I see how it is, David Plouffe....

Would it kill him to write me an email that simply asks me how I'm doing? I get the feeling him and his friend Barack are only after my $10 a month gift.

For instance, last night I woke to the sounds of pebbles hitting my window. I trudged out of bed to look outside, only to see David looking haggard and stressed.

Nisi, He said, I am so happy to see you. I'm here, at three a.m., to share with you an alarming situation in our country today. You see, in July a focus group made of bookies released a statement that encouraged the American People (tm) to place bets on a young stallion named Dolemite for this years Breeder's Cup. Ordinary Americans like you and me took this as encouragement to place their hard earned dollars on Dolemite-

David, I interrupted, I'm not a gambler.

Which is good! He affirmed. You are correct to not want to gamble away your right to health care, a college education, and a decent wage for eight more years of the same corrupt bookie administration. I'd like to tell you about a man named Dave- he is a hard working grassroots organizer who took for granted what the powers that be told him was a sure bet. Little did Dave know that these "powers that be" were not out to serve his best interests. No no, they were Las Vegas fatcats who took advantage of Dave's yearning for a 16-1 odds payoff. Dave now feels betrayed...he's turning into a cynic- he is also rather concerned with the Bookie's policy of leg separation should he not come through with their "loser tax".

Can you take a stand against these pork barrell methods and help restore Dave's sense of hope by donating $25 today to Barack Obama's campaign? Might I also mention that checks are environmentally wasteful, but cash would suffice as it is a renewable resource.

All aboard the pixie express....

Yet again, I have chopped off a sizeable chunk of my hair and am quite satisfied with the results. I have enough length to pull off a haphazardly chaotic fro and enough different layers to comb it all forward for a very short pageboy.

And sure enough, I have recieved the following gendered reactions-

Ladies-
Omigosh, it's so CUTE (key-ooo-te)!
I wish I could go that short!
It suits you so well!
Good for you!

Gentlemen-
Oh, wow, you chopped off your hair.
That's nice....good for the summertime, I guess.
Nice do. (from gay men)
I'm not saying I don't like it, I'm just saying that I need to get used to it... (one person in particular)


Someone, either a comedian or somebody I actually know, once went on a diatribe about men's and women's attitudes towards boyishly short hair on women. It's common knowledge that most men prefer long hair. That's fine. I happen to think that most people look better with hair above their shoulders- there's such little versatility in having a bunch of strait pieces of hair taper to one's mid-back.

With that said, apparently women take a passive aggressive, sneaky bitch approach when it comes to the art of the coif compliment. Where, as is so often the case with the fairer sex, what they say and what they mean are two very different things...

what they say-
It's so cute! It really brings out your face, so daring!

what they mean-
BWAHAHAHAHAHA, you dumb bitch! No man will want your lesbo ass now, more for meeee! Why on earth would you want to draw attention to your face???

Now is this really the case? I can't say for sure. Somehow I'm going to give the gals the benefit of the doubt here and maybe just assume that many of them have been tempted to go short at one time or another and just haven't been able to do it for whatever reason- insecurity, culture, massochistic pleasure in spending 30 minutes a day with a blowdryer and curling iron.... therefore when one of us goes into don't-give-a-flying-fuck mode, we are genuinely happy for one another.

Women taking pleasure in each other's successes? I've gone mad with optimism. But I do know that I really do look better, as I always do when I lose the battle against growing out my hair.

BTW-

I wanted to take a picture but apparently my camera decided to travel to the big e-waste dump in the sky. Here's my cut on Winona, who can do a much better job convincing the masses that short = sexy -

"In Summer, the Song Sings Itself" William Carlos Williams

I’m not really a fan of randomly inserting quotes into life but I am a fan of simultaneous multiple coincidences. For instance- as I waited in the elevator during my lunch break, a lovely song popped into my iPod called “It’s Summertime” and I thought about putting together a blog about the epic summer I’ve been having. I then thought about comparing my summer to the assorted verses of Whitman, particularly of course, how I’ve seemed to have established my own “Song of Self” and it was during this train of thought when the little elevator television (which I will admit to being quite a fan of) generated the above quote.

There will be no school to return to this fall, all I have to look forward to a lightened work load as a result of the seasonal (as well as economic) decline in Travel and that’s just dandy with me. I’m just now starting to comprehend my life without schooling and I must say that the freedom of not belonging to an educational and social institution suits me.

Come to think of it- I’m not even going to bother with some grand ponderings. Allow me to just say that this has been a crazy fucking summer. Non-stop events, interesting friendships budding, a near-complete overhaul of most of the things I’ve been used to.

About fucking time.

slap my ass and send me to shawshank

I had a subscription to Mother Jones for a while, but issues upon issues would go into exile in the 1287 bathroom. It's an okay mag- a bit too fussy and touchy for my tastes sometimes, but meant to be browsed online when I'm in a give-a-shit mood.

Lo and behold, they have a handy dandy guide to the latest prison slang...

Dude, prisoners are witty!

bo-bos: prison-issued tennis shoes
bone yard: trailers used for conjugal visits
brake fluid: psychiatric meds such as liquid Thorazine
Buck Rogers time: a sentence with parole unimaginably far in the future
chalk: prison moonshine
chin check: to punch an inmate in the jaw to see if he'll fight back
clavo: (Spanish for "nail") dangerous contraband
diaper sniper: child molester
diesel therapy: a lengthy bus trip, used as a punishment
ding wing: mental health ward
erasers: chunks of processed chicken
high class: hepatitis C
iron pile: weightlifting equipment
jack book: any magazine with pictures of women
the monster: hiv
ninja turtles: guards dressed in riot gear
robocop: guard who writes up every infraction, no matter how small
six-five: warning that a guard is approaching
stainless-steel ride: lethal injection
13 1/2: 12 jurors, 1 judge, and 1/2 a chance; seen in prison tattoos

Anyone fresh from the joint that can verify any of these?

http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2008/07/slammed-block-talk.html

Quitting.....take four

This attempt at quitting seems right simply because I've never been so repulsed by my smoking. Plus Ned quit and Jake is quitting with me.

I'm going for a distraction approach, which includes:

*Twelve packs of gum, stashed in various purses, cubicle drawers, and all throughout 1287.

*A scheduled cleaning, purging, and febreezing of 1287.

*A stack of trashy novels to read while waiting for the bus and drinking my morning coffee (my most difficult triggers)

*Various plans made with non-smoking friends to ensure distraction and support.

*Boisterous claims of quitting and willpower that may damage my fragile ego should I be caught with a cigarette

*A bottle of radioactive detox goo.

*A box o' nicotine patches.

And now comes the grand experiment. I've heard rumors of crazed, vivid, hallucogenic dreams and nightmares experienced by some folks who wear the patch as they sleep. I'm hoping this will happen to me. I suppose if I will myself to have an extra-surreal dream, it probably wont happen but I'll try my best to keep a blank mind before I go to bed and a pice of paper at the ready to record everything I remember as soon as I wake up.

When the Levee Breaks

What the hell is happening to my inbox these days? Recently I recieved four different July 4th emails from my friends that bash Muslims, one of which suggesting that it is our patriotic duty to run around naked to force potential terrorists to commit suicide (God Bless America!) and three emails that compare the post-flood behavior of Iowa residents to New Orleans residents.


You guys know I love offensive humor, but there is a snarkiness to these emails that suggests that they are not just in good fun.


Is there some post-post-9/11 pro-america resurgence that I haven't been clued in on? When have I, at any point in my life, given the impression that I am unsympathetic to the effects of systemic poverty? Or, similairly, when have I ever claimed to be threatened by sharing a country with people who believe different things than I do? I celebrated my Independence Day for what it was- a well earned day off in a country that wants its people to feel guilty for taking one.


And despite what the July 4th emails suggested- I'm pretty sure Muslim families did the same exact thing. While, yes, most Muslim adults were not cracking open budweisers and gobbling down sausages, they were definitely not emailing or approaching me with judgement concerning my decision to do so.


And now we come to New Orleans Vs. Iowa.


Here's part of the email:

"... As you watch the flooding in the Midwest , have you noticed that there are no farmers running around with stolen plasma TVs or holding stolen liquor over their heads. There's no looting or yelling "Where's Bush?", "Where's FEMA?, Where's my check?", or "Why isn't the Gov't out here saving me and my farm?"


Likewise, I've also noticed there are no reports of any other country coming to help or sending aid.

Where are all of the Hollywood celebrities holding telethons asking for help in restoring Iowa and helping the folks affected by the floods?

Where is all the media asking the tough questions about why the federal government hasn't solved the problem? Asking where the FEMA trucks (and trailers) are?"


I've actually gotta give it to this email, it is one of the most flawless displays of passive-aggressive white frustration that I have ever seen outside of a Ron Paul fundraiser. Such a beautiful cock-tease of an email.....coming so close, but never quite saying those magic words.......

BLACK PEOPLE

Ah. That felt good. Now, I could do the whiny internet thing and start whimpering about the following:

Iowa residents have had nothing but praise for the work done by FEMA. Apparently they have gotten their shit together and developed a winning system after the trial run in New Orleans. Kinda like the Tuskegee experiments!

New Orleans and Louisana have the highest national rate of resident retention. This has alot to do with their dismal national educational rankings. Meaning- when all you know is your multi-generational home, and when that home fails to provide you with an education and when that lack of education does not allow you to get a decent job in a tourism-based economy because you're considered too threatening to mix margaritas in the open mouths of 20 year old girls....you're going to be a little bit upset when that home becomes obliterated and the very goverment that has been begrudgingly giving you scraps to make up for their past and present slights decides that it has more important bureaucratic concerns than preventing people from starvation, disease, and death.....this anger understandably increases. It's kind of like living in the suburbs without a car and your parents are forcing you to take online classes at the University of Phoenix.

Alas, I digress. What I really want to discuss is again this passive aggressive attempt at displaying white pride by contrasting it with the behavior of the non-white community. That's all these emails are saying- look at how they behave when the shit hits the fan and look at our reaction. Go us! We don't need handouts.....unless, of course, they come in the form of tax breaks or a tank of gas. Is it really necessary to turn a natural disaster into a pissing contest? Are we really so insecure that we need to validate our superiority at the expense of others? (the 4th of July emails are a prime example of this as well). Taking a look at slavery, our treatment of migrant and factory workers, Vietnam, and just about every other international conflict we've gotten ourselves into.....yes, yes we are!

Now a worthwhile counter argument is to go on about the double standard that some white folks looooove to point out. How can there be a black history month and not a white history month? What if there was a straight pride parade? Why are Latino's allowed to be proud of their culture but we aren't? To these questions, I really don't have an answer. They're valid in argument but they, and the concepts they mention, are all distracting bullshit. It's petty token-ism in an era of big fucking problems. I do not believe in race-based affirmative action- after all, the fact that I claimed to be Mexican on my college applications is laughable! But the arguments against it are just so fucking whiny that I just can't stand the issue. The only elloquent argument against race-based affirmative action that I've heard comes from Obama in Audacity of Hope in which he argues that it should be income-based.

Anyways, I've ranted for far too long and I hope the friends who sent me these emails are not offended by this rebuttal. But that's the spirit of argument, isn't it? I just can't understand why we just can't be decent to one another and feel empathy without exception or qualification.

Would a fly without wings be called a walk?

Now believe me when I say that I'm not the type to publicly obit the death of somebody I've never met....that's what the press and CONSTANT fucking news coverage is for. But I've been fixated on George Carlin's death all morning.

The thought isn't sadness because let's face it, the man lived hard. I dig that. You can't exactly go on about how this was unexpected or sudden or tragic. Men like him should die in their fifties, maybe sixties tops. Old age generally doesn't suit them, although in Carlin's case it merely turned him into the image that has stuck with me throughout my life on account of my younge age. He seemed like the dirty old uncle figure who would call everyone out on their bullshit at family get togethers. He seemed to be the guy who could argue his way out of anything. He seemed like a cool ass motherfucker.

Again, because of my age, my seemingly life-long admiration of Carlin had nothing to do with how raunchy or controversial he was- I'd been exposed to his seven dirty words during most of the everyday interactions of my childhood! What caught my attention was the effortless command he had over the English language. When you strip the content out of his material and just look at the puns and word choices, you see that the man's humor was simply the ponderings of a cunning linguist.When I'm not bullshitting around and trying to impress folk, I will say that the two interests that drive most of my reactions, interactions, wants, needs, attractions, leisure, etc etc revolve around language and humor, most particularly the humor of language. The things we say, and especially the things we feel we cannot say, are so fucking absurd and perfect. And it amazes me that we spend so much of our time talking about other crap when we could mull over communication, something we all have in common.

Anywho, here are my favorite quotes of his:

"Atheism is a non-prophet organization."

"Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things."

"When you step on the brakes your life is in your foot's hands."

"If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?"

gonna warm my bones

I dream of things like this but never actually expect to find them:



The Flaming Lips doing my favorite Stones song, Moonlight Mile.

a commuter-free christmas

Yesterday was my third Christmas by myself in the city. Of course I'd rather be in Chicago but that just wasn't possible so I made the best of it.

I'll need to come up with reasons to go on the Love Robot's roof that don't involve smoking. Maybe rooftop yoga? Yesterday morning was so peaceful- looking down fourth street and the expressway and the bay bridge and seeing nothing but the occasional car cruise freely. Christmas feels like such a non-day, especially when you spend it by yourself. No fussy dress clothing. No shuttling to relatives. No driving!

It was a lovely little day:

*I had a greasy and sweet breakfast with the LR

*Came home, finished Sean Wilsey's "Oh The Glory of it All" which was a fab memoir. The content and people were a bit infuriating at times but he did a great job writing it.

*Did a heap of laundry, started to clean up the 4-month mess in my room

*Watched an ungodly amount of VH1 "best songs of the 80's and 90's" countdowns with Sonya and Dozer. Our age difference became somewhat apparent when her nostalgia for the eighties transformed into sharp disagreement with about 70% of the poppy songs on the nineties countdown. We must have had the following conversation at least ten times:
Sonya: This song is shit!
Me: (meekly) I like this song. It totally defined the summer before high school.....

*Quite aptly matched our pineapple pizza with cheap whiskey.

I'm hoping New Years will be equally casual.

Quitting Smoking: take 3

I'm not surprised at the fact that although I graduated college two days ago, I've entered a hyper-productive frenzy. It takes me a while to ween off of manic behavior. My newest project is my third attempt at breaking up with my friend, the cigarette.

I have a genius three part plan.

Part one: attend Kaiser's smoking cessation workshop on Monday night. Get my little certificate that allows me to receive Wellbutrin at my copay price.

Part two: Wednesday afternoon physical with my doctor, get the prescription.

Part three: I'm supposed to quit ten days after starting the Wellbutrin. As a gift, the love robot was kind enough to give me a full body massage and communal bath access at the Kabuki Springs and Spa. My appointment is set for my quit day so I can be all relaxed and distracted and somewhat detoxed.

The hippie in me is a bit weirded out at taking an antidepressant (which Wellbutrin also serves as) but I know plenty of people who recommend it. While I'm sure my moods could use a little leveling out, I don't want to become a zombie. I dig the highs and lows.

Wish me luck, and forgive my upcoming bitchiness.