tari rocks

Lessons in Limitations, or What I Learned From Wet Birks

2011-08-09T16:52:00.003-05:00

So, yesterday just at quitting time, the skies in Chicago opened up and poured down rain for the evening. My cursory check of the forecast in the morning had not revealed any chance of rain, so I was unprepared - no umbrella, and my customary Birkenstocks instead of a sensible, closed shoe.

There are few things in life I dislike more, in terms of physical comfort, than walking in wet sandals. I'm klutzy on dry ground with bare feet, let alone wet pavement in soggy flip flops...and I have a long history of skinned knees and bruised shins and scraped hands to prove it. So, as a rule, when it's raining, I like a nice closed shoe that keeps my foot dry and offers a little more stability than a wide-open sandal that doesn't even buckle on.

But yesterday I pretty much had no choice. Walking, in the rain, in wide-open sandals.

I was a little prepared for how slippery the whole affair would become, so I went very, very slowly. In fact, I went so slowly, I found the whole thing sort of meditative. I had time to consider what this experience might have to teach me.
It was frustrating, because moving slowly meant I was getting rained on pretty fiercely, and that's no fun. But, I mused as I plodded sloshily along, better wet clothes and hair than a slip and fall and scrape or bruise or crack or wound.

And, yeah, that's kind of a good metaphor for me right now. I get frustrated with myself and how I work since Nervously Breaking Down last year, but the reality I'm faced with is that the pace of my life before that was toxic for me, and I can't expect to go back to that toxic pace and those toxic habits without expecting that I'll also go back to having panic attacks every day and un-fun bouts of depression. I am frustrated that I still have limited energy for my social life, that work takes so much out of me (and must, what with the whole need for a paycheck and all), that music is next on the list and takes its pound of flesh, that my commitments to re-connecting with my family in the hinterland and to my closest friends here in Chicago is next on the list, and then whatever's leftover is for everything else I care about in my whole freakin' life.

But, the fact is that I have limited time and energy, and running myself ragged or trying to squish a bazillion things into every minute will not somehow give me more time or energy. I can either plod along slowly and carefully, and get where I want eventually, if a little wet...or I can push-push-push and hurry and wind up slipping and falling and hurting.

Not much of a choice, when you really look at it.

Shitty economy? Not exactly hypothetical.

2011-06-28T09:00:00.000-05:00

The economy sucks. I've seen I dunno how many posts and articles and graphs showing how much it sucks, no matter what Washington or Wall Street might want to tell themselves and the rest of us.

The housing crisis? Still crisis-a-licious.

Unemployment? Still sky high. (And then there's the "speedup".)

...and so on and so forth. There's plenty of information out there.

The numbers are irrefutable and stomach-turning for me, and all things considered, I am incredibly lucky - I still have a job, I still have health insurance, I still have time before retirement for my 401k to bounce back, and I even have a small pension that took less of a hit than my 401k. But, even for me, a single woman who doesn't own a home or carry any debt, this shit is not hypothetical: the awful economy has been like a repeated punch to the gut. What does it say about the horrible-ness of it if someone like me, who ought to be relatively insulated from the crisis, is still feeling it significantly?

What do I mean, though? How has it hit me?

Well, first, let's talk about the fact that I work for a big multi-national corporation. In the past five years, we've paid cash to acquire two other companies and sponsored one of the world's most popular sports franchises to the tune of $20 million. Every quarter, our shareholder return grows. This year, my CEO got $6 million in bonuses alone. Meanwhile, hundreds of jobs here in the U.S. were eliminated and then replaced by offshoring operations in India and Mexico. That small pension, which should've been growing more every year, was frozen last year. My health benefits decreased, my deductibles increased. My salary, unlike shareholder returns, didn't increase enough to keep up with cost of living increases. On my little six person team, two of us have taken leaves of absence for major health reasons. I'm pretty sure all of us have been on anti-depressants and/or anti-anxiety meds at some point, and we're all working harder than we ever have, trying to keep up with expanding workloads and decreasing support. We're using outdated hardware and software that further challenge our efficiency, and management has become more and more draconian, because we're all supposed to be so grateful to even have jobs anymore.

So, yeah, I am luckier than a lot of people have been in this recession. I still have a job. But it's becoming less of a blessing every day, and I don't see much of a chance that trend will change anytime soon. I'm still holding on, but I'm not sure how much longer I'll still be able to say that.

"Conscious tending to well being."

2011-06-27T15:10:00.001-05:00

I had a hermity weekend last weekend. The previous two had been spent away from home, so this was a bit of catch-up on housework and downtime. I’m being pretty careful about giving myself plenty of downtime these days, having recently recognized just how very toxic notable parts of my life are….and since they can’t quite be jettisoned just yet, I’m walking a very fine line in trying to balance the burdens they create in me.

(It turns out that spending 40+ hours a week in an establishment that is a poster child for everything that’s wrong with capitalism, corporate greed, and patriarchy…..um, reallyreallyreally sucks. If you can imagine.)

So, yeah, I’m being super gentle with myself, since I’ve decided to carry on with the corporate day job for now.

Saturday morning, I tried a few new yoga routines. I have one I cobbled together that I’ve been working for years, but sometimes I like to see what other poses and techniques might be out there. During one of the routines, the lady running it was really explicit about keeping poses comfortable and making adjustments as needed for the yogi’s particular body. She kept coming back to that in each pose, talking about “conscious tending to well being.”

Boy did that phrase strike a chord with me. It’s become my whole modus operandi these days, trying to always be conscious of where I am and what my needs are – and then to actually make those needs priority enough to take care of them properly. This seems like a no-brainer, but I have found it pretty challenging in surprising ways. Like…I am so very tired, but rather than sleep, I can always come up with something else to do – some book to read or list to write, some show to watch or chore to take care of. Or I’m super thirsty, but can’t get a drink till I take care of just this one thing. It’s fucking stupid, and it pisses me off when I see myself doing it…but these are patterns I’ve spent my whole life creating, and they’re not going away without a fight. So, you know, I walk that fine line…compassion, gentleness, comfort….and pushing, stretching, shifting.

Sometimes my life feels like a yoga pose, like I’m balanced in downward facing dog, feeling the stretch in my hamstrings and calves, balancing on my arms, feeling my spine opening and stretching, breathing and holding and pushing just that tiny fraction further into the pose, and breathing and holding again.

33 and all's (mostly) well.

2011-05-12T14:41:00.000-05:00

I’m 33 today.

Birthdays, like the turning of the calendar at the new year, are a big deal to me….I like marking time as it passes. I think I find the scale of it, the acknowledgement of my life in a temporal context, comforting somehow. Or alternately, on days when I’m feeling inadequate and insignificant, alarming.

I’m at an interesting juncture in my life – both more at peace with who I am and how I move through the world…and more certain that some things in my life are in need of significant shifts. The past year has brought me down a rough road, but one that I believe eventually leads me to a more authentic, more honest place that’s more in line with my values. I think that’s the big lesson I get every year – the more I learn about me, the less interested I am in trying to meet someone else’s standards, the more bullshit “rules” from society or assumptions I’ve made about what I was “supposed” to do or be I reject utterly in favor of letting my choices come from my internal compass…and my definition of that internal compass gets clearer and clearer.

Unlike the ideas I had when I was a kid, watching my dad navigate a complicated divorce with grace and aplomb at this same age, my current beliefs about “growing up” take into account the fact that I’m probably not going to ever “get my shit together,” let alone really understand what that means in the first place. I feel good about resigning myself to being mostly uncertain about a lot of things. C’est la vie.

So. At 33, I know that I don’t know much, but I’m really interested in learning more. I know that I’m fucking fabulous and probably only going to get cooler. I know that I’ve been blessed with some wonderful gifts and the resources to more or less successfully weather some pretty shitty stuff. I know that I am lucky enough to have a family that – even at its most dysfunctional – loves me very much, and am further honored to call a tremendous roster of truly amazing people friends.

To everyone who’s taken a moment out of their day to wish me happy birthday, my deepest thanks. I have guarded my time and energy so jealously over the past year (even more than usual), and I truly recognize the gift it is to share that moment with someone. I am so grateful for each and every person who took that effort on my account. Between now and my next birthday, I hope that I can find more energy to return the favor, in gratitude for everyone who’s made a little room for me in their thoughts and their lives.

One of these things is not like the others.

2011-04-11T13:58:00.003-05:00

"We have to renew people’s faith in the promise of this country together: business & government, workers & CEOs, Democrats & Republicans."

- President Obama, via Twitter in February.

I believe that Barack Obama is an idealist. I buy that, on some level, he really, genuinely, whole-heartedly means what he says when he says shit like the tweet above. I think he thinks that all those disparate forces can really come together at a picnic table at the White House and drink beer together, or something.

I also think he's smart enough to know, on some other level, that he's totally full of horseshit. I said it before, I'll say it again: he's a Chicago politician, not some fresh-faced yokel just off the turnip truck. I think he knows what political realities are at play in Washington and elsewhere, and I think he makes the compromises he has to in order to act upon his priorities.

But in that statement above, one of those disparate forces stands out to me: workers. The rest of them - CEOs, business, government, Democrats, and Republicans - these are all powerful groups of people with deep coffers and plenty of access to decision-makers and policy-makers. All of these groups are doing just fine, making money and profit and doing each other favor after favor. CEOs and Big Business (which are really effectively the same damn thing) basically give campaign money and kickbacks and freebies to Democrats and Republicans (who pretty much are government); in exchange, government gives Big Business tax cuts and favorable legislation (health care "reform" and globalization and farm subsidies, etc.).

Workers on the other hand? Get nothing but screwed. I am starting to wonder if the president really has the good of the common person at heart....because his actions leave a lot of room for question there.

Groceries v. Debt

2011-04-11T12:45:00.004-05:00

While I was spring cleaning (and prepping for a landlord visit with a plumber) over the weekend, I set my Roku to the Newscaster channel and watched hour after hour of traditional Sunday political shows. It was nice to see David Gregory (who’s no effing Tim Russert, more’s the pity) actually push both sides and not just pander to the right (which he’s always seemed to me to do). I also stumbled into the delightful Candy Crowley, whose “State of the Union” hour easily became my new fave Sunday show when I watched her quiz Trump on the birther thing (and WOW is he off the effing grid on that!), plus she grilled Tony Blair about Israel & Palestine, and I like that a bunch.

I haven’t been a regular Sunday show watcher since Tim Russert passed, broadcast TV went digital, and I switched to Roku. Of course, not long after, I started pulling back from politics to focus on my own personal shit, and I’m only just now really starting to get back into the thick of it. Frankly, I can’t think of a better time to dive back into politics. I don’t know that there’s been a moment in my lifetime where the stakes were so clear and the battle lines so starkly drawn. Watching a concerted effort by Republicans of all stripes (not just the far-right fringey tea party folks!) to undermine women’s healthcare, social programs (and I swear, if I hear one more jackhole call them “entitlements” my head may ‘splode), unions, and all the other protections that make this the land of opportunity? It sickens me, and it makes me want to scream from the top of a building about the injustice and the bullshit.

People need to know this stuff, and so many who're directly affected by these policy decisions don’t. I understand why that is...it’s so hard to stay engaged when it’s so thankless, when the news is rarely actually good (sometimes it’s not horrifying, but that’s not much of a standard), when the leader of the fucking free world is AWOL while the core values of his party (and the essence of what we stand for as a country) are attacked and eroded.

It’s been awhile since I yelled at my TV because some ass said something totally fucking ridiculous. Like, say, anything that came out of Paul Ryan’s mouth. Anything at all. Or, when the goddamn president lauds a shitty budget deal where more and more people are more and more screwed - unless they happen to be rich and totally fucking okay anyway.

What frustrated me beyond belief, though, was the constant talk about “debt reduction” and the fucking budget deficit, as if those are the most important things on our national agenda right now. I didn't see a single economist, pundit, or wonk pointing out how debt reduction isn’t something you do when you’ve got sky high unemployment and an economy that – despite the recovery being felt by Big Business and the upper one percent – is still trying to dig down to whatever’s underneath rock bottom. Debt reduction is something you do when you have basic needs met, when you have a working infrastructure and average salaries that are keeping pace with the cost of living, when the middle class is growing and not shrinking.

To break it down in really simple terms, it’s pretty fucking stupid to pay down your credit cards instead of buying groceries or medicine. And by short-changing recovery efforts in the form of unemployment extensions and Medicare and Medicaid and Social Security and tax increases for the people who aren’t drowning, that’s exactly what our government is doing. I mean, yes, ideally we would be able to fund a social safety net *and* pay down our debt (which, incidentally, is the kind of thing you do with a big ol’ surplus, like, say the one Dubya was handed after he stole the election and then proceeded to squander instantly with tax cuts and invading other countries). We're not living in an ideal situation right now, and before we start doing some credit repair thing, we need to make sure people aren't sick or starving first. THEN we can get all fancypants worried about our goddamned credit score for when we buy a house in five years.

If you’re not reading Nobel Prize winner Paul Krugman, I highly recommend. He’s one of the few people talking sense these days, and just seeing that someone else sees things as they are, not as it’s more profitable for them to be….well, it helps keep my head from ‘sploding.

Love of My Life.

2011-02-14T12:44:00.004-06:00

On this day of widespread cultural propagation of bullshit stereotypes and false boundaries related to love and romance, I sometimes find myself frustrated (if you can imagine). As a non-partnered person, the pressure to couple up can be a bit stifling, especially since even my wee black heart has internalized some of those mythologies...plus, the truth is that I would actually like to build a stable long term partnership someday, and that's been a stalled process lately, what with my own mental/emotional fragility.

I know, however, that I am surrounded by love - family and friends, for starters. Today, though, I want to talk about my soulmate. Because if love is that thing that brings you to your best, highest, transcendant self....then music is my soulmate.

I remember with startling clarity the first time I got an inkling of how important music was to me. It was a winter day, and my mom, my brother, my sister, and I were on the highway to the university where my mom needed to hit the computer lab to do some homework. We were in the pea green Chevy Nova my mom drove at the time; I remember the snow-covered fields of semi-rural Michigan rolling past outside the windows. I had scored the front seat, and I was singing a very silly song I had just learned in music class (this one, if you're interested). I loved the song, and I loved singing it.

My mom, however, did not share my love of me singing it. The words - and I'll never, ever forget them - she used were: "couldn't carry a tune in a bushel basket." Those words hit me in a pretty squishy place, as if they were trying to suck out a piece of my soul.

Many years later, after spending most of the intervening years learning how to sing properly and making music one of the best and happiest parts of my life, I tried to give it up. I went to college to be an engineer, and between classes and homework and two work study jobs to pay for what my scholarships didn't cover, I didn't have time for music of any kind, let alone the time and energy it takes to rehearse, perform, or otherwise create music. This was before the days of constant iPod companionship, so I didn't even listen to much music...the best I could do for music was VH1 on my tiny black and white TV in my dorm room, or my equally diminutive tape collection, courtesy of a brief Columbia House memebership. (Ye gods, how old AM I??)

There were a lot of things that contributed to my eventually dropping out of college...but the biggest qualitative difference? Music. After I dropped out, I bought my first guitar and started teaching myself to play it. I studied different styles of singing and performing (to expand my choral/classical background), and I took the first baby steps toward what I would eventually consider to be the closest thing to a life purpose I can imagine for myself.

The first time I ever played a song I wrote in public, it was a revelation. I'd been performing in various kinds of shows since I was a little kid, but to perform something that - start to finish - came out of me....was so much more intense - and it felt so completely right and natural, in a way very few things in my life ever have.

Often when I am playing (whether for an audience or not), I lose myself completely in what I'm doing. I used to call it "stage blackout," but I think it's actually something like a peak experience. I think of it as being so present with what I'm doing that the internal running commentary, whatever it is that catalogues my activities for future review, stops working. The downside is that I don't really have clear memories of my some of my performances, but the upside is that nothing makes me feel more wholly myself, more completely where I am "supposed to be" doing what I'm "supposed to do" than making music.

There's an ad campaign for Breedlove guitars (which are, incidentally, fucking gorgeous) that says "Who says your soulmate has to be a man or a woman?" and sometimes I really get that. I've had feelings for people before, and likely will again; maybe someday I'll find a partnership that works for me in the long term, though that's not something I can plan for. Music, though, is always there, and always takes what I give and returns it many times over. And that, to me, is real love.

Darkness, Darkness...

2011-02-01T12:02:00.007-06:00

Darkness, Darkness, be my pillow
Take my head and let me sleep
In the coolness of your shadow
In the silence of your deep

You know that scene in "Good Will Hunting" where Robin Williams' character tells Matt Damon's character it's not his fault? And Will has this gut-wrenching sobbing breakdown?

It wrecks me, every time. Just thinking about it right now, I'm all teared up. Despite cultural narratives about bootstraps and the inherent moral superiority of this or that "kind" of person...life just isn't fair, and people who are overflowing with virtues and have done nothing to deserve a karmic ass-whooping and who spend their time trying to make the world a better place often get sucker-punched by the Universe. It's not their fault.

It's not my fault.

Darkness, darkness, hide my yearning
For the things I cannot see
Keep my mind from constant turning
To the things I cannot be

When I was a little kid, my dad used to talk about "starving kids in Africa," as a way to remind me that my life was really all right and whatever I was whining about was, in the grand scheme of things, not that serious.

That is totally true. On a global scale, there are people whose suffering dwarfs mine, who deal with horrors on a daily basis that I will never encounter or experience. By virtue of circumstance, I have a whole litany of privileges that make my life easier in ways I don't even know about ('cause that's how privilege works!). No matter how rough my life gets, there are probably a billionty people who'd trade me in a heartbeat. Objectively speaking, I'm very lucky.

The problem is that life is not lived objectively. I carry around all this cognitive dissonance, essentially frustrated with myself for feeling hurt or sad or angry about what's going on in my life...because it could be worse. I won't let myself really, truly get angry or sad or hurt, because I ought to be cool with it, I ought to be grateful for the blessings in my life, I ought to be able to access cool reason and logic and keep it all in proper perspective.

Just because things could be worse, though, doesn't mean that they aren't awful. Right now, I'm working very hard on figuring out how to keep things in a global context without trivializing my pain. I've been trained so well to disregard my own feelings that this has become a pretty challenging endeavor.

Darkness, darkness, be my blanket
cover me with the endless night
Take away the pain of knowing
fill the emptiness with light

Sometimes I wish people really did have stuff tattooed on their foreheads, like "abuse survivor" or "clinically depressed" or "born with six fingers" or "writes horrid poetry" or "wants dad's approval and never gets it" or "in physical pain every day" or whatever.

I think it would be enlightening and equalizing to see how every single person had a whole bunch of tattoos on their forehead. If we were faced with the undeniable fact that merely being human meant dealing with these sorts of complexities, might we be kinder or more compassionate to each other? Could we ditch secrecy and shame and fear? Would it be so easy to perpetuate stigma and oppression?

Don't get me wrong, we'd find a way. Humanity is talented like that.

Darkness, darkness, long and lonesome
Is the day that brings me here
I have felt the edge of sadness
I have known the depths of fear

I thought I had learned long ago that if I didn't give myself what I wanted, nobody else would. I've always been good about giving myself opportunities for art and travel and music, for experiences and beautiful things I enjoyed. It's why I put time and money into my home, why I invested in my wardrobe and experimented on my hair. I firmly believe that doing that stuff for myself is a gift that nobody but me can give, and that's important.

On the other hand, though, I have started to see how there are so many ways I completely disregard what I really want. It's like I indulge my superficial, material needs and wants, but let the visceral ones be completely overrun. It almost scares me to see how little I have cared about myself in really vital ways.

Is it even possible I could have a self esteem problem? Maybe. Ugh.

Darkness, darkness, be my blanket
Cover me with the endless night
Take away this pain of knowing
Fill this emptiness with light

There's a reservoir of purified rage that's been simmering down in the depths of my wee black heart for most of my life. It's tinged with despair and loneliness and fear, and sometimes it screams about how unfair life is. Mostly, I keep it bottled up and silent, but I've been trying to pop the cork recently, in hopes that it won't always live under everything I say or do....because right now, I'm pretty sure it does.

Lyrics from "Darkness, Darkness" by Jesse Colin Young.

Thoughts on Ethical Meat, Vegetarianism, and Saving the Planet.

2011-01-21T16:59:00.004-06:00

I'm in a crap place these days...my grandfather passed away on January 10, and that's shaken me up pretty well. Other stuff is going on, too - some good, some challenging....but all of it is leaving me pretty low. I keep trying to write about it, but I just get so tired of feeling like all I ever do is whine and bitch, so I never post anything. At some point, I imagine I will, but for now, it's easier to ramble on about something else. Feelings are confusing and frustrating; green activism, particularly food activism, is less so - and what does that tell you about the shit in my head, eh??

So, TreeHugger asked the question "Is Eating Meat the Best Way to Fight Factory Farms?" The various conversations around this topic bring in a lot of perspectives, because this is an incredibly complicated question to ask. Personally, though, I think even that complicated question is an oversimplification. Let me explain.

First off, there are two major reasons to oppose CAFOs (which I'm separating from factory farming, because factory farming also includes non-meat crop farming...which is awful, too) and consider going veggie: either for what I'll call Compassionate Reasons or Environmental Reasons. (I am choosing to ignore religious/spiritual reasons, even though there's some overlap, just for the purpose of keeping this relatively quick.)

If you're doing the compassion thing, the major concern is usually animal cruelty: animals in CAFOs live pretty awful lives. Overcrowded into standing-room-only cages and pens, fighting with their brethren for food and water and space. Poultry birds are debeaked so they can't peck each other. Excrement fumes and dust are inhaled by the animals with every breath, requiring prophylactic antibiotics to prevent illness. Some animals never see sunshine, or eat anything approaching an actual plant. And all of that's not even looking at how factory farmed animals are slaughtered....to put it mildly, it's not done kindly. (And, as someone who grew up seeing livestock and wild game slaughtered, I believe it can indeed be done kindly and ethically.)

If those are the reasons someone opposes factory farms, then eating grass-fed/small farm/ethically-raised-and-slaughtered meat is a much better option (though it's been my experience that many of these folks just oppose eating animals in general), since the animals usually have less horrible lives that end with much less misery. So, yeah, if your goal is to put CAFOs out of the business of torturing animals for us to eat....then yeah, eating meat from small farms with ethical agricultural practices is a good way to vote with your dollars - it more directly gives huge corporate meat producers a profit incentive to change their ways. If you stop eating meat altogether, they may not even notice; if you give their competition a bump, they're more likely to see it and maybe consider trying to get your money.

The other major reason for opposing CAFOs is the environmental one. CAFOs, in addition to all the awful crap already mentioned, also wreak total havoc on the environment. I don't just mean the shit lagoons that stink up the neighborhood and necessitate all that over-medicating the livestock....I'm talking about soil and groundwater contamination (not only with poo and bacteria, but also with those antibiotics I mentioned), I'm talking about waterways flooded with waste, I'm talking about massive fish kills, I'm talking about huge amounts of methane and carbon dioxide produced en masse by confined livestock. Beyond that, CAFOs are an integral part of the overall factory farm system, driven by petrochemically-supported monocrop operations that produce bumper crops of corn and soy that have to go somewhere....like, say, the mouths of food animals in CAFOs. The system as a whole is a major contributor to greenhouse gases, the oil industry via petrochemical fertilizers and pesticides, and climate change overall.

If those are someone's reasons for opposing CAFOs, then it's still true that eating ethically produced meat would be a good step to take. The mechanics of a CAFO are not such an issue for small farms, since the volume of waste is significantly smaller.

However, both of these perspectives miss a bigger issue: even ethically produced meat can be problematic, environmentally speaking. The bottom line is that meat - regardless of how it's produced - requires more resources than plants do. More water, more time, more energy....and if you're trying to find the most environmentally conscious way of eating, meat is likely to be a small part of it, simply because eating vegetarian has the smallest footprint. Even if you don't "eat local," a vegetarian diet uses less water and less oil, and produces fewer greenhouse gases and other pollutants.

Also, as it becomes clear that global hunger is definitely going to be a huge issue (hello, food riots), the plain fact is that feeding food plants to animals instead of hungry people...is not exactly groovy. (Ditto putting food plants into gas tanks, ethanol!) If people ate less meat, that would mean fewer crops would go to feed livestock, meaning they could be shifted towards solving that hunger crisis thing.

So...if the point is to stop CAFOs, yeah, I guess eating ethical meat could be more helpful than skipping meat entirely. But if we think just a smidge bigger, to the overall global environemtal and sociopolitical issues that loom large now and will only become more and more critical, the truth is that eating less meat overall - if not going totally vegetarian - is the best choice for the health of the planet.

Of course, that's on a broad, global scale, and the other truth is that there are tons of complicating factors of economics, physical and mental health, etc. that make it tricky for lots of people to go veggie, even if they wanted to. As in most things, there is no such thing as One Size Fits All.

Thoughts on Making Music: The Art of Craft, and Snobbery

2010-10-14T16:38:00.000-05:00

This is long and rambly and less cogent than I would like. But I'm tired, and I want to express my opinion, finish my late lunch, take a sleeping pill, and go to bed....so mmmmmmfuckit, I'm posting away. Like it or not, people!

I recently came across a couple unrelated pieces of commentary from sources I respect, lamenting various aspects of the State of Music Today. Technology has progressed so much that any-ol'-body with a laptop can crank out a record. Our new-thing-is-the-new-old-thing consumerist flavor-of-the-moment culture pressures musicians to make lots and lots and lots of music all the time. A new album every year! Plus bonus content! And website freebies in between! Plus live cuts! Plus design tee shirts! Plus tweet and Facebook and cross-promote and network and street team and yada yada yada.

And all of this is why we have so little truly good music, with the staying power to be listened to for decades versus days. We have quantity, but very little quality.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I know there's a lot of crap music being foisted on the unsuspecting masses. I've been making my own music for a decade, and I have seen performers who couldn't carry a tune, strum a chord, or string together a coherent lyric...and somehow still manage to assemble the nerve to get up in front of an audience and do their thing. (I will try not get into the sidebar discussions about the subjective nature of taste - I mean, I love bagpipes - or the capriciousness of musical success - which I firmly believe is 5% talent, 10% work, and 85% pure luck.)

I've also spent a fair amount of time combing through various sources in search of new music for my own listening enjoyment - particularly places like garageband.com (now defunct), Amie Street (now defunct), and the old mp3.com (also now defunct), where indie musicians could share their material without paying through the nose. I have listened to a lot of random tunes over the years, and I have found some really amazing stuff....but I've stumbled onto way more mediocre-to-awful stuff.

So, yes. Point taken that the instant nature of the internet and the relative availability of the means to produce and distribute music have made a lot more crap a lot more easily available to a lot more people on a lot shorter timeline. A profit-driven music industry has encouraged this because more new music means more money to be made, especially if the big labels aren't shilling out on the front end. Toss on top of it a music blogging scene that puts every blogger on the hunt for a fresh discovery and the ego stroke that comes of finding that ever-elusive needle in an ever-growing haystack? Well, it's not exactly an environment that rewards musicians willing to study, hone their craft, and lavish extensive time on creating music - especially not the kind of music that is universal and classic and stands the test of time (which, for purposes of this ramble, we're going to use as the definition of Great Music).

But the world of music is not so small that there isn't room for diversity in more than just genre. I mean, I think Van Gogh's Starry Night is the most beautiful painting I have ever seen with my own eyes. It stole my breath and left me in tears, and seeing it was one of the most vivid experiences of my life. In my apartment, though, I have a piece of glass artwork, carved in a damask pattern in black and silver, made by a local artisan. Is it as beautiful as Starry Night? No. Does it make me cry when I see it hanging on the wall every day? No. Does it have less value in my life? Tough call....but I know that I like it enough to display it in my home, and that has worth. There's room for lots of different types of art and beauty, and they are all valuable in their different ways....and the same is true for music.

Which is my way of saying there's room for one-hit-wonders and cheesy pop songs and mediocre bubblegum. A songwriter friend of mine used to tell herself, whenever she was feeling like her lyrics weren't meaningful or elegant enough, "She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah." I mean, even Lennon & McCartney didn't write nothing but "Yesterday." Hell, my fave songwriter of all time wrote both "Time in a Bottle" *and* "Rapid Roy, the Stock Car Boy." A songwriter's catalog is likely to be as diverse as their experience....which, you know, goes for music in general, as well. Art, life, yada yada.

There's a kind of snobbery that I see in a lot of this sort of conversation about the arts, and often it comes down to the idea that, essentially, there's "good" and "bad" art. There's art that has value (the Mona Lisa! Swan Lake! Kandinsky! Shakespeare! art house flicks! Beethoven! etc.), and art that is...disposable? Less meaningful? Lower brow? (Dogs Playing Poker, comic books, Britney Spears, stand up comedy, romance novels, boy bands, action films, etc.)

I know this snobbery exists because I fight the inclination in myself, particularly when someone mentions singing karaoke. But I recognize that that's my ego talking. I want to feel superior because I've put in time and effort in service of my art. I want to feel like I've somehow earned superiority. And that is total crap.

Art is subjective, in both the creation and consumption. There is no One True Way to make music (or any other art), any more than there is only One True Kind of music to enjoy. The beauty of this diversity lies not only in the way people can sift through the maelstrom to find the creations that speak to them in the voice they want to hear....but also in the way different processes of creation can develop. Some artists need or prefer or have the *luxury* of hiding in a cabin for two years creating their masterwork...and some take whatever demo their manager hands them and spend twenty minutes pouring it into a microphone to be Auto-Tuned and compressed into submission in the mix. Much as I'm sure my own personal biases show in the way I phrased that...I don't believe that one of these is a more valid way to make art, or yields music that is inherently more worthy than the other.

One of my least favorite aspects of this bullshit hierarchy is the concept of a guilty pleasure. You know, stuff you really like, but don't want to admit to liking because some invisible authority looks down on it for some reason. Anybody who's seen me roll my eyes at the slickly over-produced electronically-augmented "perfection" of Glee knows that I sometimes instinctively buy into that invisible authority myself....but since I have paid money for music by Hanson, the Spice Girls, Garth Brooks, Debbie Gibson, Chumbawumba, and the Black Eyed Peas, I'm not sure why I have it in for the latest incarnation of Pop Music Goodness. Obviously there are times when slick and overproduced don't bother me at all. (Say it with me: taste is subjective.)

When I play out, I tend to get a lot of positive feedback. My singing, in particular, tends to garner me a lot of compliments, and one of the things I tell people is that a lot of my vocal skill is the result of training. "Anyone could do it," I say, "if they spent ten years learning how." I really do believe that is true, but I'll tell you what I believe that is more important: I think people should feel free to sing even if they haven't studied it for ten years. I think people should feel free to make music even if they can't carry a tune, strum a chord, or string together a coherent lyric. I think making music is a birthright of the human race, and that anybody should make it if they feel like it, regardless of whether they're "good" at it, or if the music they make appeals to anyone else. I think that music, whether I actually like it or not, is just as valid and valuable and worthy as the music I make.

Furthermore, it's this bullshit hierarchy, this idea that there's "good" and "bad" art, that keeps so many people from expressing their creativity. It keeps art of all kinds from being considered as vital to education as math or science or geography or language. It keeps people from trying, from taking creative risks, from exploring the full extent of their own potential as human beings.

There is value in studying a craft and learning from what others have done. There is also value in following inspiration, regardless of precedent. Excluding either diminishes the whole.

Case in point: any asshole can write a blog.

It's like a sampler pack of actual blogging.

2010-10-09T20:44:00.003-05:00

I was watching this movie, part of which involves this group of folks hacking their way through a jungle. It's one of those romantic travel movies where some kid from the suburbs randomly falls into global adventures, and where it's never explained how he manages to pay to get from point A to point B or, you know, beer and food. This film was an alright example of the genre, which I have an incredible soft spot for. I sometimes feel like the older I get, the more boring my life becomes. I mean, most of my ridiculous stories involving crazy shenanigans come from damn near a decade ago.

Anyway. This film tweaked my Macchu Picchu lust something fierce, but also made me laugh at myself when they showed this kid wielding a machete all day on his first day, no gloves, no nothing. The color commentary voice in my head was all, "What? That guy would be crying 'cause of all his blisters." My next thought was, "Well, Follett, when have *you* hacked your way through a jungle? How do you know?" And then the one right after that was, "Well, except for that one day you worked as a Christmas Tree trimmer and spent all day hacking at pine trees with a machete, and were crying 'cause of all the blisters you got 'cause you didn't wear gloves."

After which I drove a 4x4 down a mudslide. True story! I was an idiot when I was younger.

=======================================

I've been off work for awhile, trying to recover from a nervous breakdown - specifically, a pretty fierce panic disorder. I tried to handle it in bits and bobs, and it just got to a point where I couldn't take it. The good news is that my treatment team (yeah, I have a team) is awesome, and things are improving, though not exactly "better," whatever that means. I'm down to an average of only one panic attack a week, which is a huge improvement. Of course, the idea is to get rid of the dang things entirely.

I comfort myself with the fact that the litany of bullshit that has landed on my doorstep over the past few years (both through my own jackass choices and through the blind nature of life being rough all over), when compressed into a twenty minute recap, has been shown to drop the jaws of professionals. So, you know, I guess I have some stuff to be legitimately stressed and depressed over.

I vacillate back and forth over whether to be really transparent about what I'm going through, in the hopes that it will help break down some of the ridiculous stigma associated with these kinds of mental health conditions (not to mention save me awkward explanations down the road)....or whether it's too much work to try to express my experience effectively. Plus, I always have a vague worry that I contribute nothing but whining to the internet...then again, what is the internet for? Besides porn, obviously.

I still haven't exactly decided one way or another....so in the meantime, I'm just posting what I feel like and that's that. I go to therapy, I do a lot of yoga, I read about anxiety disorders (self help books, woo hoo!). I play my guitar a whole bunch. It's been hard to write much, my brain has been so scrambled and restless....but that's starting to be easier again. I take naps, I take walks, and I spend a lot of time thinking and processing my feelings. Sometimes I have rough days where I can't talk to anyone or do anything without feeling like I'm the Universe's Emotional Punching Bag.

It seems like this much time off work ought to be more fun.

=======================================

I picked up Rob Brezsny's Pronoia the other day, for the first time in yonks. Since my wordy brain is starting to come back, I though it would be nice to try that book, as an alternative to the whole twelve-step way of doing things (and put a pin in *that* for later). I flipped to a section at random, and read:

Teach them the difference between oppressive self-control and liberating self-control. Awaken in them the power to do the half-right thing when it is impossible to do the totally right thing.

It was good to read that, and I am reminded how much I dig Brezsny. I totally recommend that book if you're of a spiritual bent, particularly if you like your reverence significantly irreverent.

=======================================

So, at my therapist's recommendation, I went to a handful of different Al-Anon meetings. (I know I'm blowing the Anon part by talking about it, but here's me not caring.) The short version is they didn't really work for me. And I'll tell you why!

I hadn't ever read the twelve steps before going to a meeting, and when I did, I was really shocked. I didn't love the religious overtones (especially when 3/4 of the meetings I went to were in churches), but I could actually handle the Higher Power bit alright.

It was the idea of powerlessness that rubbed my fur the wrong way. I mean, I've been powerless. I know what that is, and maybe it's one of my issues, but I am not interested in accepting that state of being in my life now. Sure, there are things I can't control, but that's different from being powerless to me. I don't always have a good choice or a comfortable choice or a convenient choice or a pleasant choice or a desired choice....but there's always a choice. I would rather put my energy into recognizing the choices I have made, making better ones where I can, and having compassion where I'm still making less-than-ideal choices.

I totally get why a lot of people really dig the Anon meetings. They're obviously a powerful tool for so many people....but I just couldn't dig it. So, as often happens in my weirdo life, I find a different way to get there. Good times.

=======================================

I've been learning a lot of covers in my time off (since I haven't been doing much writing). My favorite so far (and who knows if this will ever see an audience other than my cats) is Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" smooshed in between verses of Queen's "We Will Rock You." I don't know why I think those songs sound right together, but I do.

So far, the cats agree.

=======================================

I blew my health insurance deductible for the first time since I switched to a high deductible plan, lo these many years ago. Considering this year has put me through pneumonia, persistent back-related bullshit, and a nervous breakdown....it makes sense. Makes me grateful for the luxury of insurance. And wish for actual universal health care. Le sigh.

I cut my hair off. Like, more than usual. I will post some pictures at some point. Probably.

For anyone who's sent me a message or note of encouragement....I'm grateful, even if I haven't acknowledged it. I appreciate the thoughts, though I am pretty much total shit right now at dealing with anyone but my therapist. That will change, and - depending on whether I wind up on antidepressants in the long term or not - drinks are on me sometime over the holidays.

Thanks for being patient with the crazy girl, y'all.

Inconsequential Greatness: a Ramble.

2010-05-02T19:08:00.004-05:00

"It wasn't exactly like I'd sold out on my life and dreams and all that other bullshit, because the truth was I'd never actually had anything to sell. It was more like I slowly froze in place...more like some part of me just fell asleep one day and never woke up."
- Elizabeth Hand, Waking the Moon

Things at work are pretty crazy at the moment, such that I'm actually mostly doing actual work most of the workweek. Surely this offense to the natural order of things will pass soon, and I can get back to reasonable amounts of multi-slacking and stuff...but in the meantime, there's a certain satisfaction in it, a kind of honest challenge and joy in problems solved.

Friday, I left the office just after 5:00 and walked around downtown. The air was warm, humid, poised on the edge of storm, but it was nice enough that the sidewalks were packed with people: office lackeys like me, in Friday casuals and flip flops, walking from store to store; kids of every stripe, wearing shorts and radiating energy, excited to be outside and warm, like it was the first time this year; families of tourists, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to look at street signs, crumpled maps, and eventually passersby, in the hopes of finding someone who wasn't glaring and might be willing to give them directions. I stopped at a tea shop and read a few pages of my book while sipping a strawberry green tea concoction that was a refreshing counterpoint to the humidity and cigarette smoke and rushing.

I made my way home eventually, ignoring the creep on the train who asked me if I wanted a lollipop while staring at my tits, and walking the three quarters of a mile from the station to my apartment, slowly, as the sun set. I made dinner and ate while reading, then grabbed my guitar and held on to my hair as the music started pouring out of me.

I went to bed late, and woke up early, and went straight for the guitar and the notebook. I still liked what I'd written the night before, and was excited to tweak it a bit and run through it over and over until it felt right. I stopped to eat breakfast and get back to Sweeney Cassidy's story. I read all day, in between bursts of cleaning and unpacking and internet-ing and a walk around the neighborhood in the sunshine and a long phone call with my sister. After dinner, I fell asleep in front of the third Mummy movie, only to wake up later and rework an old set of lyrics from a notebook I unpacked earlier in the day.

I finished the book early this morning. After, I did some more housework and finished painting the den. I had a long conversation with my dad about politics and religion and overpopulation and genetic destiny and how much he doesn't like San Antonio. I made myself coffee and pancakes with lingonberries, and took an afternoon nap after fiddling with some more lyrics. I pulled off the painter's tape in the den and started pulling out stuff to hang on the walls.

Now I'm sitting on my couch in front of the open windows in my living room. Someone in my neighborhood is grilling steaks, and the smell of hot charcoal and seasoned beef is blowing in every now and then. It's cool, and twilit, and the sounds of traffic on the street outside don't bother me anymore. As I'm sitting here typing this up, there's a feeling in my gut like I've taken a breath for the first time in a long time, as if some tension I didn't even know I was holding has been released. I feel....content?

I'm not saying there isn't angst and whatnot still going on, for there surely is. I'm not saying that I'll be able to hold onto it, but for this moment, I just want to keep breathing deeply, keep feeling this satisfaction. I want to remember this peacefulness, this pleasure in the mundane details of a quiet weekend spent alone, at home. I haven't done anything spectacular or even particularly noteworthy....just eaten and slept and cleaned and read and made music. It still feels like an accomplishment to me.

When I was a little kid, Howard Carter was my hero. I aspired to do what he had done - make some revolutionary discovery, do something sensational that would change the world and put my name in history books. I wanted to be special like that, Destined For Greatness or something. It's not that there isn't part of me that still aspires to greatness, or holds out the possibility that maybe someday I might find myself a historical footnote.....it's more that the older I get, the more I believe that that kind of "greatness" has less to do with hard work or brilliance, and more to do with circumstantial advantages and pure chance. The kind of greatness I can count on is the kind I felt this weekend - the satisfaction of everyday tasks completed, of a comfortable home (or working towards one), of creative expression and good food and books and rest and sunshine. (And yes, I recognize how much that kind of greatness is tied to circumstantial advantages and pure chance, too, but that is a ramble for another time.)

Maybe it's complacent or even lazy...but honestly? It feels as close to happiness as I've been in awhile, and that's a nice enough feeling that I don't really give a damn.

Notes to self.

2010-04-15T17:53:00.003-05:00

1. No amount of desire, ambition, or excitement will suddenly give you the energy (or budget) to do everything you want to do Right. This. Second. So stop attempting to do that, recognize your limits, adjust your fucking plans, and get the hell over it already.

2. When you get that pre-panic-attack feeling because you're trying to force both brain and body to do seventeen things at once? Stop the out-loud litany of "come on, Follett, get your shit together." Wherever you are, whatever you're trying to do, just sit down. Give yourself the gift of three minutes where you can be silent and breathe and not froth at the mouth because you're late or behind or can't find an outfit you like or haven't unpacked what you're looking for. The world won't end if you are late, or take another hour to find an outfit you like, or don't get to everything on your To Do List or never unpack anything again ever. Panic attacks, on the other hand, hurt like a bitch....so just, you know, don't.

3. Until you consistently have room in your head (not to mention your schedule) for three squares, a good night's sleep, the day job, and music....do yourself a favor, and don't try to get all political or into some huge community-garden-project or something. It will not help with the aforementioned pre-panic-attack thing.

4. You say it to other people all the fucking time, but do you ever actually do it? BE WHERE YOU ARE, ASSHOLE.

A Love Letter.

2010-04-11T15:14:00.002-05:00

I love my hands.

Now, generally speaking, I recognize that I have a thing for hands. I have been reading palms for over half my life. Hands are one of the body parts I tend to find super hot on a dude. I love watching a guitarist's hands while they play. I dig the idea of hands (and their delightful opposable thumbs) as one of the driving factors in human history. There's a certain romance to hands - they're such a basic way humanity interacts with the world around us. (The geek in me wants to call them the Original Interface Device.)

But even above this thing I have for hands, I really dig my hands specifically.

It's not just that I think they're attractive - though to be clear: I do! I like the shape of my fingers and my fingernails and the proportions and the ratio of palm-to-fingers and the texture of my skin and even the small mole on the back of my left hand that reminds me of a beauty mark. An ex once earned himself big gold stars by stumbling into my hand-related vanity and constantly raving about my fingers (and not just in a naughty way). Sure, they're big and strong and not small and dainty the way girl hands are supposed to be....but my hands are nonetheless pleasing to my eye.

More importantly, though, I love the gifts my hands give me every day.

They give me the feeling of a string meeting fretboard, plucks and strums and the edge of a pick hitting wound bronze, the sound of pen moving across paper to jot down lyrics and chords. They let me make music in any number of ways, and that's pretty damn awesome. My hands are a big part of how I enjoy the finish of my dining table and the faux fur duvet on my bed. They give me a lover's heartbeat and take away boring white walls. They help me play games and fiddle with tech gadgetry and assemble shelving and put my books in order.

They also bring me information - whether or not it's raining, whether or not the oranges have gone bad, not to mention the more intangible kinds of information they bring me via all this typing. Which reminds me - they're also a huge part of how I make a living.

My particular hands are not without their peccadilloes. Like many guitarists, I have obnoxious tendonitis - my brand is tied mostly to my thumbs, which I have to be careful about stretching and not overusing. I worry about carpal tunnel, too, since I do make a living at a keyboard. I have crackly knuckles and weak fingernails that break all the time, and that one finger that I jammed in a door in high school that's just never been the same.

They have some scars...they've borne their share of the ramifications of me being pretty klutzy, and two non-declawed cats who I insist on playing games with leave their marks, too. And of course, there are the guitar calluses and the bump on my right middle finger that holds my pen when I write. Character, I guess, is what I think my hands have, and the older I get the more of that I expect they'll develop. I'll probably have to be more conscious of stretching and taking breaks and using lotion and parraffin dips and all the care-taking I do in a half-assed way these days.

Today, though, as I was painting a second coat of paint on the wall of my den, and my tendonitis was firing a few warning shots across my bow, I was just thinking about how much I enjoy my hands, and how grateful I am for the gifts they give me. It's a privilege to have them, and not one I should take for granted.

The Post I Wasn't Sure I Would Ever Post.

2010-03-11T10:50:00.005-06:00

I can't remember a time when I wasn't a survivor of sexual assault.

Literally, I can't. I was three when it happened. I'm one of those girls you hear about on the news, and everybody is shocked and grossed out by the whole thing, and talks about how incredibly fucked up some guy must have been to do something so awful. Sometimes, they talk about how incredibly fucked up the girl will inevitably be, too.

There's a chance she won't remember it at such a young age, though. When my parents found out about me, they consulted some child psychologists and learned this, and took the gamble that I wouldn't remember. This means there was no media coverage, no court battle, no horrible testimony from a toddler. There was no counseling, no painfully uncomfortable explanations, nothing that would make the incident bigger or more traumatic, and thus more likely to stick in my memory. This is all very logical, and I can see why the choice was made.

The problem in my case is that I did remember. Everything (or at least a significant enough chunk that I could've recounted gory details at any point in my life). I remembered what happened and where and how; the awful conversation with my mom involving anatomy books, where she put two and two together; the visit to the doctor that was pretty much just as traumatic as the actual abuse. I remembered it all, right from the get go. I remembered it so well that until I talked about it for the first time with my dad a few years ago, I always thought I had to be five or six, the memories were so clear.

So essentially my whole life, I have borne the fact that I am damaged goods. Before I was even really goods, I was damaged goods. (Thanks, Patriarchy, for making sure I learned that my value was mostly as a pristine sex object, which - of course - I could never be!) This has, not unsurprisingly, been the biggest, thorniest, most painful challenge of my life - which, if you know me very well at all, means something; my life hasn't exactly been devoid of complicated and ugly challenges.

I learned later that my dad had talked to the guy's mom (he was a teenager from across the trailer park where we lived at the time who would sometimes babysit me and my sibs) and made her promise to get the kid into some serious counseling. I wonder sometimes if that ever happened, but mostly I just hope he hasn't ever hurt anyone else....and feels the black mark on his soul. I'm not above wishing he bears the weight of his actions for his entire life the way I have to.

And that, right there, is the thing that really rankles for me - that I will bear, for the rest of my life, the wounds from this stupid fuck's choices. My personality, my sexuality, my ability to trust and love and form intimacy - even in non-sexual contexts - have all been shaped by this baggage, and I am, nearly 30 years later, still stumbling into new triggers and new fears and new issues. Despite over a decade of work to shed the shame and fear, I still have trouble talking about it. Despite working very hard to reclaim and engage with my femininity and my sexuality - and feeling generally very good about where I am with both those things - I still have trouble sometimes with wanting to deny parts of them, either because being too "feminine" (or what feels that way to me) makes me feel too vulnerable, or because I spent the greater part of twenty years developing a habit of shoving both femininity and sexuality into a metaphorical closet, tied up and gagged, and that's a hard habit to release.

Part of me gets furious at how unbearably cliche it all is: the fat girl who was sexually abused as a kid. (I mean, it's a fucking Oprah's Book Club book plotline!) I hate nothing in the world so much as being typical.

This, then, is why I was triggered so hard when the Roman Polanski business came up last year. Since my brother went to jail for his own statutory rape conviction a couple years ago, I had slipped back into a place of denial. The anger (among other, darker, emotions) that came up during my brother's hooplah, I just didn't want to deal with - because part of it was genuinely about my brother, and part of it was about a jackass teenager from the early 1980s in Wyoming. So I didn't deal with it, employing the aforementioned metaphorical-closet-shoving technique. It reared its ugly head again during the glut of Polanski stuff, though, so much so that I pretty much couldn't think about anything *but* that denied clusterfuck of conflicting, gut-wrenchingly raw emotion.

I have been sitting with it, consciously and unconsciously, during the chaos of my life in the past few months (this is one of several reasons I've not been posting much). I'm still not sure I've parsed out everything I need or want to parse out, but I at least feel like I'm not denying what's there.

Here's what I know for sure: I have been shaped in undeniable ways by someone else's selfish, cruel actions, and I will spend the rest of my life dealing with the consequences of those selfish, cruel actions. Sometimes I feel like I've made my peace with that fact....and other times it pisses me off beyond belief and I am practically withered by my own bitterness. I imagine that the victims of my brother and Roman Polanski - and any other person dealing with the harsh reality of child rape - may, whether or not they're conscious of it, deal with something similar.

My brother got out of jail this morning. He's going to have a pretty tough time, between the economic climate where he lives and the fairly severe parole restrictions for sex offenders. I don't really feel sorry for him, in some ways, because I believe it is just for him to suffer the consequences of his selfish actions. Still, I'm glad he's out, and I am very hopeful he can get back on his feet and make use of this second chance he's been given.

2009: I've had just about enough of you, mister!

2009-12-30T09:59:00.004-06:00

Every year, I suppose, holds some challenges. I'm sure if I went back and read prior years' penultimate day entries (for some reason I tend to reflect on that day), I suspect most of them would start with something akin to "This has been a hard year." And, well, inasmuch as life itself is filled with challenges and that's just the nature of the beast, I suppose it's true.

All that said, I don't know many people who didn't spend 2009 dealing with a heaping helping of obstacles, with a side order of heartbreak and/or grief. Between political, economic, and cultural wtf-ness, I just think a lot of Americans are generally in pretty rough shape these days - and even if they aren't objectively sucking wind due to bad luck or shit happening or whatever, I think there's an energy permeating our cultural landscape that just weighs on us all, particularly those who already carry the heavier burdens of oppression.

Among the foibles of my life this year, I have felt more and more battered, with less and less refuge. Can you say burnout?

As usual, with the year drawing to a close, I have many more questions than answers. I've been struggling to hold a center of gratitude, as I wade into the anger, fear, impatience, sadness, and despair that have been coming up again and again. Circumstances and choices have converged to push my buttons in shocking new ways this year, and I've been struggling with old reflexes.

I recognize, like many before and after me, that I really am getting older, and that means more than getting rid of all my heels and not wanting to drink my weight in tequila five nights a week. I'm getting more honest with myself, and I'm kicking even more bullshit I entertained for the benefit of other people straight to the curb. Some of this year's revelations:

* I don't want kids. I used to say I wasn't sure. I used to say, "Maybe someday." Fuck that noise: I just don't want to have kids. I can barely make a commitment to a hairstyle, and I'm gonna jump into a lifetime of inescapable connection to another human being? I love that there are people out there who are totally into it, but that is not me. And I don't want to hear that I just haven't found the "right person" yet...if finding the perfect partner changes me such that I suddenly *do* want the child-having lifestyle, I'm not so sure that's really the perfect partner.

* I don't actually love the holidays anymore. I used to. I have fond memories of carol singing and tree-decorating and family gatherings and whatnot...but for the past ten years or so, the holidays have coincided with the busiest, most stressful time of year for my day job. December, for me, is almost always a marathon of ten and twelve hour days, and when I'm not chained to my desk, I pretty much just want to sit alone in a dark room with a drink. Also, toss in my anti-consumerist politics and the fact that I'm not a Christian, and we have a recipe for further complications. This year, as I was sitting in my dad's living room, gritting my teeth at casual bigotry and feeling more out of place than ever...I just gave up. I don't love this time of year, I endure it. I take a vacation every January to congratulate myself on not losing my shit in December.

* I am tired of compromise. I know that I won't be able to escape it, what with the nature of the universe and all....but my only New Year's resolution is going to be to compromise as little as possible, to stop being the guy who sacrifices my own preferences because I think I can handle disappointment better than someone else. Fuck that. I work fucking hard, I am getting what I want every time it's possible. I deserve that, and if I don't give myself what I want, who the hell ever will?

In other news, I have been sitting on a blog update about the whole rape thing. It's pretty intense, and I'm not sure I'm ready to go there. But...I also kind of want to put it out there. We shall see.

In happier news, if you're in Chicago during the month of January, you can see me play shows on January 5th (at Uptown's fabulous Wild Pug's "Unpugged" acoustic night) or January 16th (at the New Moon Music Showcase at The Leadway in Andersonville). Both are free shows, with great acts joining me on stage. Hope you can make it out!

And if you can't, well, I hope 2010 brings you exactly what you want, whatever that may be.

2009-10-18T13:54:00.003-05:00

I have a massive headache right now, so this will be short....but it was too long to fit effectively into 140 characters, so here we are. The point I wanted to make was just that important, that I feel like it needs to be said at length and with some background.

The point: the internet is completely voluntary.

Let me say it again: the internet is completely voluntary.

I could certainly be wrong, but I'm fairly sure that there aren't very many people who are reading or watching stuff on the internet with some asshole holding a gun to their head, making them do it. I'm guessing there are very few people who're tied to one of those internet exercycles that's wired to a bomb such that if they stop surfing, it explodes. I find it pretty unlikely that anyone out there has actually become dependent on the internet for life. So, yeah. VOLUNTARY.

So, when you get to a post that's rubbing you the wrong way, and it's not something you've deliberately sought out (like, say, my exploratory foray into the wilds of right-wing nutjobbery the other day), and it's not something that's making you think (like, say, my bumping into an essay about St. Patrick and being led to question what I thought I knew about him), and it's just not blowing up your skirt for whatever reason....you have some options.

You can choose to comment on it. Damn near every site on the planet has comments these days, and lots of good, productive, informative conversations get started this way. If you do choose to comment, maybe keep in mind, though, that making demands of content providers is kind of a jerk move. Nobody is obligated to provide you with the content you would like to enjoy, in the way in which you would like to enjoy it. At the end of the day, unless you're actually paying them to do it (and even then, there'd be some arguments both ways), someone who's putting stuff out on the internet doesn't really owe you anything. So, if you're gonna comment, may I suggest keeping it on topic, sharing your thoughts and thoughtful arguments and personal experiences, offering constructive criticism (if you feel you must offer criticism), and avoiding giving orders or bitching about what's being posted. 'Cause seriously, the internet owes you nothing.

The other option is a really simple one: surf away. Close the window, find another site, move along. Avoid whatever's pissing you off. Skip what's bothering you. There is no requirement that you read every site, or even sites you like if you're not feeling it. I usually like to keep up on news headlines, but this whole summer I've been only catching a few every now and then. I don't have the mental capacity to deal with much trouble beyond my own sphere, so I've just been, you know, NOT. And lately, I've even been avoiding blogs and bloggers I really, really love to read, because they've been writing about stuff that's triggering me. Since it's not my place to dictate their subject matter, I just skip the posts that I think will bother me. And you know what? The internet police didn't show up to haul me in somewhere for not looking at certain sites. Nobody gave me the stinkeye for skipping my usual reading list. I was penalized in no way. BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS VOLUNTARY.

To sum:

* If you don't like a blog, don't visit that blog.
* If you don't like a particular writer, don't read hir writing.
* If you don't like a website, don't visit that website.

The internet is voluntary. Your participation is not mandatory in any way. Humans lived for millennia without the internet, and it's still possible today. If you do choose to surf the internet, do so with the understanding that - excepting what you yourself create and publish to it - the internet may or may not be to your particular taste, and there's not a whole lot you can do about that. Except NOT SURF.

Why reading about Polanski sucks for me, in particular.

2009-09-30T13:54:00.003-05:00

The phrase "child rapist" is being used a lot lately, and it's starting to really get to me (and not just because its current ubiquity in the feminist blogosphere is getting to be kinda triggery for me). Roman Polanski is, obviously, a convicted rapist who would very likely be years out of prison, had he served his sentence instead of fleeing the country and using his wealth and fame to evade justice. His choices are clearly despicable and it is pretty sad to me that so many public figures are leaping to his defense.

Unfortunately, though, I can understand a little bit of where that's coming from. See, my younger brother is currently incarcerated for a similar crime.

When I first heard of the accusations against my brother, I didn't want to believe them. My brother is certainly no angel, but I just couldn't wrap my head around the possibility that he would rape a thirteen year old. Lie about tons of shit, steal, cheat, get involved with drugs or fistfights with his wife....I can see all that. But to rape a girl who's only barely a teenager? I had trouble even calling it rape at the time, and it's still hard now.

Ironic, actually, since you'd think my own personal experience with childhood rape would make it pretty fucking black and white.

And yeah, it does in some ways...I know that what my brother did, regardless of the level of violence or "consent" or whatever allegedly mitigating circumstances exist, will unquestionably mess with how that girl relates to sex and men and power dynamics and intimacy and a whole host of other seemingly unrelated things. I am consistently surprised by how often I have to face yet another shadow of The Ordeal, even now, more than ten years after I started actively acknowledging it and working on healing some of the damage (and well over twenty years after the actual incident). I have no doubts that my brother's actions have done incredible harm to that little girl - not to mention the present and future impacts to his two young daughters, his (now ex-) wife, and his family and friends (plus, you know, the way he's pretty much fucked his own future prospects).

When I finally got to a place where I accepted that he'd actually done it...I lost the ability to sort out how I felt about him and what he'd done. No, that's not true - I condemn what he did with every fiber of my being, and when I think about it, it makes me so angry I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him for what he's done himself, and in proxy for the sonuvabuitch who did it to me, and in proxy for all of the motherfuckers that do shit like this to people, who have such unconscionable blindness to the way their instantly gratified urges wreak havoc and pain and misery on others. It makes me furious.

But this is my brother. I know he's imperfect, and that he has many flaws....but I love him anyway. We have almost the same face. I spent most of my childhood getting in trouble for shit he started, like happens with little brothers. He can be incredibly sweet and surprisingly smart and genuinely accepting and kind. For as many times as he's hurt me directly, and done things I find despicable, and used me or our family members...I can't not love him. I don't know how to stop that.

And that's maybe what I'm most angry about. If he were anyone else, I wouldn't have a problem condemning him and his actions and not wasting another iota of my energy on it. But I love him, and I believe that what he's going through in prison is awful and inhumane in many ways (since I believe that the whole prison-industrial complex is inherently awful and inhumane, for lots of people besides my brother). I can't just write him off, and so I have a lot of trouble reconciling my love for my brother and my hatred of what he's done. So much trouble, in fact, that I have spoken to him only twice in the two years he's been locked up, and still agonize over whether and how to maintain our connection. It's easier to avoid thinking about it, to get lost in my own life stuff and pretend that I'm not the sister of a rapist.

I'm not even going to get into the fact that he, by all accounts, still doesn't think he's done anything wrong.

So, yeah, I guess I can understand why so many people are jumping to Polanski's defense...it's really tough to grapple with the idea that a person you love has done something so categorically wrong, has left behind a devastated human being who will likely spend the rest of her life trying to overcome the aftereffects, has committed a heinous crime. The difference I see between my brother and Roman Polanski? My brother's in jail, going through rehab, and suffering the consequences of his prosecution. I'm not saying it makes him the better man, I'm saying it makes him the one who's serving justice.

And now I am going to do my best to stop reading about Polanski.

ETA: All good intentions set aside, I am really not interested in getting feedback on how I have chosen to deal with my brother's circumstances. This post is more about acknowledging the complexities of rape, and how it affects victims, perpetrators, and the people close to them.

How I am and stuff.

2009-09-03T16:13:00.003-05:00

First, I just want to say this really clearly, so there is no confusion: I am (relatively) okay. I am not having a breakdown or freaking the fuck out or anything else extreme. I am in (relatively) decent health, mentally and physically, and I am in no danger of doing myself - or anyone else - harm.

I recognize that I have not been exactly a ray of sunshine on the internet (or, you know, anywhere else) these days, and that may be worrisome to people. For that, I am sorry - it is certainly never my intention to cause anyone any worry - and I am grateful for the sweet inquiries I have received about how I'm doing, as well. Just as often as I am surprised by what jackholes people can be, I am surprised (and delighted!) by how much kindness is out there to balance it out.

So what's going on with me? Why all the dour, irate, enraged, cranky, curmudgeonly, dark, nasty, vicious (etc., etc.) tweets and Facebook updates?

Well, you know, my life is not in a totally awesome place lately. For a lot of reasons, some within my control, and some not.

I lost two grandparents in just over six months. I've been thwarted romantically a couple times recently. I had a really shitty birthday. Many of the good things I have tried to do for myself over the past year or so (travel, music stuff, classes, etc.) have not worked out the way I planned or hoped. The weather has been all weird and unseasonable. My living situation has been increasingly trying and disappointing. My work situation has been stressful and intense. Most of my closest loved ones have had crises of their own going on, and I have an unfortunate tendency to take on some of that, whether I want to or not.

So, yeah, you know, it's life. It gets overwhelming every now and then. Sometimes I handle it better than others. And, contrary to what folks often think of me, I am a dark, twisty, sarcastic, angry introvert...which isn't to say that I'm not also often lighthearted and giggly and joyful, but that - you know, like anybody - my life and state of mind is difficult to reduce to 140 characters...or, really, any number of electrons. This construct you see before you isn't really me (or really real, for that matter)...but a projection of an interpretation of an expression of a shade of a reflection. That's valid, and it's something I find useful in many ways, and I think there is almost always a kernel of Truth in there - but it's just inevitably much too simple to capture anything close to what's really there in any kind of fullness.

(And we could get into a whole side discussion about what's real anyway, in a Buddhist sort of "life is an illusion" kind of way....but that's a whole other smelly kettle of fish I'd like to save for the next time I'm drunk and maudlin.)

A sidebar I would like to get into? Why I put all this crap out on the internet in the first place. Why I Tweet and blog and whatever. Brace yourself for a shocking answer.

I fucking like it.

I like doing it because I find it a useful tool when I am trying to promote a gig or music or an event or an opportunity for activism (which I haven't been doing much of lately, but am perpetually trying to get my shit together on). I like doing it because I find it a useful tool for self-reflection, reading back over my posts or updates to see where I was a month ago, a year ago, or longer in some cases (hello, Diaryland diary!). I like doing it because it's sometimes nice to feel like my voice is heard, even if all it's saying is "whine, whine, piss, piss, moan, moan" - and it's nice to see that I'm not the only one out there dealing with whatever I'm dealing with. I like having an immediate outlet for the random thoughts that pop into my head, for the news and blogs and notices I stumble into as I'm bumbling about the internet in between doing actual work.

On top of that, I like seeing where other people I know are - what they're reading or watching or thinking about, what's going on in their lives. I'm an awful correspondent, so it's nice to have a relatively simple way to keep tabs on my distant friends and family....'cause I might not call but once or twice a year, I might not send a substantive e-mail with actual personal content, er, ever....but I can make a relevant comment on a Facebook update or a tweet, to let them know I'm thinking of them. Maybe it's lazy, and maybe it's "virtual connection" and not "real connection," but at this point in my life, I'm probably not going to suddenly become an awesome letter-writer, phone-caller, or e-mailer....nor am I going to fall into buckets of money that will let me travel to see these people in person and remind them face-to-face how much I actually do care about them. So, you know, I do what I can for good or ill.

So, all that rambling aside...here's what I can tell you for sure: I am okay. I will be okay. I am in a bit of a crap patch. I will get through it one way or another, just like I have made it through much more trying circumstances that occurred before Twitter or Facebook existed for me to record my moment-to-moment experiences (thank all the gods). Someday - probably sometime in April, when my lease is up and my living circumstances will likely change drastically and give me one of those clean slate mindsets - I will wend my way out of the Dark Side, and stop tweeting snarls and growls and bitchiness and vitriol.

And to those who are worried about me...please accept my apologies. About 80% of the time, even my grouchiest posts are done with a pinch of salt and tongue firmly in cheek. No matter how shitty things seem to get, I am generally still laughing at it - especially at this point, when the "shit happens" mantra is less said with a shrug and more often uttered with a bitterly wry "of fucking course" prefix.

FUotD: PETA

2009-08-19T10:33:00.002-05:00

Hey, PETA: FUCK YOU!

For most of us, summer is fading fast, but for residents of Jacksonville, Florida, bikini season lasts all year. What does the Sunshine State's endless summer mean for PETA? Our phone lines ring off the hook with reports of "beached whale sightings." Good one, guys.

Luckily, we know the secret to getting—and maintaining—a killer beach bod. Did you know that vegetarians are 20 to 30 percent leaner than meat-eaters? So, to help residents and tourists "lose the blubber"—and hopefully to deter prank callers—we're launching a brand-new billboard urging people to go vegetarian:

I'm not linking the post from PETA's blog quoted above, nor am I displaying the billboard in question (you can get them from Lesley's post at Fatshionista if you want 'em).

You know what, PETA? It is pretty damn unlikely that going veggie or vegan will actually result in a "killer beach bod" for many people. Even if I became a vegan and suddenly weighed 30% less...I would still weigh over 200 pounds, which I'm pretty sure would still qualify me as a "whale" by PETA standards.

Also, there are so many really good, ethical reasons to reduce or elminate meat consumption...taking it to a place of fat shaming is a lowest-common-denominator approach that doesn't actually fix the problem. It doesn't actually explain to people the reality of the impact of CAFOs or factory farms, and I highly doubt it will elicit any permanent lifestyle changes for most people.

So, PETA, shame on you. Fuck you for using scare tactics to try to manipulate people into making intimately personal decisions based not on facts and reality, but on fear. Fuck you for spreading total misinformation, encouraging disordered eating, and shoring up misogyny, racism, and fat hatred.

In conclusion, you incredible douchebags: FUCK YOU.

Family news, plus SFSV: The Reboot.

2009-06-29T17:40:00.001-05:00

Last week, shortly after I posted my glowy post-solstice happy post, my grandfather passed away.

On the one hand, this was not exactly out of the blue; he was in a car accident a year and a half ago that induced a stroke and left him needing twenty-four hour care. Sometimes he would be relatively lucid, but he was never the same, and I think even those family members who argued otherwise knew that it was only a matter of time. In some ways, his passing is a relief, freeing him from the purgatory of a nursing home.

My grandfather was...just this guy, you know? He worked at a factory until he retired, bowled in a league, drank beer, smoked until the doctors made him stop, played cribbage, hunted and fished. He and my grandma (technically my step-grandma) were kind of the "cool" grandparents - they had a hot tub in the sunroom, a motorcycle in the garage, and they travelled more than most of my relatives. He wasn't any great humanitarian, and I suspect he had a lot of regrets...but he was a good man, as these things go. He enjoyed his life.

His favorite insult, in jest or in seriousness, was "potlicker." Seriously. These are my people.

I didn't have to sing at the funeral (the church wanted, for some reason I don't understand, to pre-record the vocals and play them back with a live organist; needless to say, the singer was less than awesome and the song had zero punch....I could've made it a catharsis, but whatever, obvy the church dude knows best), which was okay with me, since doing so inevitably makes me ball like a baby after. Also, the preacher made sure to mention that the hymn was "a great song for Christians to sing," which had my sister whispering in my ear "yeah, no singing that one, pagan."

The preacher, as per usual in Christian funerals I have attended, attempted to use grief as a recruitment tool for the big team in the sky. I fucking hate having my loved one held hostage in heaven against my repentance. Why does so much of Christianity (as expressed by preachers in church, anyway) seem to hinge on fear and manipulation, when so much of what Christ espoused was based in love and tolerance and good works? I mean, do they cover that stuff when they're teaching the preachers, or is that touchy-feely crap only for the kiddies in Sunday school?

Anyway.

I am officially re-booting the SFSV plan, and going on a break. I am pushing back the recording process until the fall, I am going over my other upcoming obligations and considering which ones I'll maintain, and which ones I'll cancel or delay. If I could take a leave of absence from the office, I'd do that, too. Instead, I'm scaling back my expectations of myself, opening up space in my calendar to watch movies and wander along the lakeshore and get acupuncture and do nothing. I just can't handle trying to juggle much at the moment, and I'm tired of trying. Solstice weekend, with its surprise free time to enjoy the sunshine and indulge in fripperies, is more of what I need. As much as I want to get various projects done...right now the project I'm working on is not feeling like such shit.

Sunshine and darkness and time passing.

2009-06-22T17:56:00.000-05:00

Okay. This week? We're going on a diet. All of us. But this is a diet of a different kind. We're going to regulate the habit of unhappiness. We will make the conscious decision to make the most of what we have and pine for nothing. No undefinable need or vague despair. Enough!!! If you don't like it, FIX IT. If you can't fix it, PLAN B it. If you like it and want more, RESPECT IT. Clean straight lines of living.
- The Mayer, via Twitter

I have been unhappy a lot lately. No matter how many blessings I have tried to consciously celebrate over the past six months or so, I just couldn't shake the doom and gloom that has hung over my head since my grandmother passed away in December. I couldn't ever seem to catch my breath and find the calm, still center of myself, the part that is solid as bedrock regardless of the shaking of the world around me. I'm not used to that happening very often...I tend to - even when I'm standing in the midst of a shitstorm - be able to handle it from that place of groundedness, so that even if life is crap, I still feel okay, like it will pass, like I can handle it and things will eventually get better. I got very scared this time around that I'd lost that light at the end of the tunnel, that tiny glimmer of optimism that somehow manages to survive in the cynicism and sarcasm that is my standard operating procedure even in the best of times. I worried that I was losing hope.

That's only happened to me once before, and it was a warning sign that I needed a huge shift in my life, that something essential was missing, that the core of my life wasn't right. That was the day I dropped out of college, jettisoned my plans to become an engineer, and embarked on the journey to become the weirdo pagan hippie freako musician I am these days. It scared me a lot to think that maybe I was standing on the cusp of another horribly painful transition like that. I like change, but ripping apart my expectations of myself, not to mention my concept of who I am and how I define my own self-worth? Yeah, I could do without something quite that big just now.

(Sometimes, when I type something like this up, I feel incredibly dark and twisty and obnoxious. I recognize how melodramatic and over-the-top it sounds, even while also feeling it's honesty and truth. Can I simultaneously take myself really seriously *and* laugh at my own pomposity?)

Anyway. Last weekend was the Summer Solstice (here in the Northern Hemisphere, anyway), and through a series of unexpected events, I wound up at loose ends. Two days of unplanned, empty, sprawling free time with nobody around (roomie was gone the whole weekend). Just me and myself and 48 hours of sunshine and blue sky. The longest day of the year, and incidentally one of those big ol' holidays us crazy pagans go nuts over.

I won't bore you with the gory details of what all I did with my free time (suffice to say it was awesome and I enjoyed the hell out of it), but during the whole time, there was an undercurrent of reflection and rumination about what exactly was making me unhappy. Some of it, I found, was shit I can't change or control; all I can do there is try to bear with it and breathe deeply and endure. Some of it was shit I choose not to change or control; dealing with this was a matter of examining my choices and deciding to change them, or to make peace with them. Some of it was shit that is absolutely within my ability to shift, but that I haven't...and here's where the work was for me. Why have I been pouting about this stuff, when all along I had the power to embrace it or reshape it or drop it like a fucking hot potato?

Well, you know, I'm human. Sometimes it all gets to be too much, and the system breaks down. While my life experience has taught me that I am lucky enough to live a life where there's nothing that I can't endure, overcome, or walk away from...some of that is easier said than done. Sometimes I don't handle it well, and I lose my center, and I flounder around like a fish out of water. Or a human being out of her depth and at her wit's end. And, sometimes, I have avoided looking at things I'm afraid of, and hampered my own forward progress.

This morning, I read The Mayer's tweets above, and nodded so emphatically I knocked an earbud right out of my ear. Yes! This is where I am. It took the longest, sunshiniest, most gorgeous day, plus hours of connecting with my gawky teenage nasturtiums and my tiny baby basils and my toddling thyme sproutlings and all the other beautiful greenbloods I've invited to live with me....to remind me of how happy I can be. I doubt I'm done with the darkness, but I have had a break, and something has changed. If only a little....still a little.

This weekend.

2009-05-25T17:49:00.002-05:00

Brief recap:

* Worked late Friday.
* Saturday spent feeling like shit, sleeping, and crying.
* Sunday was bad news, bad news, crying, pottery, and sitting in non-moving el train watching paramedics on the platform treating a guy who'd been (?) stabbed and thrown onto the tracks. There was a lot of blood.
* Today, one ear has decided to get all stuffy, head feels like it's composed primarily of cotton,
and I'm trying to pack and prep for another trip to Minneapolis for work.

I'm trying to get it all in perspective, since, well, I haven't been stabbed or needed emergency medical attention lately (knock wood). More of same. I'm so sick of me.

Linkage.

2009-05-22T13:45:00.002-05:00

La vida has been sort of weird and upsy-downsy lately. Mercury retrograde probably isn't helping, but it's also just the nature of plans changing and, you know, life happening in unexpected ways. C'est la vie! (So, lessee, that's "life" in three languages so far, eh?) Anyway, I've been spending a lot of time navel-gazing and trying to spread my intellectual recognition of how fucking lucky I am into a visceral and experiential understanding. It's not as easy as it sounds, I am finding.

Meanwhile, yesterday yielded some interesting stuff that I found by turns inspiring, motivating, and soothing. Some of it was meandering into Millennium Park for lunch, only to stumble into Serendipity, a performance troupe featuring various seniors performing (the bits I saw, anyway) some ass-kicking Motown soul music. "Stand By Me" was haunting me yesterday (which, of course, makes me want ot pull it out and whip up a version myself).

Also, last night at pottery class, I think I maybe made some stuff that doesn't suck. Though, you know, we'll see. Still has to be fired and glazed. I'll take pictures if it isn't butt ugly.

Other things that caught my eye and imagination and set my heart aflutter yesterday:

** T. Thorn Coyle, a capital-T Teacher whose work isn't mine (but whose integrity, humanity, taste, and hair I admire nonetheless), writes about...well, a lot of stuff: paganism, how sex-positivity interacts with sex education and the sacred, integrity and authority and, well, just go read it (yes, all of it!): Clay Feet, part one, Clay Feet, part two, and Clay Feet, part three.

** A link at Shakesville led me to Playing for Change, an organization that brings together musicians from all over the world to promote peace. I don't know how I have managed not to hear about this before, but I am blown away. I watched all the online episodes, and downloaded the electronic version of the CD posthaste (though I will likely also pick up the combo CD/DVD to get the documentary part). It's inspiring, but it also makes me want to write more protest songs....which, as anybody who knows me knows, I am not great at.

** This article at New York magazine (tweeted by @fingertipsmusic) talks interestingly about attention, meditation, and the idea that our experience is composed of whatever we pay attention to. Money quote: "It’s possible that we’re evolving toward a new techno-cognitive nomadism, in which restlessness will be an advantage." I should be so lucky, 'cause I pretty much find my own restlessness to be an advantage for fuck all.

** The Freak Revolution was recently launched by my friend Kyeli and her partner Pace. I like a lot of the ideas they've talked about so far....though I'm not sure that it quite fits what I'm working with in general, or where I am right now. Having said that, totally worth checking out, just as one more way to shift away from the dominant (crap) paradigm!

....and thus concludes this friendly, neighborhood linkage. Happy weekend, y'all!

Reasons why this day, like its buddy yesterday, can bite me.

2009-05-19T10:37:00.003-05:00

1. Allergies. I don't get them every year, only sometimes. Of course, the year I am spending craploads of time and money to record music, which depends on being in good voice, which can't happen with sinuses filled with snot and a scratchy throat....of course, this year, the allergies show up with a vengeance. Awesome. That whole thing about Tauruses having gorgeous singing voices, but also lots of throat-related health problems: fucking true.

2. Assholes on the train. Two mornings in a row now, I have said "excuse me" to the person standing directly in the walkway between me and the doors, had no response, tapped on shoulder and made eye contact and said "excuse me" again, and the person does not move again. I have been twice now forced to basically walk right over people who apparently don't understand that "excuse me" is a polite warning that you're about to get trampled by a fat girl if you don't fucking move your ass out of her way.

3. Being lectured and/or yelled at during a fire drill. A fucking drill, and I got a guy crawling up my ass because 1.) I'm on the phone when the announcement is made (which I can't help) and am trying to wrap up the phone call professionally while also getting with the drill; 2.) I get ten feet from my desk, then turn around to grab some tissues (see above, re: snot-filled sinuses), so I don't have to use my sleeve while the fire dept. rep tells us stuff about emergency drills as if we have never done one before or are unable to recognize the importance of proper emergency procedures (like, hi...you do know we all work in insurance, right?); and 3.) I'm not properly chastened by the lecture about not going back for stuff or carrying stuff, and refuse to get contrite about it. DUDE. It's a fucking drill, and a tissue is not a cup of fucking hot coffee I'm going to spill. Also, you're up my ass to hurry...I wasn't even the last one out. People can *so* kiss my ass today.

4. There will be no Italian class for the moment. I had to cancel that because of work travel stuff. Also, the pottery class that I paid a premium to take? Yeah, I missed last week's and will also be skipping next week's. You know, three out of five classes. Great. Makes me feel like I need to go in and do assloads of studio time to try and get my money's worth. Or at least learn how to throw a pot on the wheel without turning my hands to hamburger or having both forearms go totally numb. As much as I wish the SFSV was going well...evidence indicates the contrary. Le sigh.

5. I'm having trouble remembering just how very lucky I am. I have a home, a job, people who love me, food to eat, clothes to wear, and luxuries most of the world doesn't. I hate that I feel so craptastic, when by all rights I should be grinning every moment of every day. Hey, Self, yer privilege is showing; you might want to see to that.

Thirty-one today.

2009-05-12T08:24:00.001-05:00

Thirty-one today
What a thing to say
Drinking Guinness in the afternoon
Taking shelter in the black cocoon

I thought my life would be different somehow
I thought my life would be better by now
I thought my life would be different somehow
I thought my life would be better by now
But it's not, and I don't know where to turn

- Aimee Mann, "Thirty-one Today"

Typical.

2009-05-09T11:47:00.003-05:00

Fun fact to know and yell: salt is an emetic. Funny story how I know this.

So, last night, I went to dinner with my two closest friends to celebrate my birthday (which is next week). This year, I didn't really want a whole lot of hooplah, just a nice evening out with my besties, good food, and tasty margaritas. Lately, it seems like nothing I do turns out quite how I expect or prefer, so I figured something small was most likely to actually be a good time.

Well, there were some planning things that didn't quite pan out, but the evening got off to an okay start. Dinner at Tweet (my fave brunch joint, that now does dinner on Friday nights only) was really amazingly tasty - fresh basil pesto linguine, soooo good. Then, I rocked the red velvet cake (with a candle cunningly stuck to the plate), which was good (but not the best I've had, so the search for genuine red velvet cake continues!). Tasty, tasty, tasty.

After dinner, we went over next door to Big Chicks and started in on the margarita-drenched portion of the evening. We were on our second round, waiting for the dance floor to pick up, when I sucked a mouthful of salt up the straw of my margarita. Awful! I didn't think anything of it, though, after washing the taste out of my mouth with another drink.

A couple minutes later, I'm twisting around to stare at some of the boob-tastic artwork on the wall behind me, when I suddenly start feeling a little green around the gills. I immediately start deep breathing, trying to figure out why I'm nauseated out of the blue. Deep breath. Deep breath.

My observant friend Jen, across the table from me, asks me if I'm okay, and I nod wordlessly. It's about two seconds later that I realize I am not okay. I vaguely think, with some portion of my brain that is able to think beyond the panic infusing my bloodstream with adrenaline and trying to keep my digestive tract calm, that I should head for the bathroom...but I have suddenly been struck by the sensational equivalent of tunnel vision, and I can't think about or focus on anything that isn't about trying not to hurl.

It was futile effort. I won't get into the gory details, but I'll tell you what: I have awesome friends. They got me out of there, home, cleaned up, and would've taken me out again if I hadn't felt like I'd been sucker-punched repeatedly in the gut (not to mention the faceful of burst capillaries that is *still* freaking me out this morning). They went out and brought me a DVD and a Slurpee and then hung out with me making cracks about the latest Bond flick and its retro usage of glass in the action sequences.

So, you know, it wasn't exactly a good birthday outing, but it was in keeping with my luck lately, and I did get a nice reminder of what real friendship really is. I luff my girls.

Most importantly, though, I learned that a mouthful of salt will, in fact, make me projectile vomit everything I've eaten for the past week. Learning experience.

Review: Boots for Broads

2009-05-07T10:58:00.003-05:00

So, I know this is woefully late, but better late than never, yeah?

Awhile back (like, say, practically four months!), I followed a link and discovered Boots for Broads, an Australian company that sells custom-sized boots (and other footwear). At the time, the exchange rate was such that I could buy a pair of boots for around US$150, including shipping from Australia. Helluva deal, says I - and I took it!

Measurements duly taken and sent off through the interwebs, I commenced waiting on tenterhooks for the boots to arrive (took about a month). Things did not start well - when I tore into the package, the overwhelming smell of some sort of petrochemical immediately made my eyes water and my nose run. Then I pulled out the boots and tried them on....which did not go well. The calf was too tight, the foot was almost comically big.

Great, I thought. I spent $150 on fucking clown boots!

Additionally, I noticed that the customs label listed the country of origin of goods as Vietnam. Say what? I thought these were handmade in Australia, where I felt there might be a chance they were *not* made by sweatshop labor.

The bad feelings, they just kept on coming.

So, I waited a couple days to calm down, then got in touch with the company. They had a money-back guarantee, and so I explained my concerns - the smell, the origin, the non-fitting part. They were actually very understanding and helpful, and explained that the smell came from the glue used in the soles (which would fade quickly once the boots were aired out a bit), that they worked with a small family business in Vietnam to manufacture the boots (and would post this to their website to make it clear that it was not a sweatshop), and that they'd happily send me a refund or a new pair of boots.

I was still a little dubious, but the odds of me finding custom-sized boots for this price ever again led me to go ahead and return the boots, and to re-send my measurements in the hopes of a better-fitting pair.

Six weeks or so later, the new pair arrived. The smell still overwhelmed. The boots, however, fit. I tried them on, walked around in them a bit, and they fit. They weren't as cute as they seemed on the website, but they fit and weren't hideous. I decided to keep them.

Over the next few weeks, I wore them a couple days a week (I love boots and skirts, man, and with spring creeping slowly in, I wanted to get them in as much as possible before it was too warm for boots!). The fit continued to be great. The smell faded a lot, but never left entirely (in fact, still hasn't disappeared).

Less than three or four days in, though, I noticed something awful: the tread started coming off the sole. I assume this is part of what the horrid stinking glue was supposed to hold together...and it was clearly not doing so. In fact, I've had to glue it back on in several places on each boot at this point. Eventually, I suspect I'll just get them re-soled and be done with it.

At the end of the day, even paying $150 and the additional cost of re-soling the boots is still probably a better deal on custom boots for my giant feet and calves than I'm likely to find many places. Short of learning to make my own boots, this is probably the best I'm gonna do, and it's not all that bad. But it certainly has been a freakin' hassle from Hell, and I'm not perfectly pleased with the product.

I don't want to trash Boots for Broads, as I suspect mine is not a typical experience, and I found them very nice and helpful and accomodating, and that their product, even if imperfect, is still something that fills a huge void for people who have trouble finding boots that fit their feet, ankles, and calves. I don't find it to be much more of a compromise than I wind up making with other boots I've bought that don't *quite* fit, but I can make work with a little finagling.

And, at the end of the day, I'm pleased enough that I can see a time in the future where I'll order another pair of boots from them (red boots = yay!). So, you know, I guess I recommend with caveats.

What's goin' on?

2009-05-05T14:20:00.003-05:00

Holy cats, boys and girls and other-gendered beings! Things is flyin' fast and furious 'round these here parts...and certain people are apparently taking advantage of this fact to play fast and loose with things like proper grammar.

Meanwhile.

What's going on with me these days is a whole helluva lot. Allow me to bullet point:

* SFSV is going well in some ways, less well in others. I've got a lot going on that I can't really set aside just now, so I'm still carrying some stress (mostly job-related stuff, which is what it is in this financial climate). I have, however, started the pottery classes (well, class, since I've just had one so far) - which I really am enjoying. I have to be careful, since this is yet another thing that stresses out my thumb-based tendonitis...but I think I can adapt the process to make it bearable. Plus, just the idea of making my own vessels and dishes and such is way exciting - and we haven't even gotten to the wheel-throwing bits yet (tonight!!). I start Italian classes in a couple weeks, and I'm debating taking some pricey sewing classes from a local designer that are apparently awesome enough to justify the price.

* This year, the garden is off to a faster start than last year. Assuming I don't come down with a mystery illness (knock wood), we should have a better harvest this time around. Remains to be seen whether I wind up avoiding the backyard because of the rabid mosquito population, or if the crops get enough sunlight. But! There are chickens (well, still more chicks than hens, but they're growing quickly), and that can only be a good thing.

* I'm now officially working on recording a real, live, actual, fancy-schmancy album, with a producer/engineer and studio musicians and everything. The process has just started, and I am excited to see how it shapes up. If all goes well, I should have a finished product ready to launch by the end of the summer. If you want to get in on the hooplah that will be associated with this, you may want to mark your calendar for something the last weekend in August...

So, that's the basics of what's going on. The next few months are busy like whoa, in the best way. I am sneaking in at least one trip up to the country estate to lounge in my dad's hammock under the apple tree, though, come hell or high water!

Important side note: For those who don't already know, awesome fat activist bloggers Kate Harding and Marianne Kirby wrote a book that was released this week. (Check it out at Powell's or Amazon or at Women & Children First if you're a Chicago local.) I've read Lessons from the Fat-o-sphere, and I can tell you it's really a delightful read. It's also a great introduction to Fat Acceptance, on both a personal and an activist level. So, you know, go buy it. Or get it from your library. Or borrow my copy if you know me.

Newsflash: Fat People Are Killing the Planet

2009-04-23T13:17:00.001-05:00

Okay, so everybody and their sibling has already debunked and mocked this ridiculous bullshit, but I have to take a quick crack at the version that popped up in my feed reader this morning. The intersection of fat activism and environmentalism holds a special place in my heart, because I think the problems to which they relate can be traced to connected root causes (consumer culture and unrestrained capitalism, in case you were wondering).

So, first, the bullhockey from "HealthDay News:"

Watching your weight does more than protect your health. It also may help fight climate change.

First sentence, first bullshit assumption! Weight has fuck all to do with health. People of all sizes have health problems.

Researchers at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine say that because food production is a major contributor to greenhouse gases, a lean population, such as in Vietnam, consumes about 20 percent less food and produces fewer greenhouse gases than a population in which 40 percent of people are obese, a rate close to that of the United States.

All right, let's just start with the name of this school: Hygiene and Tropical Medicine? I swear, that sounds like a punchline all by itself!

More to the point, though, what they're saying is that the more people eat, the more greenhouse gases produced. Um, actually, no. The more food produced by industrial means, the more greenhouse gases produced. Whether it is eaten or not is beside the point, not only from an environmental perspective, but also from the manufacturer's perspective. I mean, the interconnected parts of the industrial ag world reinforce each other - how many food additives and preservatives were invented as a way to use corn byproducts? The answer is MOST OF THEM. That doesn't happen in a vacuum, it happens within a system involving government subsidies and Big Ag corporations - all looking to make money. They don't care about food, or health, or the environment....they care about profit. Which is not related to what or how much people eat...but profit-seeking measures do tend to directly support habits that piss all over the environment.

Yes, I absolutely agree that food production is a major contributor to greenhouse gases. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: industrial food is toxic on every level imaginable. Vast monocrop farming operations using petrochemical fertilizers destroy soil fertility, pollute waterways, and lock in a cycle of needing more petrochemicals to keep up crop yields from soil that lacks nutrients and the microorganisms that keep healthy soil producing healthy crops. CAFOs are hideously inhumane to the livestock they confine - not to mention they, too, pollute the landscape and waterways, with disastrous results. Oh, and the food is not all that great, either.

But let's look a little more closely at the comparison here: Vietnam is not so much full of skinny people as it is lacking in widespread industrial agriculture. In fact, I'm guessing (since Vietnam's agriculture is only 20% of its GDP, and that's mostly cashews and rice) they probably don't have anything like the food industry we have here in the States. I'm guessing that might account for the smaller environmental footprint, more than the comparative smallness of Vietnam's collective ass.

But wait! There's more total asshattery:

"When it comes to food consumption, moving about in a heavy body is like driving around in a gas guzzler," the researchers said. "The heavier our bodies become, the harder and more unpleasant it is to move about in them, and the more dependent we become on our cars. Staying slim is good for health and for the environment."

This statement makes me so blindingly furious, I had to take a deep breath and stop myself from screaming at the office.

First of all, the meme that fat people eat more than thin people is total crap. I'm not digging up studies or stats, I'm just gonna cite some anecdata - most people know a thin person who eats twice hir weight in bon-bons at every meal...and some big fat fatty who's always eating half a lettuce leaf on the Diet of the Month. The size of a person has fuck all to do with how much or what they eat. Human beings are not all built and wired the same way, and people of identical size (if you could find two such people) might eat similar quantities of food....or they might not. There is NO WAY to know.

Second of all, though I can certainly acknowledge that there are some weights at which movement can be problematic (and with these types of disability, I smell a chicken/egg scenario), I do not find it to be true that the bigger I get, the harder it is to move around and the more dependent I become on a car. I weigh well over 300 pounds (yeah, I said it), and I don't even own a car - my primary form of transport is my feet (with a little help from the much-greener-than-a-car CTA). I also have no trouble dancing around like a maniac, or trying out all kinds of physical activity. Any issues I do have with mobility come not from my giant fat ass, but from the tailbone I broke five years ago that still bothers me sometimes (only time I find movement "unpleasant"). Which, I guess, is sort of located in the vicinity of my giant fat ass....but I think you see my point.

I don't have to point out the correlation of higher BMIs and lower income, lower income with lack of car ownership and use of mass transit, and use of mass transit with *lower* environmental impact...do I?

Also, moving around in a heavy body is NOT like driving around in a gas guzzler, actually. If we buy the idea that fat people have low metabolisms (which I don't exactly buy, and believe varies greatly from person to person), then it's more like driving around in a hybrid - because low metabolisms are *more* efficient, not less. I swear, do these alleged academics actually think about the logic of what they say before opening their mouths??

Finally, there's this:

"We need to be doing a lot more to reverse the global trend toward fatness and recognize it as a key factor in the battle to reduce emissions and slow climate change," they said.

Actually, you know what would be more effective in reducing emissions and slowing climate change? Let me bullet point this, so it's easy for researchers at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine to understand.

Dismantle industrial agriculture. Stop monocrop operations, petrochemical fertilizer/pesticide usage, CAFOs, etc. Encourage local farming, kitchen gardens, urban agriculture, etc.

Create mass transit systems that work. Which means systems that actually get people where they need to go, and makes it reasonable for people to live without cars. See also: walkable neighborhoods, bike paths, and the death of far-flung car-based suburbs.

Switch to renewable energy sources. Like hydro, geothermal, solar & wind power, that don't rely on fossil fuels or pump greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. And we're talking a meaningful switch here, not just a few token windmills. Also, nuclear doesn't count.

End consumer culture. I struggle with this, but it's important. No more "disposable" anything. Cheap plastic crap is not an option. Planned obsolescence is out of the question. More and more "stuff" means more and more greenhouse gases created during production and manufacture, more and more land laid to waste with pollution and dried-up resources, and more and more landfills producing groundwater contamination and even more greenhouse gases.

There are lots more ways to effect environmental change on a large scale, but these are the ones I think would make the most difference in the shortest time. And not one of these things involves weight loss.

Listen, I understand how fat people are a convenient and semi-logical symbol of the excess that has led the planet to the current environmental crisis. I get how that makes sense and is easily understood shorthand. But you know what? It's fucking lazy not to find a better approach, particularly since this one isn't even grounded in reality. If every fat person in the world went on a diet (or at least the comparative few who aren't *already* dieting, anyway), what would happen? Would the air get cleaner? Would the planet stop warming up? Would the polar ice caps start growing again? NO. Diets, at least as the jagoffs who promote diet culture mean them, mean gym memberships (where exercise means a machine powered by electricity) and diet food (generally produced by - you guessed it - Industrial Ag). Setting aside the fact that they don't actually work in the long term (except inasmuch as the point is making diet companies lots of money), diets are not the cure for global warming. Diets are part of the profit-driven system that created it.

Furthermore, this whole "fat people cause global warming" idea isn't just wrong, it contributes to a culture that demeans and oppresses fat people. It's part of why, statistically, fat people (and people who think they're fat, often) have higher rates of depression, make less money, have worse chances of getting jobs and housing, receive shoddy healthcare, and can be charged as if they were two people when flying. At the end of the day, fat people are *people* and deserve the same human rights as anyone else...which they don't get when stereotypes and assumptions and pure misinformation like the drivel above are so pervasive. It's bullshit, and it's wrong.

My head hurts, on a couple levels.

2009-04-14T18:18:00.004-05:00

So, I'm working a migraine for the past, hmm, 30 hours or so. I stayed home today, and have managed to stave off the crashing boredom of unending extreme pain that gets worse when I, say, read or watch TV or look at the internet....by working in the occasional brief round of reading (I've got the new Dresden Files to finish!) or watching DVDs (hello, Firefly, my old friend) or looking at the internet (hiya).

What can I say? I am sometimes stupid, and what's a little more pain as compared to the unbearable monotony of laying in bed with a pillow over my eyes, with only the rare dip into blissful sleep to break it up??

Meh. Anyway. During one of these breaks, I flipped on the news, where I saw a clip from the show Britain's Got Talent or whatever it's called, with the shocking revelation that a non-thin, non-sexpot-dressing, non-pop-star-looking-or-sounding person can sing the shit out of a song. And that Simon Cowell, and well, pretty much everyone else in a fucking reality TV show audience is a judgmental doucheface who associates talent with being hot. Well, lemme look around at the world of "famous" people in the past twenty years, and see if I can figure out where people might've made that fucking connection, hmmmm??

Yeah, anybody who's out there in the actual world, not the "real" world as conveyed by "reality" TV, anybody who's working in community theater or a local music scene or going to art shows or any creative endeavor that's not broadcast via mass media....is probably not surprised that a "normal" looking person is incredibly talented. Raise your hands, friends, if you can name five or ten really amazing artists or musicians or writers or actors or dancers who aren't going to show up on the cover of a fashion mag anytime soon. Fucking NO DUH.

Despite the pop culture phenomenon of pretty people getting record deals and better exposure and audience support and yada yada yada (which isn't to say that there aren't "pretty" people who make it by the sweat of their brow and not some "free" ride), talent obnoxiously insists on attaching itself to people from ALL walks of life, with all ranges of physical and mental and emotional states of being.

This reminds me of that old trope connecting madness to genius. Yeah, you know what, there are plenty of people walking the line of mental stability who also happen to make amazing art of some kind....and just as many totally stable artists cranking out interesting works. Just like anything else, there are so many independent factors that go into making each of us who we are, and into the opportunities we are offered and pursue, that to make any kind of gross generalization about any "type" of person is pretty much asking the universe to prove you wrong.

The news played this story with the angle, "Don't judge a book by its cover." Again I say, fucking no duh. How about we stretch our lobes a bit further, though, people? How about we stop telling our collectives selves the story that only pretty people are good? How about we stop deluding ourselves that the only people who can rip our hearts out when they sing songs or play roles or paint pictures or dance around....look or speak or act a certain way?

How about, instead of being shocked that someone so unexpected could be so brilliant, we consider the possibility that everyone we meet just might be brilliant somehow, if we only stopped telling them they weren't, and maybe gave them a spotlight and a microphone?

I'm going back to my dark room and the pillow over my eyes. Maybe when I get up again the world will be a less shitty place?

Just this one thing.

2009-04-10T14:18:00.002-05:00

Glen Hansard's performance of "Say It To Me Now" from the movie Once is maybe the most passionate vocal performance of a song I have ever heard via recording. If you haven't seen the movie, I recommend it....but even if you don't see the movie, listen to the song. I will send you the mp3 if you don't have it or can't find it.

Compare & contrast.

2009-04-09T13:58:00.002-05:00

Things attempting to damage my calm today:

* Woman in elevator at office asks if I'm in tomorrow; I'm confused as to why I wouldn't be. Takes me a minute to realize it's Good Friday, which I don't celebrate because I'm not a Christian, but people assume I'm Christian until/unless I tell them otherwise. Somehow I thought the black nail polish and dyed red hair would be enough to project a stereotype here! Maybe I should start wearing my pentacle to work? Or more tattoos....hmmm...

* Coming through the security doors on my floor of the building, I vaguely hear footsteps before the door closes behind me. A woman says, "Thanks" in total sarcastic mode. What, the eyes in the back of my head were supposed to let me know you wanted me to hold the door? 'Cause clearly you're able to speak....but weren't able to ask me to hold the door since you were, uh, BEHIND ME?

* This article pulled from the Sudan Tribune, talking about the dangers of colonialism inherent in so much charity related to African countries. Makes me question where the donations I've made to "Save Darfur" are really going. Sonuvabitch! But a good reminder to me to do the effin' research before sending money to anything. Intentions are important, but thorough knowledge doesn't hurt. Time to wade into learning more about Sudan, I think.

* E-mails from family members basically telling me I don't trust Yahweh enough and also am un-American for thinking taxes make a better society. Yes, taxes suck, but the alternative sucks worse. Also, stop trying to convince me to have faith in Jesus.

* Danny Glover speaks truth about the Obama administration and racism. A bummer, but also informative.

Things helping me hold on to sanity:

* Ellen Brown preaches to this choir about how banks are totally fucking evil. Maybe not in those words.

* The Mayer explains a fear exercise I love to hate.

* I have started a trend of reflexively un-friending or un-following or un-subscribing stuff that bugs me. I love Chicago Honey Co-op, for example, but yesterday, they were pimping out some article or program or something or other talking about "get off your fat ass and bike to work." Which, you know, just doesn't seem like it's gonna be anything but a bunch of "omg I'm so fat and lazy and disgusting, I need to bike - oh, and starve, too - my way to a socially acceptable body," and you know...I just don't feel like wading through that kinda bullshit just to hear about how the local honeybees are doing. Buh-bye! Ditto bloggers or Facebook friends who are dieting, proselytizing, selling something, or posting total nonsense. Someday I may crawl out of the echo chamber...or maybe not. For now, my brain really appreciates relaxing its tolerance muscles a little. I mean, they get enough exercise at the office, anyway.

* Elle posting at Shakesville about water. This is a beautiful, heartbreaking post.

* Speaking of really awesome posts that tear me up, there's this one from Beth at Fake Plastic Fish, one of my fave green blogs.

* This playlist:

"Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" - John Mayer
"I Got a Name" - Jim Croce
"Mr. Curiosity" - Jason Mraz
"A Case of You" - Jane Monheit covering Joni Mitchell
"The Part Where You Let Go" - Hem
"The Shape I Found You In" - Girlyman
"Running on Faith" - Eric Clapton
"Comfort You" - Denison Witmer covering Van Morrison
"One Good Year" - Slaid Cleaves
"I Drive Alone" - Esthero
"St. Peter" - David Ford
"Rootless Tree" - Damien Rice
"By Way of Sorrow" - Cry, Cry, Cry
"Heart of the Matter" - India.Arie covering Don Henley
"They Were Wrong" - Matthew Ryan
"Dear Chicago" - Ryan Adams
"She's Out of My Life" - Josh Groban covering Michael Jackson
"Mexico" - Kim Richey covering CAKE
"Say It To Me Now" - Glen Hansard
"31 Today" - Aimee Mann
"Spilt Milk" - Matt Duke
"Ain't No Love" - David Gray
"Gravity" - John Mayer

Ranting about language.

2009-03-31T10:45:00.002-05:00

So, despite my best intentions to take a break from the usual stress-and-rage-fueled adrenal fatigue of my day-to-day existence, yesterday I had an episode of raw fury, sparked by a couple things I bumped into while toddling through the afternoon. I have been pondering since, and enjoying (sort of) the reminder of how important language is. And now, I must rant.

I am beyond tired of the way our language is designed to promote the norm, the average, and the assumption that people are all alike. I understand the cultural impetus to support certain standards, but among people who value social justice and are working against patriarchy and broad frameworks of power-over, I think it's critical to find ways to tell individual stories, with respect for multiplicity and an abundance of diversity - as opposed to gross generalizations that inherently deny or devalue alternate experiences. And I think examining how I speak and the language I use is a really important first step towards that goal.

When I was first learning about nonviolent communication, I felt very challenged by what seemed to me to be unnecessarily fine parsing of phrasing and pronouns. I mean, what difference is there in saying "you know how sometimes you feel like life is total shit" and "sometimes I feel like life is total shit"? As I eventually started to recognize - a fuckload of difference. I started seeing how so much of the language I encounter daily is instructive and directive - not just giving me orders, but essentially defining my experience. I think this is why I used to spend a lot of time angry, without ever knowing precisely why....now, I can see how constantly being told how I think and feel would leave me generally and vaguely upset. Particularly since I'm the kind of girl who hates taking orders.

Yeah, I'm talking about marketing and commercials and print ads and mass media....but I'm also talking about conversations with friends and acquaintances, professional interactions, everything. Since shifting my perspective on language and communication, I've pretty much got a running commentary in my head that goes, "No, I don't feel like that. That's not what I think. Nope, that's not how it works for me. No, I've never done that. I don't say that." It's kind of exhausting, actually, because I have to keep reminding myself that my story is not the story I'm being told it is.

In becoming more aware and more sensitive to social justice issues, I've found my awareness of this phenomenon expanded again and again, as I encounter more and more perspectives that are new to me. I mean, I'm an urban-dwelling, non-Christian, middle class, white, fat girl...there's only so much I can understand from where I sit, and I really value hearing other stories that are not mine. I sometimes even like hearing the stories of other urban-dwelling, non-Christian, middle class, white, fat girls, because often their stories are so very different from mine - which is a really great reminder that stereotypes are not gospel, and people vary wildly, even within comparatively narrow demographics.

I find it incredibly frustrating, though, when other people tell their story as if it is universal, or even universal for everyone within some comparatively narrow demographic. I mean, some urban-dwelling people have never milked a cow or seen the Milky Way - but I have. Some middle class people have never lived in a trailer park or eaten government cheese - but I have. There are as many backstories as there are non-Christians and fat people. Operating under the assumption that my story is anything but MY story is delusional, and does a disservice to me and anyone who hears my story.

In particular, I think it's really important to be careful about making assumptions and recommendations based on assumptions. I can't tell every poor girl from the country that if she drops out of college, she'll still wind up making a decent living and doing music on the side - because, sure, that worked for me, and I don't have regrets about it...but every individual case requires its own room to breathe and grow and develop in its own way. Everyone has to consider their choices from their own unique circumstances, and make decisions based on their own hopes and resources and boundaries and willingness to engage in challenging norms.

In short: speak for your fucking self, and stop giving me advice on how to solve problems I don't have, please and thanks. I'll do my best to return the favor.

SFSV: the latest.

2009-03-26T13:46:00.003-05:00

(So, I'm starting my summer vacay in spring. I know. Semantics, people.)

Two parts of the Stress Free Summer Vacay (SFSV) plan of action are taking a bunch of classes, and working on recording an album.

On the taking classes side, things are a bit dicey thus far....although Metromix was present with a TV camera to interview me about my experience, the drum class I planned to take may not pan out after all, due to low enrollment. (Seriously, if you have $95 to spare, live in Chicago, and have any interest in accompanying bellydancers, this is totally the right class! Click here and SIGN UP ASAP, or it's cancellation city.) Classes on the agenda a bit down the road: pottery at Lillstreet, Italian at Discovery Center, and maybe some workshops at Chicago Hot Glass. I may add another language or something, if the drum class doesn't pan out. We shall see.

On the music side of the house, I met a guitarist/engineer/producer last night that I'm going to be working with to sort out an album's worth of tunage and get it all laid down right and proper. No half-ass demo shit, no "adequate but not spectacular" shit...I'm going for polish, which means hiring other people to do the work that isn't songwriting and singing. The first step of that is done, and now I just have to funnel money and time into the project to wrap it up. I suspect it may take months. And I'm mostly okay with that.

In other news, I've sorted my feed reader with a Pollyanna filter, so hopefully I can stop worrying about the fucking fiscal disaster on Wall Street and start regrowing all the brain cells that were killed in the rage...

Things that are true.

2009-03-23T17:16:00.004-05:00

I've been trying not to marinate in depression since my grandma died in December, and having various levels of success. The fact that other things in my life are genuinely sucking (no matter how fucking lucky I really am when I put things in perspective, shitty stuff is still shitty and I think it's okay for me to not like it), some of which have been within my control and some of which have not, has not helped matters in this regard.

I'm also feeling some Rage-Against-the-Machine fatigue. Spending every day reminding myself how much bullshit is going on in the world, it's weighing on me. Rampant misogyny, lack of marriage equality, capitalist shenanigans, people living in poverty and oppression and hunger and disease and war-zones and wage slavery and toxic environments, global warming, yada yada. I'm having trouble finding a thought in my head that doesn't fill me with dread and despair. And, you know, that can't be good.

So. Plan of action: Summer Vacay.

I think I might just give myself permission to stop fighting the patriarchy, keeping up with current events, or trying to reduce my environmental impact. I don't know if I actually can pull it off anymore, but I think I'm gonna try. I'm gonna take some classes (Drumming! Pottery! Italian! Whee!), see a lot of movies, get out of town a bit, go shopping whenever I want, and see if I can't get the ulcer to chill out, the sleep to come back, and the upper back to unclench.

And if that doesn't work, well...I may just be more Goth than I thought.

Happy Vernal Equinox, y'all.

2009-03-20T17:12:00.000-05:00

come spring
things will be different
I hope

bare toes and
green growing things
growing greenly

swoops of hyacinth
peeking crocus punctuation
lily bells ringing

these snow-covered aches
leftover pains from the frozen season
ease and melt

rush through newly porous earth
back to the dark molten source
beating in the center

a mantle of bursting buds
stretches over heavy grief-laden soil
dark roots hidden again

hungry depths go silent
fuel heaving striving upward grasps
chasing shadows with sun

a winter's rest
dreams of bright lights and warmth
traded for soggy truth

but still come spring
things will be different
I hope

Mountian goats and awkward elevator rides.

2009-03-06T07:52:00.001-06:00

So, the elevator at my office building has one of those TV screens (or as I like to call it, yet another venue for selling me shit at the office), the kind that runs some of the weirdest, most useless shit ever. Seriously, one day the "word of the day" was crwth. Who in the fuck, particularly in the modern corporate business world, needs to know what the fuck a crwth is?!

This morning, I'm riding the elevator with a couple dudes, one of whom happens to be the short skinny hot dude I think is just adorable, for whatever weird reason I can't fathom. The other dude gets off at a lower floor, and that leaves just me and the hot dude for the remainder of the ride. I was standing on the side of the elevator with the "good" (if we wanna call it that) view of the elevator TV, and he was doing that thing where he stood on the total opposite side of the elevator and tried to crane his neck to see the TV.

Now, I was vaguely trying to be cool and bop along to my mp3 player and act like I didn't notice it was the hot dude, 'cause elevator rides with just one other person are always so fucking awkward as-is, without adding the "Hi, I think you're soooo hot" factor. But for some reason, my mouth decided it would be fun to talk. So, loooking at the TV myself, I see that it's currently running a story about how many mountain goats there are in North America (apparently 40,000?). And before my brain can engage and confirm that I won't sound like a complete fucking tool, I say, "It's about mountain goats."

The dude looks at me as though I have grown a second head. "What?" he says.

I nod towards the elevator TV. "Mountain goats. They're running a story on how many mountain goats there are in North America. About 40,000 apparently."

He smiles, half scared, half bemused.

I try to grin winningly. (Pretty sure I failed to look anything other than kooky.) "Don't they run the most useless stuff?"

He sort of shrugs. Just then, we reach our floor. He politely lets me out first, and we're walking towards opposite parts of the floor. He calls behind me, "Have a good day."

I'm sure I'm blushing six shades of red - by now my brain has caught up with my fucking stupid mouth. "You, too!" I say, and bolt for my cube.

Lest anyone think I am any kind of cool, this is the kind of shit that happens to me when my hormones get the better of me. I talk to hot guys about mountain goats. Only in my life!

Thinking about music.

2009-03-05T17:15:00.000-06:00

So, I'm a bit of a musical commitment-phobe, as a listener. I dabble in just about everything - a little jazz, a little rap, a little classical, a lot of folk, some rock, some pop, some dancey-type-music (electronica? trip-hop? industrial? jungle? I don't even know the proper genres anymore), some Motown, a fair amount of pop-punk, some actual punk, and yes, folks, I even like the Country Music. Even, I shudder to admit, some of that crap kicked out by the Nashville Machine (Yes, they're soulless bastards who reduce what is a labor of love and inspiration for me, to a fucking assembly line....but sometimes an assembly line kicks out a quality product, too. Not everyone working there is a talentless hack.).

The digital music revolution has only made this tendency worse, for me. Now, I don't even have to buy or listen to a whole CD from one artist. I can preview and buy by the track, or read six gajillion music blogs and scope out new artists and the best tracks without doing the legwork myself (shout outs to Fingertips, my fave purveyor of 100% free-and-legal mp3s!). And, I can float from artist to artist and genre to genre, only getting the best of each.

Damn, that is awesome.

And, from the perspective of a musician, fucking scary as hell. I mean, my own experience trying to build a following and get people into my music....yeah, it's a full time job getting people to listen, and that's not even counting the making of the actual music. Or, you know, the day job I work so I can afford somewhere to make the music I'm trying to get people to listen to. This is where the old record labels came in and made it easy. They threw in money up front, and that meant musicians just had to walk in and make the music (of course, setting aside issues of who owned said music, and how it was made, and what it sounded like, and how it evolved, which is a whole other thorny issue). (Anyway.) My point, I suppose, is that without the record labels running the show (which is becoming more and more the case), the whole game changes.

I read this fucking brilliant post this morning, and was moved to tears and heartened and scared shitless all at the same time. Fun. Here's why:

Walk into the wilderness with me. If you believe in yourself, you’re never going to give up, you’re going to play until you make it. And believe me, if you put in all that time and no one is paying attention you will give up, that life is just too frustrating. But if you’ve got talent, you’ll see signposts along the way, enough positive feedback to keep you going.

That is a chilling statement right there, and it hits me in a sore spot. I make a lot of uneasy compromises in my life, trying to make space for all the things I believe and all the things I love and all the different weirdo pieces that make up Who I Am...and I worry sometimes that my failure to commit, really commit, to making a musical career isn't part of why mine is so stop-start-stutter-stop-start. I play and write almost constantly, I play gigs every couple months, I take baby steps wherever I can, wherever life has space for it, wherever I can push something to the side without losing my mind....but I haven't taken on the full time job of promoting myself and pushing myself and pounding the pavement the way I know is required of "making it," whatever that means in this Digital Age.

On the other hand, I don't even know that I want to make my living making music. I mean, sure, I love the idea of playing itinerant troubadour in my veggie-oil-powered RV...but would that kind of lifestyle even be sustainable? I don't know. Meanwhile, I'm trying to garner resources for a serious recording project, and fuck me if life doesn't keep making it fucking difficult as shit, between money or time or energy.

I don't really have smart things to say about this....that post just made me think about what I'm doing and why. Le sigh.

Getting back to my earlier point about me being a musical commitment-phobe, though, I recently stumbled onto Amie Street, which fucking rocks. Not only are we talking non-DRM files I can buy a la carte (sans eMusic's pesky monthly fee deal), there's no software to download, which are my major requirements for digital downloads I'm paying for. Track prices range from free to 98 cents, which is also awesome. I've been messing around with the site for a couple days, and just loving the hell out of it. I discovered a couple amazing tracks, plus found some new-to-me Dan Bern that has been blowing my mind. Also, Transglobal Underground, some of which I don't love....but some of which is so fucking groovy I can't stop drumming on my desk. Good times!

I will stop rambling aimlessly about musical things now. Back to your regularly scheduled day!

Well, folks, it's been kind of a shitty few days...

2009-03-03T20:34:00.003-06:00

Without going into all the gory, whiny-ass details, here are the bullet points:

* It rained, my bedroom flooded, and this will very likely be a huge fucking pain in my ass sometime in the near future.

* My fabu custom boots from Australia? Took a month to get here, didn't fit and smelled funny. Sending them back for another pair. Thin veneer of high hopes over a gaping pit of black fury and bitterness. Yay!

* I'm a fucking jackass who managed to bump a cement column in a parking garage while returning a carshare vehicle, scratching the passenger door all to fuck. No word yet on the damages, but goodbye to a couple hundred bucks minimum, I'm sure. (Hilariously, earlier that day I made a crack about hitting some doofus because my damage waiver was only $500. I should learn to shut the fuck up.)

There are some very good things I'm working on to counteract the steaming pile of shit outlined above...but it's all still in diaphonous process, as compared to the very here-and-now certainty of suckitude that's been parading through my life as if I invited it. Which, you know, on some cosmic level I'm sure I did, karma being what it is. Although, not for nothing, but whose cornflakes did I piss in?!

Meanwhile, here's a little public service message from me to you, jerkoff assfaces of the world: the phrase "sorry if you took it the wrong way" may *seem* like it's some kind of apology (what with the starting with the word "sorry" and all), but in fact, it's not. It's a nonpology. It actually conveys the message: "You're an oversensitive whinyass booby who can't take a joke. You oughtta lighten up and realize that the only reason you're pissed off is because you don't even know what's good for you. Which *I* clearly do, so do what I tell you, bitch!" Yeah, stop saying that, unless you like hearing me say "fuck off."

In other news, I may be making a surprise flying trip to Boston for work, sometime in the next couple weeks - not certain yet, but it could happen (regardless of whether I want it to or not). And that goes along with the fact that here I am, still at the office at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday. Fuck me, I'm going home.

Home again and sickly.

2009-02-18T13:54:00.004-06:00

While I was off frolicking with pagans in the hinterland, I managed to catch myself some cooties, and I'm now nursing a pretty fierce illness of impressive proportions. I am trying to figure out what the gift of this experience is, but fuck that. I'm sick, I'm cranky, and I have no interest or ability in putting this in some kind of "big picture" perspective. I can't see any of that enlightened bullshit at the moment, because I am coughing and congested and my nose looks like a lump of loosely cohered hamburger some fast-moving passerby threw in the vicinity of my face.

Do I seem bitter? Yeah, I totally am.

I expect thoughtfulness sans vitriol may return when my immune system comes off strike. Which, for the sake of my remaining sick days, should be very soon. Please, gods.

GIG ALERT!

2009-02-04T10:12:00.003-06:00

I know it's short notice, but I just booked for tomorrow night at Pick a Cup coffeehouse in Evanston. It's about a mile west of the Dempster Purple Line, at 1813 W. Dempster, but there's no cover (tips of course), a good lineup of players (in addition to open mic action should you want to try your hand), and ME! Show starts at 7:30.

I know the weather will be total balls, but it's Chicago (well, Evanston), dammit! It's the Midwest - we laugh in the face of nasty weather! HahahaHA! See you there.

Today, in things that are fucked up...

2009-01-27T18:53:00.001-06:00

Holy crap, I can't even believe this bullshit: Bill Gates has solved Africa!

Well, okay, he's figured out how to fix that whole problem they have of, like, starving all the time over there. They just need geneticaly modified seeds and lots and lots of agrichemicals (i.e., petrochemical fertilizer!). You know, so they can kick out bumper crops like farmers over here in the States do! 'Cause it's not like there are any negative consequences to that approach, especially not when rich corporations bring it to the tropics. Jeebus, Bill Gates, what is your deal?! Is it not bad enough that you sell buttloads of imperfect operating systems that bring blue screens and frustration* to people around the world....do you have to export crappy (environment-destroying) industrial farming, too?! (P.S. While it may be historically accurate, don't you think you could've found a better way to talk about the increase in crop yield due to petroleum-based mono-crop industrial agriculture than "Green Revolution"? 'Cause I dunno 'bout you, Bill, but I'm interested in a whole 'nother kinda Green Revolution these days...Plus, what the hell? USA, China, India, Africa: one of these things is not like the other.)

In fairness, though, this sentence in Bill's letter is spot fucking on:

It is interesting how often the impact of climate change is illustrated by talking about the problems the polar bears will face rather than the much greater number of poor people who will die unless significant investments are made to help them.

I totally agree, Bill. I'm not sure, though, that expanding industrial farming techniques to countries that don't use them now will actually help this situation. In fact, I'm pretty darn sure it won't. Now, organic and permaculture resources? Whole different story.

In other news of the wackadoo, apparently someone's printing out the Shared Items from their Google Reader, and calling it a newspaper?? I saw one on the el this morning, and literally turned to my roomie and said, "I think they missed the point." Don't get me wrong, I love the tactile experience of printed media; I will probably always keep a magazine subscription or two, and you'll pry my books from my cold, dead hands. But. It makes zero sense to me to compile a bunch of blogs and print it out like a newspaper. Also? STOP NEEDLESSLY KILLING TREES, YOU THOUGHTLESS FUCKS! Read it on your damn laptop!

Another thing fueling my rage today: TreeHugger's "Vegetarians We Love," which is a list of *dudes* who don't eat meat. 'Cause, apparently, it is totally girly to not eat meat. Don't get me wrong, TreeHugger, I get that y'all are trying to show other dudes that not-eating-meat can totally be manly, since Joaquin Phoenix is totally a vegan and all....but excellent work ignoring the fact that food choices (should) have FUCK ALL to do with gender. And that guys need some kind of extra special prize for not guzzling steak at three meals a day.

Finally, to round out the sad state of the good, green earth and some of her fucked up peoples, it seems that Americans don't really buy this whole "climate change" business, and that if those of us who do buy it and give a damn are going to convince them to change, we're gonna have to dumb it down a bit, 'cause all that science talk is just confusing, or something. I know not everybody wants to pore over charts and data and read scientific studies which are, admittedly, often a little on the dry side...but the evidence is ubiquitous enough these days that we've already boiled it down to stuff like the penguins will all die and global warming is irreversible....I dunno how much less "science-y" it gets than those really plain statements, but apparently Jane Six-Pack still somehow thinks that's not a big deal. Ugh.

Le sigh. Okay, some good stuff to get the brain churning a bit: BFP & Jess' collab called (re)Thinking Walking, which is really interesting food for thought; a manifesto from Jeremy Schlosberg at Fingertips, who I find one of the smartest, fairest and most ethical music bloggers on the web; also, this bit about racism in SF&F is delightfully blunt.

The world is a complicated place, and I rarely find enough time to wrap my brain around even a small piece of it. But I keep trying.

_____________________________
* Note: I detest Microsoft only marginally less than I detest anything Apple-related. Just in case you were thinking I was a Mac person or something. *shudder*

Morose rumination; poetry illuminates.

2009-01-21T16:04:00.003-06:00

Death. Ugh. It always hits me harder than I expect, and not usually in a way I've been able to articulate or explain or connect with or interact with or shift at all. Every time death has come into my life, it's left me with an underlying sorrow, a dull buzzing melancholy that lingers like a shadow on the edge of everything I do until time passes and the darkness bleeds back into the past. This time it's not behaving differently; there is no moment when it's not somehow looming in the corner of my eye, unconsciously reminding me of loss and regret.

The last conversation we had, I told my grandma sometimes I thought about moving back home, closer to family. Her answer was, "You never will. Why would you? What's here for you?" For me, that is true; I spent my youth chafing under the yoke of living in a small town, and after high school I left that life behind like my feet were spring-loaded and haven't really looked back since. Although in many ways, the internet's ubiquity has changed the face of small town life (easier to connect to fellow weirdos), there are still cultural biases that would be frustrating (eating out as a vegetarian would be problematic, not to mention rampant race, religious, gender and sexual-orientation bias, etc., etc.)....yeah, the diversity of living in the city, diversity of population and opportunity and reminders that my way is not the only way - that's something my life would be less without. In a small town where most people have so very much in common, it would be harder than it already is to remember how fucking lucky I am, and that I have an obligation to work for the betterment of the world around me.

And so, even though it means that I can probably count on two hands the number of times I saw my grandmother in the past ten years...and that breaks my heart and makes me feel so ungrateful and guilty and like the worst granddaughter ever...even though there is all that sitting out there and weighing on me, I think she was right. I don't want to live in a small town again. Maybe someday, when I'm ready to be a reclusive organic farmer living in a yurt with my sheep...but not anytime in the immediately foreseeable future. I think my work is here, even at the cost of close family connections that I mourn, especially at times like this.

Le sigh, I'm so tormented. [insert your own rolleyes here]

At times like this, I like to fill my head with poetry and music and art. I like to connect with my creativity, try to work out some of the melodramatic crap in song or verse or making something. The music hasn't been cooperating (heh - big shocker; I'm never good at writing about shit that's happening to me); the poetry is unremarkable and overwrought; I'm working on turning my old fave pants (with the inevitable worn out thighs) into a shoulder bag, and that's going okay.

More exciting, though, was the piece Elizabeth Alexander read at yesterday's inauguration ceremony. It seems there are folks who didn't care for it, or for its delivery...but I fucking loved it. I thought Alexander did a decent job of selling it (though I imagine it could be kicked up a notch interpretively, but I've never given much of a crap for interpretive poetry performance...it's the words themselves, the meter and rhythm, that matters to me - not whether or not the performance itself is evocative; I mean, the right performer could make me cry reading the phone book...), but the poem itself was spot-on for the energy of the day, for the hopes of the moment, and for my own mood and worldview. The metaphor, the phrasing, the arc...it all worked (indeed, works) for me. Well fucking done, I say:

Praise song for the day.

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

—Elizabeth Alexander

It does my heart good to see this kind of art honored in a moment of such import, poised between despair and the fear of hope. It makes me even more hopeful that the new president has made space for poetry; it speaks to me of someone who's got his priorities properly in order.

Happy Inauguration Day!

2009-01-20T16:17:00.002-06:00

...or, as we call it in my family, Dad's birthday!

Today, I was very in touch with being a citizen of the United States. Besides finally getting the inadequate office tech (multibillion dollar global corporation...and we don't even have the latest version of Flash - wtf?) to finally stream MSNBC live, so I could get all teary over freedom and progress and hope and change...I also got my electronic W2, so I e-filed my tax returns. Give me my fucking money, Uncle Sam!!

Interesting: I noticed that the amount of taxes I'm paying has gone down again from last year's number, despite a little bump in my income. I don't make bucketloads of money, but WTF?! I shouldn't be paying less tax when WE'RE AT FREAKING WAR!!

Not that I won't take that bigger tax return and spend the shit out of it.

Anyway.

So, yeah. A new era of peace and prosperity. Opportunity for everyone - education, employment, access to resources and housing and healthcare. Safety and security, ensured by diplomacy and an awareness of our ability to impact the world for the better. An end to war. Accountability. Sustainability - both environmentally and economically.

Those are my hopes. If even one of them is mostly realized, I will be pretty damn happy.

I told my dad the whole world was celebrating his birthday this year. Happy birthday, Dad. I hope you like your awesome new president!

I'm throwing two boots at Bush!

2009-01-20T10:29:00.003-06:00

I'm throwing two boots at Bush, during his last moments as anything more than a tragic historical footnote.

I'm throwing those boots for all the millions of people whose lives have been made worse by the misguided decisions and policies of the Bush administration. I'm throwing them for the soldiers and civilians who have died in a needless war. I'm throwing them for the disregarded civil rights, for the disregarded human rights, for the disregarded principles and lessons of history. I'm throwing them for the voiceless and oppressed, the forgotten and the ignored.

Bush, Cheney, Rove, and everybody else that willfully conspired in the horrors of the past eight years: though this moment is overflowing with new hopes and anticipation of dramatic and beautiful change, I do not forget your actions. I curse you with Justice.

Also: FUCK YOU.

Other people's words.

2009-01-14T14:00:00.001-06:00

I'm still reacclimating to being back at work after a week off. I don't really have brilliant, insightful, inspiring, or thought-provoking things to say today. Luckily, other people do:

Hillary Clinton's opening remarks during the hearings confirming her as the next Secretary of State:

Too often, we see the ills that plague us more clearly than the possibilities in front of us, but it is the real possibility of progress, of that better life free from fear and want and discord, that offers our most compelling message to the rest of the world.

Lesley at Fatshionista writes about lines and stuff, which is way more brilliant than my crap description makes it seem:

I was hurt by fatphobia. I was injured by dieting. It’s taken me years - and I am still working on it - to begin to recover; to begin to have a healthy concept of food and eating; to begin to love my body for being mine no matter its size; to learn to see myself reflected in a mirror, or a shop window, or in a photograph, and not cringe; to survive in a culture that stereotypes me as lazy, stupid, disgusting, immoral, out of control, and so forth. I was bent by all this, and am very fortunate I never broke. If I draw lines, it’s because I don’t want anyone else - my friends, my family, even total fucking strangers - to have to go through that shit, to hate themselves for it. I don’t want to get sucked back down into that vortex myself.

Blackspot / ReThinking Capitalism talks about reframing music labels:

Basically, the business aspect needs to be put much lower on the priority list in the music business. If all labels followed this theory, there wouldn’t be a need to emphasize the money-making aspect - it would come naturally out of the talent they have nurtured and promoted instead of the One-Hit-Wonders they have used and abused.

Ryan Adams (an artist I dig on several levels) muses about stepping away from music:

that is not love. love is being accepted for who you are. love is taking care of yourself and caring for others and dreaming out loud when it matters. not chasing rainbows. not hoping for some eventual collective sigh of approval which will never come. how did i ever think in those terms? i always knew better. thank goodness i know now how to be honest with myself.

Ahhhhh....staycation....

2009-01-05T16:08:00.004-06:00

I know that "staycation" made LSSU's list of words that should be drawn, quartered, tarred, feathered, and then drop-kicked off the planet....and hell, I even agree.....but, well, it's what I'm doing this week. I wanted some time off after the crazy of the past couple months, but I don't really want to sink a lot of dosh into travel quite yet...so here we are. With bad TV on in the background, telling me how Katie Holmes isn't "just wearing baggy clothes," she's starting a trend called "boyfriend clothes." Um....what? Dudes, that "trend" has been around FOREVER. It is not new.

Anyway.

I have ambitious plans to hit the spa and read a bunch of books and watch a bunch of movies and write a bunch of music and maybe even try to get out on a date or two. Who knows? Most importantly, I am not stressing about shit. Just not fucking doing it. If something bothers me, it will cease to exist. Just mmmmmmmmmmfuckit and gone. Lalala.

Happy new year everybody!

News flash: fat kids are stupid.

2008-12-30T09:09:00.005-06:00

The remaining minutes of 2008 are slowly ticking past, much to my increasing delight. Frankly, I can't wait for this festering fucking pustule of a year to get the hell over with. Not that my life is all that bad on a cosmic scale, but this year has brought me mystery debilitating illness, romantic disappointment, and the passing on of a loved one....and not even the prospect of a new era in American politics can take the sting out of those major bummers.

Instead of ruminating on all that horseshit, though, I'm going to fire up my own rage-driven internal combustion engine, and rant a bit. This morning's news even provided a handy source of fuel!

Recent results from an international math and science test show United States students are performing near the middle of the pack compared to other countries, while their levels of obesity continue to climb.

Wow. Did you know that fat kids were dumb? Clearly there could be no other possible explanation for why American kids are falling behind the rest of the world academically! (Also, was there any checking on how fat the non-American kids were, for comparison's sake? Um, no.)

The California Department of Education (CDE) looked for a correlation between fitness scores and test scores. They found that kids who were deemed fit (by a standard test of aerobic capacity, BMI, abdominal strength, trunk strength, upper body strength and overall flexibility) scored twice as well on academic tests as those that were unfit. In the second year of the study, socio-economic status was taken into account, to possibly eliminate that variable as an explanation. As expected, those in the upper-income brackets scored better overall on the academic tests, but within the lower-income set of students, the same results were observed - kids who were more fit performed better academically.

So, kudos to these guys for actually considering socio-economic status as a valid factor (though I wonder if they also noticed a skewing of higher BMIs towards the lower-income bracket, hmmm?). However, I wonder if they considered any other factors that might come into play. Like, say, the impact of fat bias on academic performance; I wonder if there's a difference in the effort made to teach fat kids, a difference in individual attention, that sort of thing. Certainly I imagine that bullying and social stigma have an affect on fat kids' ability to focus on getting an education.

I was a smartypants fat girl in school (poor, too, even!), but I'm well aware that my experience was not the norm - since I didn't get bullied or teased much (I guess 'cause I look so mean?). I wonder, if other fat kids didn't have to deal with the constant derision of their peers (not to mention, I imagine, at least some of their teachers, too)...would they get a better education?

Another factor to consider? I wonder how many of the fat kids in these studies were on diets. I imagine plenty of 4th and 8th graders have already been put on diets by their parents or schools...not to say anything of the ones who've already started down the road of internalized fat hate and disordered eating patterns. I know many people my age were already engaging in diet culture at 12 or 13, so it wouldn't surprise me; I imagine that dieting wouldn't make for optimal test scores, either.

Aside from all that, though, the salient part of the quote above is the word "correlation." Say it with me now: correlation does not equal causation. Now, maybe some of you are asking, "So what?" Here's the bit that does not compute:

So, just send the kids on a fast jog and they will ace all of their tests? Not quite.

"The exercise itself doesn't make you smarter, but it puts the brain of the learners in the optimal position for them to learn," Ratey said. "There's no way to say for sure that improves learning capacity for kids, but it certainly seems to correlate to that."

The part that makes me wish I had a mustache to chew is the action that will inevitably be taken based on studies and articles like this: (more) fat kids will be put on diets, likely mandated by school policies and fear tactics; the new administration in DC could revamp "No Child Left Behind" to add fitness requirements and other anti-fat programs; and fat kids will continue to be unfairly stigmatized as stupid, lazy, and overindulgent. All of that stuff could happen, when the truth is right there in that article - "exercise doesn't make you smarter" and "seems to correlate." This is weasel speak, folks: they don't actually KNOW what's going on here.

Yet again, a complex situation will be reduced to a simple axium, and used to demonize and punish fat people. Meanwhile, in Taiwan, pandas are losing weight because of a lack of exercise. What? Do the laws of thermodynamics not apply to pandas??

Apparently hell has frozen over.

Happy Winter Holiday of Your Choice.

2008-12-23T13:58:00.004-06:00

My mind is churning with things to babble about, but I haven't the time to properly pull them out and put them in any semblance of coherency. I'm filled with so many conflicting emotions, I can barely keep my head on straight. And the holidays....well, they can fuck right off this year. I want to fast forward a couple weeks.

I will say that I have happily discovered Joel Rakes, who not only has some tasty music out there to buy, but is also giving away some delightful holiday tunage for free on his website. It's good stuff - slightly twangy guy-with-a-guitar music, with some creative and interesting arrangements. Music is one of the few joys for me this season, so I'm happy to find something I really dig.

Meanwhile, something poetical to sum:

there is a smiling sadness
welling up within me
the corners of my mouth
are creaking

it is not regret
tugging at my brows
but bittersweet gratitude
for my mistakes

Bad news.

2008-12-10T09:55:00.004-06:00

My grandmother passed away in her sleep last night. It's a relief in that she's not suffering anymore...but obviously it sucks on many levels.

I've cancelled tonight's gig.

Bullet points.

2008-12-09T16:15:00.002-06:00

* Yeah, the gov has been arrested. Here's my surprise face. Did anybody think it was anything but a matter of time before this dude was caught in something shady?

* Both The Mayer and Mraz are up for multiple Grammies. Yay!

* The show last night was...a Monday night show. Adding in everyone (Thanks Chris D.!) who showed up on my behalf, we had a total audience of three people. Sweet! Luckily there was bar staff and all the other performers to pad that number a little. I've played to smaller crowds, so this wasn't so bad. The other performers? Jayme Dawicki (piano driven pop with tasty harmonies and really slick arrangements) and Riely O'Connor (good ol' John Prine-y storytelling songwritery goodness!) - yay for funky spellings!

* I'm playing Risque Cafe in Wrigleyville tomorrow night. 9:30. It's free to get in, and they have $2 PBRs. Just saying.

* Also, I'm playing the holiday event at Lake Side Cafe, my fave veggie joint. This is vegetarian food that non-veggies will love; I personally prefer it to Chicago Diner, even. Anyway, the tix for the event are $19 in advance, and worth every penny....plus of course, I'll be playing after dinner.

* The website has been recently updated, with some free holiday mp3s on the front page...plus I posted up a recording of "Ode to an Ass Clown," the meanest, nastiest, cussingest bitter break up song I've ever heard. If you like that sort of thing.

Griping.

2008-12-04T13:28:00.003-06:00

So, I am riding an emotional rollercoaster of epic proportions lately...on the one hand, I'm prepping for gigs and focusing on music, and yay awesomeness of that....of course, then there's the dying grandmother and how much that is fucking sucking the suck of much fucking suckage. Whatev. I'm trying not to get all big and dramatic now. I figure there'll be time enough for that when the inevitable comes knocking on my door.

In the meantime, I have a few petty gripes to share. Bitching about them all out of proportion with their actual impact, and in ways that don't actually affect anything, allows me to channel some of my rage about other stuff into safe outlets, so I consider it a valid coping method. Enjoy!

Peeve the First: *MY* Fucking Obama Holiday Mug
I have received about six e-mails with the subject "Your Obama Holiday Mug" in the past couple days. First off, I know my mugs intimately, and I don't have a holiday mug, let alone an Obama holiday mug. So, dudes, your first mistake was telling me something is mine when it is not. Secondly, I don't want a fucking holiday mug, let alone an Obama holiday mug.

Attention Democratic National Committee, Obama campaign people, MoveOn.org, local Democrats, and whatever other groups I may have donated to during the election: STOP SENDING ME 50 FUCKING E-MAILS A DAY asking for money, trying to give me cheap crap I don't need, and/or reminding me that "the fight's not over yet." I know the fight ain't over yet. It won't be over until the people who are trying to make the world a better place aren't still trying to bribe people with landfill fodder like FUCKING OBAMA HOLIDAY MUGS. Any one of you assfaces notice we have a goddamn environmental crisis? Any of you assfaces think maybe it has something to do with jackholes who mass produce useless shit (in China?) and hand it out indiscriminately without any thought of its fucking environmental impact?! WHAT THE FUCK, DUDES?!

Peeve the Second: Air Fresheners in Public Restrooms
Okay, ladies. I get it: poop stinks. Yes, I know it's an awful reality, but there you have it: poop stinks. I don't particularly enjoy smelling shit any more than the next girl, but at least it's a natural smell that I kind of expect if I'm headed in to pinch a loaf myself.

You know what I don't expect to smell? Fucking air fresheners. Sure, poop stinks....but the human body is sort of designed to deal with that. It's sort of a natural thing. Unlike chemical-laden air fresheners filled with carcinogens and particles that lungs are NOT designed to handle. Especially since, instead of actually making anything smell better, they smell of perfume and plastic and petroleum - none of which actually get rid of the original smell of shit. So, really, it winds up smelling like petroleum-covered, plastic shit dipped in perfume. Sounds like an awesome smell, yeah?

No. Not at all. It doesn't smell any better than poop smell - and in fact, it smells a good deal worse. So cut it the fuck OUT.

Peeve the third: The End of the Year
It's bad enough that the holidaze are here, and the (marketing disguised as) music is nonstop everywhere, and it's like an elf puked all over downtown Chicago. It's bad enough that I'm having to make hard choices like: do I get my neices the American Girl dolls they want and that would make them very cool kids, even though American Girl dolls represent everything I believe is ruining the world? It's bad enough that I'm wrestling with the crap "what to do on NYE" issue AGAIN (throw a party? go out somewhere? which friends might want to hang? can I snag a date to make out with in time?!).

On top of all that holidaze bullshit, year end also means my office is bathed in a fucking frenzy of stuff-I've-been-back-burnering-for-six-months-is-now-imperative-and-must-be-done-now-GAH!! I'm working longer hours, squeezing in more stuff, and fielding more frantic phone calls. It is starting to damage my calm.

Quick note: SHOWS!

2008-12-03T15:23:00.004-06:00

So, I'm now rocking two acoustic showcases next week, in case you can't make one.

December 8th @ Silvie's
8:30 p.m. - No Cover (tips)
1902 W. Irving Park
(right off the Irving Park Brown Line stop)

December 10th @ Risque Cafe
9:30 p.m. - No Cover
3419 N. Clark
(right off the Addison Red Line stop)

Come on out, hear some tunes, drink some beers.

I'm also working on getting into Lake Side Cafe's holiday buffet on December 18th ....but that's not confirmed yet. I'll keep you posted.

....and here we go.

2008-11-26T10:18:00.002-06:00

The holiday season for me begins tomorrow. It kicks off every year with an early-morning phone call to my dad and my sister, involving singing holiday carols loudly into the phone at an ungodly hour. Tomorrow, I'm having a relatively quiet, probably meat-free, dinner with my roomie and my mom (who's coming in for the weekend). I have some fun planned for the weekend, and hopefully it will be good for the soul. 'Cause my soul could use some good.

Hope all of you are having exactly the Thanksgiving you can use, too. Or, you know, end of November, if you don't happen to celebrate Thanksgiving.

State of the Tari: Update.

2008-11-24T13:58:00.003-06:00

So, you know, shit's going down and I'm dealing with it, more or less. I'm mostly just distracting myself, which is working for me at the moment. I'm sure it will quit....but I'm living the gospel of mmmmmmmmfuckit, for now, and I'm going to do so until it stops working.

I finished painting my bedroom over the weekend, which is unutterably awesome. It's the first time I've ever had a room without white or beige or pastel walls (they're orange and red and fabulous). I also read several books (I started the Sookie Stackhouse books...'cause for some reason I'm into vamps and werewolves lately - though not fucking Twilight thankyouverymuch) and watched half of Firefly (Malcolm Reynolds is good for my soul). I didn't drink myself into a stupor, though, so I count it a win.

I had planned to record some demo tracks over the weekend, in which endeavor I was thwarted by this random, unending, and mysterious beeping coming form the neighbor's apartment. This happens every now and then, the beeping, and it goes on and on and on...and I pretty much lose my mind trying to understand what the fuck it could be and why someone doesn't make it stop, for fuck's sake. This round, it lasted for hours, right during the time I had set aside for recording. So, not so much with the recording.

And hey, just to put it on your calendar, if it's not already there....I'm playing as part of an acoustic showcase at Silvie's on December 8th. I'll play some music (maybe even some holiday music?!), I'll drink some....a good time will be had by all. Including you, if you show up. Woo!

International Transgender Day of Remembrance

2008-11-20T12:34:00.001-06:00

Today, it's the International Transgender Day of Remembrance (click the link for a list of events around the world), and I'm thinking about Duanna Johnson and Lateisha Green and Angie Zapata. I've been thinking about gender as a social construct, and my own past gender complexities, and Prop 8, and my inability to really understand people who maintain hatred based on someone else's sex life or sex organs.

Some of my thinking was sparked by this commentary via Media Matters, from Minneapolis radio host Chris Baker. Baker said, in part (I'm only quoting this much - go to Media Matters if you want more of his drivel):

"I would say a majority of the blame does not lie with the nitwit that shot him, other than the fact that he's a nitwit and a guy who should have been in prison in my opinion, who shot him. But to me, this is the -- this is an example of how, by enabling people and trying to push this false reality, leads to horrible crimes like this."

Now, firstly, Baker is clearly a douchebag: murderers are not nitwits, they're people who have committed the ultimate act of violence, and the fact that their victims have lost their lives deserves a little fucking gravity - certainly more than the term "nitwit" encompasses. On top of this, Baker is employing a variation on the "she was asking for it" victim-blaming technique of putting the responsibility for preventing violence onto the person who suffered from it. That's plenty asstastic, but Baker's equally wankeriffic larger premise is that the media's acceptance of a person's chosen gender and its attendant pronouns...makes trans folk bold and confident enough to "go anywhere" and "walk into any party." Because walking into any party is obviously provocation enough to justify murder. Obviously, this is total bullshit.

I believe that anyone, regardless of birth sex or perceived gender presentation, should be able to go anywhere without fear of harassment or violence. Assholes like Chris Baker don't share that belief, and if nothing else illustrates the cultural divide I see in America these days, that fucking does. Here's a hint, Chris: if you're offended by the sight of someone who was born with a penis presenting as someone who doesn't have a penis, that would be YOUR problem. A trans woman getting comfy in her skin? Only bothers people who aren't comfortable in theirs. Or that's my amateur pop-psych theory, anyway.

I personally have experienced gender to be a pretty fucking fluid and slippery thing, and my own feelings and preferences and beliefs about my gender change based on circumstance and mood and a bazillion other conscious and unconscious factors. And at the end of the day, do I think it should really matter? No. Regardless of what genitalia I'm carrying around in my pants, or what I want to do with that genitalia and in whose company I want to do it, or the way I dress or think or behave....I'm still a human being worthy of respect. The fact that I do identify as a woman, and was born into a female body, is just dumb fucking luck, as I see it - and shouldn't get me any special treatment (though, hey, fair treatment I would totally love).

All the trappings of all genders ought to be accessible to anyone interested in enjoying them. Makeup and frilly dresses? Not just for chicks. Ditto for having babies, nurturing, getting emotional, and high heels. Power tools and guzzling beer? Not just for dudes. Ditto for pants and athletic prowess and math and running for President. None of the opportunities in life should be predicated on fitting into gender "norms" or even acknowledging them. The "reality" that Baker's talking about above is not one where trans people are so broadly accepted that they dare to walk around the world unafraid - I'm not trans and I know that ain't the world I'm living in.

The "real" reality I see is that gender is way more complex than human nature's need to fit everything in neat little boxes can handle. I think brains and bodies and spirits and identities come together in lots of variations, not just "male" or "female," and I think it's willfully ignorant to insist that every person sort into one of those two categories, based on how the sex hormones in their mother's womb sorted out their gonads before they were born.

So, today, I am remembering those lost to ignorance and hatred, and I am holding a bright hope for a future where all people of all genders can live peaceably in a world without fear.

Continuing hairvolution.

2008-11-17T13:37:00.007-06:00

I went home to the hinterland over the weekend, to visit my passel of dying grandparents (they're all getting sick at once). It was all kinds of depressing and I'm moody and introspective and pretty much a total wreck, drowning in emotional chaos.

Of course, because hacking my hair off is my major coping strategy, I figured my hair ought to reflect the complete disarray of my internal state. So, now I have completely choppy mess-tastic rock star hair...

...which this photo sort of captures, but not really. Basically, it looks like a deranged rat gnawed my hair off completely at random. It sticks up in funky ways. There are moments when I catch it in the mirror and go, "What the hell?" and other moments when I think it rocks.

I did have a really delicious moment over the weekend, while my sister and I were visiting my mom's mom and her preacher husband. One of my mom's (hypocritical retrofuck conservalicious philandering) brothers showed up, with his thirteen year old son in tow (product of his second marriage, to the woman he cheated on his wife with, while preaching morality every day of his repressed Baptist life). The uncle and my preacher grandfather had a rousing convo about guns (Second amendment not just about hunting! Guns for defense of freedom! Obama! Taking! Them! Away!), while the ladies and the kid discussed the economy and I kept my anti-capitalist mouth (mostly) under control.

Somehow we got onto music, and the kid was talking about his accomplishments as a sax player - which started a discussion of guitars and musicians. I could see this kid checking out my visible tattoo, and my crazy hair, and my sarcasm, and generally seeing me fit into all kinds of Rebellious Artiste stereotypes. I had to wonder if he'd ever met someone who didn't share the faith and conservative lifestyle I'm certain his father imposes in a total echo chamber....'cause I could see all kinds of stars in his eyes, and that he was painting me with some kind of glamour. It made me giggle on the inside.

I hope that kid grows up to be a total rebel badass and gives his father hell. That's karma, baby.

History, and some lessons.

2008-11-12T21:16:00.004-06:00

I grew up in a non-nuclear family setting. My parents divorced when I was eight, and I lived a few years with my single-parent mom, and then a few years with my single-parent dad. Luckily, before they divorced, my folks had the sense to move back from the wilds of the Great Plains, to Michigan, where they originally met, and where their respective parents still lived. When they divorced, and became single parents, they both were lucky enough to have their moms to help them out with their three obnoxiously precocious children.

Now, those of you who've been following my ramblings for any length of time may have recognized that I do not have a "traditional" mother-daughter kind of relationship (whatever that is) with my mom. Her mental condition combined with my typical early-teen angst to produce some rather spectacular conflict (I imagine that standard sullen rebellion might look pretty intense through a lens of psychosis and paranoia, but at the time, I wasn't exactly able to be charitable). So, you know, in addition to my confusing gender-bendy-sexual-abuse issues, I didn't exactly have a good relationship with mommy. I suspect this is part of what makes me who I am.

However, I was very lucky to have not one, but two amazing mother figures in my life. No, they weren't the typical kind. No, I didn't have that bond-y closeness that does whatever-it-does that can only come from "a mother's love" or whatever touchy-feely bullshit. But I learned how to be a woman from my grandmothers.

.....

My mom's mom, who was one of my primary caregivers after my parents divorced and my sibs and I lived with my mom (while she worked full time and finished her B.A.), was and remains one of the few truly "good" Christians I know. My dad used to say she wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful, and that's true...but she was also one of the most genuinely kind and caring people I have ever known. She taught me more about grace and courtesy and giving then I actually exhibit in my life these days, but she made a sterling example that I aspire to on a daily basis. She wasn't perfect - she and her mother sniped like harpies in the most hilarious ways. She lost her temper with my brother a lot (but then, most people who've spent more than five minutes in his company are guilty there). She even, on occasion, swore (seriously, I heard her say S.O.B. once - not the actual words, just the abbreviation).

She was a really strong woman, and not a "traditional" one for the time. Back in the sixties, her husband (my mom's dad) was institutionalized (he, like my mom, was schizophrenic), and she was left with four kids to raise on her own (I'm pretty sure she didn't get disability checks at that point in time). She had her mother's help, of course, but she did it. She worked for the State of Michigan until she retired. She raised three boys and my mom - all of whom went to college. At some point, she remarried and gained a stepson...her second husband died when I was a toddler, and she was alone again, living in a farmhouse on a dirt road way back in the Michigan countryside.

She was a model Christian, tithing regularly, doing good works, the whole bit. She read her Bible, and she did her level best to live by its tenets. Sometimes, when I stayed home sick from school, she would let me tag along to the Rescue Mission Quilting Circle, where I would tie yarn in knots and gleefully listen to the old women talk about their families and churches. Sometimes, she would let me come with her to church choir practice, and it was at her elbow that I learned to sing harmony and gained the vocal flexibility that still is one of the prime joys of my life.

When I was around twelve, she married a minister who told some of the best clean jokes. He's a die-hard right-winger, and I rarely see eye to eye with him, but he makes her happy. I have never and will never talk with her about my spirituality....not because I'm ashamed, but because if we never talk about it, I know she can tell herself I'm not going to burn in Hell. I detest her sons, and I will never tell her that either.

.....

My dad's mom is a straight-talking matriarch of the first order. She had six kids with two husbands, and never worked outside the home - except inasmuch as everybody works on a farm. When my mom was diagnosed, and my sibs and I went to live with my dad, we spent a couple months staying in a camper in my grandma's backyard.

It was my freshman year of high school, and I was at that really awkward stage, and on top of all that usual rigamarole, I was dealing with the revelation that my mom was crazy and I'd spent the past couple years being angry at her all the time over shit she couldn't really help, not to mention the joys of going to a brand new school. Those first couple months, coming home with the stack of books I was using to escape my real life, and talking things over with my no-bullshit grandma...it helped me put things in perspective, and not take on too much guilt over being human and out of my depth.

She taught me a lot about family, and what family means, and what family does. She operated a complex web of cousins, aunts, uncles, family friends, and several generations of various family ties. She worked the gossip mill like a champ - and taught me that everybody spends time in the doghouse, and nobody is beyond redemption. She also taught me that gossip is a kind of accountability, and the trick to avoiding its effects was to not do anything you minded people talking about. That's a rule I really try hard to stick to in my life, though I'm sure some of my crazier choices are popular topic of conversation these days ("Is she a communist or what?").

When I graduated from high school, my grandma gave me her valedictory pin. It was a big deal, because I was the first of her grandkids to be going to college. I'd been a really good student in high school, probably should've been my class valedictorian (not that I'm bitter), and wasn't - but my grandma gave me her pin anyway, and that pin was salve to my wounds on that score. I felt like I was some kind of standard-bearer, and I was so happy to feel like I was doing her proud.

When I dropped out of college after the first year, I didn't visit or talk to her or my dad for six months. I felt like I had let her, and the whole family, down, and I was consumed with guilt and regret and self-loathing. When I finally went and saw her, she dressed me down right to my face, telling me what a jackass I was being, and that I was breaking my father's heart by not talking to him, that shutting them out was a slap in the face, and who cared about some damn pin and some damn college.

I did my time in the doghouse, and survived it.

.....

Between all the moving around my parents did when they were married, and all the moving around they did after they divorced, I never really got attached to the idea of a physical place as "home." But my grandmothers have both lived in the same two houses, six or eight miles apart in a little tiny town in Michigan, for my whole life. Their phone numbers haven't changed, either - they're one digit apart. My idea of what makes a family, and what makes a home, is tied into these two beautiful, strong, amazing women.

I haven't lived within four hours of either of them since that brief stint in Michigan after I dropped out of college. I moved first to Atlanta, and then to Chicago, and in the eleven intervening years, I've been home three or four times a year at most. When I do go home, I usually only spend a couple days - see the parents, go to some big extended family functions, see the neices and nephews and the sibs if I can work it in. I don't usually make time to visit my grandparents. I'm a fucking idiot for that.

These women, these two women who taught me so very much about life and how to be a good person, are both in very poor health. My mom's mom is going through kidney failure and a third round of chemotherapy, and she is not doing well. My dad's mom has just had a Hospice consult and is now only taking sleeping pills and pain meds.

My life is so much different from either of my grandmothers' lives. I don't think I could be who I am, who I am supposed to be, and have stayed any closer. But I will regret to the end of my days not making more space for them in my life. In the time that remains, I can't even begin to come close to making up for that lack, but I want to try. I hope I have the guts to not let my guilt stop me from doing the right thing, because I love them, and I am grateful to them, and I have not done their love and their gifts justice. I haven't given them the tiniest fraction of what they deserve of me.

Even in this, they're still teaching me.

This Prop 8 Bullshit.

2008-11-12T12:48:00.002-06:00

Okay, Californians, we have got to fucking talk.

First off, I've never been to the West Coast, so I only have media-ratified ideas about your culture and a few secondhand impressions from my city-hating sister and an old roomie who lives in L.A. However, all of this information has led me to believe that y'all were on the cutting edge of social mores. I mean, your Republican governator has actually made statements talking about how he represents all of the people of California, not just the ones who share his beliefs - that's some radical politician talk, there!

When I talk to my rural farmfolk family about social anarchy and radical environmentalism and anti-capitalist, anti-consumerism stuff, you're the people I'm thinking of. You and your awesome climate and your free thinking and your awesome labor movements and your state-regulated medical marijuana and your access to alternative medicine and yoga and various flavors of woo and local food networks and your legal marriage for any two people who want to get married and are over the age of consent. I'm not saying I'm into all the popular weirdness out there (you can keep your fucking colonics thankyouverymuch), but you guys are the people I look to when I think about the social evolutions that could save not only the world itself, but all her beautiful diverse peoples. Hell, in my day-job industry, we hate your state, 'cause every claim is a zillion bucks to the claimant - hello, protecting the people and not the business.

So, when I hear about how over half of you voted to add discrimination and bigotry into your state constitution, I don't know what to say. I mean, how does that fit in with your whole radical agenda, Californians? How the fuck do you reconcile taking the national lead on climate change and immigrant rights, with this kind of hatred? I don't fucking get it.

Which is why, along with probably a substantial portion of the 48% of y'all who have some sense in your damn heads, and hopefully the eloquent Keith Olbermann, and people all over the country, I will be bringing my loud mouth and all my anger to Federal Plaza this Saturday at 12:30 p.m. to let y'all know how crazy I think Prop 8 is.

Chicago folks, hope to see you there. Everyone else, go here to find a protest near you - there's one in every state plus D.C.

What happened that night...

2008-11-06T16:44:00.003-06:00

The night started out with me standing under the horse statue on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Congress Parkway, discussing (at volume, 'cause I'm loud like that) the ridiculous anatomical correctness of the horse's nether regions, while an indie reporter behind me tried to conduct an interview about the historic nature of the evening's proceedings.

Hey, what's ground-breaking history without some obnoxious chick in the background yelling about horse cock?

After that, we shuffled through three different security checkpoints in waves of frantic (and generally polite) Obama supporters. Then through the metal detectors, into a sea of milling and standing people who were all buzzing with excitement over the expected results of the election. CNN was playing on the Jumbotron, Wolf Blitzer recounting results as polls started to close and numbers started trickling in. Projection after projection, broken up by discussion of the Democratic Revolution, or the Generational Shift in Politics, or other equally relevant features of the landscape in American Government. James Carville, oh, how I've missed ye! (He might be on CNN every night, for all I know....I don't have cable.)

I was pleased to see that when CNN cut to commercial, the Jumbotron went to a screensaver and music blared over the loudspeakers. I would've ranted at significant length if they'd run ads at this kind of rally. Phew!

A beachball popped up from somewhere and was batted around the park. When CNN showed the waiting crowd at the park, we all looked out for the cameras, and screamed like lunatics. Time passed; CNN called a few states for McCain - no surprises, and the huge crowd booed anyway.

Then, Wolf Blitzer announced that the polls were about to close in California. Obama, per CNN projections, was at 225 (I think), and the guy behind me says that we'd still need Florida even if California went blue. I turn to him and, using my advanced arithmetic skills, let him know that if Cali goes to Obama, it's over. A countdown clock flashes up on the Jumbotron, as CNN counts down to the last polls closing. The crowd chants along with the numbers.... five.... four... three.... two.... one.

The screen has some kind of explosion graphic, and giant letters scream "CNN PROJECTION: OBAMA WINS!" or something like that. I don't remember it precisely because my brain short-circuited and I was screaming - not yelling, not shouting, screaming at the top of my not inconsiderable lungs. I didn't stop for several minutes.

There were several minutes of excitement - CNN showed Oprah, various crowd reactions, and the iconic shot of Jesse Jackson. It reminded me of his presidential run in 1988, and how I had (at ten years old) much preferred him to Dukakis. I can only imagine how amazing that moment was for him, and I hope he recognizes how much his efforts have contributed to Obama's success now, and I hope he feels vindicated and appreciated and loved. 'Cause I love me some Jesse Jackson.

Then, they showed McCain's concession speech. I was by turns disgusted and encouraged. I saw glimpses in that speech of the man I used to respect, of the John McCain I considered an honorable enemy. I don't know that he'll ever get back my respect, but I hope he really can abandon the divisive rhetoric of the campaign and really get behind President Obama in making this country, and this world, a better place.

Shortly thereafter, they cut CNN and played a pre-recorded segment about the campaign, and how it was all about the people in the trenches and on the ground. The phrase "community organizer" flitted through my head several times. It was a lovely video....and then we got to listen to music for awhile, and stand around wondering what the lineup of speakers would be.

A roadie (do they call them that in politics?) came out and did the last of five or six soundchecks. He said, "Final soundcheck for the next president of the United States," and the crowd lost its collective shit. I cried for the first of many times.

A little while later, there was a prayer from a Reverend of some stripe. It was actually pretty open for a prayer, but one of these days, I'd like to see a truly inclusive blessing at a big political function; something that allows people of all faiths (and no faith) to support the sentiment of a benediction, without having to pay homage to Jesus.

A lovely woman came out and butchered the Star Spangled Banner. I know I'm biased, not only as a singer, but as someone who has sung this particular song for various events, messing up the national anthem happens - sometimes you forget a word, sometimes you mix up a line, it just happens. But. At the fucking victory rally for the next goddamned President of the nation for which the song is the anthem, maybe you sneak a crib sheet onto the fucking podeum so you can get the words right, hey?

And then......then....there he was. Michelle was there, and the girls, and it was the new first fucking family, and it was amazing. After a few minutes of unrepentant cheering, he spoke. I called my sister in Michigan, and put her on speaker so she could listen with me. We were both crying, and I was yelling every now and then, juggling the phone and my camera back and forth. The whole field (felt like the whole world) yelled "Yes we can!" right on cue as he recounted some history, reminding us just how far we've come as a nation...and reminding us obliquely how far we have yet to go.

As the ridiculous crowd left the park when he was done, people were crying and shouting and dancing and singing and carrying signs and celebrating. One dude was high-fiving everyone he met walking along Michigan Avenue. Near the Art Institute, someone had set up a boombox and people were dancing in a huge clump under the watchful eyes of sixty gajillion Chicago cops. Folks were hawking photos and buttons and shirts and towels (hoopy!) every ten steps. I walked slowly, enjoying the undeniable energy of excitement and hope and connection. People were smiling and laughing and dancing and cavorting and connecting, and it was glorious to behold.

At Lake Street, I turned and headed for the Red Line, where I waited for something like six trains before my claustrophobic ass found one non-crowded enough to get on. I rode next to a young white dude with blazing red hair, who was basically harassing a couple black college kids (who were totally handling him beautifully), somehow presuming some kind of connection based on the fact that he'd voted for Obama. When he eventually got off the train, the college kids had one of the most interesting discussions about race and identity politics and privelege that I've ever heard, and I wondered how much of that was because there were no white people talking.

A posse of cops greeted me on the el platform when I got off the train, and another blocked the street below. I'm not sure what to make of that, but I made it home finally.

I'm sure I'm leaving stuff out, but this is what I remember now. I wish I'd had more than a day to get used to the new camera....but I got some relatively decent shots, which you can see here.

I'm hopeful today, and hopeful that that feeling will last. I've been playing "Somewhere Different Now" by Girlyman today, and these lyrics are sticking with me:

Now I don't mind saying, I believe in the waiting
In the visions of grandeur, and the random encounter
I'm not on fire, not burned out
Just somewhere different now

Yeah.

Morning after.

2008-11-05T10:23:00.003-06:00

I'm still tearing up every time I bump into a transcript.

My voice is a couple octaves lower than usual, from all the screaming.

I took almost 300 pictures, but most of them are grainy crowd shots. I'll be posting up the decent shots later today, once I wade in and sort them out.

I am unhappy about a lot of the news out there, especially Prop 8...and I know there's a helluva lotta work yet to be done....

...but for now, I want to bask in the fact that I live in a country that has knocked down yet another barrier to equality. I have a black president.

Hell fucking yes.

ETA: Okay, so upon review, it seems I left the damn USB cable for my camera at home, so I will be unable to multi-slack at the office and weed through the dross for the photo gold (or at least the non-blurry, semi-interesting crowd shots). Typical. I am such a fucking flake sometimes!

Also, shout out to my Michiganders for legalizing medical marijuana and stem cell research. Right on, Mitten!!

Last minute dispatch.

2008-11-04T17:05:00.003-06:00

I'm killing time at the office, trying to work on my novel for NaNoWriMo before heading out to the Big Rally. I have butterflies in my stomach, the kind I occasionally get before a really important gig, or a hot date. I feel like tonight's rally is kind of a cross between the two, but with much bigger implications.

A few minutes ago, as I was trying not to obsessively read blogs and news and Twitter streams, I got an e-mail from Starhawk's mailing list. In part, it said this:

Today, we become the nation we dream of being, a place where everyone can rise to the level of their true worth, with no false barriers. Today truth triumphs over lies, hope over fear. Today we become the people who can do the great things that are needed to restore health and balance and abundance for all. Today we take the dream and make it real.

That was exactly what I needed, exactly the intention I want to ground into for this evening's hooplah and spectacle. That's what I'm working with tonight. I have it written down on a post it note in my pocket, and while I stand among the crowd, yelling and screaming and waiting for the good news, I will be holding that piece of paper and willing these words into being.

I believe the world needs those words to be true. I hope, tomorrow morning, that they are. So mote it be.

An Historic Day.

2008-11-04T13:40:00.002-06:00

Today is an historic day. No matter what happens tonight, I feel certain that big changes are afoot; either America will elect its first black president, or I'll be planning my move to Sweden (once I get out of jail after the riots).

My day started out around midnight last night, when the cops woke me up and chased me out of bed to let them into my backyard to search for some fugitives that were apparently making their way through my neighborhood (no idea what they were fugitives of, or what they had done to bring seven cops to my buzzer at midnight). I spent fifteen minutes standing in my bathrobe outside, waiting for them to say the coast was clear (and hearing things like, "Ma'am, please stay back, we don't want you at risk," and "do you have your cell phone on you? you should keep it on you at all times" and similar freak-a-girl-out shit)...and then I went back to bed and spent a few hours jumping at every noise in the apartment. Awesome!

There was about an hour's wait at my polling place this morning, during which time I bounced around to my mp3 player to stay awake. I was the 93rd vote counted in my district. I like to think that's auspicious, since it was '93 when Bill Clinton was inaugurated. Or something.

I voted for Obama, of course, as well as a handful of Dems and a bunch of Greens. I picked and chose a few judges to confirm or not. I considered taking a picture of my ballot, to commemmorate the first time in my life I was able to vote for a non-white presidential candidate...but I thought it better to get my shit done and out of there sooner, so I could let the next voter get on with it. Priorities.

My office is not too far from Grant Park, and I have a ticket to the big rally. I spent more money than I wanted to getting a decent digital camera so I could take craploads of pictures of the event to share with all my loved ones who aren't local or can't make it.

I'm scared to let myself get too hopeful, but when even Karl Rove predicts an Obama landslide, it's hard not to let that little nervous bubble of joy pop up every now and then. I think I am going to be balling like a fucking baby before the night is through.

I'll be posting about the big rally tomorrow. Hopefully my photography skills will do the night's festivities justice.

Happy (Witches') New Year!

2008-10-30T15:12:00.003-05:00

I'm shortly off to the hinterland to celebrate my parents' ten year wedding anniversary (dad & stepmom, that is; they got married on Halloween, 'cause we're *that* kind of family). I'm looking forward to quality time playing the eccentric auntie for my neices and nephews, plus I've ordered a very fawncy cake for the occasion...and who doesn't love a fawncy cake?

If I can get a little woo for a moment...Samhain is, of course, the end and the beginning of the pagan Wheel of the Year, a time of year I associate with self-reflection and contemplation and consideration. It's a time I think of my Beloved Dead, of my ancestors and elders, of the world that has been. Particularly this year, I feel like there's a lot of energy around the turning of the Wheel, and that the coming Winter will be one of wrapping up a lot of things in preparation for bright new beginnings on the other side of the season. I certainly feel that to be true in my life, and what with that whole Historic Election thing going on, I think maybe the whole planet is sort of hanging on this turning.

I'm hoping to be in the massive crowd in Grant Park on Tuesday night. To hell with my hatred for big crowds...this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and I will be there, or as close as I can get, anyway.

In the meantime, I hope you're all enjoying whatever holiday you're celebrating (or not) at the moment. See you on the other side!

Ugh.

2008-10-30T14:57:00.001-05:00

I am missing him today.

I had forgotten him entirely,
or as much as he can be forgotten
anyway.

Chance lyrics,
however,
robbed me of this
blissful
lack of memory.

Our life flashed before my eyes,
almost as movie-like as when it actually happened.
The familiar ache of remembered heartbreak
was removed
a little,
like it was projected from a tiny room in the back.

I don't want him playing Robert Redford
in the corners of my mind.
I want to remember his casual cruelty,
his inability to answer,
his selfishness and falsity and
that he did not love me.

I don't want to remember his
moments,
his good moments,
his taking of my breath
and my pain
and me.

But, there he is -
sleeping in a tiny room in the back -
arms and whispers and trust and,
oh gods,
the music.

Why can't I lose the echoes of joy
that rumble my ribcage
when I look back?
Why can't I shake the feeling of
his mouth on my palm?

Why can't chance lyrics bring me
places I have been
or the first reading of my favorite book
or nights filled with too many stars to count?

Nope.
Not today.
Today they bring me him.

And I am missing him today.

Pedantic Public Service Message

2008-10-30T09:37:00.002-05:00

1. The phrase "wherefore art thou Romeo" from Romeo and Juliet does not mean "where are you, Romeo?" as it is so often misinterpreted. It means "WHY did you have to be Romeo," which is Juliet bemoaning the fact that the dude she's hot for is a Hatfield to her McCoy, and she can never get it together with him, 'cause her whole family would totally freak. When I was younger, and less intrepid with my Elizabethan English skills, I made the same misinterpretation, and in fact wrote an entire horrible poem around the concept....which apparently impressed the hell out of my elementary school teachers at the time, but is now pretty damn embarassing to me.

2. Say it with me now: it's an apostrophe for a contraction, but possession needs no apostrophe in its spelling.

3. Speaking of apostrophe usage...it's the '60s, '70s, and '80s - NOT the 60's, 70's, and 80's. For the same reason as the whole it's/its thing.

4. "Would've" is a contraction for "would have," NOT "would of." Seriously, where the hell does that even come from?

6. And my own personal top grammatical pet peeve: "a lot" is TWO words, not one. "Alot" is a B and an L short of the thing you cast in an election, and that's as close as it gets to being a word.

Speaking of which, did you vote yet?

Save the date...

2008-10-28T16:19:00.002-05:00

I'm playing Silvie's Lounge on December 8th. I know it's a Monday, but there will be liquor, so save the date anyway.

More dets as I have them.

I am plumb out of rage today.

2008-10-23T10:43:00.003-05:00

Amazingly, I have exhausted the supply of rage that I had heretofore believed endless. The excesses of veep candidates and economic/political shenanigans and fucking bigots and rude people on the el and the epidemic of bad grammar have left me sputtering so frequently lately that when this latest horse hockey hit my brain this morning, all I could do was sigh. I want to take it down with incandescent eloquence....but I got nothin'.

This would be making me furious, if I had any anger in stock. The framing of these various efforts being made to convince the body that it's not being starved....is scary to me. There's a quote talking about how nobody wants to completely change their lifestyle, and this "tinkering" with appetite via modified (read: undigestible) foods will let them "indulge" again. Note to fuckhead scientists: EATING IS NOT INDULGENCE, IT'S A BIOLOGICAL NECESSITY.

Also, the bit about "anorexics or female adolescents" kind of boggles the mind....maybe that statement tells us a little something about diet culture, hmmm?

It's possible I haven't *quite* exhausted my supplies....

Seen in Chicago.

2008-10-21T13:22:00.004-05:00

(click to see full size)

Saw this modified ad on the way home from work the other day. It made me happy. And also made me want to carry around electrical tape for my own ad mods...hmmm...

Facebook ads.

2008-10-21T13:05:00.002-05:00

Okay, the ones telling me that two of my friends think they're smarter than me? Kind of hilarious. The ones telling me that two of my friends have crushes on me? Transparent. The ones telling me that my friends think I'm fat? Infuriating.

First off, my friends don't *think* I'm fat, they fucking well know it. Because they've seen me, and it's one of my harder-to-miss visual qualities. Also because I say it, not in a sheepish or apologetic way, but in a matter-of-fact, in-touch-with-physical-reality kinda way. 'Cause, you know, I AM FAT.

What pisses me off about this ad is that it's not really saying "your friends think you're fat," it's really saying "your friends think you're a gluttonous loser who's about to drop dead of a heart attack, who smells funny, who isn't worthy of love or sex," yada yada all the other crap that the word "fat" is shorthand for. And it's implying that your *friends* think all this stuff - so imagine what people who aren't your friends must think!

Conveniently, these ads offer a solution right next to this horrifying revelation. A slide bar that you're supposed to use to find your current weight, and then it will tell you how much weight you should lose, and conveniently directing you to some diet plan or other. (I don't know which; I didn't click.) There's no slidebar to input your cholesterol or blood sugar or activity levels or height or frame size or genetic predispositions or any of that stuff....because apparently there's only one ideal weight for all people everywhere, and finding that perfect weight is the key to your friends not thinking you're fat (which is apparently important?).

I have sadly enjoyed a lot of Facebook-based distraction at work, and I genuinely think it's a useful tool. It's bad enough I have to see sixty thousand mentions of Oprah's new acai berry diet ad nauseum, but to have such blatantly manipulative ads that probably push a lot of people's buttons, and maybe aren't clear in that they aren't actually based on some mystery poll all your friends took or something....gods, it just infuriates me. More than usual.

Bonus third thing.

2008-10-15T23:59:00.002-05:00

Jackholes who engage in conversation with me, and then proceed to say shit like:

Douchebag: you're far
Me: Far?
Douchebag: really really far
Me: From what?
Douchebag: me
Douchebag: oh i meant fat
Me: Uh. Yeah. And?
Douchebag: would you want your child to be fat?

...are funny to me. Sooner a fat kid than a stupid one, dumbass.

Two things.

2008-10-15T22:05:00.002-05:00

First: John McCain is a wankity douche-tastic talkingpointsgibberish-spewing bag of barely coherent and disastrously-unsuited-for-the-presidency special-interest-loving two-faced weasely asshole of a politician. I viscerally DETEST that man, and I'm insulted on behalf of the American political process (which says a lot, since I don't think it's some unsullied snow-white field of innocence and buttercups) that he is likely to get more than a token percentage of electoral votes. Obvy, I broke my promise to myself to stop watching debates and political coverage. Much to the detriment of my blood pressure. Help me pranayama!

Second: Today, I love my body. I loved it when I woke up this morning and lavished it with jasmine-a-licious Lush goodies. I loved it when I wore my fave hooded pullover sweater. I loved it when I walked around downtown in the rain, I loved it every time I took a break from the paper-pushing for a good stretch and yawn, I loved it when I fed it lots of water and eggs for breakfast and fried green tomatoes at lunch and faux chicken nuggets for dinner. I loved it when it was carrying five bags of groceries half a block from the Whole Foods, and also when I gave up and hailed a cab to carry them the rest of the way home. I loved it just the way it is: tall, fat, a little creaky sometimes since I hit 30, and so very perfectly itself.

In conclusion, because I love my body, I am going to try reallyreallyreally hard not to watch any more political crap on the telly.

XKCD nails it, as usual.

2008-10-14T13:27:00.003-05:00

I would take it a step further, personally, and demand DRM-free files that aren't tied to a particular OS or device (attn: Sony and iTunes). Also, I heart xkcd.

Miscellany.

2008-10-14T12:31:00.004-05:00

Mercury has been retrograde, and life has shifted accordingly. I have been introspective and not as social as usual; I have had enough mix-ups, surprises, hijinks, misunderstandings, miscommunications, and complications to last me for quite some time thankyouveryfuckingmuch; and the past has (as usual) returned to haunt me in typical ass-biting fashion. I know that there's a time for this kind of thing, for things to rewind, backfire, backpedal, and reshape....but sometimes I just don't like it. How come enlightenment can't be FUN??

Not that I'm enlightened.

Anyway, Mercury goes direct tomorrow (HALLELUJAH!), and life should get back to, er, normal. In the mantime, I have just a few things to share today:

* Saturday, I went with some friends to see the Dia de los Muertos exhibit at the National Museum of Mexican Art in Pilsen, here in Chicago. This is an annual exhibit that I've seen for the past few years, and it has yet to disappoint. The works run the gamut of political and personal, with some really startling and moving and intense stuff, all centered around the Mexican Day of the Dead traditions. Some of this is sculpture or painting or what I would call (for lack of a better term) more "typical" art-y works; others are amazing and gorgeous installations of ofrendas, altars built to honor Beloved Dead. The museum is easily reached via public transit, and admission is on a voluntary donation basis. I highly recommend this exhibit...and also, while you're there, check out the "Mexicanidad" exhibit down the hall from the Dia de los Muertos exhibit; it's a great tutorial on Mexican history and experience, and there are some of the most stunning and fascinating works of art I've ever seen in this collection.

* Sunday, my friend Jen and I saw the ass-kicking Girlyman, along with bonus awesome Ann Arbor duo Nervous but Excited. I stumbled onto Girlyman randomly on some blog or other, and was instantly hooked, and really overjoyed to find them playing soon in Chicago. They rock a plethora of styles, tremendous lyrics, interesting instrumentation, and (of course) super tasty vocal harmonies....if you dig the folk rock thing, I cannot recommend them highly enough - especially if you're also of a social justice bent. The opener, Nervous but Excited, was a delightful surprise (opening bands are always kind of a crapshoot, but these ladies rocked!)...really good songs, really good playing, really good singing, and some surprising twists that took the act from enjoyable to friggin' brilliant. Also, the banter for both acts was hilarious. Seriously, by the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from all the laughing. So, yeah, go and listen and buy and stuff.

* Yesterday was the start of Fat Talk Free Week (via Kate at Broadsheet). Can you even imagine a world sans trash talking your body or anyone else's? I sure would like to try it out! Also this week: Love Your Body Day on Wednesday.

* A week from this Sunday (on October 26th), there will be a Really, Really Free Market (organized by Bash Back! Chicago) from noon until 5 p.m. in the park just off the Division Blue Line stop. I'm going to be there, probably manning a clothes table or maybe doing some music or possibly reading palms or cards. I could use some help, so if you're interested in helping man a table, or reading for free/barter, please get in touch!

* Last thing: I'm going to be brushing up a set of holiday music (either Sacred or not or both, depending on venue); if you or anyone you know is in the market for some acoustic-guitar-and-singer ambient holiday music for a party or whatever this holiday season....I know this chick that might be able to help.

Attraction is a funny thing.

2008-10-02T15:45:00.004-05:00

Usually, physical attraction for me involves a small range of variations on a very specific body type (generally 6'2 or taller, 300 lbs. or so...I like a dude I can put through the paces without fear I'm gonna break him). There are physical traits beyond that that really flip my switch (facial hair, detached earlobes, big hands, yada yada yada), but basically any dude with that body type is going to catch my eye. My dating history includes a few guys who fell outside that, but basically I like tall chubby dudes, and the words short and thin almost never describe someone that my ovaries quiver over.

Having said that, though, there's this little dude who works in my building that I run into in the elevators not infrequently. I find him adorable, in a "wow, I kinda wanna shag him even though he's three inches shorter than me and skinny" kinda way, no doubt due to his friendly manner, nice smile, and habit of making good eye contact. However, my engine has only ever mildly revved, 'cause he's super clean-cut and conservative looking....and I tend to like dudes who are a little more rough around the edges.

Imagine my surprise when I bumped into him on a coffee run this morning, and damn near tripped over myself in lust. He's grown his hair out a little bit, and it's just slightly shaggy, and just slightly curly, and he was wearing jeans and an untucked button down shirt (apparently moving cubes, which loosens the office dress code)....and my ovaries did a backflip. If he'd been unshaven, I might have swooned, short and skinny be damned.

So, yeah, the lesson is that no matter what preconceived notions I have about "my type," I'm attracted to what I'm attracted to, and that isn't always going to be consistent. Despite the marketing industry's attempts to pigeonhole what constitutes "hot," attraction remains a mystery.

1998 v. 2008

2008-10-01T15:45:00.002-05:00

(Courtesy of Tony)

1) How old were you?

THEN: 20
NOW: 30

2) What was your online presence?

THEN: I had a Tripod vanity website, spent entirely too much time lurking on IRC and in waaaay too many chatrooms, and was just starting to write for Themestream. I was rocking a Hotmail addy. Oh, Hotmail...

NOW: I have the website, the blog, the Gmail, Google Reader, accounts at six bazillion music sites, wishlists every-fucking-where, Myspace, and even Facebook, which has unfortunately become my new favorite work distraction. The Internet is a close friend, and she knows, like, EVERYTHING.

3) Where did you work?

THEN: In the beginning of the year, I was working as a graveyard shift answering service operator. Shortly thereafter, I moved to Atlanta and started temping, which eventually led me to get hired off the switchboard to work claims at an insurance brokerage.

NOW: I'm still doing claims work for the same brokerage here in Chi-town. I can't believe I've worked for this company for ten damn years!

4) Where did you live?

THEN: Muskegon, MI...then Marietta, GA.....then North Druid Hills in the ATL.

NOW: Rogers Park - woo hoo!

5) Who did you live with?

THEN: My mom, then my evil aunt and uncle, then a couple months all by myself in a hotel, then my friend Melissa from NYC. It was a busy year.

NOW: My ass-kicking friend Jen.

6) How was your health?

THEN: The gall stone attacks (that I'd been having since high school and thought were heartburn) were getting worse. I suffered with them for a couple more years, though, because I'm dumb that way. Otherwise, the health was as good as it can be when I'm incredibly stressed out and spending a lot of time burying myself in work so as not to deal with crazy home situations. And drinking way too much Coke and coffee, and living off Ramen and fresh baked bread from Kroger.

NOW: Pretty good, all told. I mean, I had that mystery stomach-related thing a few months back...and the tailbone is always a dull hum of yuck...but I eat well, and I sleep as much as I can, and I try to let go of stress, and when I'm not actively nursing a cold, I feel pretty good. I don't pollute my body nearly as much as I did back then...except for the occasional night out drinking...

7) Pets?

THEN: None. PeVe, my much-loved and missed fluffy black alarm clock, wouldn't show up on my doorstep in my sister's arms for another six months or so.

NOW: Samwise, who ensures that I never forget to feed him, and Benedick, who likes to wake me up every night around 4 a.m. so I can pet him. Together, they conspire to keep me perpetually covered in cat fur and, if I happen to be sitting down long enough, actual cats.

8) Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner/spouse/S.O.?

THEN: Lessee....setting aside a couple "internet boyfriends" (gods, was I ever that young??), I didn't start working the Ren Fest (where I discovered my love of kilts and the men in them) until the next year.

NOW: Le sigh. This year so far, there was Joe (not so much) and then Jason (oh, my - yes, please). Who's decided to move back to Montana. And before you ask, no: I'm not bitter AT ALL.

9) Who were your friends?

THEN: My sister. Melissa, Melissa, Jaymie. I didn't meet Sue or Kevin until the next year. I kept vaguely in touch with my buddy Jeremy from high school.

NOW: My sister, again. Jen, Marta, Tony, Andrea, River, Michael here in the Chi. JoAnn at the office. The fat girls!! Melissa, Melissa, Sue, and Kevin elsewhere in the country. And I still keep vaguely in touch with my buddy Jeremy from high school.

10) Any kids? Any plans for kids?

THEN: Gods, no! I was happy with the prospect of filling the role of crazy auntie when my siblings had kids.

NOW: Gods, no! I'm happy filling the role of crazy auntie for my neices and nephews.

11) What was your worst struggle?

THEN: Were my aunt and uncle really evil, or was I really as weird and disgusting and broken as they told me (they were evil)? Had I made the worst mistake of my life moving to Atlanta (big time no)? Should I have stayed in college (absolutely not)? Would I ever figure out how to play the guitar (yes. slowly and painfully.)?

NOW: Will I ever learn how to really fucking trust people? Will my rage at the injustice of the world make me bitter and disengaged, or will it drive me to more and more outrageous attempts to right its wrongs? What else can I do to bring my actions into closer harmony with my values? How much longer will I be able to balance my integrity as an environmentalist and the need to dye my hair once every three weeks using evil petrochemicals that make my eyes water? Am I ever gonna meet a decent dude I'm attracted to that isn't planning to move out of state?!

12) What was your biggest joy?

THEN: Moving out of my evil aunt and uncle's place. I made a decision about it, made a plan, put it into action, and handled their attempts to intimidate and insult and threaten me with direct confrontation, where I kept my dignity and didn't let them derail me. The sense of relief as I left that toxic situation is one of the best feelings of my life. I think that's when I learned that I could count on myself in just about any set of circumstances. Plus, living in a hotel was AWESOME.

NOW: Setting down my fears and sorrows to make music.

13) What did you consider your greatest accomplishment?

THEN: Dropping out of college, but still getting away from the small town where my family lived.

NOW: Playing on six strings. Recording my own stuff. Not letting the past control my present.

14) What advice would you give your younger self?

Mom was right about the move to Atlanta. Also: when you move to Chicago in a few years, plan it a little better so you don't end up spending a day homeless and freaking the fuck out.

15) What would your younger self say to you?

A guitarist? Really?? C'mon, you're kidding, right? That kind of thing never works out!

16) Looking back, is your life in 2008 what you thought it would be in 1998?

I would never have believed I'd stlll be working for the same company, or living in the same city for so long....but otherwise, yeah, it's about what I'd expected.

Happy World Vegetarian Day!

2008-10-01T11:14:00.002-05:00

Today is World Vegetarian Day, the kickoff to Vegetarian Awareness Month.

Now, I am not a vegetarian and probably never will be (the lure of venison tenderloin and morel mushrooms when I'm at my dad's is not something I ever intend to resist). However, I believe that eating less meat is a really important piece of environmental activism.

Let's talk about the reasons that eating less meat is better for the planet. First off, even if you're eating ethical meat (either ethically-raised organic animals raised on small scale farms, or wild caught or hunted animals), more resources go into a meat-based meal than a plant-based one. That cherished venison tenderloin, for example, belonged to a two or three year old buck, who spent those two or three years drinking water and eating grass and leaves and bark and bait carrots and apples and whatever else it is that deer eat...which adds up to a lot of resources just for that one animal. Veggies use less resources, because they only take one season to grow and be harvested for eating. Choosing veggies over meat effectively reduces the amount of energy that goes into making your meal, and reduces your water footprint. It's a sneaky way of conserving energy and water.

Beyond that, though, there are the horrors of the industrial food system. Factory farms and their CAFOs not only rob animals of dignity and any kind of reasonably enjoyable life (like, say, sunshine and fresh air), they pump them full of antibiotics and feed them processed corn and petrochemicals....a diet that is not natural for most livestock animals. Industrial meat (which is what you get in most supermarket - including Whole Foods - meat departments, frozen processed foods, restaurants, and just about anywhere else you encounter meat you don't know for a fact was hunted or caught) takes up an incredible amount of resources: water (which, in addition to what the animals drink, is used to spray down animals and holdings pens to prevent fecal dust from making the animals and farm workers constantly sick), petrochemicals (fertilizer for the animals' feed, as well as the prophylactic antibiotics and nutritional supplements required to keep the animals healthy), as well as all the energy used in mass slaughter and transport and processing. Even choosing industrially grown veggies is a better option here - while they're still saturated in petrochemical fertilizer, they skip the extra additives and antibiotics, and still have an incredibly smaller water footprint.

((Not incidentally, avoiding industrial meat is a socially just call, too: factory farms often employ undocumented workers for tiny salaries, no benefits, and crazy working conditions....like, say, working in animal pens clouded with airborne fecal dust, for example.))

When it comes to cutting out meat, I'm actually pretty lucky. My natural preferences lean away from industrial beef and pork generally (I was raised on game meat, which spoiled me in terms of flavor and texture), and I live with a vegetarian these days. Other than a couple cans of chicken soup and an occasional frozen pizza, I don't really keep meat stocked at home...so typically, I eat meat maybe once a week when I don't carry my lunch from home and splurge on a turkey sandwich (something I venerate like the sacred and holy delight it is).

So, even if you're like me and don't totally give up meat, it's a big step to try to make one meal a day (or even one a week) plant-based. Try subbing roasted zucchini or extra mushrooms for the meat in a pasta dish, or go with a comfort classic like grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Try taco night with black beans for filling instead of beef. Make a homemade pizza with as many veggies as you can pile on. Eat a green salad made of handsful of tomatoes and raisins and grapes and blueberries and beets and chickpeas and cucumbers and carrots and croutons and whatever dressing makes you happiest. Soup and bread. Yogurt and granola with fruit for breakfast. Hell, eggs and toast! There are tons of vegetarian options out there; probably ones most people already enjoy without even thinking about the fact that there's no meat involved.

Another way to rock the veggie thing is to patronize vegetarian restaurants - and I don't mean the restaurant that has a token grilled portobello sandwich. In the Chicago area, I can recommend:

The Chicago Diner
The Lakeview classic that's been around for 25 years. Easy to get to and a nice menu with lots of options. They first got me hooked on jicama.

Lake Side Cafe
This place is in my neighborhood, and is a new discovery for me. Holy cows, really amazing food - and a substantial portion of their menu isn't just vegetarian, it's vegan (no eggs or milk). They had this vegan artichoke dip that was creamy...without the cream! Miracle of miracles.

Karyn's Cooked Cafe
The original Karyn's restaurant serves only raw foods...and I haven't been there. But I've tried the menu at the cooked cafe in River North, and the food is tasty and the mead is awesome.

Supporting vegetarian restaurants not only gives you a meat-free meal you don't have to make yourself, but also makes a political statement with your dollars.

I don't necessarily attach any kind of virtue to vegetarianism....but (along with living car-free and trying to grow my own veggies and switching to CFLs and making less trash and buying less stuff ad nauseum) eating less meat is one way I can reduce the impact I have on the planet...so I encourage others to try it as much as they are able to within the constraints of health.

And what better time to try it out than Vegetarian Awareness Month?

Brief (hopefully) thoughts on the "bailout."

2008-09-29T16:06:00.002-05:00

(And I swear to gods, if I hear one more person make the whole Wall Street v. Main Street comparison, I will puke up my kidneys right on my shoes.)

So, the bailout has been defeated in the House!! This is very good news, and actually gives me some hope that our government isn't totally corrupt.

Here's my question, though: if the potential ramifications of the whole meshuggah include slashing retirement funds and widespread foreclosures....how about design a bailout that ameliorates those things? I mean, since at this point they're all merely possibilities...wouldn't it be better to make a plan to deal with actual consequences if and when they happen, rather than throwing bazillions of dollars at a system that's already demonstrated its total lack of function?

If people's retirement funds tank just as they're about to retire, maybe make a program to make sure they're not suffering....like, say, Social Security - a funny program they came up with a few years back, that's intended to cover the basic needs of, well, pretty much everyone - but especially retirees. I imagine a little retooling, and an influx of cash, could really help that program take care of retirees who might get hammered by this crisis.

If people are losing their homes at such volume that houses are just sitting vacant ('cause I imagine there aren't buyers lined up to take over those crappy mortgages, if I was gonna guess), why not put together a subsidy package that allows those folks to stay in their homes at reasonable cost? Or maybe some kind of government sponsored re-negotiation of the mortgage that includes some kind of debt forgiveness and recalculates interest and payments to make it affordable? I mean, since the banks and mortgage companies are croaking anyway, isn't having *some* money coming in better than having none at all? And I wonder if something like this would cost $700bn. I'm not a homeowner (thank all the gods), but I have trouble buying that a program on this scale would run up that kind of tab.

So, yeah, yay for Congress being afraid of pissing off the people. And here's hoping they come up with something that will actually FIX THE PROBLEM, and not just pay it off.

Lemme sum up.

2008-09-26T13:34:00.003-05:00

A few thoughts about the recent financial shenanigans:

We live in a finite world with finite resources. Did people really think that "profits" could be an endless line upward on the graph?

Doesn't anybody else find it just the slightest bit suspect that our financial system seems to be based on something other than actual value?

This is what happens when money is made to "work" (i.e., "Make your money work for you! Give it to someone else to invest, and she'll cut you in on the profit!"). The very idea seems inherently dodgy to me. Money doesn't make itself, no matter what magic financial firms might be selling. I remain unsurprised that it's not working sans safeguards. (Plus I'm young enough that it's likely my 401k and pension will be sorted out before it becomes an issue.)

This is why I am anti-capitalist. Greed begets greed. Unfettered, unregulated, unhinged greed leads to horrors on a global scale, with no consideration for the earth or her peoples. Really not okay.

And even more not okay to be taking it out of my tax dollars. Fuck Paulsen, and Bernanke, and Bush. And, hell, Reagan, too, while we're at it. Supply side MY ASS.

Where I am.

2008-09-25T19:08:00.003-05:00

Lately I've been glaring into mirrors
Picking myself apart
You'd think at my age I'd thought of something better to do
Than make insecurity into a full time job
Make insecurity into an art
And I fear my life will be over
And I will have never lived unfettered
Always glaring into mirrors
Mad I don't look better

- Ani DiFranco, "Present/Infant"

I've been walking a fine line since the week of the RNC, trying to stay aware of what's going on politically as we ramp up to the fever pitch of what's potentially the most important election of my life....and also keeping my head down, so I don't crumble into an aching pit of grievous, wounded hopelessness. Or lose the handle on my rage and spontaneously combust by accidentally reading something spoken by the biggest insult to feminism the GOP ever dreamt up (and yeah, I'm talkin' about their VP pick, grrr).

Yeah, some days it's touch and go.

I have been doing a lot of checking in with myself lately, trying to figure out where I am these days. Sometimes that means big picture stuff - where am I when I put my life and my actions and choices in the context of the whole world, of the broader goals I have for my life, of what I want to do with the resources I have in this lifetime? Other times, it means more mundane conversations with myself...how am I doing at home? How's the day job sitting with me? Am I putting my everyday energies where I want them? Am I having the realtime impact I want to be having? Where do I have abundance? Where am I feeling lack? Are there changes I need or want to make? Are there things I can release with gratitude?

I'm one of those self-analytical wanks, yes. Sorry about that.

What's becoming more interesting to me lately is the place where those bigger questions merge with the more mundane stuff. How my job feeds the big picture (like giving me financial resources I can use to support my ideals, by providing for my basic survival needs so I have the luxury of time to devote to other questions, by putting me in a position to take extra steps I might not be able to do without the resources afforded me by my job, etc., etc.). How the state of my home is a reflection of the life I want to live, an act of sympathetic magic to keep my focus on the things that really matter to me and help support me in making them happen (like my plans to paint my bedroom crazy colors and hang mostly my own artwork on the walls...because hey, creativity is important in my life, and I want it to be constantly renewed). How my lack of a good open space at home has allowed me to bail on regular yoga practice (the quickie stuff I do in the bathroom at the office when I get a break most assuredly does not count)...and how making space in my home helps me make space in my life.

So, connecting the micro to the macro. The gray mushy middle where pretty much everything that exists lives, no matter how much my brain wants things to polarize into nice, clear black and white. Complication. Complexity. Paradox.

My heart is heavy a lot lately. I'm feeling powerless to help New Orleans or Galveston or Haiti or Ethiopia or Rwanda or Myanmar or China or any of the people around the globe suffering because the Earth is fighting back. I'm feeling furious at the way the world is revolving around American politics when there are so many bigger and more important things to think about...and my own reaction when I read that someone was saying America wasn't an economic superpower anymore was still defensiveness. I hear all the doomsayers predicting that the world will end if some of the richest people in the world don't get a huge fucking check yesterday...and maybe there will be difficult consequences for lots of people; tell me why we don't ameliorate those consequences then, instead of throwing good money after bad, straight into the capacious maw of a broken fucking system? I don't get how people in power can sleep at night, knowing the system that clothes and feeds and houses them in luxury and wealth...is not only doing so squarely on the necks of billions of people, but is then going to pour salt in those wounds by voting themselves a huge fucking pat on the back. I just don't understand, and it's leaving me conflicted and angry.

And, you know, on a personal level, my brother the child molester is getting out of jail sometime in the next six months, most likely. My brother the lying, cheating, stealing, two-faced, weasely son-of-a-bitch....my brother who never met a person he couldn't take advantage of....my brother who can be genuinely sweet and open-minded and rebellious and wise...my brother who fucked a thirteen year old for months (while married, of course). He's up for parole soon, and I still haven't sorted out how the fuck I feel about it. On the one hand, he's my little brother, and I love him no matter what he does. But on the other hand, he's done something I find reprehensible on every level imaginable. I am lip-curlingly disgusted when I think about it - and about how I spend months believing he didn't do it, he couldn't do it. I harangued his public defender, split the cost of an independent polygraph, sent him reams of reading material and letters to help keep him occupied while he awaited trial. And, like so many times in my life, the joke was on me, 'cause he fucking did it. He did it, and he lied to me to get what he wanted, and I bought his story and went out of my way to try to help him, and he was laughing up his sleeve the whole fucking time.

So, yeah, still sort of working through that right there. I haven't spoken to him since Christmas of last year, where he ambushed me while I was visiting family, and proceeded to make me cry, and tell me he wouldn't let me cut him out of my life. He's written me a couple times, and he talks to my family fairly regularly, and he apparently asked my mother to ask me to write him a character letter or something to help him get parole. I may someday talk to him again, but he can fucking kiss my ass if he thinks I'll write him a letter. If I write anything, it will be to recommend that he stay in the full term of his sentence.

Okay, phew. Letting go of that for real this time.

Anyway. My point (and I do have one) is that I'm in a place of supreme weirdness at the moment. My life, much like my bedroom, is in a state of confusion and indecision. Not all that surprising, considering the state of the world (and that Mercury went retrograde this week). I suspect the next month will see some resolution.

Or maybe that's just what I'm hoping for.

P.S. This essay from Starhawk is really good:

I hear arguments from some of my dear friends that voting doesn't matter, that it's not empowering or revolutionary. But for the vast majority of people in this country, elections are the only place where they interface with politics or attempt to exercise power, and if we sneer at that, we lose the chance to link together and open up broader channels for change. And for the kids I've worked with in the Bayview, who have never seen a flowing river and whose career options range from crack dealer to murder-for-hire, voting would be a big step upwards.

So, yeah, even if you're in a political funk like me...Rock The Vote (go there if you need to register) (go here if you need to check and make sure you're registered properly).

Green v. "LOHAS"

2008-09-23T14:56:00.002-05:00

If you live in Chicago (or L.A. or San Fran or Seattle...hmmm, one of these things is not like the other...), you may be familiar with Conscious Choice, a magazine dedicated to "LOHAS" (Lifestyles of Health and Sustainability), which from what I can deduce, consists of yoga, meditation, and buying a whole buttload of eco-friendly stuff. The consumerist bent of this magazine has really started rubbing me the wrong way; I read it because it also has info on local green happenings and occasionally, interesting articles or essays (I tend to enjoy the heck out of Daniel Pinchbeck's monthly columns). The class blindness generally creeps up my ass only mildly, but this month, when they were running down the idea of green leases, I kinda lost it. I mean, they expect people to pony up two years worth of utilities in advance. So, let's conservatively argue that a month's utilities are, say, $100, between water and gas and electric...which is $1200 a year. Now, I don't know about other folks, but if I'm already shelling out to move into a new apartment, I'm spending on moving costs, plus deposit on the new apartment; on top of that, which could run a couple grand itself, depending, I'd need to come up another $2400 or more?! Who the fuck has money like that laying around, especially these days? So, yeah, not striking me as terribly helpful on that count, Conscious Choice.

((Sidenote: Shucks, it would be nice to find green resources that didn't involve shelling out craploads of money, or just in general green tips that weren't just replacing the same ol' consumerist habits with green versions of the same! End digression.))

Every month, they have a feature that runs down a bunch of statistics. This month's listing included this tidbit, recommending a vegetarian breakfast over the "traditional" American breakfast:

10 Times less, in greenhouse gas emissions, incurred by eating a light breakfast of yogurt, banana, cereal and milk in place of a traditional breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage, potatoes and toast.

Now, first off, I don't know *anyone* who actually eats a breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage, potatoes, and toast on a regular basis. Once or twice a month at weekend brunch, maybe, but I can't think of a single person I know who does that more than occasionally. (Granted, my social sphere may be skewed by my hippie liberal leanings, but still...I come from farm folk, and even my grandparents don't eat like that!) In fact, I'd hazard a guess that I know more people who eat *no* breakfast than who eat eggs plus two servings of both meats and carbs for breakfast.

Secondly, and maybe more disturbing to me, the breakfast they're recommending includes yogurt, cereal, milk, and fruit. I like this breakfast - in fact, it's one I have myself fairly often (sans milk - I like cereal in my yogurt). Over this past summer, I've enjoyed it many times with farmer's market blueberries or strawberries. As we shift into fall, I suspect it may become apples, since that's what's both local and seasonal. I'm curious, though, why Conscious Choice would make a specific recommendation for a particular type of fruit, when a general statement would have done just as well. I am specifically curious as to why they felt it necessary to recommend bananas, the evil-est of all evil exotic fruit. Are the Conscious Choice editors and writers not aware of the political ramifications of bananas? Of the environmental ones, due to monoculture and long-distance transport and petrochemical agriculture and genetic modification?

Needless to say, I have written a letter to the editors asking them to reconsider this recommendation. I'm all for yogurt, cereal, and fruit for breakfast - but skip the blood-soaked environmentally-unfriendly banana in favor of some local, seasonal fruit instead. Or, if you can't get local/seasonal fruit, try organic raisins or just about anything at your neighborhood fruit market that's not a banana.

Also annoying? The usual weight loss claptrap. Especially the part about cutting 300-500 calories from your diet to "slow aging." Not only did this two sentence blurb contain three (count 'em) weasel words (might, may, could), it mentioned no cautionary statements about starting points....like if you're already eating 500 calories on a starvation diet, cutting 300 of them might be a bad idea. Also, although it's impossible to know for sure which study they're basing this off, all of the likely studies in the publication they reference involve mice and rats - not a human-based experiment in the lot! Again I say: "THEY DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW FOR SURE, and whatever they're selling you is based on FUCK ALL."

I wish there were better choices in the world.

Good things.

2008-09-22T14:31:00.008-05:00

My sinuses have rebelled, and I am extracting snot by the bucketful out of my head. I am surrounded by the oh-so-sexy smell of monthol, and my nose could light the way for Santa. Also, apparently I'm glassy-eyed and pasty white (or more so than usual).

In short, I'm sickly, and so today I am writing about good things. I could use the reminder.

First off, I am going to see Girlyman next month. If you're not a fan of them already, and you dig awesome harmonies and alt-folk with bluegrass flavors and tasty lyrics - you should totally check out their stuff. (They're playing Schubas on October 12, in case you're interested.)

Next good thing on my list:

I love someecards!

Moving right along....I love the CTA. I know it's imperfect - I know it's inconsistent and always bogged down with some construction project or other - I know it's blatantly classist and racist, in terms of access and service and cleanliness. But, for all of that, it lets me live car free, and for that it has my love, much like mass transit the world over. (Or, in my case, the country over:)

Show off your mass transit usage at b3co.com!

Next good thing on my list? Tonight is the season premiere of Heroes! I'm not normally a schedule-my-life-around-TV kinda girl, but since I'm sickly anyway, plopping my hiney in front of the tube seems a reasonable way to spend my evening. Woo hoo!

And today's special good thing? A new "Target: Women" from the ass-kicking Sarah Haskins!

Oh, Friday, how we love thee...

2008-09-19T17:42:00.003-05:00

First, there's the ol' take-a-picture-right-this-second thing, via muddyslush:

take a picture of yourself RIGHT NOW.
don't change your clothes, don't fix your hair...just take a picture.
then post that picture with NO editing.
if you want, you can also post with these instructions

((My dad would totally tell me to get my hair out of my eyes.))

In other news, the tattoo is healing well; I think I may be good on the mildew front from last weekend's adventures in flooding; I've abandoned my latest attempt at putting together a band, and am back to going after solo gigs (and trying on a couple different potential replacement collaborations); my office is being "densified" (which I think means "made stupider"), so I'm working out of boxes in a temporary cube; I'm working a serious case of activist fatigue (although I will be headed out to the beach tomorrow for the annual cleanup); and finally, I intend to spend some serious time this weekend not talking to anyone but my guitar.

Water, water everywhere...

2008-09-14T11:15:00.004-05:00

This weekend has been an exercise in paradox - awesome and fabulous things have come my way...while I've also been thrust into the Land of Suck. Good times.

Friday, I treated myself to my favorite Lush treat (a jasmine body wash that I use, Euro-style, for shampoo), stopped to grab a new book I've been waiting for, met up with my roomie to hit a music shop and grab guitar supplies, had tasty vegetarian dinner at Lake Side Cafe (oh my gods, brown rice, chili, cornbread, cheese, and tomatoes....mmmmm), then walked in the rain to buy a doumbek, which I instantly tuned up and played before going to bed.

So, yeah, Friday night was awesome.

Saturday started well, too. I went to a going away brunch (sadly, at Heartland Cafe, whose food never ceases to amaze in its just plain bad-ness), and then decided I would try to brave the rain in order to ogle men in kilts and drink Guinness and get weepy over Uilleann pipe music (in which endeavor I was joined by a friend). When we got downtown, the rains were a-coming down, and well...I love kilts, but spending an afternoon soaking wet, waiting in lines, standing around in humidity and with my arm getting tired holding up an umbrella....yeah, just not worth it. So we went and got tattoos instead.

This tattoo is one I've been sitting on for years, just waiting for a moment when I had the money, the time, and the intestinal fortitude to stop being such a chicken shit and just get it done. It has spiritual connotations that are complicated and totally woo woo, but besides that, it just totally looks bad ass. Even if it means people will think I'm a hairdresser.

Which, to be fair, I kinda am. I mean, I do *my* hair. That counts, right?

Anyway, so, we got tattoos and had lunch, and then I came home to the reality of record-breaking rainfall: I'm living in a garden level bedroom, and it has some, er, seepage. Not enough to really call it flooded, but there's definitely going to be some repercussions in terms of property damage. Le sigh.

So, today, I've been alternating trying to get the regular housecleaning I do on Sundays done, and sorting through my stuff and doing laundry and recovering stuff and tossing stuff and yada yada yada. I'm tired, and I'm sore, and I'm taking tomorrow off work to continue with the recovery effort.

As much as it sucks, I am keeping it in perspective. I still have a home, and yeah, I might need a new dresser and nightstand and maybe box spring, but I got off lucky, what with all the hurricanes and typhoons and earthquakes and civil unrest and starvation and all the other horrors of the world. I'm damn lucky.

But I do long for the moment when my bedroom stops smelling like mildew. Ugh.

RNC Welcoming Committee Press Conference.

2008-09-05T14:00:00.001-05:00

Just watch it.

...and part two.

...and part three.

Storms a-brewing...

2008-09-05T10:03:00.005-05:00

Between Gustav and Hanna and Ike, hurricane season is well underway. I was just reading about tropical storm devastation in Haiti and Cuba, exacerbating an already drastic situation for Haiti's poor.

This is a really interesting piece, talking about New Orleans and how its suffering has been used as a political gambit by the GOP, when it should be the smoking wreckage borne aloft as a symbol of everything the Obama camp intends to change. I can't decide, today, if I find this energizing or depressing. While I make up my mind, I plan to donate to Color of Change to help out those in the Gulf region who are still trying to rebuild from Katrina, and facing additional setbacks because of Gustav.

Also, if you haven't yet watched the joint press conference of the RNCWC and the Poor People's Economic Human Rights Campaign, seriously, check it out. It's worth watching; particularly part 8, which features some tremendous thoughts from Shamako Noble of Hip Hop Congress. Additionally, there's a really solid overall summary (though not as complete as I would personally prefer) of the whole RNC mess, by Adam Turl of SocialistWorker.org, here.

My head and heart are hurting right now, and I need to give them both a break. I predict Jane Austen movies, cheesy romantic comedies, and Shel Silverstein:

The Lady With the Torch
Shel Silverstein

The lady with the torch in her hand
Stood in the bay on a cold grey dawn
Stood in the bay and looked out upon her troubled land.
The lady looked over the bay,
Looked to the south where the streets ran red
Looked to her children who suffered and bled,
And the lady looked away.

Then she looked to the east where men were marching,
And saw the bitterness and hate
In the eyes of those who wouldn't change
And those, who couldn't wait.
The lady saw faces of black,
Felt the anguish and heard the cries
Saw the pain in a million eyes,
But the lady turned her back.

Then she remembered a promise forgot
For over a hundred years
And the cries and shouts of freedom now
Come ringin', ringin' in her ears.
The lady with the torch in her hand
Looked to a dream that had almost died
Looked to the heavens then bowed her head
In shame and cried.

That makes two of us.

Rambling about spirituality and politics.

2008-09-04T15:56:00.004-05:00

So, as mentioned in the smartass description above and as some of you may be aware, I'm one of those crazy pagan witchy types. My particular brand of paganism, called Reclaiming, explicitly ties political activism to spiritual convictions (among other wonderful and awesome facets that I enjoy). That's why I try, as often as I can, to put my money where my mouth is on as many fronts as I possibly can - I try to make the world a better place, because I think it's the right thing to do.

This has less to do with my supposed devotion to some deity or other (though I am a devotee of one of the Norns), and the deity's supposed retaliation and/or reward for my good and/or bad behavior. It has more to do with the right thing being the right thing being the right thing - in any situation, regardless of potential carrots or sticks.

I don't need a spiritual framework to support me in doing what I consider the right thing...and I am not terribly turned on by a lot of the trappings of many spiritual practices. I have, at various points in my life, considered myself an atheist, and I have no problem acknowledging that my belief in Divinity is very likely to be nothing more than purely psychological construct created by my brain because it helps me lend meaning to the narrative of synaptic activity that makes up my consciousness. The evidence seems to stack up pretty strongly that way.

But, being comfy with paradox in general and my own proclivities for paradox in particular, I have no problem buying all that scientific stuff and simultaneously enjoying a healthy dose of woo. For example, I love participating in ecstatic ritual, I believe in various forms of faith healing, and I am a total divination junkie. It works for me. I can't explain why, and I sort of enjoy the unanswered question.

This whole train of thought was inspired by reading Starhawk's account of a ritual undertaken by activists and fellow witches in the Twin Cities, centered on the RNC actions taking place there. I've been carrying a lot of heartache over this whole travesty (maybe you noticed?), and reading the story of this ritual...I dunno, it just struck me right and made me think and maybe nudged me towards feeling a little less hopeless and helpless.

Some excerpts that hit home for me (just in case reading about freaky pagan ceremonies isn't your thang):

There’s a web of negative energy that has been covering this country, media webs that whisper to you day and night that you’re not good enough, not good looking enough, webs of scorn and judgment. And those webs get inside us.

If there’s a core belief in the Goddess religion, it’s this: that each of us is part of the web of life, and precious, bringing our own unique gifts to the world. We don’t ask people to believe in things, not even the Goddess who is simply our term for the great creative mystery that weaves the world. But we do ask people to believe in yourself, in your own deep work, in your sacred purpose. You are here for a reason.

Magic. Like so many things, it doesn’t work perfectly. But it works.

At the risk of fulfilling yet one more pagan cliche....so mote it be.

More depressing shit from MN.

2008-09-04T15:27:00.003-05:00

I can't bring myself to read or watch re-caps from the "official" events that went down last night at the RNC. I'm still reeling and trying to stay on top of the aftermath of the unconscionable police brutality and suppression of Constitutional rights that seems to have been the seedy underbelly of what I assume was an otherwise candy-coated political spectacle. Quite frankly, I don't care what Sarah fucking Palin or the (chuh) "Maverick" had to say (since I doubt I agreed with any of it, anyway)...unless they dressed down the agencies whose members were attacking peaceful protesters. Which is about as likely as a snowball fight between Mother Teresa and Mahatma Ghandi in Satan's backyard.

More information about what's gone and is going down in the Twin Cities:

"Logical Consequences", a nice summation by Bob Keohler.

Another re-cap, complete with protestations that pre-emptive arrests made for less violence once the protests actually started.

Astonishing! Apparently the city of St. Paul made the GOP cover the professional liability insurance needed to cover police forces' potential for excessive use of force during the RNC. If (hahaha) any brutalized protesters file suit, the damages wouldn't come out of taxpayers' pockets. Smart on St. Paul's part...not so much on the GOP's part. (Although - because it's what I do for a living and all - I'm wondering if $10 million plus expenses is a high enough limit.)

The ACLU renews their call for an investigation.

"RNC 8" charged under the (so-called) Patriot Act.Because Food Not Bombs organizers are totally the same fucking thing as terrorists.

HuffPo talks about how the media (and St. Paul's mayor Chris Coleman) isn't talking about the trampling of the free press.

Accounts from the arrested Democracy Now! journalists.

Get the latest from Twin Cities Indy Media. Demonstrations, legal efforts, and crazy crackdowns continue today.

The world is filled with violence and political oppression, I know this. I know that this sort of thing is a regular occurrence in so many parts of the world, and the illusion that America is somehow exempted from this fact is one that could certainly be dispersed to the benefit of people everywhere. I know that police beating the shit out of a man for no reason other than he was in front of them can't even begin to compare to the genocides going on around the globe every single day with just as much broad governmental support.

What makes this so bitter for me is the fact that it flies in the face not only of the high-falutin' patriotic rhetoric of an election season, but also of the actual values and ideals that underlie that rhetoric. If the "American Dream" ever had a single drop of truth, if this really ever was the "land of the free," why is this situation so fucking unremarkable that it's not being shouted from the rooftops? Is the power structure and the free press that's supposed to be the people's watchdog....is it all so bought-and-paid-for that come corporate or political puppeteer is pulling the strings and keeping the focus on the courageous cops who keep defending the Fair Citizens of St. Paul from Those Crazy Anarchists?!

Is the Bill of Rights a joke? I feel like this bullshit is a punchline, but I'm not laughing.

FUCK YOU doesn't seem to cover it today.

2008-09-03T12:08:00.006-05:00

My thoughts today are with my comrades in the Twin Cities, who have bravely chosen to protest the RNC. They have been met with interference at every step, including "Homeland Security" and other resources purported to fight "terrorism." This video is horribly disturbing on its own merits, but is even more unsettling because the man being attacked so brutally is someone I know and have worked with.

Where the fuck is justice in this?

Where the fuck is freedom in this?

Where the fuck is there anything to be proud of?

How can anyone purport to call herself a "patriot" and think this is okay?

Where the fuck is the outrage from the RNC itself? They have the power to make this end, to stand up for true American values, to halt violence used against AMERICANS right here on our own soil...not by faceless scary brown people whose countries are sitting on top of resources we covet and whose cultures we don't really understand...but by "fellow Americans" in riot gear and using chemical weapons.

Who the fuck is the terrorist in this scenario?

Hey, John McCain (or your new puppetmaster, Karl Rove): stop this. Or FUCK YOU more than usual.

UPDATE: The ACLU is calling for an investigation into RNC shenanigans. Also, brownfemipower has an awesome entry about why this stuff matters.

UPDATE 2: Found this post through Twin Cities Indy Media, and it is awesome; it talks about the point of what's happening at the RNC, and some ideas about civil disobedience and nonviolent direct action in general.

UPDATE 3: This listing from Common Dreams outlines some of the violence and targetting of activists and journalists. CREDO Action has an action going to call out the major news networks for not screaming about this threat to a free press.

Rolling on a river.

2008-08-31T16:48:00.002-05:00

The Mississippi River is a thread connecting two major pieces of serious Work in the Universe today: New Orleans, crouching in preparation for Gustav to roll onshore, and the Twin Cities, where RNC protesters and the GOP faithful who seem determined to undermine any action that might mar the convention are battling it out in the streets and soon in the courts.

No matter what happens, my spidey sense tells me Something is Afoot, and It Will Be Big. I'm sending good juju to both ends of the big river today, but especially those whose lives and livelihoods have already suffered Katrina's devastation, and now may face another round of horrors at the hands of Gustav and the Bush administration's ineptitude.

I'm sending protection, support, strength, and hope to the people who most need it (and also as much cash as I can spare). If you are able and inclined, please do the same.

DDPP!

2008-08-28T13:18:00.001-05:00

Let's say you're a woman, and you have a yen to go shake your booty for a couple hours at a club. Let's say you aren't in it for the showing off of your cute club wear, or for the inevitable folks that would likely invade your dance space, or for the challenge of simultaneously drinking your weight in shots and not puking while bouncing around like a crack-addled jumping bean. Let's say you just wanted to dance, and dance, and dance some more.

If you're a woman (and, hell, maybe if you're a guy, too, though I can only speak from my own experience here), there aren't very many clubs where you can manage to just dance, without fending off ass grabs and stumbling home with spilled-beer-covered cute club wear. Or at least, that's been true until now: now, there's Dance Dance Party Party!!

I went to DDPP Chicago for the first time last night, and I had a hella good time. It was unbelievably awesome: 90 minutes of quality booty-shaking, with "no booze, no boys, no judgments" to boot! I haven't had that much dance-based sober fun in yeeeears. I mean, not since my old roomie Sue and I used to have '80s Dance Night in her studio in Atlanta (which involved quality New Wave tunage from her record collection, and the two of us seeing who could concoct the most ridiculous '80s-esque dance move...preferably involving some kind of homage to one of the Jacksons). I'll be back, for sure...and I'll be working on mentally assembling my own ass-kicking mix of dance-tastic tunage (participants can be volunteer DJs via Ye Olde MP3 Player Mixes!).

If there's a DDPP near you, and you're a chick (sorry, dudes, woman-only space), I highly recommend checking it out.

Roads.

2008-08-26T15:41:00.003-05:00

I suppose blog poetry is a little self-indulgent, but then again, I'm a solipsistic songwriter and artistic self-indulgence is one of my (dubious?) virtues. Plus, you know, I fancy myself a writer, and stuff. Consider me disclaimed.

I find myself
thinking about roads
curves grazing the shoulders of hillocks
sliding to the brink of horizon
and diving recklessly beyond.

I find myself
thirsting for mile markers
speeding past, numbers climbing
blurring reminders of choices
and regrets: obscured history.

I find myself
dreaming of albatrosses
white wings arching, slicing updrafts
climbing to the very ends of crimson ribbons
anchoring our joined ankles.

I find myself
rushing onward alone
footsteps pounding faster, louder
each stride drawing taut
the binding of what never leaves.

I find myself
swallowing against fear,
echo of foot against pavement
shaking the rhythm of flight
wings faltering.

I find myself
staring into illusion:
the end of the road, a mirror,
bird's black eyes reflected, silently
hoping there's a chance

I find myself.

FUotD: the State of Alabama! (DIS-honorable mention to Business Week's Philip Rawls)

2008-08-22T17:17:00.005-05:00

When I lived in Atlanta and spent many months driving I-20 into Anniston, Alabama to visit my sister while she was in Basic Training at Ft. McClellan, I heard this joke a lot:

Q: What's the only good thing to come out of Alabama?

A: I-20!

Today, there's this bullshit (via Shakesville):

Alabama, pushed to second in national obesity rankings by deep-fried Southern favorites, is cracking down on state workers who are too fat.

The state has given its 37,527 employees a year to start getting fit -- or they'll pay $25 a month for insurance that otherwise is free.

Let's start with the complete non-starter about "deep-fried Southern favorites." Skinny people eat fried foods all the time without getting fat (ummmm, Michael Phelps, anyone?)...and not eating fried foods doesn't make people skinny. ('Cause seriously, I hate me some fried foods.)

What bugs me about this is that this is, essentially, an employer gathering personal and private information about its workers, and then using this to affect the benefits some workers receive along with their paychecks (and let's not forget that we're talking about Alabama, one of the lowest-ranked states in terms of median income - hmmmm, the poverty-fatness combo again; wonder if there's a connection?). And what personal data will they be using to determine who pays and who doesn't? Our old friend, the BMI!

The board will apply the obesity charge to anyone with a body mass index of 35 or higher who is not making progress. A person 5 feet 6 inches tall weighing 220 pounds, for example, would have a BMI of 35.5. A BMI of 30 is considered the threshold for obesity.

The board has not yet determined how much progress a person would have to show and is uncertain how many people might be affected because everyone could avoid the charge by working to lose weight.

So, we know the BMI is crap...but I particularly love the part where there not sure how to measure progress. (Maybe that's because diets don't work, or something.) My fave part is that "everyone could avoid the charge" by "working to lose weight." I wonder if anybody's ever considered that maybe the fatties have tried (and are probably still trying) to lose weight a few times before. Jackholes!

Here's the piece that will inevitably be overlooked:

A recent study suggested that about half of overweight people and nearly a third of obese people have normal blood pressure and cholesterol levels, while about a quarter of people considered to be normal weight suffer from the ills associated with obesity.

...because the State of Alabama can't pocket $300 a year per fat person if they recognize that health cannot be regulated, or at least that fat is not the same thing as unhealthy.

I also love that they quote the state employees' union as not being upset:

Mac McArthur, executive director of Alabama State Employees Association, said the plan is not designed to punish employees.

"It's a positive," he said.

Riiiight. Not designed to punish employees. Only take some of their money. Those are totally different things.

Honestly, this program is similar to a "wellness" program at my company; if I joined the program, got a "health coach" and followed whatever steps they told me I should, I would save $20 a month on my premiums. But you know what? My weight is none of my employer's fucking business, and $20 a month is something I can afford to spend to preserve my privacy. Is it right, though? Is it fair that I basically pay a premium to be fat and insured? Hell, no. It's total crap.

The part that sucks hardest is that the people (substantially women, I bet) with the least financial resources are probably also the ones who'll be stuck finding a way to budget in an extra $25 a month because they don't have time, money, or the resources it takes to force their bodies to lose weight. I smell eating disorders and starvation - if they aren't already there.

So, yeah, State of Alabama: FUCK YOU!

The Omnivore's Hundred (like the Dilemma, only slightly less guilt-inducing)

2008-08-20T11:00:00.002-05:00

So, OTM posted the Omnivore's Hundred, and since I am trying very hard this week not to become completely enveloped in a crispy coating of generalized sucktasticness, I decided to go through it myself and see what I'd eaten. On the one hand....disturbing how many weirdo crap foods I've eaten over the course of thirty years. On the other hand, I've always been perversely proud of all the weird things I've eaten, despite being one of the pickiest eaters I know. I was actually kinda disappointed not to find some of the weirder stuff on this list. I mean, venison heart, pork brains, and mountain oysters...apparently I find offal-based eating weird (hmmmm). Interestingly, of those three, I like the testicles best (speaking of hmmmmm).

So, if you care to rock this food-based navel-gazing yourself, just copy the list; bold is for what you've eaten, strikethrough for what you wouldn't touch.

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding (surprisingly, as I have a pretty broad farmgirl history with meat products)
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht (Mmmmm....beets.)
10. Baba ghanoush (Mmmmmm...eggplant.)
11. Calamari (Mmmmm....octopi.)
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi (blech!)
15. Hot dog from a street cart (also blech!)
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes (my first drunk was on homemade sour cherry wine....yeeech)
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras (once was enough)
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese (I've rocked homemade head cheese, even.)
~~26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper~~ (I don't do the spicy stuff. It makes me cry.)
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava (not my fave)
30. Bagna cauda
~~31. Wasabi peas~~ (I don't even think the word wasabi too loudly, for fear of crying over the spicy.)
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut (blech!)
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a ~~fat cigar~~ (cognac yes....cigar no.)
37. Clotted cream tea (but I hear good things....maybe I should make a point)
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O (...just this past weekend...)
39. Gumbo (though it's usually too spicy for me)
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat (goat yes....curried no)
42. Whole insects (several kinds, actually....I like the ants the best)
~~43. Phaal~~ (Nein, danke!)
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more (no, but I've done tequilas like that...mmmmm)
46. Fugu (but this is totally on my list to try next time I feel like risking my life for dinner)
47. Chicken tikka masala (Might try it....but prolly not. Sounds spicy.)
48. Eel (I love eel. Like, true love.)
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut (I do not get the joy of "Hot Donuts Now," though)
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle (I will brave weird lederhosen-wearing polka bands for good spaetzle!)
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine (I was not impressed.)
60. Carob chips (speaking of not impressed)
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
~~64. Currywurst~~ (curry...blech!)
65. Durian (I'm weirdly fascinated now, and want to give this a try....hmmmm)
66. Frogs’ legs (I love these. Like I love eel.)
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis (I thought it was better than its reputation deserved.)
69. Fried plantain (too banana-like for my taste)
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini (seriously, what is the fuss about here?)
~~73. Louche absinthe~~ (I have hard feelings for absinthe because of a ruined tryst. Petty, but true.)
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill (Mmmmm....venison.)
~~76. Baijiu~~ (Sounds like sake, and I only had to drink that once to decide I could get rubbing alcohol cheaper at the drug store.)
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail (Mmmmm...escargot....so tasty...)
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
~~81. Tom yum~~ (did I mention the hate for spicy?)
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant. (again with the not getting the fuss)
85. Kobe beef (My dad tells me stories about the Kobe Beef he had in Okinawa, but it sounds a little too close to veal for my comfort.)
86. Hare
87. Goulash (Hell, I've *made* goulash. A lot, actually. Prolly why I don't eat it much these days...)
88. Flowers (From my own plants, even.)
89. Horse (not to my knowledge anyway....)
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam (surprisingly edible!)
92. Soft shell crab
~~93. Rose harissa~~ (I don't need no stinkin' hot sauce.)
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano (Happened by accident. I cried.)
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

2008-08-19T15:48:00.003-05:00

The weekend was a black hole of motherfucking suck, and I am going to be processing for awhile. This saddens me, and leaves me no spare thoughtspace to pontificate on the ills of the world; my heart is creaking for more personal reasons today.

Lucky for me, other people are saying insightful things, though. For example, there's the Women of Color and Beauty Carnival at Yennenga, which is seriously worth reading. I also liked this rant about torture, from John Buell via Common Dreams. Also exciting: Connecticut's steps to make solar power more accessible to the masses! I also liked the Anti-Advertising Agency's take down of a travel ad.

Then, of course, there's this pile of horse shit that purports to defend GMO crops and by extension agribusiness. I read it over and was too pissed to properly dress it down, but in summary:

If a new product's characteristics are attractive and the price is right, it succeeds in the marketplace, stimulating still more innovation. Ironically, some of Prince Charles's own organically produced vegetables failed this test: so deformed and repulsive to look at, they were not marketable and had to be given to local schools.

...that is bullshit. That framing of success only applies if your goal is to make a profit. If your goal is to properly nourish people with actual real live food, all the while NOT destroying the planet....well, then, maybe GMO crops aren't quite so damn fabulous.

Awesome video re: "America the Beautiful"

2008-08-15T15:33:00.003-05:00

Have I mentioned before that I freakin' love this documentary?!

Check out this piece on CNN. If you have the chance to see this film, please do. It deserves massive support!

Rambling about fear.

2008-08-15T15:19:00.002-05:00

Fear is a really powerful thing. Parents use it to keep us from breaking rules when we're little. Marketers use it to convince us to give them our money. Politicians use it to, well, pretty much the same thing.

One of the most powerful pieces of introspection for me was sitting down to really think about what, in my life, I truly fear.

I don't mean the "little" fears I have, like heights under ten feet or spiders - both mild and something I can overcome if I push myself. I don't even mean my claustrophobia, which I deal with on a daily basis in elevators and crowded subways (thank the gods for deep breathing!). I don't even really mean the completely irrational (and totally paralyzing) fear of sharks I got from watching "Jaws" way too young.

I mean deep, dark fears. The kinds of things I don't even like to admit to myself, let alone really pull out and examine and think about. The fears that pull the strings when I act weird, when I react without thinking, when I retreat to a place of instinct and self-defense. These are the fears that were built into my psyche before I was old enough to take a hand in it myself. Needless to say, they're not the comfy kind of fears I laugh about much. (Although I'm kinda jokey in general, so I probably make some cracks anyway.)

I have the usual deep, dark fears of a child of divorce and a victim of sexual abuse....fear of intimacy, fear of commitment, fear of dependence, yada yada yada. This is textbook stuff and not terribly interesting to me. Maybe also because I've made my peace with my issues in relationship and have spent many years working on vulnerability and trust and blah blah blah. So, yeah, I'm not saying I have a handle on this crap, exactly, but I'm working on it and am comfy with where I am in that regard.

My big fear is deeper and darker. I'm scared I might be fucking crazy.

I know, right? I'm a little wild and a little loud and a little, ahem, eccentric...but I'm talking about batshit need-to-be-medicated kind of crazy. My biggest fear is that someday I will lose my fucking marbles, and this fear is something I think about. A lot. See, my mom was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic when she was 35 (following in the footsteps of her dad, who was insititutionalized with the same condition). So I pretty much spend every year wondering if this is the year I lose it. I'm down to five years before I'll finally feel like I have "officially" dodged the bullet.

Is it likely that I'm schizo? No. My mom started showing signs when she was in high school, and honestly, it's miraculous that she managed to keep her symptoms hidden so well for so long. I'll always have doubts about myself, but I think it's pretty unlikely that I'm hiding any more than the regular old run-of-the-mill crazy of someone as far outside the "norm" as I am.

I fear this for a lot of reasons, despite its lack of likelihood. Firstly, of all the challenges I've had to deal with in my life, this one takes the cake. My relationship with my mother is irrevocably complicated by the fact of her condition. Between the symptoms of schizophrenia itself, and the side effects of the medications she takes to keep it under relative control so she can avoid her father's fate and live some semblance of a normal life, the woman I remember from when I was very little, before she was diagnosed....isn't really there anymore, and probably never will be. Anyone who's taken serious psych meds can tell you that there can be tremendous cognitive prices to be paid when strivign for chemical balance in the brain...and I can attest that it's true. While my mom certainly is still smart and creative....there's something she had once upon a time, that isn't really there anymore.

And, in case it doesn't show, not only do I take a lot of pride in my brain and my creativity, but those two aspects of my life are deeply interwoven into my concept of self. I'm not sure I'd want to trade intelligence and creativity for sanity, if I had to make that call....and I certainly don't think I'm some kind of John Nash figure, who can logic my way through the crazy. (Not to mention that, despite the way that blasted fucking movie makes it look like a fucking cakewalk, dealing with psychosis is NOT THAT FUCKING EASY.)

So, yeah, the thought of losing that scares the hell out of me.

I also have this fear because, well, not to put too fine a point on it, I'm kinda out there anyway. I read palms and Tarot cards and believe in intuition and astrology and all kinds of woo woo bullshit. I read a lot of SF&F, and my spiritual practice involves a personal relationship with a Norse goddess (that I sometimes rationalize, and sometimes buy whole hog). I'm walking a fucking line here already...and how much of a leap is it from there to some of the more outlandish stuff I've seen my mom pull under the influence of a psychotic break? Too fucking close for comfort, I'll tell you that much for free.

Some of the scariest moments of my entire life have happened while dealing with my mom's schizophrenia. It's not a coincidence that my biggest fears are tied up in there, too. There are other things that define who I am and how I move in the world, but this fear, this is the thing that I jerk away from, the thing that keeps me up at night sometimes, the thing that makes me distrust my instincts. And, with two generations in the lineage already, it's also one of the reasons I'm not keen to procreate. Passing this fear on would be a much harsher legacy than a fat ass or crooked teeth, and I would have to have some serious changes in my priorities before I would even consider it.

I'm going to stop rambling now. Happy Friday, y'all.

I am composed primarily of spleen.

2008-08-12T16:19:00.001-05:00

So, my suck fatigue is ongoing, and my attempted media fast and bullshit vacation....well, it's harder to bury my head in sand than I expected it to be. Apparently my radar just doesn't like to go down without a fight. I keep stumbling into new things to get pissed about - like this "shocking" finding that - gasp! - body size isn't necessarily a good indicator of health, or this bullshit from the George W. "I Hate Animals and the Environment" Bush and his cronies, or this nonsense about corporations not paying taxes (Chuh. Big surprise there.), or this ridiculous jackholery where the Olympics told a seven year old girl she was too fat and ugly to be seen performing in their opening ceremony....and don't even get me started on the John Edwards affair thing.

Yeah, not really unplugged the way I want to be. I tried working my ass off (bathroom: painted! kitchen table: arrangements made! apartment: totally cleaned!), hacking my hair off, distracting myself with musical pursuits and good books, and letting myself get a little obsessive over a dude (which may or may not have been or indeed *be* productive)....yeah, none of that worked either. Le sigh.

This is all aggravated for me by various life circumstances that have inserted themselves into my head and reminded me that no matter how much work I do on myself, my history never leaves me. Shitty life circumstances can be ameliorated to some degree, but even the very best tools can only shift things so much. Sure, I can make choices that help, I can try to stop reactive behaviors, I can breathe and recognize the line dividing what I can and cannot change and have compassion for myself and the people around me....but that's cold comfort sometimes. I want my issues to come with an off switch, dammit.

Anyway, since I'm not having much luck keeping my head down, I've decided to shift from a Media Fast into a Bliss Blitz, a la Rob Brezsny:

In response to our culture's ever-rising levels of noise and frenzy, rites
of purification have become more popular. Many people now recognize
the value of taking periodic retreats. Withdrawing from their usual
compulsions, they go on fasts, avoid mass media, practice celibacy, or
even abstain from speaking. While we applaud cleansing ceremonies like
this, we recommend balancing them with periodic outbreaks of an equal
and opposite custom: the Bliss Blitz.

During this celebration, you tune out the numbing banality of the daily
grind. But instead of shrinking into asceticism, you indulge in uninhibited
explorations of joy, release, and expansion. Turning away from the mildly
stimulating distractions you seek out when you're bored or worried, you
become inexhaustibly resourceful as you search for unsurpassable sources
of cathartic pleasure. Try it for a day or a week: the Bliss Blitz.

This weekend, I am headed home to see the family, drink some beers, eat some pig, and spend some quality time (hopefully) in a hammock under an apple tree (please, weather gods, let the sun shine on me, and tell the bugs to go to hell, yeah?). When I get back, I plan to embrace indulgence in as many ways as possible: a trip to Lush, a mani-pedi excursion, a massage, a picnic dinner on a blanket to the tune of Holst's The Planets, maybe a trip to The Art Institute to see that Benin exhibit I've seen ads for, maybe I'll coat myself in DEET and brave the insect-filled insanity of the backyard (and potential rude assholes) and treat myself to a couple nights of playing music to the plants....we'll see. All I know is, if I can't turn off my awareness of the world's sucktasticness, then maybe I can turn up my awareness of the world's delightfulness.

Here's hoping.

FUotD Two-fer: Anthony Bourdain & Ted Nugent

2008-08-05T15:49:00.003-05:00

Here's a link to what's crawling up my ass. I almost want to call it hate speech. Almost. Here are some of the most offensive portions...

1. Nugent: Obesity is vulgar and "displeasing to look at." Wait, Nuge - is it about health, or not?

2. Bourdain: "I'm not saying everybody should be a Victoria's Secret model...though it would be nice." 'Cause it's not the fat dudes that piss you off, is it, Bourdain? Just the chicks that aren't meeting your (dick's) physical preferences. I'm not saying everyone shouldn't be a misogynist douche....oh, wait - I guess I kinda AM saying that.

3. Nugent: "It's so ugly." Still not about health, is it, Nuge? "How dare a nation who clearly doesn't care about their health, dare ask for health care? And the obesity is the most vile, vulgar abuse of the personal responsibility of caring about your health." Ah, right. Setting aside your apparent inability to speak English, you know what's vile and vulgar? Assuming you know something about total strangers based on what they look like. In fact, I'm fairly certain there have been entire movements based on stepping away from that premise...but then, I think I read once that you're a racist fucker, too. "But 99% of the sperm whales walking the streets of this country, they got up in the morning, and they go 'I'm fatter than a fucking pig, and here's a list of things I should not do and I should not eat, and I'm doing all of them today, again.' They choose to make deadly, suicidal - not just mistakes to their own life, but you and I are paying dearly for it." Um, yeah....I can tell you're really coming from a place of caring about people's health. Fuckstick. Also interesting: I make "suicidal" mistakes every single day....and yet persist in not dying. What gives, Nuge??

4. Bourdain: "Don't block my fucking exit door, 'cause I'm coming right through you." Really? You and what army? 'Cause seriously, douchebag, try it and I will break you.

5. Nugent: "I just don't like it." My heart bleeds for you, asshole. I don't like some of your choices either, but I'm not advocating you suffer systemic prejudice every fucking moment of your life. I think your karma will probably be burden enough. "You can't eat that - you're way too fat." Wow, I never realized that if I stopped eating, I wouldn't be so fucking fat! Thanks for pointing that out to me, Nuge! On the other hand, you should shut the fuck up, 'cause you're way too ignorant. Tell you what, I'll stop eating if you'll stop talking.

6. Bourdain: "See, this is the problem. When I grew up, it was okay to pick on the fat kid in class. 'Cause you were an undesirable blobboid....Now that would be unthinkable; you have chosen an alternative lifestyle." First off, remind me when you grew up exactly? I'm confused, what with all the five-uear old name-calling (see: "blobboid"). Plus, what planet do you come from, that it's suddenly not okay to pick on the fat kid? 'Cause I'm pretty motherfucking sure that it is generally still "okay" to pick on the fat kid. The media seem to think so. Fat people seem to think so. Children, adults, and anyone who's not living under a rock (and probably a few folks who are) seem to think so. So tell me, jackhole, where do you get the idea that it's suddenly not okay to pick on the fat kid (or fat grown-ups, for that fucking matter). And, more importantly, what fucking planet do you come from that you think it should be okay to pick on ANY HUMAN BEING??

7. Nugent: "I think that everyone should be free to make choices, until that choice includes you shitting upstream from my choices....When your choices end up coming out of my paycheck, that's when it must come to a screeching halt. Because nothing I do causes your paycheck to dwindle, so the least you could do is the same respect for me." Okay, let's see if I can explain this to you, Nuge: we don't get to pick where our tax money is spent. I tell you what, though, I'll stop stealing your money by being fat if you'll stop stealing my money by supporting the military industrial complex, trickle-down economics, a completely un-just and unjustifiable bloody war, and getting your fucking religion all the fuck over my government. You stop supporting all that ignorant, oppressive, unethical bullshit....and then maybe I'll see what I can do about my share of the money all the fatties are taking from you. Plus, seriously, Nuge....do you get a paycheck anymore? What the fuck do you even DO?

In conclusion, Boring Bourdain and the Nuge-meister: FUCK YOU!!