November 1 2003 Rabbit Rabbit.

Er.Uh.

White Rabbits.

I'm trying it all.

                                     7:29 AM

November 2 2003 The first thing I heard when I turned on the radio was the sentence - "This is the deadliest day for the US military in a long time." And then the news about the helicopter. And my first thought, before sadness for the people who are dead and their families, was about how bad this is for Bush.

I'm horrified by that. I'm horrified that my desire to see him booted out of office can overwhelm my compassion.

It's something I've been thinking about because of our new governor and the grim possibility that he might one day be able to run for the presidency. I want things to go badly for him. And who would be hurt by things going badly? The poor. The workers. Women. Children. Everyone who isn't protected by their wealth.

Politics make for abstraction. I keep trying to feel toward a way to hold it all and have faith and still feel what I feel and not lose my heart to my fear. People keep telling me not to listen to the news when I'm having such a hard time emotionally. There are days when I know they are right. There are days when I after hearing that sentence I might have turned the radio off. But I was so struck by my reaction. It just seemed so disoriented.

It seems like part of my work these days is to build a more inner sense of possibility. Not just dark likelihood. Maybe then I can respond to the news of a tragedy with a more immediate care for the families.

I'm not feeling all down on myself. Well. Sometimes I am. But that's just the junk. The junk that my brain throws at me in an attempt to keep me distracted. Every once in a while I have a thought so ... just so...so totally not useful...usually some kind of self loathing thing...and I hear it and am stunned by my own crap. I sort of shake my head and say something to myself like - that was lovely, thanks for sharing that with me.

Being a double Gemini means I have so many voices in my head.

I dunno. It's a beautiful Sunday morning. I'm in my sweet little apartment, getting ready to make breakfast and dive into the Sunday want-ads. It's a shadows and light kind of day.

                                     8:25 AM

November 3 2003 As I was reading the comments on yesterdays post I thought about my mouse. I have a mouse again. It probably isn't the same mouse that bugged me a few years ago. I walked in the kitchen the other day and saw him/her (how go you know?) run from behind the stove to behind the refrigerator. They move so fast I wasn't sure that I'd seen anything. But then as I stood there cooking I saw the mouse come out from behind the refrigerator. It must have seen me because it ran back pretty fast.

What does all this have to do with Arnold and George? Oh. Not much really. It's about compassion.

The last time the mouse was here I was so frustrated. If I tell the landlord they bring in sticky traps. I am NOT in the mood to deal with a mouse on a sticky pad. I kept trying to make a deal with it. It could live here if I didn't have to see it. But I did keep seeing it. I bought one of those little traps that are boxes. You catch the mouse in the box and then take it outside and set it free. But I never put it up and the mouse eventually went away.

And now it's back. Or. The great grandchild twice removed ... is back.

I'm not beyond killing bugs. I don't know why I have so much trouble with the idea of killing a mouse. I don't know why I spent so much time avoiding killing the mouse the last time. But it does seem to me to be about something. Not a big mystery of life. But something.

Lately I've thought a lot about how to be more centered when I'm feeling all the hard stuff.

Yesterday I watched part of an ET show asking the question - does Hollywood cause anorexia? There were a few different segments put together to make on show. Many of which were about weight loss. And then there was one with Emme interviewing a woman who is anorexic. The show didn't upset me, like some of the others have. But I was bewildered by it. It's a dumb show that I don't usually watch but I did want to see that interview. And there were all the stories of people who "struggled with their weight" and then this woman talking about how she didn't feel like she deserved to eat. And I felt like they were answering their own question but not understanding how.

There's just this one size that we're supposed to be. Not too fat. Not too thin. Just this one size.

And what does that have to do with George and Arnold and a mouse?

Well.

Heh.

It all makes me think about how I want to hold my own center. My own balance point. And still have a strong position. Because if  I cave into this can't do anything place (buy a trap and never set it) (be mad at television and never take action to challenge the fat phobic ideas) I will stay in my apartment paralyzed with indecision.

Now. I'm still not sure what to about the mouse. And I did write a letter to ET. But in politics it's harder. I do want to remember that these guys are human and not let my hate drag me down the road. Although sometimes it's hard.     

Tomorrow we have a city election. I'm still torn between Tom and Matt. My indecision kept me from working on either campaign. But the moment will come and I will have to choose.

And now I will close my eyes. Rest my hands face up on my thighs. Take deep breath. And dive into the place where I hope to find the answers.

                                     8:51 AM

November 4 2003 I have things to do today. Which is good. I've been drifting.

Yesterday, when I checked in on Amp's, I noticed that the conversation was still going on. Seventy-five comments. Wow. One of which says that adding height and weight to the list of things that should be protected in terms of discrimination diminishes the other things on the list.

I never think it's useful to compare oppressions. No one wins. Are people's jobs, access to quality health care, access to transportation, safety in public, access to public facilities effected by the negative view of fat people? Yes. What about housing? There is anecdotical evidence about people not being rented apartments because the landlord thought fat people were sloppy. People's children have been taken away from them. People have been denied the right to adopt children. Are fat people discriminated against? Oh yes.

The idea that fat is a mutable characteristic is where it turns around and becomes something that the individual should change. And in a world where everyone with a talk show is an expert on how to lose weight, that must seem like a simple matter.

But if you talk to fat people you learn about the struggle. And you learn about the variety in experience. Fat is not a one size fits all descriptor.

So if you want to say that fat people can change the discrimination by changing themselves you are asking people to make a life style change that you don't really understand. There are people who can stop eating dessert and begin a walking program and lose weight. Sounds so easy, doesn't? But it isn't that simple for a great many people. And why does the culture think it can tell people how to live?

Dru asks the more important question. Why are we (fat people) buying it?

For me it's a literal question. A multi billion dollar question. And when there's that kind of money being made people will go to any length to keep the market in tact. They will lie. Exaggerate. Manipulate. And that campaign of terror and misinformation will keep us in spending.

A friend of mine talks about fat anorexics. People who have lost perspective on how much they eat. When you ask many fat people what they eat you find out that many of them aren't laying around with a bag of chips and a Big Gulp. They're eating really good balanced diets. But when you ask them how much they're eating they'll talk about how fattening the food is. They obsess over everything they eat.

There's no doubt that American's eat junk food. I see a commercial for one of the chains in which a bunch of guys are eating burgers and the voice over says that they eat burgers every day. And then pitches a chicken sandwich.

Oh yeah. Swing out. Go for that chicken sandwich.

And the other day I saw a bucket of Kentucky Fried chicken being pitched as diet food. It makes me crazy. If you eat that stuff and you like that stuff then forgive my judgement. I am a food snob. But imagine how many buckets of chicken are now being purchased in the hope that weight will be lost.

Why are fat people buying it?  Because, for many of us, this began in childhood. We were teased and picked on and put on diets and pills and sent to camps. And many of us are the fatter for it. Years of that kind of stuff and you begin to believe. You begin to believe that everything you put in your mouth is wrong.

I have things to do. And that's good.

First I vote.

                                     9:26 AM

November 5 2003 As I walked to the polls I was still debating who I was going to vote for. In the end I voted for Tom and it turned out that Matt didn't need my vote to get into the run off.

I feel exactly like I thought I'd feel. I voted for Tom because he's been at it for years, doing all the stuff I want politicians to do and I felt like it was his time. But I don't think he energized the voters the way that Matt did. My problem is that some of that is about Matt being handsome, straight and young. Some of it was just hard work on the part of his campaign. But when you listen to the way people talk about him and the way people talk about Tom ...well ...there is no doubt that some ageism, sexism and homophobia was goin on.

I'm glad I voted for Tom. I'm sad that he didn't do better. And I will be happy to vote for Matt.

He's progressive. He's Green. He's smart and hardworking. He has great ideas and he builds coalitions. He built a grassroots base of supporters and he will keep doing that. And he's not Newsom. It's going to be a really close race and it has all of the misery of the governors race.

I am sad about Tom. I wish I could get more excited about Matt's campaign because I do know him. And I do like him. But it feels like he's the prom king of the left. With all the wonderful things that he is, and there are many, he gets some support because he's so attractive. And the prom queen had too much affect and too much gray.   

                                     9:08 AM

November 6 2003 Ari called me yesterday. We chatted about writing. She said that I seem  to have an idea that I can be published really fast and she thinks it's a long and arduous process.

It's true. I have a story in my head in which things happen quickly. In part because I need them to. I wanted Avoirdupois to be out by Christmas. And I've been in a kind of petulant stall. Sonya and Kell have both sent me specific ideas about where to publish. I haven't done anything with them. I read the encouragement to send yesterdays post somewhere and then I stewed about it.

I'm not sure why.

There is this relentless internal examination of why I am, or am not, doing everything I am, or am not, doing. The last six years were such a push and I am tired. And maybe this is just a break. Except I really can't have a break. Not completely. I can't relax. I can only space out.

You hear about the writers who submitted a piece of writing a zillion times before it was published and you hear about the people who got picked up after they sent something out once. Anything can happen. There are no rules. And I think I have a story line about how it all works out.

So.

Sigh.

My little mouse buddy has taken to running between the desk and the etagere. I've tried to make a deal with it that it can live here if I never have to see it. But so far ... no deal.

There was a time in my life when I believed in magic. I thought if I cultivated a special relationship to spirit I would always find what I wanted. And I believe something like that still. But without the word special. And without the idea that getting what I want is always a good thing. But I don't want to indulge a feeling of not being able. I give into that so easily. Everything is a sign that things aren't going to work out. Mice don't even listen to me.

And then I begin to listen to the swings and I try to snap out of it and come up with a thing I can do.

Just one thing.

                                     8:15 AM

November 7 2003 Ms Lauren wrote one of the best definitions of feminism I've ever read.

She wrote in response to another blogger who I won't link. You can get the link from her. I couldn't really get through what he wrote. Try as I might. It seemed like bad faith to not read it since what she wrote referenced it so heavily but the guy is just a bad movie. A movie in which guns and cigars and an inability to express an emotion connote virility and women are divided into body parts. I had a hard enough time getting past the title.   

I do love her response. I love the passion. I love the inclusion. I love the ire.

The bad movie post is getting a lot of response on blogs. (Links for days in Ms Lauren's post) In fact I seem to be on the verge of responding myself. But the ideas about feminism are just so much more interesting.

Feminism, for me, is about understanding that gender doesn't necessarily have a job description or a color code. I keep thinking that some of these hyper ideas about what makes a man a man are born in modernity. My stepfather spent a lot of his youth with his grandmother who hunted and fished and chopped wood. It didn't occur to her husband that she was doing his job. My stepfather (a problematic man in his own right) bakes bread and makes the bed and does the dishes. He's always seen these things as a fair division of labour. When there's a lot of work to do everyone does what needs to be done.

The image of a coach going into a locker room and calling his team of young men girls floated into my mind while I was trying to get through the bad movie guy's post. It's such an insult, isn't it? To be a girl. There are men who are so at odds with their feelings about women that they don't see the way in which their language reveals fear and hurt and anger.

I'm loathe to use words like real when describing men, or women. That's what feminism is, for me. The understanding that gender is a description of physicality and everything else is about self expression. All men and women are real. Even the bad movie guy. His ideas about what makes him a man seem like so much chest thumping in a world that doesn't need any more dominator monkeys. It's like Caroline what says.

Every once in a while someone will tell me that they aren't a feminist. They're a humanist. Humanism being somehow more inclusive. Which is why I like Ms Lauren's definition. Feminism is, in part, a discussion about the ways we are all tyrannised by our ideas about gender. It's an important discussion because there is still pay inequity, there are laws being signed about what happens in a woman's body. There are still so many limited and hurtful  ideas being tossed around about what makes a man a man and a woman a woman and not enough acknowledgement of the third gender.

Aaron had a response to the bad movie guy. It's always a good idea to shift the debate with a song. I'll see that Tori and raise one Ani.

                                     8:30 AM

November 7 2003 I got another rejection from another publisher. I'm feel punch drunk and dazed.

                                     9:19 AM

November 10 2003 Getting rejections is part of the process. I know that. I know I can't fall part with each one. And I know I need to be sending out more stuff to more people.

But sending stuff costs money. Paper, ink, envelopes, postage. I've been trying to target what I send. I submitted a piece to the people who did this anthology. They're doing another. They thought my first piece was too poetic. And they didn't say why they rejected the second one I sent.

I'm thinking about self publishing. I looked at Xlibris. But ya know. Money. I'm not sure what to do.

Thanks for all the support. I appreciate it more than I can say. I'm pulling it back together.

                                     7:32 AM

November 11 2003 There's a little boy who lives in the building next to mine. Apparently he has just learned the song - You Are My Sunshine. He stands out side of his apartment and sings (shouts) it at the top of his lungs. It's amazing how much volumn this kid has.

I moved the furniture in my living room yesterday. I was amazed by how much I got done. I'm kind of achy today. And there's still more to do. I love the way it feels when you walk in the room and everything is different.

Sometimes doing things like that will jog my brain. I can't say that I feel like my brain is working any better than it was but it was good to not stare at the computer screen and feel like I didn't know what to do. And there's less dust everywhere.

                                     8:00 AM

November 12 2003 I don't like the phrase over eating. It's imprecise and shame based. I eat when I'm hungry. I quit when I'm full. Sometimes I eat for fun. Or pleasure. Sometimes I eat a lot. But what does the word over mean? Over what?

Oh. But of course I do understand. Over eating is when you eat so much that it's hard to take a breath. And I almost always do that when I go to Ton Kiang. It's the little plates. They keep coming. And everything looks good. And it's just one dumpling. And one crab claw. And one foil wrapped chicken. And soon your belly is swollen. And then they bring by the asparagus. And the shrimp stuffed mushrooms. And the shrimp stuffed eggplant. It just doesn't stop. And you drink tea and more tea. And it's all too much. It is over. Way over.

But I'll tell ya what. I love it. And it's a great thing to do. Kristina and I went yesterday. It's something we do together. She brought me a couple of books. One of which weighs a ton but I'll be spending the day with it.

And then Cynthia and I went to hear Aaron read some very lovely writing. Aaron writes sentences that you can feel in your mouth. Like dumplings and shrimp stuffed mushrooms and it's all too much.

Cynthia, by the way, can wash her car with only two buckets of water. If you have a driveway and a hose you might wonder why anyone would try that. But if you live in the city and your car is in a small garage, to which you have to haul water and in which you don't want to make a big mess, the two bucket method makes sense. And that car looks goooood. It was shiny with a new coat of wax. It's a mastery level of car care if you ask me. I guess you could just go to one of those drive through car wash places but where's the challenge in that?

So it was a full day. I was full. Over full. And now I have the big book of publishing and I will check out Bitpass. Although I can't tell you how tense it makes me. I may have issues with money. (da ya think?) It just makes me squirmy. But it is a great idea. Gulp.

I woke up dreaming that I was baking biscuits for Matt's campaign. And he was trying to tell me how to do it. And I was telling him to settle down.

There is no amount of therapy in the world ....

                                     8:15 AM

November 13 2003 When I saw the previews for Finding Forrester I didn't think I'd want to see it. Old white man mentors young black man. Seemed too tired. But people kept telling me I'd like it. I stuck it in the Netflix queue. It's been sitting here for a while. Yesterday, after a morning of Craigs list and the big book of publishing and nail biting about what to do what to do - I watched the movie in an attempt to escape. It turned out to not be an escape.

There's a scene in the beginning in which the young man is in the apartment of the older man and is looking at the rows of books on shelves. He runs his fingers across the spines and pulls one out. Tears came to my eyes.

Loving books is a consuming passion. I know that feeling. I've stood in front of rows of books with longing and a sense that I must choose wisely because there isn't enough time to read them all. There are so many that I want to read and so many that I want to reread and so many new ones coming out every day. And I want them all on shelves around me.

I had just written an e-mail to Sonya about how I don't think you can be taught how to write. You can be taught grammar, syntax, punctuation and basic structural stuff. But you can't be taught how to do it.

I do think that you can find relationships in which you can advance your writing.

In the movie the two men sit across from one another on typewriters - writing. There is the beginning nudge from the older man but then it's a face to face relationship. They each bring something to the table. And they don't talk about sentences and details and on and on. They talk about life and they write.

One time I showed David a piece of writing I was working on for another class. He went through and said things like - "move this up" and - "what does that mean" - and "you already said this." It took about six minutes. I learned more in that six minutes than I did in the two years of my MFA program. For six minutes I saw the writing the way he did and it changed the way I edited my own work.

Because, you know, I babble and meander and run on and I do it on purpose sometimes but I also get vague when I need to set things up and I'm not in the mood so I write too fast and stop paying attention and I have to go back and PAY MORE ATTENTION. Which is what rewriting is, for me.

One time I showed Jo Ann a poem. It's the one on the more stuff page, just after the explanation of where I got fatshadow. She told me to take out all the times I used the word and, then put back the ones I really wanted. Such good advise.

Forrester lives in an apartment full of books. He never leaves. Someone brings him the things he needs. He watches birds and the young men playing basketball and the activities on the street. He just folded in one day.

I understand.

The movie is about the relationship. I was moved to tears more than once. Because a relationship of shared scholarship is so ...

Words elude me.

The movie was about paying attention and not holding back and being there for each other and it was about writing. So it wasn't really an escape. But it was a good way to spend the afternoon.

                                     8:16 AM

November 13 2003 Kurt had a dream in which his father said, "sometimes a man just has to go down into his basement at night, get drunk, and paint." It sounded like something to explore. More for the process than the result.

The process is moving right along.

Goethe wrote about Ginko.

Which I found interesting. Not because I think it means anything about Kurt. I like the idea of duality and unification.

I have a book by Henry Miller - Paint As You Like and Die Happy, which I can't find a link to but there is a page of some of his watercolors. I've always thought that was a good idea.

It's about the process. Not the result.

Paint as you like.

                                     9:43 AM

November 14 2003 I read this thing once, I think it was written by bell hooks, about negative self speak. She was saying that women do negative self speak as a way of reassuring each other that we aren't competition for each other. I'm not sure if she took it here or if I did but women see them selves as a product. Not their skills, or their perceptions - themselves. And modesty is one of the qualities that lends us value.

I think we have a few generations of women who have worked to shift that perception and experience but as a residual reflex of internalized oppression we do this negative self speak thing.

I know it's true for me. I think I make great efforts to communicate the idea that I am self critical. I want to say the bad thing before anyone else can. There's a bunch of psychological, class and fat girl parts to why this occurs. I am aware of it and when I hear myself doing more and more of it I try to sit down and get a grip on my inner blah blah blah.

Yesterday I dropped things all day. It just seemed like everything I touched fell. At one point I broke a glass. And I would berate myself each time.

It occurs to me that it's hard to retain your sense of self in place when your financial life is weird. And also when you aren't connecting to your work.

Like anything else it doesn't work to be hyper about this stuff. Sometimes you do have to vent about how you feel like an idiot. I know I'm not an idiot. But sometimes I feel that way and I need to let it out. And I need to know when to stop with all the inner name calling.

When I pulled up the blind this morning I looked out the window and it looked like it might be a beautiful day.

                                     8:32 AM

November 15 2003 There's a little green plastic house sitting beside my refrigerator right now. It's a mouse trap. It has a spring loaded door on one side. The mouse is supposed to walk in, the door shuts behind it and then I'm supposed to take it somewhere outside. Where? I'm not sure.

Years ago I worked in a restaurant in which there was a snake. Waitresses would find him sleeping in the napkins. One evening he was winding his way around a big pot in the kitchen. The manager called New York's finest. Three car loads of them showed up. They found the snake in a container full of lids and then they told us to call animal control and left. Thank you very much, officer.

Later the manager and hostess, wearing pot holder gloves for protection, managed to trap the snake in a pot and took him to the park. Very humane, right? Except it was extremely cold in NYC. It's hard to believe the snake survived.

I'm trying to imagine walking down to the wharf to set the mouse free. Or up to Washington Square park. There I would be in the park, opening the door of this little plastic house, singing Born Free.

Since I put the house up I haven't seen the mouse. I figure he's just so offended that I would think he'd be stupid enough to go into the little house he just left. Or maybe it's the scary cat post card Adrienne sent me. She said if I put it on the ground and said meow the mouse would be scared. Maybe she was right.

                                     9:08 AM

November 16 2003 My reason for the furniture move was that I hoped it would help me in my efforts to feel better. And it has. The more I live with it, the better I like it. It's open.

I did the laundry. If I clean the back room the whole apartment will feel good. So that's the plan for the day. And I may try to do some writing. I have a few pieces rolling around in the back of my head. Maybe I'll be able to get them out and onto the page.

I was reading Kurt yesterday. He suggests that bloggers might benefit from developing a clearly defined vision for what they write. Perhaps. But if I think about that too much I'll stop writing all together. It's a messy process. I've never had a clear vision. Every morning I sit here and wonder if I have another post in me. I write what I write and wonder if it has any merit. I marvel that people continue to read and leave comments and hang with me through the muddle.

That's never been more true.

But Kurt was talking about the amount of information we pack into our minds every day. I smiled when I read it because I am always at the screen. Hunting for more. And the TV is off to my left, the radio to my right. I'm surrounded by books and magazines and CD's. I want more.

I will say that, given my recent struggles with depression, I have made some effort to moderate what and how much gets in. I'm still a bit of a news junky. I still have an extremely long blog roll. I am only reading one book but I'm about to finish it and there are three others vying for my attention.

Well. More than three. But three at the top of the pile.

But my apartment is clean and has this new open quality. My laundry is done. Things are in place. One more room and maybe I'll make some turkey salad to eat for lunch this week and work on some writing and read some blogs. On Sunday evening I actually move away from the desk, sit in my chair with a book and the remote. I watch some Sunday evening shows and read. I know. I might oughta pick just one. But I probably wont.

There are the times of expansion. More. More. More. And the times of contraction. Less. Less. Less. Just for today, I'm in the middle of that process. During the move I tossed out a bunch of stuff. I carried down all the recycling between loads of laundry. If I get the back room done there will me more trips to the trash.

Monday puts me on edge. I stare at want ads and feel myself crashing. So I'm trying to get everything in place. And be ready for it. Maybe this week I'll figure it out.

                                     8:31 AM

November 17 2003 Larry did a show about Jonestown and the Milk/Moscone murders. It's the twenty-five year anniversary of both events.

I guess every time is an amazing time, in it's own right. But listening to the show I kept thinking about what all that meant to SF. And how close we are to being in a similar time. District elections, a progressive board. There was a KPIX poll in which Matt has a lead. It would be so great to have such a progressive mayor.

And while I'm feeling a glimmer of hope about political life in the city things in Sacramento have entered into the carnivalesque. Kell reports about the fences.

I came to SF when I was twenty but I just couldn't get a foothold. The closest I could get was Truckee. And then Boulder. And then New York. And now SF.

And I think I might be lucky that I wasn't here during the height of the People's Temple. I was a girl in search of a father. I would have been so easily seduced.

Code Pink has called for women to gather in Sac and express their destain for the new Gov. After all the hoopla I wonder what he'll be able to do. And polls are just polls. I'm going to be chewing my nails until I see Matt's name on the door.

                                     8:22 AM

November 18 2003 I'd heard that Raising Victor Vargus was a good movie but I knew that it began with Victor about to have sex with a fat girl. And he doesn't want anyone to know. The rest of the film is about his pursuit of another girl and lots of little character sketches involving other people in his life. I watched it yesterday. It is a good movie. Full of lots of very nice character stuff. Sweet.

And what about the fat girl?

She is in the first scene. And she is never heard from again. She lives in the apartment upstairs. And she never comes looking for the boy she has been having sex with. How is that possible?

All through the film I kept thinking about that girl. But apparently the film maker knew that the fat girl was a disposable character. In descriptions I've seen on line it's described as understandable that he wouldn't want anyone to know he'd been sleeping with a fat girl.

He has a younger sister who is fat. She makes friends with a young fat boy in the film. They are very cute. So it could be said that there are fat people in the film who are portrayed in a sweet way. All the people are complex. You love them. You hate them. You love them again.

And the fat girl just disappears.

In the opening scene Victor looks pretty happy. He's puffed up and flirting. He's ready for some lovin. He just doesn't want anyone to know he' with a fat girl. It's the kind of story you hear at NAAFA dance parties. Fat woman has been having an affair with a married man for years. He is crazy about her. Loves having sex with her. But has a thin wife.

And the fat woman just disappears.

The young woman who Victor pursues has trouble trusting men. She is very cute and men are always staring and coming on to her. She just wants them to leave her alone. Part of the film is about how she comes to trust Victor. And it was done in very subtle beautiful ways. But we are supposed to forget about the girl who he ran from in the first scene.

I liked the film. It was tender. I just wish that some of that tenderness had been extended to the fat girl. One scene. Because she doesn't just disappear. She's upstairs waiting for her lover to return. She's crying. She's angry. She doesn't feel as if she has the right to walk into the street and find him. She knows that people think he was doing her a favor. She looks out the window and sees him walking with his new girl.

Victor may have been able to use her and lose her. The film maker may have been able to use her and lose her. The audience may be able to forget about her. But I'm still wondering.

What happened to the fat girl?

                                     8:41 AM

November 19 2003 Somewhere, on another plane of reality, there is a group of beings watching me and taking notes. Look, there she is. She should be writing letters to agents and publishers and instead she's watching The Two Towers. Didn't she just watch a movie? Yes. But she's in some kind of avoidance and denial process. Lets just watch and see what happens.

It was kind of confusing watching Hugo Weaving be a good guy. I kept expecting him to do some kind of martial art flip and I'd have to remind myself which movie I was watching.

Sooner or later I'm going to need to reread the Trilogy. It's been decades.

I love Elfin. David is the coolest.

Yesterday morning I had CNN on and the big news broke that Michael Jackson's house was being searched. I'm not the least bit interested in Michael Jackson's house so I went to take a shower and make the bed and get dressed. I walked back into the living room and there, on the screen, was a report about the raid on Michael Jackson's house. That was the big news. All day.

There was a bit of discussion on MSNBC about Massachusetts saying yes to gay marriage. The woman who was opposed was such an atavism I couldn't keep watching. How does someone say that the "institution" of marriage between a man and a woman has been working with the divorce rate so high?  Although I absolutely support the cause of gay marriage I often wonder why anyone, het or gay, does it. I'll dance at anyone's wedding and I always cry and I do like the idea of people making ritual and ceremony. I have faith in people. Not institutions.

I like the breaking news Cyndy found better.

A writer (I don't even want to say his name) for the Examiner says, "Optimism reigns as choice of the people is sworn in."

Hmmm.

Did you know that only 61 percent of the registered voters showed up at the polls? The recall won by 55.4 percent. Somebody do the math for me but it seems like little more than  a third of the registered voters gifted the state with the horror show we see going on in Sacramento. I don't know who is feeling optimistic but talk about getting your movies mixed up.

Somewhere beings on a higher plane of existence are watching me. If she doesn't start writing to agents and publishers she is never going to get that book published. Yeah. But after all that wouldn't you rather watch a movie?

                                     8:33 AM

November 20 2003 Did you watch West Wing?  It was just awesome. Wouldn't it be cool to have a Democratic president who would stand up to a Republican congress?

I've been thinking a lot about process. Cris Daly's appointing of PUC board members while sitting as acting mayor, Aaron Peskin's use of public domain to make a park where there would be condos, both situations in which the process was pushed but for reasons that I find positive. I know process is there to protect us from the whims of the individual. But if process is too tight nothing gets done. And we need strong individuals to push the parameters.

If you watch the process, like I do, you see that it's as much about people as it is about charters and Robert's Rule's. It's about public testimony and long winded diatribes. It's about bold actions and cleaning up messes.

So if the president really did allow the federal government to shut down over a budget dispute would that be a glory play? Maybe. And maybe I only liked last night's episode of The West Wing because I want social services to be funded. I mean in some ways it was like the president had a temper tantrum. Is that admirable?

It is, despite my desire to think other wise, only a television show. Martin Sheen is not the real president. (sigh) And maybe the reason I liked last night so much was that it was about a guy getting to a place where he has to say no. No. I am not going to play this game. I'm not going to let you break an agreement with me and pretend that I have no choice. I'm not going to play it safe. He was coming back from a long time of being held down. He was taking back his power. And he was empowering others in the process.

Cris appointed a truly qualified person to sit on the PUC. We haven't seen that in a while. Aaron is trying to make sure we don't have more density in a neighborhood that is already the most dense in SF. Are they playing it fast and loose with process? Maybe.

But they are bold men. Honorable men. Sincere men. I can see the problems with the way they did these things but I'm glad they're there.

Process won't really protect us. I don't think it's cynical to remember that there's an unelected guy in the seat of power reeking havoc on the land. Neither do I think that's an excuse for all manner of process bending. People made the process and people will bend it.

After I had come down from the thrill of the show (well, clearly I haven't come down) I thought about the reality of an individual person pushing the process. It's problematic. And when the process gets pushed in a way that I don't like, I bang the drum to protect it.

Ah well.

                                     9:09 AM

November 21 2003 When I went to bed last night my server seemed to have crashed. No blog. No e-mail. Kinda gave me the shakes.

Yesterday there were massive protests in England and Miami and CNN spent what felt like three hours but I'm sure was only forty five minutes filming Michael Jackson's plane drive along the runway. It was one of those times when I had the TV on but I was doing something and not totally paying attention to it. And then I realized what was going on and turned it off.

I know I wrote a big post about negative self speak but I just have to say ... I SUCK at this book marketing thing. My attitude could not be worse. I did do a lot of reading in the big book of publishing about agents. I read another book and worked on my proposal. I used M's advise and prodded myself along through sections of reading and research by telling myself if I would do it for twenty minutes I could do something fun, like read blogs.

Writing a proposal for a book I've already written seems completely loopy. And thinking in terms of who is my "target audience" ... yuck. What is that about? Painting a target on a would be reader and aiming your book like it's a stone? I just wrote this story of a life in a fat body during a particular time in history. Some people seem to like reading stuff I write. Isn't that enough?

No. Because publishers and agents and bookstores have to make money. And I do too.

Sigh.

Really. My attitude is disgusting. I can hardly stand the sound of my own thoughts. Finding an agent feels like trying to find a relationship through the personal ads. I'm already imaging the worst from each one of them. I know I'm just going to need to keep pushing.

Martin Sheen (my imaginary president) endorsed Matt. And I got an e-mail from Renee of Luxomatic. She set up the bloggers for Matt site and made a portrait that I've seen before and thought was very cool.

Last night I dreamed about Jessamyn. We were just hanging out. Bloggers in my dreams.

                                     8:47 AM

November 22 2003 I wasn't feeling like writing today. I still don't. But I read Susan and was reminded what day it is. There's a small debate in her comments about the exact moment when America lost it's innocence. I can't say. But I can say when I lost my political innocence.

This is the last part of a chapter of my book.

Yes. I remember the day.

Maybe I'll just keep publishing parts of the book until it's all on line.

Heh.

                                     9:44 AM

November 23 2003 Weekend mornings I go back and forth between NPR and KPFA. Right between the Saturday morning talkies and Wait Wait I take a shower. But yesterday I turned on the TV, which was still on channel 9 because I'd been watching Moyers the night before, and saw Jacques was going to be cooking with his wife and Claudine. I kinda wanted to see that.

Sometimes I get tense watching him cook with Claudine. The father/daughter thing. I dunno. It just makes me tense. With his wife he was sweet. They were moving around each other with grace and ease. She was cleaning while he cooked.

When he cooks with Julia he seems to be aware that he's with another cook. He moves like a cook with all three women. He's fast and purposeful. With Claudine he seems frustrated that she can't always read his mind. He seems to feel the need to keep his eye on her. With his wife he seemed relaxed and casual. With Julia he makes space for her to act. And she takes her space.

It's hard to cook with someone when you're used to the pressure of the professional kitchen. You move instinctively. And he's explaining as he goes. It is helpful when someone can anticipate what you need without having to ask. I have cooked in kitchens in which I had to cook part of a plate and someone else the other. I've worked on busy lines and had to take a plate from a cook and finish it before putting up for the waitress. When it's working there's a rhythm. It's like dancing. I loved it.

I guess there is something wonderful about the way Claudine challenges her father. His wife seemed more in service to him. But it wasn't a fawning, or fearful service. She was following his lead but he was aware of her. She moved in to pull the bones of the salmon while he explained why you need to that. He acknowledged her for noticing that he forgot to put the herbs on one side of the salmon he was curing.

I may be romanticizing. His wife didn't seem totally comfortable with the camera. And there was a camera. Cameras change things.

I don't think I'm easy to cook with. I'm too used to trying to get it all done on my own, including clean up. And I get these ideas about how I want things to look. Jacques knows more than I do about cooking. If I were cooking with him I'd be deferential.

There is a weird power trip that goes on in the kitchen. How many cooks does it take to change a light bulb? Only one. But six others are going to stand around and say,"Well that's OK but the way I do it is..." And when you work in a professional kitchen you need to claim your space. It may have ruined me for partnership.

It was just very sexy watching Jacques with his wife. His body was always slightly turned toward her. His smile was more dear. They worked close but did not seem to bump into each other.

Maybe it's just the accent.

                                     7:43 AM

November 23 2003 I haven't been this happy since it turned out I was Eugene Debs.

Look at her. Isn't she cute? A quiz I found on Alembic, which she found on Reading & Writing.

                                     10:46 AM

November 24 2003 Goodgawd I love the smell of new books.

So I was listening to Larry interview this guy and, as it turned out, he (the guy, not Larry) was going to be at Modern Times in the afternoon. I was thinking about calling Deb to see if she wanted to go and the phone rang.

It was Deb.

Yes. She did want to go.

He's an interesting guy. He read a section from his book in which he talks about Wallace Stevens. He made a joke about people only knowing about The Emperor of Ice Cream. I love that poem. I love it because Jeff used to recite it to me in his boozy, smoky  white boy trying to sound years older and damaged way. But I am aware that Stevens wrote other things. He (Curtis White, not Wallace Stevens) read from the introduction of his book in which he talks about a book Stevens wrote: Necessary Angel. (Only 350 for that first edition. I will not be buying it. This week. Heh.) He said that the Emperor of Ice Cream won't cause us to change our lives. But that's just because he was never a love starved twenty year old girl hearing it for the first time from a smoky boozy boy. But he  also said that the message he gets from Stevens is - "You are being murdered." And that was an idea with which I could completely agree.

He said other interesting things. I got the book. And there was some irony in that because he was talking about how things become product. And in fact. At the end of the talk. We bought the book.

Ah well.

While I was there I saw this book and, of course, bought it. (Must find job now.) I was reading it while we waited for the talk to begin. I remembered something Kell said about the progress of Avoirdupois (as a product) carrying the weight of my identity as a writer. Not to mention other nudges she has given me toward food writing. Reading sometimes stimulates my writing. (See why I had to buy the book?)

Oh. Yeah. And. The new McSweeney's was out. So I had to get that too.

And then I came home and watched TV.

No. I didn't. Well. Yes I did. But first Deb and I ate some dinner. And drank some martinis. So I didn't have the clarity of vision that one might want in order to read. If you know what I mean.

My head was full of thinking. Most of what this guy was saying resonated for me. But he said something about "the chattering masses." Do you know about this? And bloggers are part of that.

Who knew?

I don't think this guy is really making a divide between high and low culture. But some people do. Maybe he is making a divide between techno and ... living culture. I'll need to read the book. But my hackles go up when I think people might be dissing blogging.

Blogging is the great anarchy of voice. Everyone with computer access and the temerity to imagine that there might be another person in the world who may find them interesting, can publish. Is it all good? Maybe not. So? If Sylvia had been able to blog she might have been able to keep her head out of the oven. Blogging is seditious.

Or it can be. Could me.

Lots of buttons and signs for Matt in the Valencia. While I was waiting in line to pay for my books I overheard the cashier and the guy in front of me talking about a party for Matt. There is a buzz in town. Made me smile. And I am still a little sad about Tom, despite the fact that I understand the reasons people didn't support him. The election talk is positioned in terms of beating Newsom. And I'm with that. People want Tom to endorse Matt and that's articulated in a way that find offensive. I don't really know Tom, so I don't know how he feels. But I know that if I were him, with the years of public service and two mayoral runs, I would be feeling pretty sad right now. And I'd be taking all the time I needed to "get over that." I don't think Tom's supporters need him to tell them to vote for Matt.

So it was a very lovely Sunday. I have some new books. And now (groan) it's Monday. Again.

                                     9:06 AM

November 25 2003 I can't use the word Hegelian in a sentence. And that bugs me. Maybe I could if I thought about it. But it doesn't occur to me.

My stomach was not happy yesterday so I read a lot. I like to read things that make me work. And I'm reading this book by Eco which is working me. I need the dictionary with me at all times. It astounds me that this is true. There's more than one kind of smart and I like the kind of smart that I am. But I'm not smart like that. I can't even imagine being able to read all the things Eco references in the book. And I can't use Hegelian in a sentence.

Not that he does. At least not in this book. Larry said that Curtis White's book was Hegelian. White laughed and said yes it was. And my eyebrows began to knit. It just seems like a joke that I'm missing.

Reading Eco with a stomach ache might not have been a good idea.

As It turns out Tom had endorsed Matt Sunday night. And he did it in the most dignified way. He did it at a moment when people were remembering the Milk/Moscone San Francisco I wrote a bit about last week. He did it right after he talked about forgiveness.

And then Angela endorsed Newsom. So typical. I can hope that people will see it for the sleazy move that it is. I don't know how much these endorsements matter but they made for great theater. I'm slightly more tense about the election. Or maybe that's the stomach ache, which still hasn't gone away.

Craig donated some art for an art auction for Matt. Sometimes I wish I were more of a party girl.

I'm still working on Eco.

                                     8:43 AM

November 26 2003 My stomach is still not happy. Not really really unhappy. But distracting.

I dunno. Maybe I'm getting into some kind of holiday funk. I've been in a funk for so long that I don't want to succumb to more.

My grandmother collected salt and pepper shakers. And now I do. Sadly I don't have many of hers. Mom gave them away.

She had sets for every holiday. For Thanksgiving she had an Indian man and woman carved out of wood. And she had a boy pilgrim candle and a girl pilgrim candle and a turkey candle. I used to play with them. I'd reenact the first Thanksgiving. I do have the wooden Indians salt and pepper. And I have little plastic Pilgrim kids and a turkey that I found years ago. They are just like the candles.

In my earlier adult life I used to cook huge dinners and invite everyone I knew. I loved doing it. Cooking for people is always fun for me.

My apartment is small. Most of my friends have families. I'm feeling reclusive and lost. And it's hard to want to get out Pilgrim kids, Indians and turkey toys knowing what happened after that first meal. So it's just a different time.

Maybe I've been watching too many cooking shows.

I like ritual. I like people gathering together for meals and gratitude. I like salt and pepper shakers that you only see once a year. Thanksgiving is haunted by the story of what happened next. We brag about our plurality but we are a country built on blood. Maybe we should have a truth and reconciliation day.

But I just don't know. My stomach has been fussy. I am listless and unfocused. I have my theories about why. But they're only theories.

Mayor Brown says Matt is a chauvinist who doesn't support minorities. This is classic Brown. I have expressed my own fears about Matt not getting my politic but it's always ironic to me when people talk about him and race since he is a person of color.  I've watched a lot of the Rules committee and seen who Matt supports and doesn't support in terms of appointments. He is fair. Brown has stocked commissions with unqualified people, which might have been OK if he helped them once they got there. But he didn't. There's a new poll saying that Matt has a lead. So Willie does what he's always done - uses personality politics to obfuscate.

There are so many reasons to have a stomach ache.

                                     8:28 AM

November 27 2003 There was a picture of picture of C Wright Mills on a motorcycle blogged on Wood_s Lot the other day. And links to a bunch of articles about him. I want to marry C Wright Mills. But I say that about James Agee. And I also say I would never get married. And they're both dead. Which says something peculiar about my relationship to Eros, I'm sure. It just made my heart sing to look at the picture.

Mills might have been happy to know that the USWA is calling for a congressional hearing into the massacre in Florida. I've always wondered what might have happened if organized labor worked with the radical left. It could be Paris in 68.

Demand the impossible.

Every year on Thanksgiving a group of Native Americans to Alcatraz for a sunrise ceremony and KPFA plays it. The television is full of parades and football.

I keep thinking about people traveling across an ocean to escape religious persecution. Why is it that people who have been persecuted turn around and persecute others?

The natives and the pilgrims had very different ways of using the land.

Some things don't seem to change.

I've been surprised (I don't know why) to see how many things there are on the news about how terribly fattening the traditional turkey dinner is. It's just crazy. If you're having dinner with family and friends, please don't think about calories. please enjoy your meal. Eat too much. Celebrate life and abundance and pleasure. Hug people. Kiss people. And give thanks. Fortify your heart.

Maybe I should take my own advice.

                                     9:13 AM

November 28 2003 I won't be shopping. But. You know. That's partly because I'm unemployed. Although, even if I was muy gainfully employed I wouldn't be out there on the day after Thanksgiving.

I had the idea that I might get a lot done yesterday. But then I started watching the West Wing marathon and couldn't stop. The early episodes really were better. But there was this one scene in which Bartlett has just been talking to a guy from India and he says something about wanting to remind him that we (America) also threw off our imperial ruler. Which isn't exactly true. Many of us are the imperial children of an imperial parent.

And that is the thing about American identity that I find so troubling. We are so central in our own story. We ignore difficult truths about who we are. It's always been true. Even now we complain about unemployment but aren't willing to pay more for our t-shirts and athletic shoes. We want everything our way and we want it all to be simple.

I read a lot of gratitude posts yesterday. Very moving. And I still think that it's a good thing to gather together with family and friends and share a meal. There was also much use of the word gluttony to describe the day. There is no doubt that we, as a country, consume in unseemly amounts. So we arrive at our family home in our SUV and then resist the urge for a second piece of pie.

Usually I buy some already roasted turkey from Hell Foods and cranberry something er other but I found a turkey breast that I could cook myself. It was a nice medium size. I'm glad I got it if only for the smell in the apartment while it was roasting. I made some mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy and green beans. Baked apple for desert. It was easy. Mellow. Tasty. And I have left overs.

It was good to be alone. For whatever reason it was what I needed. My mood is too subject to chaotic flux.   

                                     9:03 AM

November 29 2003 My father and mother were divorced when I was three months old. Mom remarried when I was in my teens and is married to the same guy. Dad was married six times, twice to the same woman.

I didn't spend much time with Dad. I didn't even meet him until I was eleven, or twelve. In his second marriage he had another daughter. And the woman he was married to twice had a daughter. So I have a half sister and a step sister. My step sister phones me from time to time, calls me sis. I've spoken to my half sister a few times when I call my aunt on holidays. I've always thought it was interesting that my blood relative sister, much like our shared father, doesn't pursue a relationship with me, while my step sister does.

And I am reticent with all of them. In a way. I love them. But I don't reach out.

Dad is falling deeper into Altzheimers. My aunt and he are in the same nursing home. I spoke with them last week. My sister was there. As it turns out she will be moving to California soon, fairly close to SF.

It should be interesting.

For years I've held the idea that your family may be people with whom you share no genetics. I feel bonded to friends in ways I do not feel bonded to my family. I also feel known by my friends in ways I do not feel known by my family.

But, as is often the case, the opposite is true as well. I feel bonded to my family in ways I don't feel bonded to my friends. I'm not entirely comfortable with my family but I know they love me. And I love them.

I used to think that if I could understand the intricate wiring of my psychological connections with them that I could be free. I'm not sure what I thought freedom would feel like.

So in a few weeks my sister will call. We'll get together. Talk. It should be interesting. Around the same time my mom and stepfather will be in SF. They're coming to watch me graduate. The ceremony for the MFA kids is in December. It will be this moment of officialness. All of this family stuff will be embedded in the holly dazed whirl. I'm hoping all that work I did to track the wires of why I am who I am serves me during this time of meaning making. My sense is that I will need to hang on for a long and bumpy ride.

                                     9:42 AM

November 30 2003 Cheryl came over for dinner. Turkey in gravy, (of course) chard, roasted potatoes and I made an apple/pear crisp. She brought wine and good conversation.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Not sure why. There was some noise from the street and from the apartment next door but not enough to wake me up, or keep me up. So I don't know why but after an extended period of thrashing I decide to read for a while.

My chest hurts. It's the feeling I usually have after about of bronchitis. Except I haven't been coughing. It may be because I've been doing different exercise. Nothing so vigourous or extreme to hurt me but maybe I've taxed a muscle group. If it doesn't go away I suppose I'll need to find a way to see a doctor. Never something I want to do. In part because I am fat and in part I have a long held mistrust of the medical profession. Too much money. I do know a doctor in town. We'll see.

I'm posting late. I've been reading all morning.

There's something I've been thinking about for awhile. Every now and again I read women on the web writing about women on the web. Sexism, in particular. It seem like many of the times I read things, they are written by women who rarely, or never link me. And, more to the point often link men. And, to be honest, they are women I don't read very often.

But I have thought about why.

Linkage is currency in the world of the blog. the exchange rate is measured in readers, I guess. I'm still thinking about it. There is something thrilling about seeing your words, or reference to your words, on someone else's page. You know, you're clicking along through the blog roll and BAM there's you name. I always feel this combination of excitement and paranoia. Exposure. If you're writing on line about things like when your mother is coming to visit you must have some need to reveal. It's like you're calling people in, through the stage door to watch the other players with you and wait for your entrance. You hope they'll be there when you get back to tell you how you did.

Laurie linked me the other day. Elayne and Cyndy linked my riff about JFK. Each time I felt gratitude and warmth. These are women who I do read regularly. I feel a relationship.

We are a culture of experts. And the women who I don't read seem (and since I have said I don't read them often. I am willing to be wrong) to be courting a certain kind of link. It seems like they want linkage from the guys. Some of these women are tech writing. And that's a whole world in which I have not much to say.

And then there's the political blog world. Lots of linkage. It seems I am not thought of as a political blog. The exception, perhaps, is when I write about fat politics. And I do feel like I have some authority in that world. I'm not a political blog. I am political. I'm not overly concerned with not being listed in the great debate. I'm not an expert.

I do see sexism on the web. On blogs by both women and men.

Most of my life I worked with men. Restaurants. Rock-n-roll. It's boy world. Or it was. I think I learned to listen to sexism with some distance. In a way. I mean if guys in the prep room are going on and on about tits and ass while they chop the onions you learn to pick your battles. You just aren't going to win them all. And you have to come to work, day after day and you don't want to feel tense the whole time. I have my limits. And I have my way of making my point. It's all very subtle. There's institutional sexism and then there's stupid shit. Sometimes you just hear something (or read something) and you can't hold it in. You just gotta call it out. And sometimes you just shake your head and keep on chopping.

It's a huge conversation. Full of subtlety. Some of the conversations about sexism on the web have been interesting. Some of them have been tired. Some of the ones in which I participated felt like they were going somewhere and ... I dunno ... maybe I was wrong.

I've spent a long time writing this and I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. Maybe I'm tired. Or maybe I have bronchitis. Or something worse. Or nothing at all.

Maybe I'll just go eat a tangerine.

                                     1:18 PM