felt good doing it

cheney got booed. (here, too.)

classic.

will be going to ravinia tonight to catch lyle lovett. against my better judgment, i'm going to sit on the ground, submit myself to mosquitos and try not to be too critical of my girl friend's new boyfriend. salon had a hilarious article on the Unevenly Cool Couple - the couple wherein one person is unbelievably fabulous and her partner just makes you wince and think, Did he hypnotize her? Is he blackmailing her into going out with him? my friend is way cooler than her boyfriend.

it's not that he's awful. he's successful, well-traveled, dresses well, remembers names and is appropriately solicitous when we all meet for drinks. but there's this nagging sense of...him being an android, faking human life for the benefit of his girl. but he's not awful.

he's just...a pod person.

ouch.

New York's Premier Alternative Newspaper. Arts, Music, Food, Movies and Opinion

my boss walked in unexpectedly. i suppose some work should get done...

Nader's "illegal" GOP backers

Salon.com | Nader's "illegal" GOP backers

According to Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington -- whose name sounds as if Nader could once have been its founder -- the Nader presidential campaign received illicit assistance for its petition drive in Oregon last weekend from two local conservative organizations, which were "encouraged" by President Bush's campaign committee.

Last election, a few friends voted for Nader said there was basically no difference between Gore and Bush. I guess the difference between Nader and Bush disappeared when Nader's campaign decided to get in bed with the wrong people.

we can build a fort with all the boxes stacked in the apartment.

but the apartment is taking shape and it's rather exciting. the whole place feels so different - more adult, somehow. our cable guy spent 4 hours at our place on friday (a cute little russian guy named bogdan who carried a photo of his girlfriend in his organizer) and our dsl is about to kick in at any moment. any moment... the floors are redone, the carpets are cleaned, i've feng shuied my bedroom, there's food in the fridge and we're marking space on the walls to hang the art. of course, we've come across more things the previous roommate left in the apartment. stumbling over her detritus is eroding any bland goodwill i may have had.

j-- and her boyfriend g-- stopped by on friday night to congratulate us and they brought wine, beer and pizza. the dining table was littered with cig butts and empty bottles all night. someone looking in our windows could have said we looked like a california wine commercial.

the move...

is over. roomie #1 has been displaced, after months of silent treatment, sullen packing, and furtive disappearing of furniture. (and no, we still don't know for sure where she is living...though we suspect she's next door. she's like a rumored WMD.) roomie #2 has taken her place and we look forward to a period of creative energy, fabulous food and much wine (and gin, vodka and scotch.)

long live A--, roomie #2!

the movers saw my photo on the wall. they looked at it, they looked at me (just rolled out of bed, in yoga pants and a work out shirt, hair in a bun and glasses on my nose. not wearing deodorant.)

"that you?"
"yes."
"really?"
"uh, yeah."
they look at it. they look at me. it's a black and white face shot. nothing particularly special, except my skin looks really blemish-free.
"really, that's you? how long ago was that?" nice.
"maybe two or three years ago."
they not and trudge back down the stairs.

come on - it's early! i'm not showered!
give me a few hours and you can see me dressed for work!

heh.
baby superman.

logan's run: not so crazy

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: The Zelikow Report

i was going to make a snarky comment about logan's run and people being sacrificed to the state after a certain age and then draw a certain line to a certain old mouthpiece for the administration, but then i changed my mind. it's too mean.

i'll just chalk up his column to senility or cognitive dissonance. yeah.

panopticon

AlterNet: Get Ready for PATRIOT II

will this crap never ever end? i have to say that NEVER in my life has one administration ruined my mood so consistently and repeatedly.

what's next? loyalty oaths, wearing insignia declaring one's agreement with the gov't?

unbelievable - the moonies in congress

i may be progressive and anti-fundamentalist, but i'm not nuts. and i think this qualifies as nuts.

(you'll need a salon day pass to read it in full. however, the photo is enough.)

cognitive dissonance

Newsday.com - Opinion

it was a word we used a lot in grad school - mainly, to sneer at professors who didn't make sense, but whatever. it's good to see it in political discourse. heh. makes me laugh.

snort

The New York Times > Magazine > Band on the Couch

why this made me laugh, i don't know.
but i need to see this movie.

brilliant.

Mistakes Loom Large as Handover Nears (washingtonpost.com)

heh.

BAGHDAD -- The American occupation of Iraq will formally end this month having failed to fulfill many of its goals and stated promises intended to transform the country into a stable democracy, according to a detailed examination drawing upon interviews with senior U.S. and Iraqi officials and internal documents of the occupation authority.

failure, thy name is bush.

9/11 Panel's Findings Vault Bush Credibility To Campaign Forefront (washingtonpost.com)

you know, this 'link' between iraq and al-qaeda would die if the press would refuse to recognize shrub's delusions. keep asking the administration if the link exists, of course they'll say yes. ask a different question - like, where's their proof?? aagh.

details details details

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: Not So Frivolous

it's a cheap shot, i know. but it can't be helped.
...
roommate at large is still moving out. piece by piece. i can't tell if she's halfway finished or not. there's still stuff here. our 'divorce' proceeds amicably, and she has indeed moved next door.

very wakefield-ian.

The Black Bloc Vote

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Contributor: Bush Shouldn't Write Off the Black Vote

What?!

I’m stunned.

Though Cole ends his column by saying Bush has a lot to say to black voters, he only mentions one: school vouchers. That’s it? We’re supposed to vote for another four years of this administration because of vouchers? I guess we’re also supposed to forget about the failure called Leave No Child Behind and forget that the Bush administration has cut funding for the most popular educational program that actually helps our community – Head Start.

And while corporations record increases in profits and consumer confidence slowly rises, our communities have yet to see jobs return and economic opportunities present themselves. Our middle and working classes hardly saw their quality of life improve over the past four years and I don't think we’re looking for four more of the same.

Rather than concentrate on actual policies that speak to black interests, Cole writes instead of the vehicle for Bush’s heavily reactionary agenda – black churches. Considering the homophobic social agendas the religious right pushes, this appeal is nothing more than an attempt to campaign on wedge issues rather than real policies that affect black lives daily.

And again, instead of offering real solutions from the Bush administration, Cole says black folk should be happy to vote for Bush because he hires other black folk—as if hiring practices can substitute for ideas. Are black people supposed to be this easily fooled? Is he serious?

Unless George W. Bush suddenly turns into someone else entirely, unless he says that he was wrong about everything (which he is), there is nothing he can say to independent black voters to win their votes that won’t smack of pandering.

His policies, both foreign and domestic, lack meaning and efficacy for everyone – black, brown, tannish, pink-like or white.

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: Travesty of Justice

and, in an example of how brainy people apply critical thinking skills, here's krugman. i love him. he's cranky, probably dresses poorly, and wields statistics and facts like a truncheon.

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: Bitter at the Top

i was going to write brooks another of my 'you make my head pop off' letters, but i'm just too tired. so...the current political bifurcation of the country is the fault of the educated classes? not the actual fucked up policies of this adminstration? it's just the intellectual wrangling of people too dilettantish to deal with real life.

give me a break.

a little local fascism

This is how it starts: just a few nutjobs harrassing and assaulting people with dissenting views. It's sick. A SF gallery owner was assaulted when she displayed an anti-war painting in her gallery. Now, she's shut down and other gallery owners are being threatened - in San Francisco.

The blogger, Orcinus, has more.

V. Media Credibility Declines: News Audiences Increasingly Politicized

as exciting as rush limbaugh's third divorce is, i think this is much better reading. there is another poll out there that also looks at media credibility rates - like, which media outlets have a better factual record. i think that Faux News had one of the lowest, but I'll have to find it. paired together, they may explain why my conversations with conservatives make my head explode.

they overwhelmingly believe Fox News and distrust (almost to the point of paranoia) most other print and internet sources - despite the fact that Fox News gets the story right only half the time.

late to work

My first political allegory dream:

It’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday late morning in Los Angeles. The grass has been watered, the weeds pulled and Ali and I share my father’s house. We’re standing on our porch smoking and chatting with the married couple who live next door. They’re blonde and qentle. I’m holding a clutch of flowers and am about to go inside to put them in water when a young guy, about 25 or so, ambles up. He’s in a yellow shirt, khakis and you can see that he wears short sleeve t-shirts under his buttoned-down shirt.

I think he’s a Mormon and I try to hustle Ali inside so we don’t get stuck talking about Moroni or something stupid like that. He has wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses. A surprisingly dark growth of stubble and it’s only 11 am or so. The next door neighbors also think he’s a Jehovah’s witness or something. The nosy old lady on the other side of us calls out, “He’s one of those young kids from the Republican Party. They’re going door to door. He wants to give you a Republican sticker.”

Ali says, “Dammit, I wish we had a Republican sticker. Then he’d leave us alone.” We both look at our John Kerry sticker on our porch post. Our Vote John Kerry sign on the lawn. We’re doomed. But we hope that his youth will let him be easily intimidated and he’ll go away.

He catches us just as we’re about to go inside. He walks across the lawn to us between the two houses and just stands there, smiling up at us, slightly squinting, his shirt a little wrinkled. He’s a little soft around the middle. He looks like he’s been walking a lot. Our neighbors wait on their side of the lawn.

Ali looks down. “We’re Democrats, you know.”
“Yeah, I probably got that.”
“Whatever you say, it’s not going to work.”
He looks around. “Well, a sticker’s gotta start somewhere. All you need is just one.”
Ali snorts. “Good to know you have low expectations.”

But he just laughs and stands there, his hands in his pockets. Green chili peppers start to bloom out of my flowers as I’m looking at him. Ali starts talking about how Republicans are weeds in the garden of democracy and how it’s the Democrats job to do it. To demonstrate, she plucks the peppers from my bouquet and starts flinging them at his feet. They spread and lay down a chili carpet on the front lawn that’s not so bad looking. Our neighbor looks across and sighs, “Oh, Ali, you’re so good with plants. I wish my lawn would do that.”

But the young Republican just stands there smiling. He’s not moving. Ali growls and stomps off to the side of the house and back into the backyard. We’re actually about to have a barbecue and are expecting people – some friends, some from work. You know. People. The neighbors think the show is over and go back inside. I’m still on the porch frowning down at the young Republican.

“Aren’t you going now?”
He says, “Is she mad at me? Should I apologize? I think I should apologize.”
“Uh, we’re having people over and I don’t think you should--“

But he walks down the driveway toward the backyard. I can hear Ali laughing with some people already out there. He’s going to make her freak out. So I scramble off the porch and run down the long driveway and skid to stop in front of him. I lean against the fence and smile and say, “You wanna know why we’re not republicans here? It’s not the fiscal responsibility thing; I think that’s ok. It’s the social stuff. I look at the Republican Party now and see a mean white man who hates everyone. I actually grew up a conservative. I was Baptist. Southern Baptist. So I know how you conservatives think.”

He protested, “But that’s not really who we are.”
I shrug, “Yes it is. You guys are mean and small-minded and remind me of the angry white guy who was our pastor who told me I couldn’t wear lipstick. I was fifteen! That’s all fifteen year old girls do!”
“And if I told you that the party had changed, that we’re different now?”
“Then what would be the point? I’m already a Democrat.”

By this time, we’ve wandered into the backyard. It’s large and green and there’s a cool little white tent in the back of the lawn, where a small group of friends sit drinking beer and laughing. Ali sees us and stomps over.

“Ding, what the fuck?”
“He just followed me! I can’t shake him!”
He says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I wanted to apologize and then we were just talking and now we’re here and I totally understand if you want me to go – “
Ali snorts. “Yeah!”
He continues, “But if I could just give you the Republican blessing. Then I’ll go.”

Ali and I look at each other. We’ve never heard of a Republican blessing. What new-fangled election stealing trick is this? I can see that Ali is curious as all get out. She wants to see the Republican blessing so that she can totally make fun of it and spread it around. So she says, “Well, we don’t want to be rude.”

The three of us are standing in the early afternoon sunlight of Los Angeles so everything takes on a tangerine glow. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip. This boy comes from a cold climate if he thinks this is hot, I’m thinking. He’s squinting at me, he’s squinting at Ali. He’s awfully still, like a squirrel who thinks he’s hiding in the middle of an open lawn.

Then, he lunges across, grabs me by my shoulders and totally kisses me! I’m beating my arms against his chest, his arms, his chest, his neck, and he has me sort of twisted around. I can hear Ali totally guffawing in the background. When he lets me go, I smack him hard across the chest.

“What the fuck was that?? THAT”S the Republican blessing?”
And Ali is laughing her ass off. “Oh my god, oh my god, that was hilarious. He was totally eating your face. And you were squeaking!”
He’s looking all weird, then he’s like, “I gotta sit down.” Ali grabs me and takes me to the tent where everyone is sitting, also laughing their asses off. She’s totally like, “That was so funny!” and I’m like, “That was awful, I was kissed by a Republican!”

Ali says, “Oh, you know you liked it. You were into it.”
I say, “Ok he’s a good kisser, a really good kisser, but that was totally inappropriate. He has to leave – he’s nuts.” Then Andy, a coworker, winks across the table at me. I can’t really hear what he’s saying because the young Republican is coming up to the tent looking abashed yet determined. He creeps up behind Ali and puts both arms around her, pressing his cheek to her back.

She jumps. “Whoa, mister!”
“Everyone needs a blessing!”

Everyone scatters. It’s just me and him in the tent, warily circling the table. I try and fake him out, he blocks me. I try again. He blocks again. And now he’s chasing me around the table. “I have to give you the blessing,” he says.
“What is your deal?” I say.
“I have to give you the blessing!” He lunges across the table, knocks it down and I skip out of reach.

We’re running, we’re chasing, we’re out of the tent, I swerve onto the lawn (my father’s backyard has never accommodated a footrace before) and Andy starts giving a running commentary on the race: “the young Republican hangs in her left blind spot, just tracking her while Ding, faster than we thought possible, has trouble scaling the little garden wall…” Oh, it’s all so funny, isn’t it? But I’m running out of steam. I can’t keep running in little circles like this. And so I slow down, he leaps at my legs, I trip, I fall and he’s on me. It’s like gradeschool. The boy on top trying to kiss the girl on the bottom and she’s twisting away, kicking her feet up and down. And ok, it could also be like rape, but it wasn’t that dark. It was just annoying to have the kissing Republican wrestle me down in my own backyard.

it happens in threes

aw, man. ray charles is dead.
who'll sing 'america, the beautiful' on the 4th of july now?!

recovery? what recovery?

Yahoo! News - Jobless Claims Rise Unexpectedly

but i thought things were getting better!
(sarcasm)

on principle

The Gadflyer: Not So Keene

am finding it hard to read the news today with anything more than a heavy sigh. despite smart little things like this, the awful possibility of Shrub winning another term looms large in the imagination. because we're cursed like that.
...
and the reagan things? they have to stop. i'm already tired of it. more mythmaking and hot air blowing.

roommate at large has surfaced. she is living next door to our apartment, though her stuff is still in this apartment. i can't help but think of wakefield, you know? (a few weeks ago on npr, paul auster read wakefield and i just wanted to curl up and sleep in his voice.)

my erstwhile roommate leads a double life, i'm sure. by day, she's the hot networking babe at an international banking giant. by night, she's a cia spy, or counter spy, or jewel thief, or car thief, or just a plain old neighborhood drunk who needs a secret apartment in which to tie one on. she skulks around the firecracker warehouse holding a bottle of jameson's and one night, if she's not careful, she'll drop a lit butt into a pile of sparklers and jimmy the clown's apartment will erupt in fiery light.

or, she smuggled her boyfriend back into the city; he's squatting in an abandoned apartment next door that's due for renovation, and she goes to be with him every night, taking him beer, cigarettes and crackers. when she leaves, she has to lock him in, like the guy from the pianist.

these are the ways i try and justify my roommate's weird behavior lately. any rational explanation wouldn't fit quite right.

reagan

The New York Times > Obituaries > Reagan Had Long Struggle With Alzheimer's Disease

sort of sad. i was in elementary school when he was president, at least that's how i remember it. i suppose i could look up those dates right now, but i don't feel like it. what i remember most is that i didn't like him. not because i was, even then, a democrat. i didn't like that he had defeated jimmy carter.

jimmy carter was my favorite president ever, when i was a kid. (though not as handsome as pierce.) i had a dream once that he and i were having tea together. i laughed in my sleep, delighted that the president and i were so simpatico. my mother found me in bed laughing, holding my hand with my pinky crooked, as if holding a teacup.

and when reagan defeated him, i felt as if the universe had been destroyed. reagan was the man with weird black hair and a clown's face who had made a gentle-voiced man, who farmed a peanut (who can hate a peanut??), lose. and so, to me, based on a dream of tea with a president, reagan's two terms were hell.

irrational, but there you are.
it was the 80's. passions ran high.

The New York Times > Washington > Cheney Reportedly Interviewed in Leak of C.I.A. Officer's Name

isn't this a little circular? president shrub's answer about retaining a personal lawyer in the plame affair:

"In terms of whether or not I need advice from my counsel, this is a criminal matter, it's a serious matter, I have met with an attorney to determine whether or not I need his advice. And if I deem I need his advice, I'll probably hire him."

jon stewart...another love

COMEDY CENTRAL

so, if you weren't getting all your teeth ripped out yesterday, you probably noticed that our head cia guy resigned. (like, who couldn't see this coming when he stepped forward last summer and fell on his sword for the whole faulty intelligence thing?)

but who cares about all that - the daily show makes with the funny.
heh. hope the link works.

The Gadflyer: Partial-Truth Abortion

The Gadflyer: Partial-Truth Abortion

on my soapbox, with the vicodin...
but it's a good read anyway. amy sullivan - she writes about stuff i wish more women read.

hey, i'm working from home!

The Gadflyer: Fly Trap

gimme a break! all this time and i can't blog? no way!

anyway, this is a little morsel found on gadlyer; the capitol hill blue is an odd online washington paper. it's sort of nutjobby, but the fact that it totally called bush nuts the other day (or was it today?) and built a story around it made me laugh.

Abriendo Caminos - yeah, right

Abriendo Caminos

so, to be fair, i didn't originally find this - thanks will have to go to the blogger Atrios/Eschaton. But it's basically the web page on the Bush campaign site that they're using to reach out to latino voters.

under 'soy' (I am), you have teacher, student, elderly, veteran/military employee and farmer. that's it. you're a farmer, teacher, student, vet or old person.

guess i better tell my brother in law that he apparently chose the wrong open path...

they really are dumb. like, really really dumb.

i'm a cheap dental date. one minute watching the IV drip, the dentist says "You should start feeling--" and that's it. i'm out. gone. under.

i come to missing four wisdom teeth, two new root canals and a nice warm heavy feeling all over. and i'm singing along with lionel richie with a gauze-packed mouth.

the next 24-48 hours: vicodin, antibiotics, warm yogurt and fashion magazines. how wholesome.

a few months ago i blogged about the past coming back - old lovers and past objects of desire suddenly announced themselves again, throwing me into a slight disequilibrium. then i felt the past was a fruitless complication that either needed to be ignored or neutralized. and, for the most part, this happened. i ignored one and the other...well, relocating to korea has a way of neutralizing any need for immediate action.

but this past sunday at the bridal shower, ryan the astrologer looked at my chart and noted several events ripping the fabric i've worked really hard (like, with gritted teeth) to smooth out in my life. work: smooth. friends: smooth. lover: long-distance, but smooth. everything has its place and every place has its thing. nice. i fluttered my hand at ryan, positive that these little whatevers were insignificant.

i said to ryan, 'yes, i'm about to have a drink with an ex, but that means nothing. it's one drink; we don't even particularly like each other. and okay, i have a date with an older philosophy professor, but that doesn't mean it's going to go anywhere. he's old! like, really old! and yes, so the librarian may be visiting in august - he's a horrible trip planner, it might not even happen! these are not ominous events - they're coincidences that will simply disappear without much help from me.'

ryan just pursed his lips and moved on to the next chart. i am a firm believer that things are instrinsically simple; they have a way of working out without much input from anyone. they only get complicated when you make them so.

but then, last night on the el platform, the dry cool wind whipping at my dress, the trains clattering past full of Cubs fans, the Ex (el Equis) asking if we could start from scratch after two years, the afternoon's email from the Professor bright in my mind, the possibility of the Librarian visiting never far from my thoughts, everything got very very complicated and muddled.
...
oh, and my roommate seems to have relocated to an undisclosed location, sort of like dick cheney. from her undiscovered hamlet she sends out emails and requests, but her exact whereabouts remain a mystery.