Topless Lawyer

Okay. So I haven't seen her spontaneously shed her shirt in years, but that doesn't mean she isn't flinging off her clothes when I'm not around. Isn't that Philosophy 101 or something?

If Britt is olone in a forest will she still spout obscenities and take off her clothes?

That's a question for the ages.

In honor of Britt's birthday I'll keep up the charade and not tell you anything about how sweet and kind she is. Nor will I tell any tale that isn't about nearly nude grocery shopping or interesting job interview techniques. There's no need for you to know what a gorgeous person she is inside and out. That would totally ruin her fun.

Happy 31, babe.

Potential

I have long been a proponent of the idea that the Christmas story is not, at it's core, about Jesus at all. Although Jesus is the central character in the myth his later works only serve to provide us further justification for the expectation of greatness in this lowly, newborn child. The greater story here is the brilliance of potential present in all new life. New life is full of hope, dreams and wanting and the Christ Myth is just one story in a long tradition of human wanting.

Every culture has its own tales to tell about special children who grow to be, do or say something spectacular. We could choose to tell these stories from the moment of the deed thereby making the deed or deeds the central theme of the story. But we don't. We tell birth stories, childhood tales of uncommon intelligence, innocence, wisdom or piety, and coming of age stories that we hope will give us a bridge- a link- to our own greatness. We are not so much looking for ourselves in the stories as we are looking to find the story in ourselves.

I can't begrudge that instinctual search to anyone.

The Way My Mind Works

This is what I was thinking while walking home from dropping Sullivan off at school.

Marijuana March, I wonder what time that's at? Rachel's is closed for the Immigrant Action March. I wish I was a cat. Hello, Duck. Everytime I talk to that guy, I have a different job. He must think I am a giant flake. Oooh! Cinnamon rolls! I'd really like to rip off that bandage and look at the hole in my finger. I wonder how it's healing? Did I take my meds this morning? Tree. Tree. Tree. T-t-t-t-t-t-rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...chree, tree, chree, tree. what are those? Stop-plosives? I can't remember the term. I'd sound a lot smarter if I could remember the terminology of things. Juxtapose. I used to say that a lot. I like the x-t-a. Okay, focus. What do I need to get done this morning? I was born by the river...in this little old town... Hi Otis. You know, it is easy to mix up lyrics to Otis Redding songs in your head? They all flow together. My love is growing stronger as you become a habit to me...It's been a long time coming and I know that a change is gonna come...oh yes it is...shake it like a bowl of soup yeah...Did I leave the coffee on? Damn that truck is loud. I wonder if I should get a Brazillian. It's so not my style, but what if...nah. Then I'd have to keep it up. I hate maintenance. It's bad enough I have to feed myself every day. Would Tom kill me if I brought home a parrot?

You see, if you think it is hard to put up with me- try living in my head. To the outside world, I'm chatty but at least it is organized. You need to thank me for filtering out the other stuff or you'd get this kind of shit all the time.

So, What Are You Up To These Days?

Have you ever been in the middle of answering that question only to discover that it was asked only out of politeness but not any sincere interest at all? His eyes glaze over and he starts staring at a spot across the street just past your right ear. He smiles, nods and grunts like a character listening in a Miyazaki film. Of course, the main difference here is that the character in the Miyazaki film is actually listening. He's just scanning the crowd for someone to talk to other than you.

Joke's on you, fucker. My life is actually interesting. I'm not the one selling all my shit and moving to Hoboken. No babe, me and my hot hair (It really is a thing of beauty these days) are staying in Brooklyn while I embark on my most interesting and productive year to date. And don't refer to me as a novelist, dude. That's just flippin' ignorant. Not even close- this year, anyway.

My ego once caused me to spout that "...in ten years, those fuckers will be crawling over broken glass to work with me." This declaration was met with a stunned silence broken only by the sound of two leather chairs responding to the uncomfortable shifting of their occupants. I considered retracting my rather bold statement but then quickly decided to let it reverberate. Letting it float out into the world was the first step toward making it happen.

I've got four years left. You had better buy some fucking knee pads.

Snarky

That's it.

I just wanted to type the word "snarky".

Well, Okay Then...

I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes. I was talking to a friend of mine who is always giving me shit about something or other and he just wasn't catching on that I wasn't in the mood for it today. So I snapped at him.

Why are you always poking at me like that? Can't we just have a fucking conversation?

He looked at me sheepishly from across the table.

I thought this is the way we flirt.

Oh. Is it?

Yeah.

Nevermind then.

Actor's Dreams

There are several versions of the fabled "actor's dream" in my nightly repetoire. I haven't had the dream that it is opening night and I don't even know what play I am in in years and years. Occassionally I have the naked dream where I am pissed that no one is paying attention to the fact that I am naked (NIGHTMARE!), but not often as of late. No, the one that I've been having lately speaks to my readiness and my particualr anxiety.

In the dream, Joe and Josh Scrimshaw are playing Carnegie Hall to a sold out audience and I keep shoving myself into the show. They are generous fellows who do not complain or say anything at all about the number of times I simply run on stage to give an extemporaneous monologue or become a coat rack or do whatever I think will add to the scene. To be honest, they don't interact with me much unless it is to use me as the butt of a joke, but I sense no animosity and we're getting laughs so I continue with my performance. The show goes on forever and the audience never leaves. After a while, I get the sense that the brothers are humoring me but I have no pride left so I take whatever I can get. I'm just happy to be even marginally useful.

An actor is a very sad and desperate thing.

Now that I think about it, this blog is just a manifestation of that dream. I just blurt out whatever I want and it gets acknowledged or not and occassionally I am the butt of a joke and it seems to just go on forever.

I'm just happy to be marginally useful.

More Than A Little Uncomfortable

I talk too much.

I really do.

This is not so much a surprise as it is one of those Chris Farley moments when I repeatedly bash myself in the head saying "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!". I've known about this for years. Not to mention the fact that people keep telling me that I do.

I have this compuslive need to speak my mind. At a little coffee klatch for parents from our public school this morning I shot my mouth off about disciplinary philosophies (and the fact that our school doesn't really have one) and my dismay at the disrespectful way I've seen children at the school being handled. I feel very passionately about this because the behavior that is learned at school comes home to roost. I'm tired of being yelled at and it is in no small way a product of his environment at school. That is not to say that I never yell- but I will tell you that I'm never the first one to start screaming in my household. That is a habit I have worked long and hard to break and I hate being dragged back into that pattern. I know, I'm the adult, but if he is in an environment that uses screaming to control the masses 30 hours a week, how am I to compete with that? Especially at the end of the day when we are both tired and cranky and not exactly our best? Hmmm? I'm working on it. I need the school to work on it too.

Well, it seems I am not the only one who is concerned about it and it turned into a very long discussion which, somehow, ended up with me volunteering to go to the school counselor to discuss the issue. You see, when you shoot your mouth off once, you end up getting elected to shoot it off indefinitely.

The thing that gets me is that I feel nervous and anxious about this whole undertaking. I've been in this position before and have ended up taking on way too much. I don't trust myself to not do that again. But- I also feel very strongly that I don't want my kid (or any other kid) to be demeaned, threatened, or yelled at by the adults in his life. They should set a better example. The school system I grew up in did a lot of things to me- but I do not remember being screamed at. They tortured me in much more creative and soul sucking ways. I guess I just object to the lack of finesse displayed here!

I'm in a very uncomfortable time. These issues at school, my job(s), and familiy issues are just hanging around my neck like a taut pinch collar poised for immediate correction in anticipation of my mistakes. In every area of my life right now I can't escape that sinking feeling that I am going to screw this up somehow. People keep telling me that I am capable and I am just not buying it. Not for a second. What's worse is my mouth keeps digging me in deeper and deeper, but I can't stop talking. I need to talk. I need to sort things out and process my world, but... I just feel very uncomfortable about it.

Yesterday I had a moment while walking to the bank. I had some nice paychecks to deposit and I was feeling very proud and optimistic about my future when the negative thoughts started to creep back in. I thought that I would know I was a success whenever my brain stopped dishing out the self criticism and that is when it hit me. That day will never come. This is what life is and always will be. I have a choice to either face it and maybe find some perspective through the struggle or I can hide in the sincere hope that this will go away on its own. It won't. This anxiety isn't going anywhere. It lives in me. It lives ON me and if I am going to be able to recognize my own success I am going to have to challenge the anxiety and my own illusions about myself- both good and bad.

That's the problem with seeing things clearly- when you get rid of your illusions you not only lose the ones you hate but you also have to get rid of the ones you like.

Educational Confusion

Of course I have considered home schooling my son. The public school system is far from perfect and the Board of Ed is so far behind the times when it comes to educational advances that it is the equivelant of teaching computer programming with two sticks and a diagram in the sand. It is frustrating to watch the goings on at my son's school and see the overwhelming pressure to squash children into the group mold. From my own, personal experience, I feel this is a tragedy. The system does not understand how to integrate individuals into a cohesive group. They are bound and determined to train drones. Workers who tow the company line and can spit out facts and figures but only acquire applicable skills by accident or force of will.

But then again, I see value in the group. I work in a communal art form. The ensemble is an obsession with me. I believe it is not only possible to be a part of a group and stil maintain your individuality but that this kind of balance is preferable.

So I find it frustrating that I have this group of brilliant home school kids who are so leary of working together that they actually set out to sabotage one another's efforts! That's not right, either!

My public school kids have a basic understanding that working in a group is important. They will listen to one another (sometimes begrudgingly) and have some respect for others' time and ideas. They can and will complete group projects and take pride in their association with the finished product. They find safety in group work and, in a weird way, find a bit more freedom in it than if they had been asked to perform by themselves. They might grumble with one another, but when they are asked to join the group they throw themselves into the task with great enthusiasm.

My home school kids feel that only their ideas should win out and when I set them to a task they must accomplish as a group- they never get the project off the ground. They can parrot the values of working together and they have an incredible intellectual grasp on the concept, sometimes spouting great orations about the need for people to work together and listen to one another-but they can't actually do it- yet. (I'm working on it!) They bicker and become quickly bored and drift away. It's like herding cats.

The only kid in my home school group that is able to work cooperatively is the kid who went to public school for most of her life. AND she is also an original, definitely her own woman. She left public school because they did their best to squash her creativity and reign in her rather expansive mind. I can relate to that. Now is definitely her time to move forward and become more of herself without being hemmed in by such mundane conventions as are provided by the New York City public school system.

But- she clearly gained something from that system that the others have not. I may be wrong, but I feel what she gained from her difficult experiences in the system will be the difference between success and failure in the grown up world. These other kids are brilliant, well spoken, flexible and motivated. I fear, however, that if they don't learn how to take those talents to a group environment and find their place within that group (wihtout compromising their abilities) that they will have difficulty as adults. Working relationships are bound to be strained if they don't learn how to navigate the social structure. I see chronic dissatisfaction in their professional futures if things do not change. I guess that's where my skill set comes in, but right now it seems an uphill battle.

Of course, this debate inevitably comes back to what I am going to do with my own son. I don't know. I don't think I have the patience to home school him. Having been his first life teacher and his first class room teacher as well, I know that he needs a different voice than mine. He needs to be exposed to more points of view- even points of view that I do not like. He needs to learn how to deal with them and decide for himself. I can't afford private school and I cannot afford to drop myself any further out of my chosen profession. So I guess that leaves public school, warts and all.

I just hope I can be strong enough to watch him go through it.

The People's Front of Judea

I wanted to post something important, but I just don't have the energy today. I had an uphill sort of day with my home school kids (which wasn't BAD, per se, but I don't particularly feel like discussing it) and today is the boy's first day in After School and I know I will end up paying for it with a mega tantrum at dinner time, so I just feel like laughing at stupid things.

I love it when people get hit on the head with something unexpectedly. That's just funny. I think the best and most consistant laugh I've ever had is when that bird flies into Elaine's head on Seinfeld. Gets me every time. I also remember Carol Sever getting socked in the head with something on Growing Pains. Yeah, probably the best moment that show ever had.

Then there's that sketch in "The Secret Policemen's Other Ball" entitled "They Are Naked And They Do Dance". You kinda hafta see it. Every time I've seen the Scrimshaw Brothers' "Little Orphan Auggie Goes to War", I nearly piss myself with glee as soon as I hear the first ping of that Buffalo Springfield song (I always forget the title) because the slow motion that follows is just too beautiful. I've been singing about terriers a la Kids in the Hall- always tickles a funny bone. And I love watching the over the top, thinly veiled double entendre in "Double Indemnity". Every time Fred McMurray and Barbara Stanwyck get into the "speeding" conversation I want to whoop my appreciation like they do at Bryant Park on Monday nights in the summer. If I do, my neighbors tend to knock on the door to see if I'm okay.

Sigh.

Aren't you Nina from Joymakers?

Shouldas

I should have taken care of this years ago.

Since the day Sullivan was born I have put him to sleep- with a few notable exceptions.

I hate this job.

I hate this job so much I am shaking from head to toe with rage if he does not fall asleep by 8:30.

I've known for a long time that I should put my foot down and get him to go to sleep by himself.

But I love story time and I'm addicted to our crazy bedtime chats when he starts to let things slip about his day and his perceptions. It's just that when he is up later than 8:30- I snap.

It is 10:10 and I am doing my best to not scream. I've been remarkably placid even though inside I want to pummel him into submission. If I thought I could get away with it without a lot of tears I would probably scream at him until he was so afraid he would just pretend to sleep to get me away from him. But that won't work. My kid will scream back and he'll be honest and say things I won't want to hear like, "Stop, Mom! You're scaring me!" Dammit. I don't want to hear that. I just want to have a quick fix for this seething rage that is, admittedly, all my fault.

Aw, can't I just blame him? Just this once? I mean, I know he's only four and all, but what would be the harm in letting him take the rap for this one? Hmmm? I know it is all my fault for indulging him all this time, but shouldn't he take some of the blame for being so stupid adorable and manipulative? Really, how is a mother to deny that cute little face? That cute little demon face that does nothing but needle me day and freaking night!

Can you believe that I am actually considering having another one? What the fuck am I thinking?

I've Been Loving You A Little Too Long

Since I woke up, about an hour ago, I've been having very clear auditory hallucinations of Otis Redding singing in my right ear. Well, he was a very big man so he has to stoop a bit to ask me if I've "...ever been lonely? Have you ever been saaaaaaad? Did you ever really need someone that didn't need ya back?". Yes Otis! Whatever you say!

That's the one thing I took away from our trip to The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame five years ago- R&B/ soul singers were big fellas! Giant hunks of men with even bigger voices all begging me not to go. (Oh honey! Where would I go?!) And rockers are little teeny white guys that I could snap like a twig. Energetic little bastards, though.

Anyway, my auditory hallucination beats your iPod any day.

Tea Party

My son loves the freaky stuff.

He loves vampires, Captain Hook and harbors a certain sympathy for Voldemort. Either he is a psycho killer in the making or he's the biggest bleeding heart liberal you'll ever meet.

His current obsession is with Alice in Wonderland. We've seen the Disney animated version (Unintentionally trippy, that!) and we've been reading the book for bedtime. My girlfriends and I in high school used to joke about how this one really hot guy was exceptionally strange because his intellectual parents read twisted classics to him as a wee babe in arms. Well, if that's what adds to a guy's weird hotness- my boy's got it in spades. If he doesn't end up killing us in our sleep, he'll be one hot commodity. Especially since his favorite part is the Mad Hatter's Tea Party which has inspired him to throw his own rather decadent affairs for friends and loved ones.

Really, if you get an invitation, you really must come.

Post- Mortem on a Leer

It happened yesterday afternoon.

It wasn't really an event of great importance other than the fact that I noticed it. The sun was shining and, for the first time in weeks, I had a decent amount of cash in my pocket. My intention was not to spend but the thought that I could spend if I wanted to seemed to add a bit of spring to my step as I turned the corner past the bank and headed toward the subway.

Two men were leaning against a wrought iron gate. A more incongruous pair I can't recall in my recent jaunts about the neighborhood. One man was a classic New York Italian stereotype in his 60's or 70's. He's the type that watches the neighborhood from his stoop in the summertime and takes his jowls to hibernate in Boca at the first cold snap. Next to him was a short, stocky Mexican in a wife beater and a backward baseball cap. He could not have been much older than 25 and had that quiet, solid, blue collar air that so many New York Mexicans have. As I approached I could see that they were chatting easily, amicably smoking their preferred tobacco conveyance (Stogie for the Italian, Marlboro for the Mexican) as they smiled and joked with one another. As I got closer they both seemed to quiet themselves and each mustered up his own, personal leer.

Was it me they were staring at? Or was it the subtle smell of pheremone mixed with the ink on my newly minted 20's? At any rate, their attention was unmistakable. I had to make a decision how to respond. Do I flash them my shy, polite smile? Do I give them my playful, admonishing glance that says, "Don't think I don't know what you're up to!". Or do I make a wide and uncomfortable turn without looking at them, signalling fear and weakness?

In the seconds before our actual encounter I was thinking about how other New York men have paid me such attention. Normally the older Italian men will smile, open a door for me, or greet me with a "Good Afternoon...". Sometimes they strike up a conversation with me and they can be particularly smooth about it- absolute geniuses at making flattering small talk. "How can such a beautiful lady live in my neighborhood for so long and I know nothing about it, eh?". This is always followed with a teasing smile, a wink and end with a sweet and warm "God bless you!".

The Mexican men, by and large, are a bit more shy. They rarely approach me outright but might occassionally give the up and down glance with the slightly pursed lips. When I catch them at it they will quickly smile, blush and give me a polite nod. On a few occassions I've got the up and down glance with pursed lips accompanied by a very filthy (and strangely exciting), "God Bless You!"

I decided to give them my polite but sexually oblivious, business smile. This treatment usually ends with a polite, but embarrassed smile on their part and the transaction is finished. These fellows, however, did not break the leer but continued to crane their necks around the corner after I had gone. I could feel their eyes travelling inside the back pockets of my blue jeans and I wondered what I had done wrong. Why didn't they break the stare? Had I sat in something? Was there an embarrassing rip in my clothing? Did my shirt suddenly become transparent in natural light? I actually worried that they had somehow stolen the money from my pocket with their stare power. I was not sure why they had broken this unspoken social contract. When a leer is acknowledged and rebuffed you back down. Right?

As I headed down to the subway I had to revisit my internal conflict about sexual attention from strangers. I don't really have too much trouble with it and some days it is really flattering. Other times, though, the attention can be very uncomfortable and disconcerting. The problem with yesterday is that I couldn't really tell which experience I had had. If they had acknowledged my acknowledgement and backed off, I probably would have felt pretty good about the whole episode. After all, I am ultimately a vain creature that needs an ego stroke every once in a while and there is no harm in being appreciated. But, they didn't back down and went out of their way to follow my movements around the corner. This meant they either did not wait for my approval to continue looking or they didn't care. Both are disturbing red flags and if it had been night time I would have doubled my efforts to slip out of sight.

I have trouble living life as a piece of meat, but it is terribly depressing when people stop looking. At the end of my pregnancy I had tipped the scales at 210 pounds and it took forever to lose any of it. (I've still got that last 20 to go) It was thrilling when I discovered that a guy I was working with actually had a crush on me even though I was not as hot as I had once been. Of course I encouraged this, because at the time, even the construction workers near the theatre were ignoring me when I walked by in low cut shirts- and I was nursing then! Va-va voom, people! Then again, after a few hours of not nursing, soft, jiggly breasts can turn into rock hard protuberances with corners! Maybe that isn't so hot?

I would like to point out, however, that nice, clean cut, middle class, mid-western boys do not leer unless they have a written fucking invitation.

What the hell did your mothers do to you?

Onion Skin

I thought I would be a lot tougher than this because, a kid is only a kid. Kids don't really know a lot about social graces or other people's feelings. It's our job to show them. My kid, though, can really hurt my feelings. Last night, I made a special carrot soup for him (at his request- I searched for a bland recipe-as the kid doesn't like "flavor"- and bought a blender for the task) and he took one look at it and started screaming. He wouldn't even taste it because he wanted it to be watery like the soup in "The Witches". So he dumped a glass of water in it and stewed in his disappointment. This morning he asked me to help him cut out these pictures of the Scooby-Doo gang and they were all standing in front of each other so there were no "full bodies" to cut out. I did the best I could and he hauled off and smacked me for not doing it right.

I blew my stack because this has been going on all week. I arrange things for him, make special things for him and he acts like a spoiled flipping brat. So I have instituted some new rules and told him that I was hurt and angry and did not plan on doing these kinds of things for him anymore. Not until he could show some appreciation. Then I sat down and burst into big heaving sobs. I howled.

I only saw my Mom cry once, growing up. It was after she had read my diary and discovered that I thought my life was a miserable piece of shit. The fact that she didn't keep her usual stout hearted Scandanavian composure was enough to make me feel like I had ripped her heart our of her chest, but she actually shed tears! That was a huge event in my young life. I was kind of hoping to save the "You're killing your mother!" guilt trip for later in life. No. More poor kid has an emotional wreck for a momma. I am an unqualified disaster!

Oh well. The show must go on. Here goes Thursday.

The Weight of Revelation

I'm accustomed to being good at things.

For me, challenge has always rested in the quantity of things accomplished. I could always look back and say that I've juggled a million things and done them all well. I'm a quick study and I can mutli-task like it ain't nobody's bidness. I usually have pretty quick results and the more often I hear things like,

"Is there anything you DON'T do?"

"You are so competent and together!"

or

"Wow! I didn't know you could do THAT!"

The happier I am.

This is probably why teaching and motherhood are huge struggles for me.

First, I can't finish anything and who is around to pat me on the back and tell me that I rock? More often than not I hear how my cooking sucks (so not true!), how I packed the wrong toy/snack/sweatshirt, or how I'm terrible if I take a minute for myself instead of helping to make a homemade pinata. Teaching is equally difficult because lessons take time to sink in and I constantly feel the need to explain where I am going and that there are many steps in the process. I also get frustrated when I see how my students resist what I have to teach them. I take it personally. Especially since I was not that kind of student. I'll take what you have to give me, process it and THEN decide whether or not you are full of shit. Well, not everyone learns and processes information the way that I do. I like that in theory, but in practice it makes teaching that much harder.

On top of all of this is the heavy and lingering sense of loss I have surrounding my own greatest teacher- my Mom.

It is amazing how quickly my sense of self fades as I watch my Mother fade from 1500 miles away. I'm just getting to the age when I should be discovering who she really is and peeling back my perceptions of my ultimate MegaWoman to reveal the human underneath. Instead, she is going to a place where I cannot follow. Her personal secrets locked inside her impenatrable mind and I am left to piece together the memories I have of the practical Nordic farm girl who never seemed to want for anything. Is that true? Or is that merely what she wanted us to believe?

I remember Mom telling me that she never really considered herself beautiful- which I just couldn't imagine. How could she not know? I think of those pictures of her in her 20's coquettishly perched on some long forgotten kitchen counter, scrunching her shoulders and swinging her petite, tomboy legs. And her graduation picture! I remember staring at it as a child, marvelling at her soft, perfect skin and piercing eyes. She looked like a movie star with her gaze looking slightly past the camera and her perfectly coiffed, very short hair. I was a gangly kid with buck teeth and freckles. I hoped that I would one day grow to be a beautiful as my mother.

Mom wasn't girly. She didn't fuss with manicures or pedicures, rarely wore make up, and was more often than not found digging in the back yard in a pair of shorts with paint stains on them and her whiter than white legs blinding passing cars in the sun. When she had someplace nice to go, she would be dressed so smartly with such an easy manner and she would be such a good listener. She just seemed to flow with the chaos around her and she always gave me the best advice. When I discovered Taoism in high school I was shocked, because it was just like being with my Mom. I told her so and bought her a book to show her "Look! This is everything you've ever told me!". She just smiled and said, "Yup. This makes sense to me."

To see this flow, this pliable strength that I've counted on for my entire life be interrupted by Alzheimers is much harder to take than I could have imagined. Little did I realize the extent to which I am still tied to her and that I have subconsciously strived to become her. All the mistakes she warned me about I made trying not to make them! She was able to guide me, almost imperceptably, throughout high school and my early 20's. But once she started slipping I started falling into the pattern she had warned me about, as if I was just holding a place for her until she could return to it. She's not coming back to it and she wouldn't want me to be here either.

Now I've got to figure things out without her example and I'm terrified I won't measure up. I'm scared that I won't do this well, that I'll implode leaving my emotional shrapnel embedded in those I love most.

I am going to have to rebuild myself without her.

Something Inarticulate

I'm a bit of a zombie these days searching frantically for recipes for carrot soup as the boy has taken a sudden interest in it and considering making some Dublin Coddle for dinner. I have all this left over ham so what's a gal to do? But that is about as far as my brain can go at the moment. I suppose I keep thinking about how good Coddle is with beer. Mmmmm, beer.

I suppose life is just a collection of irons in the fire. At least, that is what is has always been for me. I keep waiting for the moment when I've cleared out my to do list to take a mental rest. Apparently, the secret is taking a mental rest anyway.

Ugh.

Kids...

Damn, I love kids, but I also want to kill them. Egocentric little monsters with no sense of time, place or person. They can just bulldoze over you and provide the most horrific screaming and crying over shit that any rational human being would just deal with and move on. They're loud and obtuse and quick to say things like "I hate you!" and "I'm never gonna talk to you again!" If only!

They promise, promise, promise, but they ALWAYS talk to you again. Usually to melt your heart with a well rehearsed "I love you so much!" followed by the tightest hug and sloppiest kiss you'll ever get. Sneaky little bastards, weaseling their way into your affections just when you swore you'd throttle them the next time their opened their juice stained mouths. Demons! Peace and tranquility one minute- diseased chaos the next.

When the hell is spring break over, anyway?!!

That's My Boy!

Due to Spring Break, I found myself taking Sullivan to my acting class that I teach for home schooled kids yesterday. I was nervous about it because he's so much younger and he tends to be clingy and shy in new situations. Not to mention how hard it was for me to teach his pre-school class because he was constantly vying for my attention and acting out in class. I was worried about a repeat performance of that because this group already has issues with ensemble work AND I knew my class was going to be filmed for Japanese television. Enough pressure?

Well, I needn't have worried. For all the toys and activities I brought with me to distract him, Sullivan was fixated on the class activities. Although he did not speak in class, he did whisper his observations in my ear.

Now, before I had taken this class over they had had another instructor who, apparently, let mob rule take over the classroom. Any sense of ensemble had been obliterated by the lack of structure (and safety) and I have been trying to re-build it. Not an easy task. There are some brilliant kids in this class who are accustomed to working independently (I wonder why?) but have extreme difficulty working in a group. So I've been introducing these games to help them see how important it is to work with the group instead of against it. Sullivan was somewhat familiar with these exercises because, well, because he's my kid. He watched intently. In the middle of one of the games he whispers into my ear;

"Mommy- they're not listening to each other."

"I know, honey."

"Tell them!"

"No, they have to figure this one out on their own."

He looked frustrated, "But they're wasting your time!"

These kids are more than 2 or 3 times his age and it is going to take them weeks or even longer to figure this one out. My boy, he gets it NOW.

Damn, he's a genius just like his Momma.

A Final Word

Admittedly, by holding the vote on Easter/ Passover weekend I didn't really do my cause any favors. My readership tends to plummet on the weekends (get back to work you slackers!) so there were not exactly droves of people visiting to vote. However, of the 5 people who left comments, 3 said voting was important and 2 votes were unreadable as they did not say a simple yea or nay. Those 2 votes had to be thrown out as irrelevant (note- they would have been counted if they had simply said "no") so add 'em up... I WON! Ppppppptttthhhhhh!

I've got much bigger fish to fry, but if I need to revisit this, I will.

Tomorrow Morning

The older I get the more patterns I see, and the more pain I understand. I see so much pain in the world and I can understand why someone under duress may act like a complete asshole. It is a hell of a lot safer to lash out and tear down than it is to expose your own soft, gooey, underbelly and trust that someone else won't rip open your gut as a result of their own pain. The sad trick is, sometimes you have to feel your heart breaking to wake up stronger the next day.

Before my dog, Bukka, died, he was in a lot of pain. We had no way of knowing this because he didn't really let on. He still ran hard core every day, still ate his food, still enjoyed playing catch, but there was something sad about him. He'd look at you like his world was crumbling around him. I thought it might have had something to do with our move and the loss of his back yard. Although he wasn't any more or less ill tempered than he had ever been I had this nagging feeling that he was contemplating biting us repeatedly while we slept. Our trainer was sure he was stressed and, to be sure, he always felt better when Tyril was around. Man, Bukka loved that guy. I was begining to fear Bukka. I was guiltily looking around for another home for him. Someplace in the country where he could hunt birds. It killed me to know that I could never explain it to him that we weren't abandonning him, but were trying to find a place that better suited him. Three people and a big dog in a small Brooklyn apartment...it just didn't seem fair.

On the day Bukka died he had been running and playing catch with Tom at the dog run. He had this funny way of playing hide and seek around the big trees there. As he was running his hind leg just popped right out at a 90 degree angle. The more Tom tried to help, the more resistance he gave. It took Tom 2 hours to get Bukka out of the dog run and to the vet. He put up a hell of a fight. Through a sedative haze that would have killed an elephant he lashed out, growling, barking and snapping. That stubborn son of a bitch wanted things his way- with a morphine drip please.

After it was all over and we realized the extent of his illness we then understood the pain he must have been in. We also realized that we had not imagined those angry doggie thoughts. He probably was considering lashing out at us for weeks, but for some reason exercised restraint until the pain and the fear became too much. Then he had no choice but to react.

Right now, my heart is breaking but I know my only way past it is through it. The pain will not go away because I am losing and there is no escape from this loss. This is a part of the pattern of pain that is particular to my life. The perception of this loss is uniquely mine, but the loss itself is not just confined to me. Through these events I am begining to see others more clearly and see the pain they have been hiding behind anger and a flurry of accusations and seemingly cold decisions. It is at this moment I could decide to become bitter, angry and resentful. I could place blame and try to spread my hurt around. Or I could feel it and believe in my ability to pass through it and learn from it. I could trust in my strength. What other purpose could this pain serve? If there is no cosmic point to this pain, then where is the harm in my fashioning one? It isn't being right that is so important. It is getting up in the morning that matters.

The Ten Commandments Drinkng Game

I hope everyone got tipped last night during one of my favorite annual drinking events: The airing of "The Ten Commandments" on ABC!

If you've never played before, it is very simple. You need to take a drink everytime Moses says "bondage" or "the Lord". After everything Yul Brenner says, you must add "et cetera et cetera et cetera" and take a drink. After everything that Edward G Robinson says you have to add "See!" and take a drink. And each time a frustrated Moses looks to the heavens for guidance you must scream "DAMN DIRTY APES!" and take a drink. It is also important that you copy every melodramatic physical gesture and create your own "orgy of the Golden Calf"- which is quite a challenge when you are watching it by yourself. In the last couple of years I have added jelly beans and little chocolate eggs to the celebration because I now have the added task of making sure the Easter Bunny hides the treats before he gets too drunk.

If you missed your chance this year, don't worry. Next year you will have plenty of opportunity to take part in this classic Old Testament drinking extravaganza. It goes on for hours and hours and you'd be surprised just how many times Charleton Heston has to say "bondage"!

Happy (*hiccup*) Easter!

Personal Power Part 2

Let's end this discussion once and for all.

Since I'm getting close to 4000 hits, I can only assume that I have some readers out there who aren't Jake and X. I know that because there are no tits on my blog so those hits must have come from some other people! So why don't you just hit the comment button at the bottom of this post and and vote for or against voting. Couldn't be easier. You're already here, so just vote. Majority rules. I'd like to employ the electoral college, just for fun, but since that is just too complicated for these purposes let's stick with the popular, okay?

I'm going to let this one go for the holiday weekend, so pop in whenever you'd like to vote, but please, only one vote per person.

Thanks and have a Happy Easter, Passover, Spring Break...

Personal Power Part 1 (Of Many...)

I am not suggesting, by any means, that voting is the big solution. I am not suggesting that we can vote all of our problems away and we'll be in one big, happy funland. I'm not a fucking idiot. What I am suggesting is a mind shift toward real and present solutions that take into account how our system presently works and let the pendulum swing the other way. That's what pendulums do.

Hopelessness and cynicism erode our abilities to connect with others, to organize and muster up a will to fight. The cynic is, by and large, a pussy. I say that having been one myself (recovering). The cynic hides behind these declarations of frustration and superior intellectual ability and uses those things as reasons not to engage. The cynic doesn't want to lead a losing charge. The cynic is easily manipulated into thinking that most battles are futile and full of hypocrites and jackasses.The cynic will spout off and maybe instigate but will never be a leader. It takes an optimist for that task.

Unfortunately, we have an infestation of cynics in this nation. A wave of them washing over our shores and pulling our optimists out into open and lonely waters. Mind you, I think the cynics have a place and have a vital role in society, but we are out of balance. Just look at the incredible numbers of disapproval for the President and yet he keeps getting away with this shit. Why? Because we've all fucking given up.

So I've heard this shit about razing the current system and rebuilding it and that there can be no blueprint because these things must grow organically. I agree, it is fucked up, but how can something grow if we don't plant it? Maybe you don't want to dirty your hands in its destruction and reconstruction? Let someone else do it? Is that really the only way? Come on! Don't the previous labor movements, the civil rights movement, and sufferage in this country mean anything?

Now, my personal opinion is that the framework of the system is open enough to manoeuvre inside it. This idea tickles me, actually, because it seems tangible and real and like a game. I love games. The issue, as I see it, is that we have all splintered off into little groups with our little demands and have failed to unite under a common cause. Numbers. Numbers. Think fucking numbers. I believe the next fight should be against the corporate monolith that is sucking this country dry. Everyone wants to do something, but it seems too large a fight so we just throw up our hands and say aw- fuck it.

An individual may not have much pull, but an individual that is PART of something DOES.

Quite being alone.

A Brief Interlude Between Brow Beatings

I'm going to take a break for a moment and cleanse my palate from my voting tirade. I'll do my best to refrain from ranting and raving because I know I'm just wasting my breath. If I foam at the mouth any more I'm going to say something I'll regret. Trust me, I know, I've ruined a lot of shoes this way.

Anyway...aw damn! I can't let it go! Because I think it is arrogant and infantile and so many things like this are just sticking in my craw lately! (Bet you'll stay up late trying to visualize my craw, won't you...) I seriously cannot pull my thoughts together on this because this is more than about voting, to me. It's about responsible discourse, hyper-intellectualism, cynacism and action. It has just crawled under my skin and made me fuckin' twitchy.

Or maybe that's the Benadryl I took an hour ago.

Frankly, I need to collect my thoughts and put them in a decent order so I can present my tirade properly.

Okay, And...

So, Jake has provided some links to models he favors over our current system. (See the comments to my previous post) I get ya. Don't agree, but that's not the point at the moment. The point is how do you propose to get from point A to point B? If you believe in these things strongly, how do you manifest them in our current culture? Although, that does not seem to be a goal. It seems to be a matter of personal choice. If that's true, then why are we even talking about it? It seems ( oh I hate to use this in a derogatory sense, especially considering the guy I'm addressing...) it just seems a masturbatory exercise. Purely intellectual and academic without any practical application- unless you advocate some kind of mass uprising, but that's a whole other kettle of fish.

If you are going to broadcast your views you must expect challenges. If you are going to broadcast your views you must understand that it is an act of encrouchment- no matter how benign the intent. I fully recognize that my views are often an assault and I have reconciled myself with that because I love the discussion. What I don't understand is the bridge between what is happening today and a vision, if not for the country's future, then for your own. I dont get it. I can't make the leap. I do not comprehend how disengaging makes anything better or furthers your personal goals. The truth is, in this system (which you must acknowledge whether you like it or not) there is opportunity. Within form, there is freedom and I don't see how these aims are necessarily incompatable. Far apart for the moment, but not incompatable.

I think X has a valid point about being involved in local elections because you really can make your voice heard- mostly because local elections are largely ignored. Although I do find it silly when I see a sign for a city council woman running on the platform of stopping the war. (Seen it) I think she'd be better off talking about other issues. I don't expect my city council to stop the President. It's kind of quaint for her to try, though.

What I really want to attack is the overwhelming hopelessness and negativity. Just the act of voting is an expression of optimism and what you focus on grows. If you focus on futility and negativity that is all you will ever have. That is what you will create and the cycle does not end. Get me?

Can't Shut Up

I can't. I can't leave it alone, even though I know it is a completely lost cause. Always tilting at obnoxious windmills and pushing big boulders up hills.

Jake makes me flipping insane.

That's nothing new. Not really. I used to smile and nod at him in high school 'cuz he was cool and had a hot car and was the safest guy to present with a bra and panties as a Christmas gift. (Always a polite and appreciative fellow- never even asked to see them on- just smiled and went on his way.) Plus he was totally my ride back to the homestead on long school weekends- but that's another story entirely. He's not the only one making my eyes roll into the back of my skull.

You too, X!

Both X and Jake are non-voters. They style themselves as conscientious non-voters and, to me, this feels like bullshit. It feels like something they would have said to get a rise out of Ms Fratske in high school. But they mean it. They actually mean it.

I'll admit that I can even agree with some of their points and will even go so far as to admit that I could be brainwashed to a certain extent. I must be brainwashed because I feel, well, pissed. I'm pissed that two thinking human beings won't vote. I am pissed that two people who have distinct feelings about personal freedoms and responsibilities (whether I agree with them or not) are choosing not to participate. I'm pissed that they are not the only ones. I'm pissed that I am searching for a revolution and all the fucking thinkers have dropped out. Disappeared. Checked out and given up. That just gets my dander up.

I get that government is usually run by wealthy white people, and why do you think that is? Because they participate! They have more to lose and so they stick their nose and their money in it. The "have nots" just aren't as organized- but they have done it in the past- they just give up too quickly and don't demand enough. And I understand the whole idea of not abdicating your personal responsibility for representation but it just isn't fucking practical. I get that government is just too ridiculously huge and buereaucratic but if the fucking house is messy do you burn it down and go live in the fucking woods or do you pick up a bucket and fucking clean it? This is exactly what I mean when I talk about this plague of cynicism that keeps us from being involved, from reaching out and being a part of something. And if you're going to pull the whole history of the US being about rich, white men rigging the system to their advantage then I can pull out the big guns on my side of the argument. People die for the opportunity you have. Is it perfect? Are you as well represented as you want to be? Hell no. Are you going to make it better by dropping out? Doubtful. Power is created by using the existing system and subverting it. I would think, at the very least, that the game would be interesting to you.

You're smart guys and I can't give you any civics lesson that you would not spit back out at me. We could argue the values of this society or that. We could discuss whether or not accumulation of wealth is a worthy pursuit for either state or individual. We can talk history, civil rights, property rights, etc. etc. Take your pick, it is all fascinating, but now what are you going to DO with it? I'm not interested in pontification. I'm interested in where you go from here. Do you have a blueprint? If you do, sell me, because I'm listening. If you've got some solution for this population (and not the fantasy America, but the one that exists right now) that is better than rule of law then by all means let us know.

The thing that totally gets my undies in a bundle is that there are so many more of "us" than "them". There always has been and there always will be. The problem is we so frequently roll over and piss on ourselves like the submissive little mutts we are- just keep the goods and services rolling in. Keep us consuming and no one will say a word until we self destruct then there always be some smartass to point and say "I told you that would happen."

I always want to punch that fucking grasshopper.

Lost

I am 100% lost today.

My apartment stinks like construction dust and smoke. My chest wall hurts. The heat is still pouring out of my radiators and it is a balmy 63 degrees outside. The house is a disaster. I ditched my Spanish class today and I'm just not prepared for the world. I'd love to disappear for a bit to get myself together, but I'd need more than 4 hours to do it right.

The boy and I have been struggling. I am comforted by the fact that all of his friends seem to be struggling, too. So it must be developmental and not necessarily bad parenting, right?

I know I am totally neurotic about this. Intellectually, I know that when others praise my parenting skills, my patience (no sniggering out there!) and my relationship with my son that no one is expecting me to be a perfect parent. No one. Except me. My biggest problem in life is that I expect way too much of myself. I expect me to always handle things gracefully and sensibly because I spent so many years screwing up that I should have learned from those years. I should have learned a lot from my terrible temper and my need to throw shoes, slam things, and just throw fits in general. I should be able to pass on that knowledge and should no longer succomb to my own deranged emotions. I should be able to juggle all of these emotional lives that have been left on my doorstep and no one should ever feel disregarded. I should be a genius at this by now! I should be something a little more than human.

I know that's bullshit, intellectually. But it is hard to stop the self punishing. It is totally unreasonable of me to expect myself to do all that I expect myself to do- much less to be "perfect" at it. It's a sick cycle. I handle something fairly well and someone tells me that I am so smart, talented, patient and good natured then I work really hard to stay that way. For a long, long time I was a wrathful, ornery, stubborn, venomous little thing. It surprises me to be described otherwise and I am absolutely desperate to keep it that way. Reasonable? Rational? Can you believe people have described me this way? Yesterday two people called me "perky". Well, what do you know? I usually laugh and tell them something like "You have no idea!" and I hope that I'll never be discovered. I hate the idea that I am a total fraud and some days it catches up with me.

The terrible thing about being a fraud is that, no matter how much anyone tells you how good you are you will never believe it. You'll always be afraid of that Mr. Hyde that lurks in the deepest, darkest recesses of your soul. I guess that is why I like to work on dark roles as an actor- so I can find a way to love my Mr. Hyde and give him an outlet that won't hurt anyone. I have always wanted to play Richard III. That would be quite cathartic for me.

Any of you who are concerned about the gender identification with my "evil" side can just suck it. You look at your evil side your way, and I'll look at mine my way. That's a bigger fish than I have room for in my skillet today.

So today I am going to putter around with some quiet pursuits and try to put my demons to rest. I will have to deal with the boy's tired rages this afternoon and I will need all the angels I can rally for the job.

OW!

Just for future reference, you should know that it is possible to strain or bruise your chest wall by hours of wretching. It is also possible to bruise your windpipe coughing.

Having the flu sucks.

The Individual is Overrated!

Look, I am all for swimming upstream and being your own person. Are you fucking kidding me? I've spent a lifetime trying to separate myself from the herd. But here's the thing I have discovered- people are good. Being a part of something is not so terrible. In fact, it is preferable to going it alone. At least it is in my case. I hate being alone. It is only when the group swallows you and tears away from you that which is truly yours that you have a problem.

So, how the hell do you DO that? How do you be a part of a community and maintain your "wholeness"? I don't know. Have a spine, maybe? You also have to be careful not to dictate the terms of the group you are in. If you like to wear leather underwear on 90 degree days that's great- but no one else should have to just because you do. But this kind of thing happens all the time. If you want to be a real Catholic you can't use birth control or be pro-choice. If you want to hang with this group or that group you might have to keep your "Land of the Lost" fixation to yourself. These may seem like small concessions, but they really are not.

Hmmmm, this is hardly the point that I set out to make. You see, my indoctrination to the world of the individual is just as deep as any group indoctrination. In each mode of thought and behavior there is an underlying set of beliefs that you are meant to cling to for the rest of your life without question. But what happens if you let them go and see what life is like on the other side?

I've discovered that I can be of use in a community and I can still be exactly who I am. I do not need to define myself as only what I am NOT. Defining myself only as a contradiction of any established group or mode of thought will eventually turn me into a black hole of nothingness. I am not nothing. I refuse to be nothing. I am an individual who is a part of a whole.

I like the human race. They may piss me off more often than not, but I still like them. It is a good thing that I work to be a part of them and share that which is unique about me with the world and allow them to share their gifts with me. It is within this balance that a rich life can be lived. Of course, in a perfect world we would all achieve that kind of balance and harmony. But we don't live in a perfect world and it can be difficult to find your place. It is hard not to impose or be imposed upon. I guess that is why people have created laws.

Hmmmm, laws. Not a perfect solution to our little spiritual conundrum, but a solution nonetheless.

I'm going to think on that one a bit.

Uniforms

I guess everyone has their own sort of uniform. The outfit signals to all that you are part of this group, that group, etc. It is funny how we tend to outfit ourselves to belong to any group. After all, you can walk into any high school and make an educated guess about who is friends with whom just by the way they are dressed. But it goes even deeper than that.

All the film guys I know dress the same. I noticed it a few years ago at a party and couldn't help but giggle about it. They all wear the same cargo pants/ shorts (depending on the season) and love those retro- Kramer shirts with a t-shirt underneath. They favor the same shoes and they all own sensible, layered outerwear for the winter. Every last one of them owns at least one fleece. Of course, usually that fleece was swag, but they'll still wear them. A lot of these wardrobe choices have a practical aspect to them, but it is funny how it also slips into leisure wear.

I was at a college campus on Staten Island today and I was definitely not wearing the uniform. Every guy there was wearing something thugtastic and every girl was either wearing a jogging suit with something suggestive printed across her butt or the Staten Island Snug Jean with a tiny little top. As for me, I was wearing a pink, linen shirt (loosely cut for a man) from India that Tom got as swag on a Merchant- Ivory movie he did, and a pair of long, loose, pink linen slacks. A couple of very sweet (thugtastic) boys came over and tried to say something nice about it.

"Wow! You're all...pink..."

Yes indeedy! Which one of these things is not like the others? That would be little ol' me. Oh well. I've always been way out of touch. Why should I start wearing a uniform now?

I just thought it was kind of funny, that's all.

Bee in Her Bonnet

Harrumph

How can smart people be so stupid?

I have to go to work now.

I'll deal with YOU later.

Where Did I See That?

Passing by a news stand today I saw a cover story- couldn't tell you if it was for a magazine, The Post, or whatever, but I did see a torso bearing a nametag reading "I'm Special". The headline said something to the effect of "Nonconformity is the New Conformity"- or some such. I tell ya, my man is a prophet. He said that same thing to an eye rolling "what- ever" twenty-something, who shall remain nameless, about 10 years ago. He called it way before Stephen Colbert called anything and Tommer doesn't have his own show. Although he pretends that he has one, occassionally pointing out to me that the audience loves it when he gives me a hard time. I usually counter with a frying pan or a rolling pin to the head. The "audience" only likes it when he gives me a hard time because they know I'll beat him mercilessly. This pretend audience of ours is a blood thirsty crew.

But I digress. Can I get an "amen" from the fuckin' weirdos out there? We need to thin out our ranks because some of us were born weird. The rest of all y'all are posers. So I've had to become normal to be weird.

I'd love to type more, but Bill Maher and beer are waiting for me in the other room.

Some People Are Funny

Yo necessito regressar a mi maison- I mean- mi casa.

Fuckin' French- can't speak the damn language unless I'm trying to speak Spanish. Maybe I should start speaking French and Spanish will come out. I've got a glitch in my neural transmitters.

Anyhoo- this spring I have been feeling the need to talk like a naughty fifth grader discovering the joys of cursing. It has been getting progressively worse and you'll just have to bear with me. I'm working on it and occassionally I do practice some restraint, but you should hear what is going on in my head. It is insane up there, between the cursing, the Spanish and the French and the frightening number of times 'yo' has bounced around in my brain. I have resisted the urge to let 'yo' become a part of my daily vernacular just as I have resisted 'totes', 'whatevs', and 'hella' but it is not an easy battle. Let's face it. I'm not the kind of gal that can pull those things off. I let things slide with 'ay, dios mio!' and you should hear the laughter! Boy do I get shit for that one, but it is the perfect thing to say in damn near every situation. It rolls off the tongue. Fuck.

Here's the other thing. The Hispanic ladies in my life can smell baby lust. I've had a little issue with it lately, but I haven't exactly been talking about it with my neighbors or anything. My neighbors, my mom friends at school, none of them have mentioned the baby thing to me ever- until this past couple of weeks. Suddenly it's like I've got 'Yo deseo un nino!' written on my forehead in some kind of special ink that can only be seen by Peurto Rican and Dominican ladies. Maybe it is because it is spring or something, but all the talk has been about when I am going to have another baby. Come on, lady! The boy is 4 1/2! It's time. If you're going to have another one, have it now. None of my white friends bring it up. Of course, they've all gotten my cold feet speech and are probably not looking forward to hearing it again. I gave the same speech to my friend downstairs and she just laughed at me. She said, "That's bullshit and you know it. You want another baby, you just want someone to tell you that you're doing a good job with the first one." Touche. Fuckin' smart ass.

But, it IS spring and to borrow a phrase from Dane Stouffer- it makes me feel randy and I don't know Randy that well! Ha! I love that one.

Spring does funny things to people. It makes Tom more talkative. The other night I had to actually ask him to stop talking so I could go to sleep. It pained me to do so, because he's not that talkative a fellow but at 2:00 AM on a school night...dude! The lady's not 20 anymore! I need my solid 6 hours of sack time or I am useless. Luckily, it did not stop him from continuing the conversation the next day. Cute.

Some day soon, I will be posting details of my upcoming classes. If you know anyone who is willing or interested in taking Screenwriting or Acting classes with me (on Staten Island, weird, but hey...) give me a shout or pass it on. It's going to be pretty fuckin' good...

Lies

When they've safely tucked you into your bed
whisper would it matter if the bullet went through my head?
If it was my blood spilling on the kitchen floor
If it was my blood, Mommy, would you care a little more?
Don't be surprised when they turn and start to cry

Tell your mommy and daddy
Scream it to your mommy and daddy
They're living their lie lie lie
It's all a lie
Lie lie lie

Okay, busted. I've been listening to the Monkees. Mostly I've been fixated on the song "Mommy and Daddy" because it touches a deep inner conflict of mine. Who knew, right?

On one hand, I love this song's youthful, righteous indignation. As a teenager I would have screamed this song at the top of my lungs, feeling that I had made a real and valid point. Part of me still feels that way. But on the other hand (you have different fingers), I feel sorry for the parents in this scenario. Not that their complacency is acceptable, but I understand how easy it is to get worn down and start accepting lies as an inevitable part of life.

Last night Tom and I were discussing the phrase "ethnic cleansing". What is curious about this phrase is that it seems to have been needlessly softened- to borrow George Carlin's rant. First off, let's not fuck around. It isn't "ethnic cleansing" it's GENOCIDE! Ethnic cleansing sounds like you're taking everyone to the spa for a scrub and a bikini wax or a boyzilian. But what is really weird is that "ethnic cleansing" was a phrase created by the people reporting it and/or trying to stop it. Well, isn't that ass backwards? If you are the one committing the act, you most certainly aren't going to call it anything. You have no use for the words because you won't openly discuss it. So why are the people who find this behavior abhorrent making it sound nicer? So we don't bruise our ears on truth? Even in my own mind I can't help but think "ethnic cleansing" is bad, but it is a matter of a few degrees before we get to "genocide". So if we're not at genocide yet, we can afford to wait. That's a lie. It's a lie we live with every day. A lie.

It is one of many lies. Life is fast and complicated and we are disconnected. The machine has us living separate lives, communicating through inhuman devices that create an illusion of togetherness but only serve to alienate us. The more we splinter into little, insulated groups that think, speak and act the same, the less opportunity we have to be a community and share accurate information and experience. The easier it is to live with lies, because we are helpless. We see the mistakes, the arrogance of our last student uprisings and become cynical and alone. Nose to the grindstone, boys. There is no need of your opinion here. There is no room for your dissent, no room for your ambiguous positions, no room for your questions. Trust the machine. Eat your processed food. Invest in the machine and it will care for you. It will nurture you and your children.

Don't believe it. It's a lie.

Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

Aw, for those of you who have given up hope that Hookers On Stilts was ever going to be dishing out the hipster dirt again I have a delightful announcement. She's up and running again, so please click next door and give the B-Girl a "hell yeah!" from me.

XOXO, baby.

Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

Is it "get me down" or "bring me down"? I can never remember.

Today I am going to do something really stupid. I've discovered (a little too late) that I am really hard on myself. I take on a lot that just isn't mine and then I beat myself up when I don't handle it perfectly. So today, in recognizing that I take far too much responsibility I am going to be hard on myself for being really hard on myself.

I'll let you know how that goes.

Favorite Things + Whistling in the Dark

Things are getting a little too serious around here so it is time for another session of Favorite Things. I find that it cheers me up greatly when I am too invested in the drama in my life. So here goes...brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favorite things...

The post-film discussions that Tom and I have after any and all movies. This discussion always begins the same way. After the movie we'll step out into the street and walk in silence until we are just far enough away from the movie crowd to not be overheard and we'll turn to each other and say, "So... what'd ya think?". If we watch the movie at home, there is a good 10-15 second lag before we launch into the same question. The goal is to be the first one to ask- except for after "The Contender". It was so obvious in the movie theater how much I fuckin' hated that movie that Tom was loath to bring up the subject afterward. He knew that it would unleash the insufferable social critic lurking beneath my otherwise charming, redheaded exterior.

My hair. Now that it is finally growing out I am remembering how hot it is to have my hair.

Naturopathica's Green Tea Wasabi Facial Mask. Holy shit, I'm not normally a girly girl about these things, but I am telling you! After using this mask you could not tell the difference between my face and a plump, freshly bathed, baby's behind. I dare you! And it's wasabi, so it burns so freaking good! Oh baby!

Sunshine and 70 degrees with an iced latte and a shady park bench under a cherry tree. How killer is that?

Watergate Double Feature Night. Every few years Tom and I like to watch "All the President's Men" and "Dick" back to back. Yeah, that's a full evening of Nixon Administration fun!

PAAS. Sure you could mix your own Easter egg dye with some household food coloring and vinegar, but you wouldn't get the little box with the punch out circles to dry your eggs on or the cheap ass, useless egg dipping wire.

Hard boiled eggs and salt.

Bread dipped in olive oil, salt and parmesan.

Eating steak with your eyes closed, imagining yourself as a caveman crouched over your raw kill in a damp cave ravenously chomping down your food and grunting warnings at that loser Urg who keeps trying to steal a piece for himself. That's my food, moron! Paws off!

The smell of mud. So sexy.

Dandelions. Screw grass. Dandelions are pretty and sunshiney, they make a nice wine and good salad greens. You can use them to find out if your friends like butter, to taunt them about their future headless babies and finally to make wishes. They are the greatest weeds known to mankind!

A cold bottle of Harp at the end of the day.

Groucho Marx.

Louis Armstrong.

This photograph I have of my neice and my nephew that sits on my desk. It was taken at our wedding reception which was held on a boat going down the Mississippi. The picture is just of their backs as they peer over the railing and out at the Mississippi with purple balloons floating just above them. Makes me feel good about life.

That was refreshing. Now I'm going to have that cold bottle of Harp and watch "Duck Soup". Afterward, Tom and I will discuss it.

Life really ain't so bad.

Hormonal Freak

I know that I've been affected by the ebb and flow of my cycle throughout my life, but I can honestly say that I've never felt the pull so intensely before. This indicates to me that something is amiss. I want to crawl into a hole and cry, but if someone gets near me I want to scratch their fucking eyes out. I need to be alone. Desperately. I feel cramped, encrouched upon, stolen from and so irritable you'd think I was wearing sandpaper underwear.

This morning I was waiting for a bus and had to listen to some guy berate his junky girlfriend. Her posture read as defeat and her broken heart was splattered all over her face. I could tell that he was hurting and fed up with her behavior so he was lashing out at her. Such a typical scenario. I saw them still arguing as the bus pulled away and I couldn't help but sob. I know people make their own choices and they have to live with the consequences. Right now, I am just so sensitive to watching people hurt each other. Regardless, I feel like lashing out myself if someone brushes against this sore spot I've developed in the last day or two.

The weird thing is, even though I am terrified of having another child and wonder whether or not I'll be able to do the infancy thing all over again, each time I bleed I feel a loss. I'm not ready to do it again, I don't think. I'm certainly not in a professional or financial position to do it again, but I feel the missed opportunity and it gets more painful as time moves on. Is this how I am going to spend the rest of my fertile years? Looking at my son and wondering how screwed up he is going to be because I didn't give him a sibling to thin out the doses of maternal weirdness? Man, that much me has got to be really hard to take!

I think I really need a glass of wine, a hot bath, a big steak, men who are present but do not speak and full television remote control priviledges. Then by tomorrow I'll be right as rain- whatever the fuck that means.

Cynical and Jaded= Piss Poor Existence

Being cynical shuts out a lot of life experiences. It alienates a lot of people.

It is hard to lose cynacism. It's like a cancer, it can grow and spread bitterness and resentment to every corner of a person's life. I don't know if it can be cured.

Once you are cynical you can no longer relate to the rubes who have found comfort in God, the artist who truly believes that one more painting could change the world, or anyone who belongs to any group whatsoever. These people, and many more, will irritate the hell out of you. Everyone around you will look like an idiot unless they are as jaded as you. You will not see fit to join in any activity because it's all bullshit anyway. Why associate yourself with fools? You will no longer try because there is no point. The deck is stacked against you. Why be an optimist if that only means you'll wind up a fool?

Cynicism is an infected scar. The cynic has been burned (and most likely humiliated) and is determined never to do it again. The cynic is surprisingly afraid of looking foolish before fools. The cynic wears his inability to take part as a badge of honor- a sign of his superior intelligence. The cynic is not necessarily smarter than anyone else. I would go out on a limb to say that the cynic is more wounded than the rest of the populace. Why else would he be so angry and defensive?

Cynicism spreads aurally. I've heard of a "healthy dose of cynacism", but I believe you can question and challenge without being cynical. I'm not sure how, but this is how I am challenging my own cynacism. My healthy dose got out of control and spread throughout my body. My symptoms included snap judgments (always the right judgements, of course), a feeling of mental and moral superiority, an inability to see value in any kind of social or political construct or movement, seething anger, and an aversion to being part of anything.

Your symptoms may vary.