed the reins of power to these folks think they are doing good work here in the Nation's Capital, but they believe what they are being fed by the sycophantic media, they are not here grappling with the horrors of the wounded at Walter Reed, the hungry and homeless and jobless right here just blocks from the Capitol's white-lit dome. Contrary to popular belief, this is a dark, dark time, and there is more on the horizon. DC is a city on the decline, and for my own sanity I must get out. I may someday return. It is fairly likely that I will, in fact--there is a part of this place that will always be with me--but for now, it is on to different, if not better things.

___


When I get down over all this--which is pretty much daily anymore--I seek solace in the great minds of the past. Not that bringing these people back will change anything, but returning their vision and ideas to the debate would be a good start. I read this again today and remembered what this country once stood for and someday will again:


"To those people in the huts and villages of half the globe struggling to break the bonds of mass misery, we pledge our best efforts to help them help themselves, for whatever period is required--not because the communists may be doing it, not because we seek their votes, but because it is right. If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich."
--John F. Kennedy, Inaugural Address, January 20, 1961

I Don't Want to Go Home

I was in the East Village at the Continental last night and should have been having fun seeing Walter Lure and the gang, but all I felt was sad. Sad because I could see it disappearing before my eyes. Blondie was playing on the P.A, and every band that came on before Walter (and even he and the Waldos too) was trying way too hard to be the Ramones or the Dolls, and it was just wrong. It felt like a museum and I felt like a museum piece. It's a feeling that Marty Scorsese captured very well in his (flawed but fascinating) "Gangs of New York." At the end, the last shot you see is the graves of the people he's depicted in the film, people you've grown to care about, and he shows the passage of time, pulls back the camera and you see the NY skyline and the now dilapidated graves, and it's just overwhelmingly sad--like there's this scene and these people that you once felt so strongly about, and still do, and you feel lost and out of place because nobody cares anymore except you, nobody gets it. And you feel sad and alone and wistful. It's all gone, everything that once meant so much, and you can't bring it back. And your heart breaks.

I wasn't a part of the East Village scene, but I participated in something similar down on the Jersey Shore--the heyday of Springsteen and Southside Johnny and all those great bar bands, and those places down there where the magic happened, places that are gone or are mere shadows (as is CB's) of their former selves: The Brighton Bar, The Tradewinds, Cafe Bar, The Green Parrot, the Fastlane, and of course the Stone Pony. The latter is now a museum piece, a relic, a phony "House of Blues"/"Planet Hollywood" nightmare that people fly in from Europe and walk around and gawk at. (And sometimes, they even gawk at you.) I can't even tell you the times I had there--the nights when anything seemed possible. It was the early '80s, and you could walk up to Bruce, who would be there just to see Graham Parker or Dave Edmunds or whomever was playing there--he would be sitting in the back bar drinking a beer, and sometimes he would even come over to you and say hello if he had seen you there before. Just wanted to know what you were listening to, how things were going. And then he would jump onstage with these people and here you were and you just paid 6 bucks and you are seeing friggin' magic right before your eyes. And then you would go to the after party with whatever band was playing or just hang out all night with your friends and they would sit around and though we would never talk about how amazing it all was, we all knew it, we just knew we were a part of something special. Those were the nights you just didn't want to end because you knew they wouldn't last, and so you would stay up all night and just rehash and gossip and party till the sun came up.

And so it is going, and soon it will be gone. Like the East Village, Asbury Park (and the Shore in general) is going condo and gentrifying. There are powerful forces at work, and they are winning. And it is heartbreakingly sad, but there is nothing we can do. We are all older, and time moves on apace, but like Walter, we can't completely let go of this thing that once meant so much to us and still does. It was a big part of our lives, and it's going and we can't bring it back. Grabbing onto it too hard is self-defeating and painful and (like last night) more than a bit embarrassing. But we can't help ourselves. Because it once made us so completely happy, so truly alive, and it seems like we haven't felt that way since...

So what do we do now? We are walking anachronisms lost in a world in which we no longer belong. We are still drawn back to that time and that place. We are, at times, Fitzgerald's Gatsby, lost in the past, looking off at the green light across the water from a long distance and hoping...we are Margaret Mitchell's unforgettable Ashley Wilkes, who lives his whole life lost in a nightmare from which he can't awake. Everything he's known, anything that ever meant anything to him is gone and he can't process it, can't comprehend it. So he goes about from day to day, lost in a fog, not quite sure what to do or where to go, trapped in a brave new world that he doesn't understand and to which he cannot hope to belong. He has the look of the living dead. We can't allow ourselves to be like that, or we we might as well be dead too.

So we forge on, and hope, desperately hope, that something new and meaningful will come along, something that makes us feel like we did then. But deep down we know, don't we, that what made those times so special was the knowledge that they were irreplaceable and fleeting. And when we are lonely or sad, late at night unable to sleep, we reflect upon them and remember and we are young and beautiful and vibrantly alive again, if only for a few moments...

We were there, we really were, and we saw it, and wasn't it great?

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
---F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Darkness Falls...

From William Pitt's Truthout blog:

"'In a time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey.'

- Beck, 'Loser'

So...to recap:

Neocon warlord Paul Wolfowitz will head the World Bank;

The White House illegally puts out fake news reports, and the Justice Department does nothing;

Another $81 billion of your money and mine is to be poured onto the Iraqi sand;

The GOP majority in Congress is preparing to trash 200 years of Senate tradition in order to post a number of certifiably insane people to the bench;

Kevin Martin, a conservative Christian activist for the GOP, will now chair the FCC;

The Alaskan National Wildlife Reserve, one of the most ecologically pristine areas remaining to us, will be paved and drilled for its tiny amount of petroleum.


And that was just yesterday."

_____________________

I would add the following general comments:

The price of gas just reached a record high, and shows no signs of going down.

The issuance of White House press passes is a joke (see: Gannongate) to say nothing of a major security issue, yet the White House continues to shrug it off.

The bankruptcy bill passed this week makes it harder for average Joes to start over, and much easier for credit card companies to make obscene profits--legally.

The health care system is on the brink of collapse.

The teaching of creationism aka "perfect design" theory in schools is actually open for debate.

Anti-U.N. ghoul John Bolton is being unleashed on the world as our U.N. Ambassador.


More to come...

Selective Service?

Well, it seems the previous post has gotten people riled up. Good, that was the idea. Now let's look at the Selective Service System a little more closely. Here are some of the more, shall we say, interesting facets of this lovely entity vis-a-vis the current situation:

- The circumstances under which a draft may occur: "A crisis occurs which requires more troops than the volunteer military can supply. Congress passes and the President signs legislation which starts a draft." Well now, more troops, huh? Who gets to decide that one? Seems to me we are already scraping the bottom of the barrel with the so-called back-door draft, in which tours are being involuntarily extended for National Guardspeople. Only a matter of time before it becomes a military necessity, seems to me.

- Undocumented (illegal) aliens are required to register. And let's not forget the permanent resident aliens and special (seasonal) agricultural workers! That's right, we want you migrants and undocumented types to bend over for us one more time. It's not enough that we deny you fair wages, health insurance, etc., that our economy sucks you dry while we all look the other way. Now go lose a limb for us, dammit! Give us your tired and your poor...so we can send them to Iraq! (And of course, I don't know about you, but if I were an illegal, I sure as heck wouldn't be contacting the U.S. government for any reason.)

- Refugee, parolee, and asylee aliens must also register. So I guess if you are running from a fascist dictator and have taken refuge here, we may just send you back there in the uniform of the fabulous U.S. of A. Righteous!

- If you are physically or mentally handicapped but "able to function in public with or without assistance", you must register. Hmm, I suppose that's an ADA thing, but honestly, if I were handicapped, serving in the military wouldn't be high on my list.

- "Beliefs which qualify a registrant for Conscientious Objector status may be religious in nature, but don't have to be. Beliefs may be moral or ethical; however, a man's reasons for not wanting to participate in a war must not be based on politics, expediency, or self-interest. In general, the man's lifestyle prior to making his claim must reflect his current claims." Well now, why would you object if not for self-interest? How is this decided, and by whom? Just asking.

- "Current plans are frequently tested, evaluated, and revised as necessary. If implemented, they will guide the Selective Service System in making a smooth transition from current reduced readiness levels to full conscription within six months." Hmm, they better get crackin' on this one. Seems to me we may be needing bodies before August...

On the up side, I do see that the criteria for being drafted are a lot more equitable than those that existed during the Vietnam war. And that's a good thing. Let's just keep fingers crossed we never have to see them in action. But I'm not holding my breath...

Devils and Dust Too, or Beware the Ides of March

“On March 31, the Selective Service System (SSS) will report to President Bush that it is ready to implement the draft within 75 days. Right now, the SSS is staffing local draft boards, training volunteer registrars to work on high school and college campuses, and streamlining its induction process. They have also gained access to the Department of Education's computer files, to ensure maximum registration.”

---from an Action Center email dated 3-15-05


Yes indeed folks, it is no longer just idle talk. The draft is coming, and it is coming soon—a matter of months, to be precise. Not satisfied with the signup rates at its recruitments centers (located primarily in low income areas), the Pentagon now wants your sons and daughters, your husbands and wives, your sisters and brothers. Are you ready for déjà vu all over again?

I remember back in high school in the late ‘70s, there was a hue and cry when President Carter instituted a voluntary draft registration program. The gaping wound of Vietnam was barely off the nightly news, and we were all too familiar with the “selective” service program, and how easy it was to get out of it if you were wealthy and connected (yes folks, there were plenty of “fortunate sons” in Washington DC, where I grew up). At the time, I argued—and still believe—that in a country that gives so much to its citizens, it is our civic duty to give something back. Of course, there are many ways in which to do this—President Clinton’s Freedom Corps program being just one—but there is no justice to a system that relies upon its most economically disadvantaged to fight its wars, and then discards them when their service is done. The statistics on the percentage of veterans who are homeless are staggering: 23% of all homeless are veterans, 47% of whom served in Vietnam [courtesy The National Coalition for Homeless Veterans]. And let’s not forget the benefits cuts to veterans and to military families, some of which were passed during the war on Iraq. All politics aside (and God knows there are plenty of geopolitical reasons why the average Joe would look askance at a Pentagon recruitment officer), it’s no wonder that no one wants to sign up for Rummy’s Folly.

Do I believe in a draft? Well, I believe we all should serve in some way. But there are a number of confounding moral dilemmas in the execution of any mandatory service program, not the least of which is, is it really service if it’s mandatory? Besides which, who will assign the various tasks, and who benefits? There are just too many problems with a mandatory system, which is why service plans such as the Peace Corps rely solely upon volunteers.

So what of this draft? It is safe to say a significant percentage of its victims will be inhabitants of the so-called “red” states that have (so far) overwhelmingly supported Bush and Co. in their “War on Terror.” The president and his staff have until now managed to keep photos of military funerals (and of the wounded and maimed) out of the mainstream press, but one wonders how long that will last once reality hits. (Visit thememoryhole.org if you want to see these photos for yourself. They aren’t pretty.)

Yes folks, there are devils afoot in the dusts of Iraq, but there are just as many here at home. Stay tuned, it’s going to be a long, hot summer…

Devils and Dust

bruce_devils_dust
Originally uploaded by liannucc.

The man himself.

Things I Like Vol. 16

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) The Fortress of Solitude - Jonathan Lethem
(thx for the recommendation, Dave!)
2) Meetup.com
3) Brie cheese and water crackers
4) Comcast Cable On Demand
5) The Lincoln Memorial
6) The Luna Cafe, Washington DC
7) "Loose Ends" - Bruce Springsteen
8) Converse sneakers
9) Smashed - Koren Zailckas
10) The Pretenders


Hero of the Week: Rep. John Conyers (D-MI),
who has fearlessly and relentlessly challenged the Bush
Administration on everything from election fraud to
Gannongate

Villain of the Week: Condoleezza Rice and her
evil dominatrix boots -- WMD? what WMD?

Pretty on the Inside

I have never felt pretty--though I am often told I am—not ever in my whole life. Feeling a certain way about oneself comes from the inside—so goes the cliché. And it can only come from a sense of self-worth, not from how other people think you should feel (you’re pretty so you should be happy), how people tell you you look.

I was called bookworm, laughed at, made to feel ugly—as if I needed any prompting—I hated myself so much anyway, surely I was ugly too. And then one day, magically, I was treated like I was pretty--men whistled and honked at me as they drove by; guys walked by and gave me second looks. Not feeling attractive, I acted no differently than I had before--loathing myself on the inside, I just didn’t believe what people said about me or how they acted. Then there were the times I would look in the mirror, believing I looked good, and then beat myself up because I hated myself and, it seemed, so did everyone else—I was almost always alone. I was reasonably good looking, pretty darned smart, and a person whom (it seemed) no one wanted, whom no one would ever want.

These days, I am punished for being too smart--guys don’t like girls who are too smart, it scares them--and then I am punished for being too pretty—guys are intimidated because they think I will reject them as not worthy. But I cannot be anything except the person I am ("to thine own self be true" quoth Shakespeare). So, being annoyed by all these contradictions, I just do the best I can, one day at a time. Some days I feel pretty, some smart, some ugly, some stupid. I am encouraged and refocused by the person I know I am on the inside, and some days I even like myself. But there are many days I still feel ugly and miserable, smart and beautiful, rejected and scared all at once. Is there anyone who doesn't?

Things I Like Vol. 15

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) The Clash - London Calling reissue
2) Paypal - making it even easier to spend
money on frivolous things
3) Blogcritics.com
4) Bob Dylan
5) Amadeus, film by Milos Forman
6) "Places That Are Gone" - Tommy Keene
7) Whole Foods Markets - now just lower your
damn prices, folks!
8) International Answer
9) Robert Greenwald, producer/director
10) David Johansen, King of the Blues

Hero of the Week: Paul Krugman, still telling
it like it is at the New York Times

Villain of the Week: (tie) John Bolton (nominee
for U.N. Ambassador) and John Negroponte
(nominee for Director of National Intelligence)--
representing the amoral Bush Administration
at its lowest

Backward-Looking Angel

What is it about spring that brings on the backward-looking melancholy? As soon as the weather turns warm, my thoughts turn to the past, to friends who have long since passed out of my life, of places where many happy hours of my youth were (mis)spent, places where magic happened, places that are gone.

I am not the only one with this obsession--it seems to be a topic by which writers have long been consumed. Not only have entire novels been written on this theme, but one of the longest ever written is titled (depending on how you translate it) Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time. Either way, the past is a problem. Why do we artistic types obsess about things we are powerless to change, about places to which we can never return? Is it the place itself, or is it the person we were in that place at that time? Proust spent many years and thousands of pages trying to find the answer, so why should I have any great insight?

Lack of self-confidence and trust in my own decision-making abilities are the culprits with me, I fear. I am always second guessing myself--kicking myself for not taking advantage of certain situations. Late at night before I drift off to sleep, I wonder what would have happened if I had said “yes” instead of “no” (in my case, it’s never about regretting having said “yes,” it’s always about turning things down) in the back of that car at 4 a.m. on a deserted street (in L.A., in N.Y., in Chicago). I have, time and again, told myself that the gut instinct at the time was correct, that no was indeed the correct answer. But if that is true, why am I haunted by the might-have-beens?

There are the times (long past) that seemed so magical. That night at the Stone Pony when Southside Johnny played with Graham Parker, and Springsteen showed up to jam on Creedence and Aretha. The time at The Bayou when he showed up with Robbin Thompson (I came out of the bathroom and almost walked right into him). The time I saw Gillian Welch at a tiny venue out in the woods of Virginia, when her mesmerizing performance of “Long Black Veil” seemed to call forth all the lost souls, to speak to the backward-looking angels in all of us…

There are the places (long gone) where I was so happy--the record stores where I bought the music that literally saved my life. The Sears where I would run in after catechism class on Saturdays to buy the latest hot 45 for 99 cents. Yesterday and Today Records, where I would obsessively leaf through each rack of vinyl, hoping to find some brand new bootleg no one else had noticed. Kemp Mill Records in Georgetown, where I bought my first X album. Penguin Feather Records, where I would spend hours combing the aisles for obscurities, the hippie owners too stoned to care. Kramerbooks & Records, where I hustled down the next day to leaf through the Brian Eno LPs after having read in the Post that Bruce had been there the day before…Main Street Records, where the sales clerk generously fronted me 25 cents so I could buy The River (which I had forgotten was a double album) the day it came out, where I spent countless Saturday mornings fingering the records, desperately trying to drive away the heartache and loneliness…

Places that are gone. The Bayou, where every band worth seeing used to play. The old 9:30 Club, where the hipster New Wavers hung out amongst the rats and cockroaches. The Key Theater, where I went to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show (for the umpteenth time) in my prom dress. Windsor McKay’s, where they had “Rosalita” on the jukebox (and the only place in town where Bruce was friendly enough with the owners to drop by when he was in town). The Ontario Theater, where I missed seeing The Clash ‘cause I was too scared to go by myself…

Decisions regretted, a “no” that should have been “yes”…When will I learn to say “yes” at the right time? When will I look forward instead of back? When will I stop obsessing over things I cannot change, over memories that haunt me, over places that are gone?…

1,500 and Counting

We just got word this morning that the official
number of Americans killed in action in Iraq has
reached 1,500. While this is a small figure next
to the estimated 100,000 Iraquis killed in the
two years since our invasion, it is nonetheless
needless and therefore every bit as monstrous.

With the two-year anniversary coming up March
19, it is time to redouble our efforts to end
this madness. Take action: write letters to your
local paper or to your congressmen and senators,
or organize a peace vigil or demonstration.
Above all, make your voice heard! We can
all do something, and every movement starts with
the action of just one person.

Things I Like Vol. 14

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) The way everything gets muffled when it snows
2) Egg drop soup
3) Pachelbel's Canon in D
4) The Remains of the Day - Merchant/Ivory film
5) Getting flowers
6) Craig's List
7) Frederick Douglass
8) "Fly Me to the Moon" - Marah live version
9) Late night phone calls from good friends
10) Pizza - NY style or not at all

Sometimes It's Hard to Be a Woman

I recently watched the film classic "All About Eve" for the umpteenth
time, and it got me to thinking about what has changed for women
since its 1950 release.

At the time, Bette Davis' career was in decline, a trend that was
happily reversed with the overwhelming success of her outstanding
work in the film. This turn of events is, of course, ironic given her
character, Margo Channing's central conflict: how does a woman
maintain her identity as such while pursuing a career in a man's
world? Who is she when she looks in the mirror, alone in her
dressing room after the day's tasks have been accomplished?
Channing, of course, has chosen a career (one of the few
available to women at the time) that has afforded her great
power and prestige, yet has left her uniquely vulnerable to the
realities of the passage of time. In the film, Davis' character
resolves this conflict not by fighting the prevailing values of the
times but by surrendering to them; she chooses to pursue a
relationship with her significant other, without which, she famously
states, no female can truly be a woman. It is not clear at film's end
whether she completely abandons her stage career, but it is not
difficult to see that it has now assumed a lesser role in her life. (In
one of several ironic plot twists, it is the sociopathic Eve, a person
possessing no recognizably human qualities, who supplants her as
the first lady of the stage.)

Despite the film's domination by strong female characters, its
underlying message seems to be that no matter how much
power women like Margo Channing get, they are still less than whole
without a man to roll over in bed and gaze adoringly at each
morning. As for people like Eve Harrington, a human being
completely lacking in humanity, those are the females that have
successful careers. There is no middle ground here, no balancing
act--one is either a career or a woman but never both.

It is startling to consider how little has really changed for women
in the 55 years since the release of "All About Eve." In the movies,
as in popular culture in general, we are still cast aside once we hit a
certain age, made virtually invisible by a society ever more obsessed
with youth. Worse still, our culture continues to demand that we face
Margo's dilemma: that we choose between relationships/marriage
and career. It is,according to the powers that be, an either/or
proposition. Though we see women doing everything from boxing
to microsurgery on screen, we never seem to see them grow old.
In fact, as far as society is concerned we don't age at all, we simply
disappear (unless, of course, one counts those ubiquitous ads for
various geriatric medications). And without much significant change
in the socioeconomic value placed upon homemaking/relationships/
domesticity, we still seem to be handed the career/woman roles and
forced to choose. We often attempt to do both--to be Superwoman--
usually with disastrous results. And should we have the temerity to
assert that there are, in fact, other alternatives, we are typically
either dismissed as "quirky" or ignored altogether.

As we found out in the '70s, Superwoman doesn't exist (not
even in the comics)--we can't be all things to all people. So we often
give in to the pressure, suppressing a core part of ourselves (either
the desire to love and be loved by another or the desire to achieve
creative/intellectual fulfillment) in order to survive. Indeed, as I and
my close friends get closer to that "certain age," we have found
ourselves increasingly confronted by these issues. Who are we
as women if we are not subsumed by a relationship or consumed
by our careers? Who is that person staring back at us in the mirror?

Of course, at some point, most of us achieve some sort of tenuous
balance in our lives without sacrificing our individuality,
but these are not the heroines portrayed on stage and screen. We
who live in the real world know that being a woman is not an
either/or proposition--it is a balancing act on a high wire (in stilettos
or combat boots) without a net. Someday our culture (and Hollywood,
its mirror), will catch up to who we really are and what we
really want, but only if we stand up and fight for it. Fasten your
seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night.

Running On Empty

Lately I've been thinking quite a bit about my
life and the odd directions it's taken. I have
always seemed to be behind life's curve, so to
speak. If there's something adventurous, just
a little edgy or out there, I have always been
slow to embrace it. I suppose one could say the
flip side of that is that once I have done so,
I do it passionately and intensely. Perhaps
that is why it takes me a bit longer -- the fear
of sinking in too deep, of giving my heart and
soul and being burned in the process.

It may seem contradictory that I am a
"question authority" type person who played it
by the book during my adolescence and
young adulthood, but immersing myself in academia
was my refuge from the chaos surrounding me at home.
There was such turbulence, insecurity, anger and
pain, so little support, understanding, and communication.
We all turned inward on ourselves instead of outward
to where we could help one another.

So I have never really been one to leap into the
unknown, have always wanted to stay behind, alone
in a warm, safe place with a good book. So often
the characters in those books are more than
familiar--they have, in a sense, become my only
real friends. I turn to them for comfort
and reassurance that I am not alone, that
there is someone else who has felt the things
I am feeling, that my pain and fear are not unique.
After all, we all need to be loved and understood
for who we really are, and so few of us ever achieve
that true connection with anyone. But the books are
there waiting, unchanged, without judgment.
So I return to them whenever I am downhearted,
lonely, sad...which is more often than I'd like
to admit.


It has always been terrifying to me to face the
unknown when the known is so unsettling. Yet I
look at what others have done and I feel such
regret, such longing to go back and be the
adventurous person I never really was. But I
am doing things now that would have been
impossible for me even a few short years ago,
so there is change, there is progress. There
is that human stereotype of youth misspent
followed by settling down, but I feel as though
I am, in an odd way, doing the opposite. In so
many ways, I feel as though my life is just
starting.

Yeah, there is that old cliche
about life being a journey, that we should
accept ourselves and the choices we have
made in life because without them, we would
not be the people we are now. But I am haunted
by the past, by the roads not taken.
On spring evenings, as the sun begins
to sink in the west, the moist air filled with
so much fragrance and promise, I feel such
overwhelming longing, such sadness. As life
renews itself, it sometimes feels to me like
mine is too screwed up to salvage.

So I keep on running, sometimes on empty, trying to
hold on...

"So we beat on, boats against the current,
borne back ceaselessly into the past."
--F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

In Memory of Malcolm

Malcolm X was a complex, brilliant person
with a unique eloquence that sometimes shocked.
He wasn't afraid to confront, to challenge.
He was a self-educated man who was controversial
and outspoken. He became a cultural icon after
his death, yet many people remain unaware of
the intellectual evolution he underwent toward
the close of his life, a transformation that
that led to his embrace of a multicultural,
progressive Islamist philosophy that had the
potential to significantly reshape the American
civil rights movement.

He was murdered on this day in 1965, in a crime
the F.B.I., which had him and his family under
surveillance, did nothing to prevent.(It is ironic
that on the 40th anniversary of his death, we are
hearing details of the death of another questioner
of the status quo, Hunter S. Thompson.)

With the American "mainstream media" increasingly
shirking its responsibility to tell us the pure,
unvarnished truth, we feel Malcolm's loss
more keenly than ever. This country could use more of the
kind of intellectual bravery that once made him
one of the the nation's most sought-after speakers.

R.I.P. Brother Malcolm. You are missed.

"Human rights are something you were born with.
Human rights are your God-given rights. Human
rights are the rights that are recognized by all
nations of this earth."
--Malcolm X

Things I Like Vol. 13

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) Reds - Warren Beatty's greatest film work
2) Bob Herbert, the moral voice of the New
York Times
3) Ingrid Bergman
4) L.A.M.F. - The Heartbreakers
5) "Real Time With Bill Maher" on HBO
6) "Ode to Billie Joe" - Bobbie Gentry
7) Schuba's Tavern, Chicago IL
8) diet Mountain Dew - lemon caffeine, mmm
9) Ken Burns, prober of the American psyche
10) Ishkabibble's chicken cheesesteaks,
Philadelphia's secret weapon

Hero of the Week: Bob Herbert, for his
hard-hitting columns on the new
American "morality"

Villain of the Week (3-way tie):
Commissioner Bud Selig and the
other fools ruining baseball AND
Howard Kurtz and Wolf Blitzer, media
shilling never goes out of style...

Sad But True

Now, in the "I don't know whether to laugh or cry" category:

Q: How many Bush Administration officials does it take to screw in a
light bulb?

A: None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb; its conditions
are improving every day. Any reports of its lack of incandescence are
a delusional spin from the liberal media. That light bulb has served
honorably, and anything you say undermines the lighting effect.
Why do you hate freedom?

Things I Like Vol. 12

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) Sunday night house concerts, Ringwood NJ
2) Sen. Barack Obama (D-IL)
3) The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara
4) "Russian Roulette" - Lords of the New Church
5) the New York Times
6) homemade Italian Wedding soup
7) The Stephanie Miller Show on Jones
Radio Network
8) IOTA Club and Cafe, Arlington VA
9) "Sin City" - Gram Parsons
10) Jon Wurster - drummer extraordinaire

Hero of the Week: Al Franken, for calling
out Fox's Brit Hume on his misrepresentations
of FDR's legacy

Villain of the Week: Jeff Gannon (or
whatever his name is) of Talon News for
allowing the Bush Administration to use
him for political purposes, especially
in the Valerie Plame case

R.I.P. Arthur Miller (1915-2005)

Arthur Miller, Legendary American Playwright, Is Dead at 89

By MARILYN BERGER, New York Times
February 11, 2005

Arthur Miller, one of the great American playwrights, whose work exposed the flaws in the fabric of the American dream, died Thursday night at his home in Roxbury, Conn. He was 89. The cause was congestive heart failure, said Julia Bolus, his assistant.

The author of "Death of a Salesman," a landmark of 20th-century drama, Mr. Miller grappled with the weightiest matters of social conscience in his plays. They often reflected or reinterpreted the stormy and very public elements of his own life, including his brief and rocky marriage to Marilyn Monroe and his staunch refusal to cooperate with the red-baiting House Committee on Un-American Activities.

"Death of a Salesman," which opened on Broadway in 1949, established Mr. Miller as a giant of the American theater when he was only 33 years old. It won the triple crown of theatrical artistry that year: the Pulitzer Prize, the New York Drama Critics' Circle Award and the Tony Award.

____

This country needs more voices like Miller's--people who are unafraid to probe beneath the shiny veneer of contemporary life and expose the lies and hypocrisy, the half-truths we tell ourselves to get through the day. Who has not looked in the mirror and questioned his own existence? Who has not wondered about his or her place in the world, whether he or she will be remembered or forgotten? "Death of Salesman" reached down into the souls of every American and laid bare our inadequacies, our fears, our desires.

He was a huge talent. He was uniquely American. He will be missed.


"After all the highways, and the trains, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive."
--Willy Loman

Budget Cuts Affect YOU

If you are a student, small business owner, veteran or migrant worker, or if you are poor or disabled and need food and/or health care, you are screwed. The new Bush budget takes a sledgehammer to a whole host of social programs (150 to be exact) while making permanent the tax cuts (aka welfare for the rich) that were enacted several years back--and all this while not including spending on the Iraq war or the Social Security nightmare in the budget at all, and leaving a deficit of some $400 billion. These people are all heart, I tell you. Perhaps we should consult our dictionaries...

compassionate:

Function: adjective
1 : having or showing compassion : SYMPATHETIC
2 : granted because of unusual distressing circumstances
affecting an individual.

conservative:

Function: adjective
3 : tending or disposed to maintain existing views,
conditions, or institutions : TRADITIONAL b : marked by
moderation or caution [a conservative estimate] c : marked
by or relating to traditional norms of taste, elegance, style, or
manners [a conservative suit]

Did I miss something here??

Sigh.

Sucking in the Seventies

What is it about 1970's radio? Lately I have been bombarded with
those bastions of K-Tel, Jim Croce and Cher, and I have been
(to borrow from the evil McD's) loving it! And it's not just the
insipid nostalgia involved (though that plays a part, I'll admit.)
What is it about this decade--at the time it seemed so hostile and
unsettling--that allows us to see it now through the rose-tinted
glasses of warm remembrance?

Well, for one thing, the music was better. We actually had Top 40
radio, and aside from the occasional Paul Anka song, it didn't suck.
You could hear out and out genius like the Beatles or Marvin Gaye,
followed by one-hit wonders like Dr. Hook & the Medicine Show,
followed by country gems by Tanya Tucker, followed by
WTF-are-they-doing-on-pop-radio classics like "The Lord's Prayer"....
well, you get the idea. No more. The geniuses of today are (with
apologies to Conor Oberst) mostly toiling in obscurity, and music
of and for the masses is segregated worse than a Bill O'Reilly
booksigning.

I wonder how "the kids" find the music anymore. How do they
know where to look? Where do you hear something new? Is there still
that thrill of discovery, that rush you got from hearing something
really cool for the first time, that classic "summer" song you heard
from May to September, that song that made you want to get in
your car, roll down the windows and rush headlong into the night
with the radio blasting?

It's not quite the same sampling a download on your iPod. There's
not the sense of shared discovery, of knowing that though you
may be alone in your room, there are thousands out there
like you also hearing this great thing for the first time at the
exact same time you are. And ironically enough, this incredible
diversity, this vast selection that we have nowadays really seems to
do nothing so much as push people farther and farther apart
as the "mainstream" disappears and everyone retreats into his or her
own favorite genre. There will be no more Elvis Presleys, no more
Michael Jacksons.

And what about the thrill of going into your favorite record store and
discovering some new band, meeting a new friend, hearing
a great new tune? The excitement of waiting for the
release of a brand new single or album by your favorite artist?
Saving your money, waiting for the store to open, rushing
down after school and standing in line, then rushing home to
put the record on your turntable? Sneaking a listen with your
headphones when your parents thought you were asleep?

What of all that?

Well, it's gone, and it's never coming back. And that's a big,
big loss my friends, no matter how cool the gadgets are.
At the time, the Seventies really sucked. Nixon. Gas lines. Vietnam.
Watergate. Energy crisis. Farrah Fawcett. Yeah, they were all
pretty darn putrid.

But man, was the radio cool.

Walmart Sucks

If you agree (and you should), click the link
to join this really cool anti-Walmart campaign:

http://walmart.purpleocean.org/answer

Fight the Power, baby!

Things I Like Vol. 11

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) Confederates in the Attic - book by Tony Horwitz
2) Blogcritics.com - the blogger's blog
3) "Magnolia Mountain" - new(!) Ryan Adams
4) Ecco Domani pinot grigio
5) Mr. Chen's Organic Chinese Restaurant, Washington DC
6) Janeane Garofalo - comedienne and talk show host extraordinaire
7) baseball in DC - at long last!!
8) "When the President Talks to God" - new (and free on
iTunes!) from Bright Eyes
9) "The Dreamers" - Jesse Malin
10) Unscripted on HBO

Hero of the Week: (tie) Ossie Davis and Howard Dean (new
chairman of the DNC-congrats and good luck!!)

Villain of the Week: Donald Rumsfeld, evil incarnate

R.I.P. Actor and Activist Ossie Davis (1917-2005)

The world has lost a true hero:

from The HistoryMakers

"Writer, director, actor and producer Ossie Davis established
a phenomenal career, remaining throughout a strong voice for
artists rights, human dignity and social justice.

Davis was a leading activist in the civil rights era of the 1960s.
He joined Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in the crusade for jobs and
freedom and to help raise money for the Freedom Riders. He
eulogized both King and Malcolm X at their funerals.

Davis received innumerable honors and citations throughout
his life, including the Hall of Fame Award for Outstanding Artistic
Achievement in 1989, the U.S. National Medal for the Arts in 1995,
the New York Urban League Frederick Douglass Award, NAACP
Image Award, and the Screen Actor's Guild Lifetime Achievement
Award in 2001. He enjoyed a long and luminous career in
entertainment along with his wife. They recently published a
joint autobiography, With Ossie and Ruby: In This Life Together.

Davis passed away on February 4, 2005, at the age of 87."

It's Fun to Shoot People

Your U.S. tax dollars at work:

Marine General Counseled for Comments
'It's Fun to Shoot Some People,' Said Veteran of Iraq,
Afghanistan
By JOHN J. LUMPKIN, AP
WASHINGTON (Feb. 4) - A decorated Marine Corps
general said, "It's fun to shoot some people'' and poked fun at
the manhood of Afghans as he described the
wars U.S. troops are fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.
His boss, the commandant of the Marine Corps, said Thursday
that the comments reflected "the unfortunate and harsh
realities of war'' but that the general has been asked to watch
his words in public. Lt. Gen. James Mattis, a career infantry
officer who is now in charge of developing better ways to train
and equip Marines, made the comments Tuesday
while speaking to a forum in San Diego. According to an audio
recording, he said, "Actually, it's a lot of fun to fight. You know,
it's a hell of a hoot. ... It's fun to shoot some people. I'll
be right up front with you, I like brawling.'' He added, "You go into
Afghanistan, you got guys who slap women around for
five years because they didn't wear a veil. You know, guys like
that ain't got no manhood left anyway. So it's a hell of a lot of
fun to shoot them.''

Yeah, it's lots of fun. Shooting. Human. Beings.

sigh.

“I want to make a connection with my audience.”

What is the truth?

from Jesse Malin turns up The Heat

"For the coup de grace Jesse finished with a statement almost every
politician has said at some point in their life, only he was talking
about his aim in making music and he meant it;

'I want to make a connection with my audience.'"
______

That article got me to thinking. What does it truly mean to
connect with people? Because some of the biggest liars in the
history of mankind have made that "connection." That is the
hardest thing, knowing when to believe someone, trusting them
to tell the truth. Our fearless leader "connects" just about every
time he steps out the door. Should we believe him? How much is
truth and how much is performance?

While words can prove false, the emotions with which
they are expressed can be honest. Conversely, when the words
are true, the emotions that express them can be insincere.
Do we believe the emotions behind the speaker? Or
do we believe the words he or she speaks?
If, as we are told, we should trust the art and not the
artist, let the art speak for itself, are we not required
to place it in some sort of context?

Actions speak louder than words, or so the saying goes.
Watch this president. Watch him very carefully. Because
the truth is not in the connection, it is in the behavior.

FDR's Four Freedoms Speech

In times like these, it is often instructive to revisit the wisdom
of the past and embrace its simple truths. Tonight, our president
invoked the legacy of FDR, the man who saved this country
from economic and political ruin. Love or hate him, you
cannot ignore his legacy of social programs, among them the Social
Security Administration, that have become the
essential fabric of our country. Bush may speak Roosevelt's
name, but he doesn't grasp his message:

"The basic things expected by our people of their political
and economic systems are simple. They are:

Equality of opportunity for youth and for others.

Jobs for those who can work.

Security for those who need it.

The ending of special privilege for the few.

The preservation of civil liberties for all.

The enjoyment of the fruits of scientific progress in a wider
and constantly rising standard of living.

These are the simple, the basic things that must never be
lost sight of in the turmoil and unbelievable complexity of
our modern world."

FDR, State of the Union Address, 1941

How far we have traveled from these principles, and how lost we
have become...

Things I Like Vol. 10

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) The Living Room, NYC
2) Conor Oberst, the boy genius
3) The Human Stain - novel by Philip Roth
4) Katherine Hepburn
5) The Melting Pot restaurant - cheese rules!
6) Howard Dean
7) The Memory Hole weblog
8) The Al Franken Show on Air America Radio
9) Town Hall, NYC
10) New York City in the snow


Hero of the Week: William Pitt of Truthout, for telling
it like it is about the gross display of arrogance that
was the 2005 Presidential Inaugural

Villain of the Week: Condoleezza Rice, Liar in Chief

Fascism Anyone?

What kind of a country do YOU want to live in? If you think
totalitarianism can't happen here, think again....

Fourteen Defining Characteristics Of Fascism
By Dr. Lawrence Britt
Source Free Inquiry.co
5-28-3

Dr. Lawrence Britt has examined the fascist regimes of Hitler
(Germany), Mussolini (Italy), Franco (Spain), Suharto (Indonesia)
and several Latin American regimes.
Britt found 14 defining characteristics common to each:
 
1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism - Fascist regimes tend
to make constant use of patriotic mottos, slogans, symbols, songs,
and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag
symbols on clothing and in public displays.
 
2. Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights - Because of fear
of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes
are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases
because of "need." The people tend to look the other way or even
approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long
incarcerations of prisoners, etc.
 
3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause -
The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need
to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial, ethnic or
religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc.
 
4. Supremacy of the Military - Even when there are widespread
domestic problems, the military is given a disproportionate amount
of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected.
Soldiers and military service are glamorized.
 
5. Rampant Sexism - The governments of fascist nations tend to
be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes,
traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Divorce, abortion and
homosexuality are suppressed and the state is represented as the
ultimate guardian of the family institution.
 
6. Controlled Mass Media - Sometimes the media is directly controlled
by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly
controlled by government regulation, or sympathetic media
spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in war time, is
very common.
 
7. Obsession with National Security - Fear is used as a motivational
tool by the government over the masses.
 
8. Religion and Government are Intertwined - Governments in
fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation
as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and
terminology is common from government leaders, even when the
major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the
government's policies or actions.
 
9. Corporate Power is Protected - The industrial and business
aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the
government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial
business/government relationship and power elite.
 
10. Labor Power is Suppressed - Because the organizing power
of labor is the only real threat to a fascist government, labor unions
are either eliminated entirely or are severely suppressed.
 
11. Disdain for Intellectuals and the Arts - Fascist nations tend to
promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education and
academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics
to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts and
letters is openly attacked.
 
12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment - Under fascist regimes,
the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The
people are often willing to overlook police abuses and even forego
civil liberties in the name of patriotism. There is often a national
police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations.
 
13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption - Fascist regimes almost
always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint
each other to government positions and use governmental power
and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not
uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even
treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government
leaders.
 
14. Fraudulent Elections - Sometimes elections in fascist nations
are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by
smear campaigns against or even assassination of opposition
candidates, use of legislation to control voting numbers or political
district boundaries, and manipulation of the media. Fascist nations
also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections.

Boxer's Rebellion

Did anyone catch Sen. Barbara Boxer's righteous
performance during the Rice confirmation hearing? Would
that others had her courage and forthrightness.
For the official record, Dr. Rice was confirmed 16-2.
But Sen. Boxer called out the good doctor and held her
accountable, and the poor thing was so flustered
she huffily stated something to the effect of, "Senator,
I wish we could do this without your impugning my integrity."

Ha! Integrity. That's a good one. Oh, I'm sorry, was
that a mushroom cloud I just saw?

Things I Like Vol. 9

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) Alero Mexican Restaurant, Washington DC
2) DC Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton
3) Martin Luther King, a hero for the ages
4) Code Pink - Women for Peace
5) Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning
6) "Unforgiveable Blackness" - documentary
dir. by Ken Burns
7) Steve Earle
8) "David Ruffin" - unreleased song by Marah
9) Rock Creek Park, Washington DC
10) "Democracy Now" - program on Pacifica Radio Network



Hero of the Week: Howard Dean, for daring to propose
much-needed changes to the Democratic Party's agenda

Villain of the Week: White House spokesman Dan Bartlett, the public
apologist for the Bush Administration

In Memory of Martin

It's a tough time to be an American, and an even tougher time
if you live in the Nation's Capital. At present, we here in the
District are battening the hatches in preparation for the Bush
Inaugural, a display of gross overspending, arrogant
disingenuousness and monster egos the likes of which this town
has never seen. (And we've see a lot of this type of thing.)
Spending vast sums on this extravagance when American troops
are being maimed and killed in Iraq is distasteful enough, but
to do this when thousands upon thousands have been killed,
injured, or displaced by the recent South Asian tsunamis--well
it is just unspeakable.

Martin Luther King, whose birthday is today, said it best:

"I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down, men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive goodwill will proclaim the rule of the land."
---Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech, December 10, 1964


To honor Martin's spirit, let us live our lives in the service of
peace and justice.

Things I Like Vol. 8

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) fireplaces with big crackling fires
2) text messaging
3) friends who are there when you need them
4) No Depression magazine
5) EZ-Pass
6) Marah live at the Marage, 11/26/04
7) Miracle on 34th St. - yeah, I know Christmas is over
8) Turner Classic Movies network
9) Mrs. Miniver - film dir. by William Wyler
10) "Oh My Sweet Carolina" - Ryan Adams - possibly the best
song about missing home and family ever

Hero of the Week:
-(tie) Sen. Barbara Boxer (D-CA) and Rep. Stephanie Tubbs Jones (D-OH) - for standing up and speaking truth to power

Villain of the Week:
-Arturo Gonzales - possibly the scariest person ever to be
nominated for a presidential cabinet

Things I Like Vol. 7

Ten People/Places/Things, etc. That Rock My World

1) The sound of my nephews' voices at play
2) The sound of my cat purring
3) A smile from someone I love
4) black nail polish
5) Neil Young - "Heart of Gold" & "Like a Hurricane"
6) Waking up with the sun on my face
7) The Impossible Will Take a Little While - book edited by Paul R. Loeb
8) "Let America Be America Again" - poem by Langston Hughes
9) shots of Patron with friends
10) New Year's Eve, NYC

Hero of the Week:

my friend L., who has stopped drinking and made it through
the whole holiday season sober


Villain of the Week:

my mother-in-law, quite possibly a very mean person