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June 2003 June 1 2003 I was talking to Mom last night. She was telling me everything that she doesn't like about what Bush is doing. She did vote for him. But she isn't happy about his environmental policies and she thinks the tax cut is ridiculous. She does think he and Laura look like good people. Picture me with my eye fluttering, my jaw dropped and my head rolling around on my neck as if it has just snapped loose. I got a bunch of writing done in the morning and then went for coffee and dinner with Renee. So I was in a pretty good mood when I was talking to Mom. When she says things like that I go into a kind of tilt mode. I managed to shake it off and get some more writing done last night. I am really enjoying the work. But there is a cycle. I'm thinking about the structure and I'm moving things and rewriting parts and adding and subtracting and it's feeling good and then ..................my brain just stops. Or I hate it all so much I can't look at it. So far I keep coming back and re-engaging. It feels like this. Heh. No. Not really. I just saw that at Mood Swings. Ohmygawd. It's June. comment 8:51 AM June 2 2003 I'm eating French toast with bananas & mangos. I only eat French toast when I have left over baguette. Which I have today because Abeer came over for dinner. We ate some cheese and olives before pasta. The pasta was spelt with kale, corn and roasted tomato. And we ate ice cream. Which flavors? Peach & Champagne. And Chocolate & Rum. Ya know Zeebah has an idea for a recipe blog. (Which I can't link directly to because Blogger is so dumb these days.I mean really. I can't pages to load. I can't get perma links to work. Sheesh.) Susan's talked about one. Dru has one. But I don't really cook from recipes. Maybe we could have a group food writing blog. Or some kind of pass around meme. I went swimming in the morning. It was probably good for me to get away from the computer and the writing. And today I got some stuff to do that might keep me to busy. But there's a buzz in my head about the writing. I wake up thinking about it. That has to be good. In my morning blog crawl I read Dru posting about Jeanne D'Arc posting about events in Burma. I read this yesterday. I started to write about it and then I stopped. I felt this overwhelming sense of futility and sadness. When I read Dru it felt like some blood returned to a place that's been cut off. Because I was feeling like I had nothing to say. That other people were saying it better. And that may even be true. But there is something important in just speaking it. It is hard to keep the faith. When things keep going ... uh ... badly. comment 9:19 AM June 3 2003 This makes me giggle. It is just too much fun. Dru is welcoming all. And what would be a good name? Full belly? This was my first experience with the mighty MT. Now I see what every one is talking about. It is very cool. And I love being notified about comments. It seems that Zeebah might be moving. I could certainly understand anyone wanting to bail from Blogger. Mike posts news about Amina Lawal. And it would seem that her appeal has been postponed again. Amnesty clears up the confusion about how they are involved with support for Amina and the call to action is still going strong. My thought is that, with the new August date for the trial, a new batch of letters might be a good thing. George does this thing in a side bar where he points to things with a few words. He's pointing to a post with a bunch of links about the FCC give away of the public media with the words: "Relaxed?" Closer to euthanized. Exactly. Amp has a cartoon up and it isn't even Wednesday. Does that mean we'll see two this week? Renee gave me a ride to therapy and came and picked me up and drove me home. Isn't she the sweetest? I got no writing done yesterday. I was just busy with minutia all day. I gotta go do some writing. Now. comment 9:37 AM June 4 2003 I didn't sleep that well Monday night and it was hard to focus my tired brain. But I did get some writing done. But after a while I caved. I watched John Q. I was worried about that the movie would be too Hollywood. And it was. Complete with relatively happy ending. But it did dramatize the problems with our health care system. I cried through a lot of it. And then I worked some more. Until my brain started to disassemble. And then I watched The Lord of the Rings. My compliments go to David. I read these books in high school and some of the story seemed familiar and some did not. I used to wear a button that said Frodo lives. So I enjoyed the film. I do always have trouble when the mutant bad guys have dark skin and look like Aboriginals and the good guys all have light skin. But I guess it has to be seen in context, relative to the book. I just didn't love that part. The Netflix thing is cool. Having movies around at all times is kinda fun. I got more sleep last night. So it should be easier to work today. Susan linked this bit about Janeane Garofalo who needs e-mail support. And while I was there I saw this bit. I used to watch MSNBC a lot more than I do. When this guy got a show I knew things were going down hill. Zeebah is signing folks up for the recipe blog. I'm getting back to work. Now. comment 8:44 AM June 5 2003 Writing my book may be fucking up my blogging. I was reading my post from yesterday I had to wonder how many times a person can say, "And then..." in one little bit of writing. That is how I was feeling when I wrote it. And then. And then. And then. I wasn't really on the page. But this might bring me back. So the government can ask me to sign a contract with my doctor to eat a more balanced diet and exercise more? Oh. Wait. I don't have a doctor. I can't afford one. Well. That takes a load off my mind. I do realize that the article is from England but if they're doing it there ... well. Do I seem paranoid? Yesterday I listened to the Congressional debate on late term abortion. The rhetoric was extreme and repulsive and, ultimately, successful. This is a procedure that is rarely used and generally used when the health of the mother is at great risk. But do we care about the health of women? It is a horrible procedure. I think few woman would opt for it in anything less that dire circumstance. And make no mistake. It is one more step toward dismantling the right to choose. There will be a fight. And it's the government walking into the doctors office and telling them what they can and cannot do. Do I still seem paranoid? The truth is I can't even get it up for a good rant. I'm too preoccupied. All my thinking is about solving the problems of organization in THE BOOK. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. And I did get a lot done yesterday. In the evening, when I was beginning to melt down, I stopped, made a Greek salad, poured a glass of wine and I watched The Shipping News. I remember when I saw the trailers for this movie. I thought - no way. I'd read the book. How were they going to capture the quirkiness of that book? They do a pretty good job. And that's in no small part due to Kevin Spacey. But they make New Foundland look beautiful. In the book it's just grey on grey. OK. I gotta do some work. comment 8:59 AM The world is not a pretty sight. Each day we are assaulted by random terror; opportunistic diseases; the threat of economic instability. Aids devastates families, communities and economies in Africa and beyond. We hear the rhetoric, and see a bit of money flowing, but it's all so far removed, in countries "of which we know little". And while we don't have to live with the consequences, why should we know? - Bob Gedolf I just filled the tea pot with water. Put it on the stove. Did NOT turn on the gas. Fixed some fruit and yoghurt. Poured the NOT hot water into the glass with the tea bag. Ate the fruit and yoghurt. And took a sip of room temperature tea. What is that about? I didn't really work on writing yesterday. I talked on the phone in the morning. Renee picked me up at 11:00 and we drove up to Craig and Adrienne's. They hired Renee to help paint a room and I thought I'd just tag along. We stopped at Andonicos and got a bunch of cheese and fruit and smoked trout and smoked salmon and olive rolls and rosemary rolls and arugala, radiccio, frizee and olives and ice cream. AND lemonade. So we sat around and ate and not much work got done. I'm not a good influence. But it was nice to be away from the screen and sit in a lush green place with dogs and cats and lovely friends. Susan linked up an article about folks blogging from the G8. I love this. comment 8:18 AM June 7 2003 Have you read the book of bitterness? Cheryl came over for dinner. I made a shrimp and sausage and frizee salad. I had a couple of salsas and some blue corn chips. Cher brought green tea and ginger ice cream and wine. Good. good. Good. Ray inked to this. Hmmmm.Lots of good questions. In the course of my morning reading I came across a few people questioning why they write a blog or expressing a general state of ennui. I don't read the blogger who wrote the post that Ray linked to. I have a few times but not regularly. No reason. And I did not read the blogger that she referrers to who left a goodbye note and quit. I used to read a blogger who recently did the same thing. Left a note and quit. When I read it I thought about how that would feel in a ...uh ...off blog relationship. I mean there are folks on the web who I go to visit every day. I couldn't do that off blog. I couldn't even have that many phone conversations. But I can stop by and read a post or two or ten. And I have some strong feelings for some of those people. But just like in off blog relationships I don't comment as often as I should. I don't let people know that I'm there. Reading. I don't communicate my affection. And I don't respond to comments unless there's something specific to respond to. And then I may write a whole post in response. But even in off blog relationships I tend to rely on the feeling between me and the other person. It's complicated. There are bloggers who I felt connected with and lost that feeling. I blame them. Heh. But really. I've written a lot about coming across a blog cluster and really trying to court and woo them. And I got limited response. And I got my feelings hurt. And at a certain point I felt like I needed to back away from the screen. One of the ways a blogger relationship is expressed is through links. That may be about wanting hits but it's also about wanting to have your part of the conversation included. I would write a big ol thang in response to some on-line something, it wouldn't get linked, I'd feel bad. I didn't like it. And my solution is to not participate in some conversations that I might have jumped to a year or so ago. I felt a little lonely when I was doing the 100. I was really grateful to the folks who let me know they were reading. I don't think people do online writing with no hope for response. Or rarely. But I do have to manage my emotions around it all. The question that I find compelling in the Dainty Dirty post is what do we OWE each other. It's compelling because it's something I think about in my off blog relationships. Most of my friends are in families. They have husbands, wives, partners, children. They have jobs. They are busy. What can I expect in terms of time and energy? What is asking too much? As far as blogging relationships go I find them as complex and rewarding and vexing as my off blog relationships. There are people who make my heart ache. There are people who piss me off. There are people who just leave me a little note every day. Sweet. Uncomplicated. Just a little note full of news. When a blogger says goodbye it's sad. I still check Bigger Hand to see if he's back. But I have too many friends who I just don't see as often as I should/could. I don't know. Most of the time I have to remind myself that I do this writing for me. And when someone reads it and likes it I get giddy with joy. But I have to keep tracking the value back to my own intention. I think I owe the people I read on line the same things I owe the people I know off line. I try to tell the truth and come from love. If I have issues I try to be up front with those issues. But there are times when I feel like those issues might be more than I (or they) can take on. So if I can't say something nice I try not to talk out loud. And if I ever decide to quit...I'll let ya know. comment 9:11 AM I will never be someone who writes only about bird song, although I admire birdsong highly - but not enough to withdraw from the historical world, for the historical world is fascinating. What really interests me is the interweaving of the historical and cosmic world. The cosmic world is unmoving - or rather, it moves to a completely different rhythm. I shall never know how these worlds coexist. They are in conflict yet they complement each other - and that merits our reflection - Adam Zagajewski (via Casandra Pages)
June 8 2003 I thought this was funny in light of yesterday's post.
I got it from Dru. The quiz. Not the attitude. Heh. I don't really feel that self contained. I do care if people read me. The question in the quiz about what publishing tool you use is funny. There is a feel. I meant to add a link to Monica yesterday in the post and I forgot. She posted a Clarice Lispector story that seemed to fit in to the conversation. Unintentionally. But apt none the less. Cynthia stopped by yesterday with Cappuccino and ginger cookies. That was fun. I was working on a section of writing that was giving me trouble. I'm still chewing my lip over it. This is what's great about the work right now. I'm thinking about it all the time. I'm problem solving in my head, even when I'm not in front of the screen. But it does mean that I'm preoccupied. comment 8:35 AM June 9 2003 When I was 19 I walked into a truck. Yes. It's true. I lived in Washington D.C., right on the edge of Maryland. I was going to college in Takoma Park. So it was morning and I was walking to a class and a German Shepherd came running across a yard and onto the sidewalk. I thought I'd walk around him and I stepped off the curb. The mirror of the truck hit the back of my head and I went under the truck. Well. My right foot went under the wheel of the truck. I was pulled down and dragged a little bit. There was a hole torn in the side of my ankle. And then there was a long surgery and a month in the hospital and a month on crutches and a scar that looks as if a bite was taken out of my ankle. It's a gruesome scar. But I never think about it. And I can know someone for a long time before they see the scar. Unless you come to my house when I'm not wearing socks you might never see it. I'm not hiding it. But I don't really wear sandals in SF. But of course at the swim people see it. And again, I forget I have it. So every once in a while someone asks about it. Which happened yesterday. It doesn't bother me. It kinda makes me laugh because I do forget and it is so gruesome. It seems like it might be hard to forget. As an event it was significant because it happened at a time in my life when I was trying to get my life together as an adult. Er sumthin. I was studying psychology. I wanted to be a therapist. I needed therapy. Heh. But I didn't go back to college. I moved west. First to SF and then to Boulder. Sigh. Yesterday, before I went to the swim, I was listening to Sunday Salon and they were talking about blogging with a few folks, one of who was Rebecca. I was calling in to say something and Deb rang the buzzer to get into the apartment. Sometimes the buzzer doesn't work. So I had to hang up and go down the three flights of stairs to let her in. And I got really pissed. Not at her. But because I couldn't say my thing on the radio. I couldn't call back because we needed to leave for the swim. It frustrates me that I got so pissed. I really felt this great need to be in the mix. And I feel like I lost some balance. No one suffered because I was pissed. I wasn't yelling at Deb or the buzzer or anything. But I felt all this frustration. Over a local radio call in show. Which I think is about needing to feel like I have something to say and that people will want to hear it. It's fine to want all that but when the need is so kicked up it makes me feel ... yucky. Back in the days when I was sitting in a hospital waiting for my foot to heal I felt stalled. I wanted to be out in the world. And I think I've always felt stalled. Or held back. Or not seen. Or heard. Or something not quite clear. comment 8:41 AM June 10 2003 In therapy last night I said, "There's a girl in Brazil who knows more about my life than you guys." Monica continues the conversation. One of the people who commented on my post is one of my oldest friends. Someone who I've known for close to half my life. We stopped being friends a long time ago. We're sisters now. She is my family. I've been thinking about her and that post and the notion of comments and what function they serve in on-line community and what people OWE one another. Like I said in my post, I don't always comment. I don't write. I don't call. I don't send flowers. I bristle at the idea of proving my love. But I know that relationships need care. I fight depression a lot. And I don't write about it or talk about it sometimes. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think I won't have any friends someday because I've been isolating and feeling bad and not communicating. And sometimes when you haven't talked to a person for a long time there's a funny feeling, a shyness. And when that goes away it feels like you've never been apart. But I never feel like I owe my friends. And I always feel like I owe my friends. Both things are true. There's a tension in being close for a long time. Especially when you're someone who doesn't really trust love. For me it's never like ...oh you say love me...well OK. It's more like ... we'll see how long that lasts. We'll see how long you love me if I'm not there for you every time you call. It's fucked up. I learned it early. It's an old habit. Now when I hear those voices I try to talk back. I try to open my heart and be willing. The friend who left a comment and I have been through some things. We've trusted each other. We've not trusted each other. We've laughed at our own crazy hearts. We've talked about it all. Months go by and we don't talk at all. But there is almost never a day in which she doesn't cross my mind. That's the thing with a sister. They become part of you in a way that will not be ignored. We've survived conflict. I'm not sure that's what makes our friendship so strong. Our friendship is rooted in shared humor and intellect and attitude and bad behavior and recovery and our quest for truth and our love of the mundane. And those roots survived both storms and neglect. I don't think on-line relationships are limited. Last night in therapy I was talking about how real I think on-line relationships can be. How passionate. And a lot happens in a comment box. But I'm not always willing to process in a comment box. So if I have an issue I may just back away from the screen. Or not. And look. Community is a many splendoured thing. There are people who challenge me emotionally, intellectually, politically. There are people who I go to for simplicity and the joy of the day. There are people I've been reading every day for a year or more who I never e-mail, never leave a comment to, some who don't have comment boxes and I have feelings for all of them. The other day, when I realized that Cyndy was back, I tried to leave her a comment and the Haloscan server was not letting me in. But there is something about going to a blog and seeing a closed sign. I don't really blame people for wanting to stop writing on line. There are many reasons. And I read people who have taken long breaks. I'd go to their blog every day just to check. Imagine doing that off line. Imagine walking past someone's house every day and looking to see if they're going to open the door and say hi. And yet. I think part of loving someone is learning how to endure absence. I meant to add this part of a Lispector story posted by Monica the other day. "Already at this stage, the first signs of tension between us began to appear. Sometimes one of us would call, we met, and had nothing to say to each other. We were very young and didn't know how to remain in silence." comment 9:26 AM June 10 2003 Wow. This conversation keeps going. Cyndy wrote a fantastic metaphor in a post that has my forehead knitted and my jaw tight. She points to another blogger goodbye, which I won't link but you can find it easily enough. It's another example of someone who I only read a time or two and I liked but didn't add to the roll. There really was no reason for that other than I don't get through my blog roll as it is. So. If you do read Cyndy and follow the links you will read what has me all tight. I am hesitant to write about the feelings I am having. I had my own unpleasant exchange with a blogger who is referred to in the whole story. They were on and off my blog roll in less than a few weeks. I didn't talk about taking the person off my roll. It didn't seem important. And I'm still not going to get into a detailing of why I stopped reading the person. This is all quite surreptitious and I am not someone who likes to prevaricate. But how do we handle conflict? When someone comes to my blog and leaves a comment that is an argument with something I've written I will respond. When someone talks shit about me on their blog I might respond. I might not. It would depend. When someone talks shit about someone else ... it gets more complicated. And I will admit that when someone is writing stuff that pisses me off there's a 50/50 chance that I will back away from the screen. I've taken on a few people. When I do my desire is to hold us both in some frame of dignity and tell them my feelings as directly as possible. Occasionally I lose my cool and mouth off. Once I said something that really hurt someone. I felt like they took me the wrong way but I felt like they were entitled to their feelings. So I didn't argue. But I didn't really work it out. And what am I doing in this post? I'm trying not to jump into the fray and be happy that someone who I found disturbing is getting some criticism. But I am jumping into the fray by writing the post. In part because I like Cyndy and I think she's making a good point. Enough already. Yeah. I feel that. But how do we handle conflict? It's a big topic and worthy of a lot of discussion. And I doubt there are easy answers. I try to write from my heart and my head. Sometimes things get wonky. But it is quite amazing that people are so willing to care about one another. Out loud. In public. And there is a lot of love. A lot of love. But ya know ... sometimes we bump into each other and I'm not always sure what to do. comment 10:00 PM Lots of folks linking this up today. I love Moyers. Uh. I think the answer is yes. Please. Angela says she is supa fat. Me too! This is too beeeyoootiful. The last few days I've been going to bed late and trying to sleep in. But my neighborhood is not conducive. Yesterday the garbage truck, which makes plenty of noise on its own, was parked by a car with a very sensitive alarm. The alarm went off every time the truck loaded more garbage. This morning my neighbor had a sneeze attack that must have lasted twenty minutes. Oh well. So I have to get a chunk of writing in the mail today or tomorrow so that I can meet Stephen next week. Must work now. comment 9:46 AM June 12 2003 I should do laundry. Should I do laundry? I'm not really in the mood. Every time I print out any of the book I get big ol smile on my face. Writing on a screen is great for editing but holding the pages in your hand .... ahhhhhhhhhhhh. It's too easy to feel like I'm not doing anything. Even after six hours of writing. So I printed stuff for Stephen and I need to get it in the mail. And I need to keep working. But I'm not really in the mood. I'm squirmy. comment 8:20 AM June 13 2003 It's Friday the 13th! Cool. I finished Autobiography of a Face filled with sadness. And I haven't shaken it. But I've been trying to keep it at a distance. It's like I'm circling it. Watching. Yeah I see ya. You won't swallow me up again. In the later part of the book Lucy describes having men see her body and begin to flirt with her until they see her face. And then they would recoil. I had exactly the opposite experience. Men would see my face, maybe in a car or something, flirt and then see my body and hurl cruelty at me. It's all too sad. It's too sad a thing to think about the world. I'm working on section of writing that's about my early twenties. And it was a time filled with self doubt and fear. I worked my way out of it. But. In some ways the doubt and fear never really go away. You just circle them. Watchful. You position yourself. You keep them in their place. And when they get lose and hit your body you feel the shaking and you take big breaths until it stops. comment 9:13 AM June 14 2003 Happy Birthday Adrienne! I did not do the laundry on Thursday. But I did do it yesterday. Listened to the news. Colin Powell said something about pushing for peace. Pushing. It wasn't even the dumbest thing I heard yesterday but it did make me shake my head and say a few bad words of my own. I use the word push. I talk about pushing against the dominant paradigm. I think about push hands and the need for balance. But the idea is to push just enough to keep your balance. Not push with tanks. And I may have lost all faith in the Democratic party. I think I say that about once a week. Starhawk was on Living Room talking about the International Solidarity Movement. She was there when Rachel Corry was killed. You don't push with tanks. I watched Billy Elliot last night and the end of Moyers. Folded the laundry. comment 9:21 AM June 15 2003 I get the blues on Father's Day. For a variety of reasons that I'm not gonna write about on line. There are things that I feel the need to hold close. My Dad is in a senior citizens home in a small town in Missouri. His list of ailments is long. But he still smokes. Knowing that always makes me smile. He's always been ... who he is. When I was three months old Mom and I got on a train and left my father. We lived with her mother and father. Grandmom told me that my father was dead. Mom would explain that Grandmom didn't believe in divorce. I learned that people tell the truth that they want to hear. I met him when I was eight, or nine, or ten. There seems to be some confusion about that. I'm confused. Mom has one idea about when it was. I have another. I met him but I never really had him. Ya know? I can't imagine the feeling of a father. Only a distant, longed for mystery. I sent him a card. It's always hard to find a card. It has to be simple. No gushing gratitude. Just a simple acknowledgement. I make on the computer them now. So I mourn a little on Father's Day. For what he and I never had. And I feel a little pissed at how hard I have to work to accept what can not be changed. And I feel adolescent and moody and miserable. And then it's Monday. comment 8:25 AM June 15 2003 I get the blues on Father's Day. For a variety of reasons that I'm not gonna write about on line. There are things that I feel the need to hold close. My Dad is in a senior citizens home in a small town in Missouri. His list of ailments is long. But he still smokes. Knowing that always makes me smile. He's always been ... who he is. When I was three months old Mom and I got on a train and left my father. We lived with her mother and father. Grandmom told me that my father was dead. Mom would explain that Grandmom didn't believe in divorce. I learned that people tell the truth that they want to hear. I met him when I was eight, or nine, or ten. There seems to be some confusion about that. I'm confused. Mom has one idea about when it was. I have another. I met him but I never really had him. Ya know? I can't imagine the feeling of a father. Only a distant, longed for mystery. I sent him a card. It's always hard to find a card. It has to be simple. No gushing gratitude. Just a simple acknowledgement. I make on the computer them now. So I mourn a little on Father's Day. For what he and I never had. And I feel a little pissed at how hard I have to work to accept what can not be changed. And I feel adolescent and moody and miserable. And then it's Monday. comment 8:25 AM June 16 2003 There are things in my book about my fathers. I had more than one. The only absolute connection between being fat and having the biological father that I did was his gene pool. Which isn't actually where I got my fat genes. But I did get my height and big boned body. Mom and her Mom and her Mom's Mom were fat. When I thought that fat was a pathology (as opposed to a body type) I thought that I was using my weight to protect me from men. If there was any truth to that notion it was that being fat doesn't really protect you from heartache. There are so many fat people with so many different life experiences that I'm uncomfortable drawing correlations about fathers and daughters and problems and body type. However. Our fathers were cooked in the patriarchy. Some of them may have made their daughters miserable about their bodies. My father said things to me about my mother's body but when it came to me he said something like ... all the more to love. It might have been a good thing. Except. I never believed him. He wasn't there. Loving me. So. There is such a frenzy of fat hatred these days. I worry that fathers use disapproval of their daughter's bodies to try and manipulate them to lose weight. For their (cough) health. I've heard stories like that. I've heard a story about a father who locked his daughter in the bathroom to keep her away from food when she gained weight. And when she was old enough to leave home she stopped dieting, gained weight, struggled with self hatred and eventually learned to accept herself. Hard won self image. But. I've heard stories of loving fathers who only see beauty when they look at their daughters. Scoop Nisker was on KPFA yesterday interviewing Robert Bly. It was interesting. Sweet. Scoop's daughter was there. She read him a poem. It's nice to listen to men talk about self work. And I have always wished men did more of the work of articulating feminism. That wasn't exactly happening. But there were some emotional moments. Talking about fathers. There was one call-in comment for Mr. Bly in which the caller said he had been in one of Bly's seminars years ago and he felt that Bly had been sexist and homophobic and he asked him for an apology. Bly said he wasn't going to apologize for making mistakes when he was young and still learning. It seems to me that an apology is a very small gift to give. And it can do so much to heal. Bly is such a scrapper. Meanwhile. Thanks to Dru I figured out what was hanging up my page yesterday. I couldn't figure it out. The All Consuming site seems to be down. Bummer. I took out the code until it comes back. comment 7:49 AM June 17 2003 I really do want someone to buy me this. I want to be an expat. I want to live somewhere else. I want to live next door to a man who writes poems and songs. I don't really want to meet Leonard. I just want to know that he's next door. Or that he was once next door. I will admit the bathroom looks a little bit scary. But if I got a bag of money...I'd be there. And I would invite you to come and visit. We could read in the garden and cook with olives and lemons. And we could listen for Leonard. And giggle. Sigh. I was reading this article about the relative health benefits of exercise and I was struck by the sentences that say that men were most likely to die if blah blah blah. Um. As opposed to? I mean clearly the writer meant die sooner. And still I have to ask ... as opposed to? It's not that I think people shouldn't exercise. I think exercise is cool. And I think it's good to take care of yourself. But I also think that people are beginning to believe that they can avoid death. Maybe we can. But. I don't think we get there with paranoia and obsession. Some people are going to work for a high degree of fitness and that's all good. And other's are going to be happy taking a walk every day. And some people are going to smoke and drink and sit on their ass and live long lives. There have been times in my life when I did formal exercise. Mostly I just worked in a kitchen, on my feet, lifting pots, slinging hash. And I've always walked. And I want to move more than I do. I like the ritual of exercise. But, other than swimming, I haven't got a ritual of my own right now. It's a crazy article because it seems to be saying that people who begin to do some exercise aren't doing enough. Jeez. Take a walk. Do some yoga. Swim. Dance. It's fun. But fuck the people who want to fill the gyms with paying members lined up on tread mills, obedient to the social injunction of being healthy. Health is about a lot of things. Sitting in a garden, eating food that's made with olives and lemons, talking to a friend you never thought you'd get a chance to meet, or a friend you haven't seen in too long, listening for the humming of the poet next door, might be a very healthy thing. comment 7:31 AM Neo is such a bound prisoner, looking at the shadows of the Matrix. If Plato's prisoner is released, however, he can get up and look around. He sees the cave, sees a fire burning in the back, and so now can know that the reality he formerly esteemed is produced by the fire throwing shadows from puppets that are paraded in front of it. Plato doesn't say who has been parading these puppets. Neo learns that it is the sentient computers. He sees how, because of this, he has been manipulated rather like a puppet himself. At first it is hard to believe, and the depth of the revelation makes him physically ill, but he cannot deny it. -Kelley L. Ross PhD June 18 2003 This is fun. My first op-ed. It's nice to have someone else publish me. It's really thrilling and really weird. If I write something here and I don't think it's that good I know I can try again tomorrow. I have swung wildly from loving the op-ed to thinking about the seven hundred ways I coulda written it better. Imagine how much weirder that will be with THE BOOK. And it's ironic timing. Yesterday I hung out with Gabe. We went to the Metreon to see The Matrix. The Metreon is the matrix. Constant noise, places to play with (and buy) Sony products, crap food, and lights and it is just too too much corporate hype and buzz for me. But it was hard not to have fun because Gabe was having fun. He played on the free Playstations and was just digging it all. Watching him have fun made it fun for me. And then we got hot dogs and HUGE Cokes and popcorn for the movie. We had a coupon. The Cokes came with the popcorn and hot dog. When I see these huge cups I am stunned. And there were free refills. It is nuts. I drank about an eighth of my Coke and tossed it in the trash. Ya know it was fun. But we didn't even finish the popcorn. It was just all too too much. And Gabe asked for water. He coulda had a refill on the coke. The refills were free. But he seemed to know that water quenches thirst. Gabe has always been in a charter school and there are no soda machines. He likes soda. He may even chose soda first. But he also drinks water. So the whole soda thing. It's just not real in my world. But I can see that it is a problem in the matrix. Heh. The Matrix: Reloaded. I liked it. The fight scenes are kind of beautiful. The car chase was OK. I guess. But the fight scenes were like dance. And how much did I love seeing Cornell West? Interesting theology. The need for purpose. And how do we understand the idea of choice? Oh. And love. These are all things that I am stewing on these days. I think purpose is a mighty need but not always grand. Sometimes it's about getting the kitchen floor mopped. And sometime it's about trying to influence public policy makers to think about things in a different way. After enlightenment, mop the kitchen floor. Choice? Well. We are living in a matrix, aren't we? And we do make choices in that context. The soda came with the popcorn. And love? Well. I'd read a criticism somewhere of the Neo & Trinity vanilla sex goin on while everyone else is getting tribal in the cave. I was prepared to not like it. But I'd read this post in the morning. And. Uh. Well. I wasn't sure what I thought. Or. Uh. Felt. Ask me if I wanna be in the cave. Or in my own vanilla room. No don't. Blush. I guess I'm feeling less certain these days. I have some peace. But I'm watching and waiting. And I have some fear. What I continue to like about the Matrix theology, as I see it, is the idea the outcome is not always written in stone. It's like the kid says. All you gotta remember is ... there is no spoon. There are things that are just too too much to take seriously. And. There are things to take on. I am mindful of the matrix in which I live. And when public policy makers try to use the fear of getting fat to get rid of soda machines I wanna do the little hand gesture that Orpheus does. You know the one? The arm extended, the palm up, the fingers doing a BRING IT ON thang. Yeah. comment 7:26 AM The writer is something of a shape-changer and trickster, someone a little more treacherous, eccentric, and transformed by an inner life invisible from the outside. She may speak to you in complete sentences about what her day was like, but inside another life is being lived, one full of beauties and monstrosities, upheavals and transgressions. -Eric Maisel via Cassandra Pages and Whiskey River June 19 2003 Renee and her friends from college, Kathleen (from New Jersey) and Kathleen (from LA ) and I were out to dinner. Any dinner where cheese and chocolate are served in big pots is a very good thing. These Oberlin women are smart and fun and we were talking books and consensus driven process and boys. Very fun. And who should walk in and sit at the table next to us? My blog father. The mighty Justin Hall. Now my blog mother and I have exchanged e-mails and I feel like I know her and she knows me, to the extent that you can know someone through their writing. And if she were in SF I'd wanna hope she would be having dinner with me. But I've been kinda shy about Justin. I saw him years ago on MSNBC talking about a summer in which he went around the country getting people to do personal writing on line. I was already reading Willa and I looked him up and spent hours reading his site. I have this image of him in my head. It feels like I've watched him grow up. It's not true. But I have spent hours reading the story of his life. Maybe I've felt shy because he's younger than I am. I dunno. The blog father/mother thing is a wonky thing. But I did really really wanted to shake his hand and say thank you. So I did. He was very sweet. Jane was there. She was sweet. They were with a friend. I didn't want to bug them. But I got to say hi and shake his hand and tell him thanks for telling me about this crazy on line writing. And I really wanted to hug him. But I was just too shy. Whenever I read about A-list bloggers, or Technorati, or whateverfuckingthing we're horking up this week to try and validate why we do this, I go read Willa and Justin. They just do it. They just write their lives and share some links and it's just so good. I am not a good daughter. My HTML is remedial, my attempts at CSS have been lame, I regularly get into trouble with the code and have to beg for help. But I do get up in the morning and type some little something and toss it into the great ocean of blog. And then I sit on the shore and watch for news from the others. And seeing Justin was like breaking through the third wall. Earlier I got an e-mail from SFBG and it turns out I get 25 bucks for my little rant. How cool is that? My first pay check for writing. I don't think I can cash it. I think I need to frame it. Happy birthday to Aung San Suu Ki. She is in my heart today. comment 8:07 AM June 20 2003 Did you feel a tremor this morning at 4:35?
That was the moment I turned fifty. In the past five years, or so, I've gotten some grey streaks. Actually they're white. I love them. People often tell me I don't look my age. It's an odd thing to say, isn't it? It implies something negative about looking fifty. I guess the signs of ageing are read as the markers on the road to death. And there's a way in which not valuing the way ageing looks is about not wanting to look toward what eventually happens to the physical body. But people will write pages of poetry about the beauty of an old tree. Poems in which the tree shows the wisdom of its years and that's a good thing. All these strands of white and cracks of flesh are the physical expression of something beautiful. Some natural process. Some gathering of experience and, hopefully, wisdom. Now. My wisdom may not be worthy of poetic accolade. But the white in my hair looks good to me. I am struck by the beauty of the way process is written on a body. Youth is beautiful. But not more beautiful. And the aches and pains, the hormone flood, all the ohshitI'm older stuff is not the most fun. But it's not the worst thing either. If I have tried to do anything in my life I have tried to be a willing student of what my body is trying to teach me. But the metaphors around turning fifty and the things that are and are not happening in my life have been difficult to sort through. Can you find true love after fifty? Are you sexually erased? I just spent six years getting my BA and MFA. I'm unemployed and deeply in debt. I can no longer physically do the work that my resume says I'm qualified to do and my curriculum vitae isn't written yet. Gulp. But I did just get paid for a piece of writing. THE BOOK is coming along. I met with Stephen yesterday. I'm so glad to be working with him. Even when we aren't talking about the mechanics of writing there's a way in which he's telling me what isn't on the page. And because of who he is politically, spiritually, emotionally, intellectually, he's seeing what I want to be there and he's describing the places where I'm backing away from the writing. So I came home with a head full of language and the need to write. But. Tom showed up! After too long a time of not seeing him. And we talked and talked and talked and talked. So good. And Karen sent me a fat angel and tape of Mark's music and a video of Steve playing music. And Jeane sent me a card. And Kristina sang to me. And Lynn sent me a card. Deb called. Pattie sent me an e-card. And goodgawd I have the best friends in the world. So I'm feeling lucky. And happy. And alive. And fifty. It's a round age. And I'm a round grrrl. comment 6:57 AM June 21 2003 Oooooo. Adrienne took me out to lunch.
And made me a beautiful card.
And she gave me a necklace that says Queen on one side. And oops my tiara slipped on the other. Heh. And she sent me some e-cards, this one with a note about olive trees and lemons and friends. So perfect. Suzanne met us at the restaurant and brought me an air pop popcorn popper. Then we bought some books. Then I came home and took a nap. (Two martinis and a glass of wine at lunch.) Talked to Danelle on the phone. And Ed. And Karen. And Mark. Watched Now and went to bed. It was just a sweet sweet day. When I was twenty I got a rose tattoo on my forearm. On my fortieth birthday I got a snake around my wrist, inspired by a line from Joni - I've got the apple of temptation and a diamond snake around my arm. And because I'm a snake. Fifty seemed like a good year to get another but nothing came to me. When Adrienne and I were driving back to my apartment I had a thought that I might just go into a tattoo place and look for one but it just didn't feel right. Maybe tattoos only come to me every twenty years. Last night I thought maybe I should get one of those really classic hearts with a scroll across the front and in the scroll it could say - your name here. Thanks to everyone for all the birthday love. comment 8:00 AM June 22 2003 Tom was supposed to come over for dinner but he and his two traveling companions were having trouble making decisions. Heh. I'd made a spinach, mushroom, red onion, ricotta, asiago, filo thing. So I had a good dinner. They may show up today. I'm just happy thinking that I'll be able to see him at all. The cooking and some cleaning and some e-mail catching up on took a long time and I was feeling tense about not getting to the writing. I had all these ... things ... buzzing in my brain from the meeting with Stephen. And then I got four phone calls in a row. Finally I did some work. I keep trying to stop rewriting the first six chapters but Stephen had given me some feedback about a way in which the rhythm of the writing had become repetitive. He was right. And we had this long conversation about the formation of desire. (Don't you know that it's different for girls?) So I had to go back. And rewrite. And write some more. Which isn't the worst thing that can happen but I feel the pressure of the passing of time. I need to be done in six weeks for school and want to be done. So. Somehow. I need to try and reread (AGAIN) what I did yesterday and maybe mail it to him early. And then I have to push on with pile of stuff he gave me to fix in the next chapters. But first. I need to go swimming. comment 8:41 AM June 23 2003 I've been thinking about something Cowboy Kayhill said to me in an e-mail. The Cowboy is organizing his blog roll by state and I'd responded to an e-mail he sent out. He wrote back to tell me that he had me in his talk-of-the-town-folk section, which is fine by me. But he said it's the category for folks who are less obsessive about national politics as a central theme. And that would certainly be a true thing to say about my hunk o cyber space. I would be hard pressed to claim a central theme. But I feel pretty obsessive about national politics. And local and international politics. And it made me think about why I don't write about it all more often. I think I've been fighting for balance for a long time. My tenancy toward depression is fed with my horror at having to endure an unelected president leading us into an illegal war and generally creating an atmosphere of bully politics. But I still need to know what's going on. So I listen to the radio and some television and I read. A lot. There are bloggers who I read because of their central political theme. Lisa. (Who has me linked in can't-be-pigeon holed. I love that.) and bloggers I read because I feel political affinity but I don't read any particular central theme. (Which would be pretty much everybody else. Some people just don't talk about political stuff. Some people write political art.) And every once in a while I wax political. It's blogging. There are no rules. But reading this the other day made me feel how close I live to the edge. And how hard I work to maintain balance. Because I have to keep writing. I need to keep writing. I want to keep writing. I guess most of my writing energy gets sucked into the book these days. And most of political thinking gets sucked into fat politics. But I struggle with the Disease. So I write letters. And write my blog. And write my book. I am not offended, or upset, about where I am put on anyone's blogroll. I'm happy to be in the talk of town folk and can't be pigeon holed sections. I'm always happy to get link love. And I reserve the right to wax political should I feel the need. (And why, like Cyndy, am I not surprised when media links disappear?) And look who has a blog. It's fun. Isn't it? Mary has been stopping by so I checked out her blog. I think her first post says something that sums up something central about blogging in a wonderful way. comment 8:10 AM Perhaps blogging is a First World wank. But, fuck it, no. I like being
self-involved. I like self-involved people. I particularly like writers and
bloggers who are self-involved. It generally denotes a degree of self-admitted
'fucked-upness' and a desire to see things in a different light or, at least,
more clearly. - Golby June 24 2003 Have I mentioned lately that I love Mike Golby? I don't think I have. Well let me make it clear. I love Mike Golby. If I ever get a chance to meet him I'm gonna hafta hug him. I will be shy. As shy as I was when I met Justin. But I know I will hafta hug him. And this won't be a Hollywood hug. I'm gonna hafta wrap my arms around him and be so happy to see him. I'm pretty clear that Mike and I, were we given any time together, would argue. I picture us nose to nose, saying, "Yeah but ... " for hours. And I also know we would have a lot of shared outrage. He would riff on the sins of the leaders (cough) of my country and I would say. "Yes. Mike." "Right. Mike." And he would make some reference to The Heart of Darkness and I would just smile. And nod. And the deep aching pain that is the realization of what is happening in our world would rip at my own heart. But I would not be alone feeling that pain. Mike would be there with me. Does this all sound sexy? Well. Maybe it is. I mean, come on. He sings Leonard Cohen to me while he blogs. But one of the things I love about Mike is his devout and passionate love for his wife. So me wanting to hug him isn't about all that. But it is about the body. I can't even imagine how I will ever be nose to nose with Golby. Time and space being what they are. But I feel him. When days and weeks go by and he does not post I feel the anxiety in my body. I wonder if I've lost him. I wonder how I will find him again. And I feel the fear of loss. And when he says things that make me mad I feel them in my body. And when he says things that make me sad I feel them in my body. And when he makes me smile. Well. It's late. And I need to sleep. I'll see you in my dreams. But if, in the wander world of dreams, you come upon Mike and I, nose to nose, discussing the reasons why bifurcating things into intellectual and personal is deeply problematic, please don't interrupt. comment 12:18 AM June 24 2003 I quit my therapy group last night. It was a peaceful closure. The nicest thing anyone can say to me is that I hold complexity. And my therapist said that to me. Well. I dunno. Maybe there are some nicer things. But the holding complexity thing is good. One of my group mates took me out for martinis and snacks. And so I was awake till o dark thirty. It's not that I don't need therapy. I have plenty of work to do. But I'd run the course with my group. I voted for Dennis in the Move On Primary. It felt great. So I guess that might mean I've made my decision. Craig's art is going to be in another gallery.
The very nice man from UPS came yesterday and brought me a package from Kristina. And Deb brought me a lunch box shaped like an Oreo filled with macaroons that she had made. I love it when a birthday goes on and on. comment 9:19 AM June 24 2003 OK. So. I just got to hang out with George all day. Ya know that feeling when you see an old friend who you haven't seen for a while? And you're kinda shy coz they may have changed and you may not know them as well as you once did? But you feel like you know them and it feels like you can't talk fast enough because there's so much you want to talk to them about? That's how it felt seeing George. And he really does look like a movie star. And he hugs good. comment 7:52 PM Cyndy linked that up. I read it and spent the rest of the day hearing a Jefferson Airplane song in the back of my head. Rage is powerful. And I feel the need to take deep breaths, clear my thoughts and keep my heart open. Which is not to say that I did not read deep thinking and an open heart in the poem. I did. And the rage is good. And right. And the dark likely-hood is a possibility. Whew. We got work to do. George sent this very nice chart. We'd discussed our votes in the Move On primary. I think I knew that Kucinich had been pro choice. It's a worry. But I still cast my vote for him at this point. And then there's beauty (via Conscientious) and the restorative deep breath feeling that we need to give us strength. I was telling George about a movie I remember. I saw it years ago and can't remember the name or much about the content. But there is a scene in which a male character is sitting in a garden and things in the narrative line of the movie have reached a pitch. Stuff has gone wrong. Very wrong. And there is a glass globe that is a symbol of it all and it rolls off the table and shatters. And the feeling is devastation. Overwhelming loss. Irreparable damage. And the music swells. And then you hear the sound of an airplane passing over head. And the sound of the neighbors next door who are putting up a ladder to do some work on their barn. And the sounds are calling the character back to life. Life is calling him back. Does anyone remember that movie? After the volcano destroys the side of the mountain life begins the business of renewal. So dark likely-hood abounds. And even the candidate who holds the most of what I want to vote for has something that gives me pause. Because it's a balancing act. And we are way off balance right now. So we have work to do. And. Up date your links. Zeebah has moved. And she's writing about the self absorption idea and is a blog a journal? My blog sticker wrestled with this idea.
And I decided to not decide. comment 9:11 AM June 26 2003 Spent the day ripping Ani Di Franco discs that I borrowed from Ari. It's an Ani Di Franco festival up in here. Sonya came over for lunch. I made tagliatelle with Swiss chard and Aidells. We talked a lot. You know I loved that. Then I stayed up way late watching the budget committee. They'd been listening to hours of public testimony, people begging for their funding. It's just so heart breaking. They were still at it when I went to bed. And they're about to begin again. I woke with a start because I thought I heard an alarm. But I think it was just that I slept later than I usually do. I did a post at Blogsisters last night about this article in the New York Times. The article is a mix of good things and not so good things. It seems to be making a case for size acceptance as long as the size is no higher than size 14. There's the usual laundry list of things in the article to be afraid of if you get too fat. I can't help but think of my two grandmothers. One was not fat and one was fat. The one who was fat did not have diabetes. The one who was not fat did. Hmmm. The side of my family with the height and not the weight has the heart disease. Hmmm. Maybe I should worry about my height. I don't mean to sound glib. There are health issues. Fat people have heath issues. I have health issues. But I am frustrated beyond my ability to sustain frustration at the reductive fat = unhealthy formula. I'm not in the mood to make the argument right now. Maybe later. The article ends with Deb Burgard's wisdom. Read more of her here. Stephen has an article in this weeks SFBG on the gay gene and the construction of identity. I'm eating the sweetest nectarine in the world. I put it off for as long as I could because I loved walking past the bowl in the kitchen and smelling the perfume of ripening. And now, she said with a smack of her lips, it is gone. comment 9:43 AM June 27 2003 It is mutha fuckin hot. I'm sweatin. Michael and John had Deb and I over for dinner. They live way out in the avenues, where it is cooler. Michael grilled chicken and asparagus and corn and made new potato salad with lots of mustard in the dressing. Mmmmm. We sat on their little city patio surrounded by Calla lilies and ferns and honeysuckle vines and talked and ate. Deb made an amazing cake with real coconut flakes. I came home smelling like grill smoke and feeling mellow. But my apartment was/is hot, which made for restless sleep. It's gonna be fun to watch this blog grow up. (via Cassandra Pages)
If I was using Blogger I think I'd be pissed. Laurie disappeared for a while yesterday. Elayne couldn't post one day. Even Willa has been frustrated. The other day, in honor of the 100th birthday of George Orwell, Democracy Now played a reading of 1984 with bits from other people cut in. You can listen to it on line if you have the time and bandwidth. It's chilling. I keep thinking about it. George sent me a link to this article by William Gibson,, written about the birthday, which I have also seen blogged by others. In the mirrors of our darkest fears, much will be revealed. But don't mistake those mirrors for road maps to the future, or even to the present. - William Gibson comment 8:36 AM June 28 2003 My syntax gets sloppy. I would blame the heat. But it happens all the time. I think in circles. My writing often comes off the wrong place on the loop. Maybe not wrong. But ... you know... Yesterday when I linked up Augustine's blog I said it would be fun to watch it grow. I meant that the blog itself is less than three months old and is very fun. Not that Augustine needed to grow up. I like grrrls who shout. And then on Blogsisters I cracked wise about the eight pound increase in the average weight of women in the last twenty years. I knew my wise crack wasn't exact. I guess I'm a little reactive to those kinds of stats because I know they aren't read in any kind of balanced context. They are read as a reason to be afraid. We are also taller. We have better food and, it is true, we also have more crap food. We also have more stress. We work full time and come home to care for our children. Many of us are single mothers. We aren't all spending time cooking the best food in the best way. Stats like that are used to build the case for the idea of an obesity epidemic. And I get pissed off. Because stats are written by people. And people have agendas. Syntax is important. Paul blogged an editorial yesterday on BFB. I read it this morning. Not a good way to start the day. The writer says fat politics, my politics, are entitlement politics. Hmmmm. OK. He must have interviewed Sally Smith from NAAFA. He says she seems to believe people have been denied promotions at work because they are fat. I remember sitting by a woman at a NAAFA event and hearing her story of her job. She's was very good at and fully able to do it. But she was told by her boss that, although she was great at her job and respected by the folks who worked with her, she would never get another promotion unless she lost weight. It's only one story. I have many more. But I don't have stats. The writer of the editorial goes on, in the most glib and irritating tone, to articulate his (cough) understanding of fat acceptance. He uses the phrase natural and unavoidable to express what fat acceptance people think about their bodies. Well. Natural? Yes. I would say I am naturally fat. Unavoidable? It's an odd word. I guess I could have chosen a different gene pool. I think what he really means is that I could have avoided being as fat if I had simply not eaten all the bad stuff I've eaten and if I had taken up running. He has a point. Not one I think he is intending to make. There are folks who believe that if I hadn't begun dieting when I was eleven that I might be fat, but not as fat as I am. Most people grant that the body responds to lack of food by slowing metabolism and when the body is given less food again and again the body stores fat, aka energy, just in case. I think this is more true for certain bodies. He says that fat genes do not cause obesity. And he is right. Fat genes establish a propensity for fatness. And there is more than one gene and more than one combination and more than one kind of fat body. So can I be thin? Not in my experience. I can be thinner. But I never get to thin. But any discussion of what I might need to do to get thinner has to include the harm that what I might do would have on my body. He says so many stupid things I could spend the day writing about it. He even takes a shot at Jennifer, though not by name. Jennifer who was able to do a job, denied employment and fought for recognition of her ability and the discriminatory practice of not hiring her to do the job because of an amount of flesh. If that's clogging up the courts....then I hope the courts are clogged. But they won't be. Because it took enormous courage for Jennifer to do what she did. And many fat people will read that editorial and think they should just try harder. Sure. they've been on diets many many times. But look at Oprah. They just need to make a life style change. That's all. When I hear the lifestyle change bit I always think about my gay brothers and sisters. They get told to make a lifestyle change too. My life style. Well. It's such a simple way to talk about a life. So the fat people who are told that they will never get a raise if they don't lose weight won't go to court. They are too beaten down. Last night I was listening to MSNBC because they were going to talk about how to keep the telemarketers from calling. It turns out that the number to call is similar to a guys business number (I can't find the story) and his phone is swamped. His business is in crisis. It was a sad story. And the notoriously fat phobic host said, "what's the problem are their fingers too fat to dial the right number?" Uh huh. It's not a good way to start the morning. All riled up. But it seems to be part of my life style. comment 11:09 AM June 29 2003 On a daily basis as a straight person ...
I don't want to be a downer. I want to be in celebration solidarity. There are reasons to celebrate. But I'm a little bit sad today. I wish fat people would coalesce into a group that could challenge the way we are funneled into a one size fits all idea. We eat too much and we don't exercise. It's just that simple. All our problems would go away of we just ate less and exercised more. We are weak and lack character. It's always the same limited understanding. I know a lot of fat people. I listen to them. I am one of them. We come in a variety of shapes and life stories. We are not a one size fits all problem to be solved. And what if ten percent of the fat people in this country wrote to the news guy who makes a fat fingers comment and said - knock it off? What if we walked down the street in a parade saying we're not going to suffer the social disrespect any more? These are our bodies. What if we held rallies in front of hospitals where we had been treated with such a lack of care that we died? What if we rallied in front of companies that create a hostile work environment? What if we demand that the media begin to tell the story of who we are with some respect and dignity? What if we said no to the shame? As a community. So I'm a little sad today. But I hope the pride party is a party so loud that it wakes us all up. comment 9:03 AM June 30 2003 Had dinner with K2. It was good. comment 7:52 AM |
