The Write Bunch

WC: Van Gogh quote

2009-12-22T15:05:00.005-05:00

From a letter to his brother Theo, January 1884

. . . find things beautiful as much as you can, most people find too little beautiful.

You can read all of his letters online at the fabulous vangoghletters.org. The site includes translations, notes, facsimiles, and more.

I'm reading a few a day.

WC: My Condolences, Whoever You Are

2009-09-10T09:55:00.003-04:00

Getting dressed this morning, I had half an ear on the radio. The report was about an explosives expert in the Marines who had been killed in Afghanistan after two tours of duty in Iraq. I had my usual mixed response: sadness for him and his family, an inability to quite understand why someone would want to be in the military, and confusion about whether we should be in Afghanistan at all. And then I heard something along the lines of "He was 34 and never married."

And suddenly I could see his boyfriend, mourning and distraught, with no recognition from the military or the Marine's family, no inherited benefits, no flag folded into a triangle. I hope he is at least surrounded by his own group of friends and family, but if he is in the military too, it's possible that he is isolated, deep in a dark, lonely, miserable closet.

Yes, it is possible that this particular Marine was a straight guy who just never married. But the scenario I describe above has happened to dozens if not hundreds if not thousands of people. The military should be ashamed.

Spiderman on the Subway

2009-08-27T21:41:00.005-04:00

I do love living in New York.

WC: Barney Frank PS

2009-08-20T11:28:00.002-04:00

Many people have pointed out that Frank could have handled the exchange better, that he could have been more politic.

I agree. All those people are right.

But there is something incredibly pleasing in seeing an articulate, from-the-gut, honest response.

WC: Thank You, Barney Frank

2009-08-20T09:09:00.001-04:00

WC: Here's the Thing

2009-08-07T13:10:00.009-04:00

After finishing a Saturday NY Times crossword puzzle--the hardest of the week--I realized why I find crossword puzzles so satisfying: the opportunity to be perfect. I entered the final word, and there it was: done, correct, my neat little printing filling the neat little boxes, each letter in its right home.

Pretty much everything else in life is annoyingly squishy. Work, writing, exercise, eating, dealing with people--none of them offer simple perfection.

But crossword puzzles do.

It's a beautiful thing.

WC: Michael Jackson, Idol?

2009-06-26T10:24:00.002-04:00

It seems to me probable that Michael Jackson was a child molester. He was acquitted in a court of law, yes, but he also paid tens of millions of dollars to make other accusations go away. I imagine the children he molested must feel very lonely and furious today as they see their molester extolled as an idol and an icon.

In our society, it is often seen as rude to speak ill of the dead. And the idea that someone is innocent til proven guilty is profoundly important. And all the celebrities who are celebrating his life may have genuinely loved him.

But I'd like to ask them one question: Would they have left their children alone with him?

WC: I'm Trying to Figure Out iGoggle

2009-06-22T16:58:00.001-04:00

And since I have this habit of just using programs and tools without actually reading the instructions, I'm not totally sure what I'm doing.

But . . . if I did this correctly, this will show up on my iGoggle.

Here goes.

WC: So Much For My Memory

2009-06-06T23:59:00.002-04:00

I've kept calendars since 1970. Since the mid-70s, they've been quite detailed.

Since my memory has become kinda lousy, I decided a while ago to go through my calendars to make a chart of the movies and plays I've seen and the books I've read. I'm curious to see the lists--I think they'll be interesting.

Well I finally just started this project and I've discovered that I can't even place the titles of some of the things I've seen and read. Did I ever really see a play called Debutante?

On top of that, I can't even identify who some of my friends were! That feels particularly weird.

And, in light of the blog entry I just wrote about seeing All the President's Men for the first time, it's galling to discover that it wasn't the first time. I saw it on August 15, 1976. I gave it two stars. (I saw it with someone named Charlie. I knew three Charlies when I was younger--Schwartz, Kazajian, and Famous--and I can't remember ever going to the movies with any of them!)

Oy.

AV: What She Said

2009-05-28T02:03:00.001-04:00

The word from California.

WC: The Weirdness of Writing Reviews

2009-05-16T12:27:00.003-04:00

I've been enjoying reviewing plays over at Show Showdown, but I find myself frustrated by the customs of criticism. Reviews are supposed to be written without much reference to one's self, but, to me, the lack of the "I" makes it sound as though I am pontificating from on high. And who am I to pontificate? I'm just one person, and I'm often in the minority (eg, I disliked the generally adored new production of Our Town and was impressed by The Singing Forest, which my three co-audience members fled at the first intermission). Yet when I succumbed to writing in the "honest I," as in my reviews of Everyday Rapture and Mary Stuart, the reviews seemed unprofessional and less well-written. When I went back to the "omniscient know-it-all," as in Our Town and The Singing Forest, the reviews came across as, well, real reviews.

It's odd, really. Reviewers and critics can, and should, give reasons for their opinions, and certainly a knowledgeable writer can bring a particular insight to the table. But, ultimately, isn't it all just "I liked it" or "I didn't like it"? Is there any real difference between Ben Brantley and many other audience members other than he's in the Times and we're not? Yet his opinions, his preferences, can seriously affect the future of a show and will remain accessible for decades in the archives of "the paper of record." In our culture, we appoint people as experts--or they appoint themselves--but too often rather than being genuine experts, they're just well-located and/or well-connected.

WC: All The President's Men

2009-05-06T23:21:00.004-04:00

Just saw All the President's Men for the first time. (I missed many movies in the '70s. First I was in college, then I was doing theatre, and then I was--finally!--getting laid.) It's a fascinating movie, well made, but it relies on the viewer bringing a certain amount of knowledge to the table, which makes me wonder how long people will actually be watching it. But even without knowledge of Watergate, the viewer would still get to see many interesting things, such as these two:

How much work everything was pre-Internet. To try to find someone, Woodward goes through phone book after phone book. Every article is painstakingly typed and then painstakingly input into, what?, a linotype machine maybe? No interviews are recorded--notes are taken by hand. The lack of cell phones slows down communication immensely.

How much work is involved in investigating reporting. Yes, there's less grunt work now, but it's still a labor-intensive 24/7 project requiring imagination, communication skills, a willingness to manipulate, the ability to figure out a puzzle without having all the pieces, and incredible stamina. I hope it doesn't become a lost art.

The film features a wonderful array of actors in supporting and bit parts. I caught, for example, Steven Collins, Lindsay Crouse, Nicolas Coster, and Meredith Baxter but failed to identify Polly Holiday and Penny Fuller. (Victoria Clark and Alice Ripley were not in it, but I'm mentioning them so that my sister and my best bud will get Google alerts on this review. Hi Holly. Hi Susan.)

I thought Robert Redford was wonderful (I'm not usually a fan), as was Dustin Hoffman (I am usually a fan). Jason Robards, who I always think of as relying on his gravelly voice too much, and also mumbling too much, relies on his gravelly voice too much and mumbles too much. At one point, I put on the closed captions to see what he was saying, but they hadn't understood him either, and the screen remained blank while he spoke.

On a serious level, the big take-away for me is the reminder that the current despicable dishonesty of the Republican Party is nothing new. Sometimes I wonder how low they can possibly go, but this movie reminds me how low they have already gone. As David Byrne and Brian Eno wrote, "Same as it ever was, same as it ever was."

DW: The Reckoning

2009-04-20T23:10:00.002-04:00

I did go to the funeral last week, and I am so glad that I did. It was wonderful to connect with my past and see people who I haven't seen in about 30 years. Time really does bend.

The best part was hanging out with my friend's dad, who is the last parent standing. It was like being able to speak in a tribal language that you rarely have the chance to speak. I'm seriously thinking of going down to visit him in Florida with a video camera and just ask him questions for 3 days straight and see what comes out. I realized the other day that he is Burlesque's version of Robert Evans and "The Kid Stays In the Picture." The only way I can describe my delight is imagining yourself in a wax museum and seeing William Powell suddenly coming to life.

Thanks AV for all your encouragement!

AV: PSAs from the underbelly

2009-04-18T01:52:00.003-04:00

Thanks everyone for your support for my personal endeavor of my own blog. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank you as well for your indulgence of my three-part-harmony conversation in my recent post to this site. We all appreciated it.

That said, I'm writing on my personal site: http://thiseffingblog.blogspot.com/ and keeping you posted here on that. I've got a few things out there and my goal is to post (almost) daily.

Interestingly enough, some of what's showing up there amount to PSAs for the FoB (Friends of the Bereaved). I figure if I don't know what the hell I'm doing, you probably don't know either. So, yeah, I'm here to tell ya (in a teaser-go-visit-my-blog sort of way) ...

"There's Good News and Bad News
It occurred to me sometime during the last months of Aida's life that, in general, we just don't pay attention to the obvious: That "till Death Do Us Part" means that one of us is going to die before the other one. One of us is going to go first. " Read more...

And another thing. Life's interesting paradox continues: today I bought three wonderful little bunches of yellow and white daffodils ($1.29 a bunch at the local Trader Joe's). I came home, tended their little green stems with fresh cuts and fresh water, and placed them in a vase. Then, their thirsty bodies swelling in the deep of the vase, I finished the survey for the good folks at San Diego Hospice. The cable radio station was playing an old disco tune .. "If I can't have you, I don't want nobody baby."

WC: Netflix Understands Me!

2009-04-14T15:51:00.003-04:00

Based on my movie ratings, Netflix has developed the following category of recommendations for me:

Steamy Dramas Featuring a Strong Female Lead

Boy, Netflix has my number!

WC: Amazon Mess-Up

2009-04-14T11:26:00.001-04:00

The Amazon mess-up is being fixed. How it happened is still not absolutely clear, but they admitted having made a "ham-fisted" error, and they've been very good with gay books in the past, so I'm inclined to accept it as "one of those things."

My book is now being ranked again. It's the 280,445th best-selling book on Amazon! Don't mess with me.

WC: Reproductive Freedom

2009-04-13T15:52:00.003-04:00

The following is from an article on Iron Chef Cat Cora and her significant other and their children. I would have to say that their ideas of reproductive freedom are on the far end of the, uh, speculum!

Cat and Jennifer have two sons Zoran and Caje. Both Jennifer and Cat are now pregnant with their third and fourth children. According to a press release from Cat Cora, Jennifer carried their first son, who she conceived through artificial insemination. Their second son was carried to term by Jennifer, but this time using Cat's embryo. Now both Cat and Jennifer are pregnant, Cat's pregnancy is the result of in-vitro fertilization with Jennifer's embryo. Jennifer was implanted with embryos from from both women, so the biological mother is unknown. All children have the same sperm donor.

I really don't know what to think about this.

On one hand, it's none of my business. On the other hand, they put out a press release, pretty much making it everyone's business.

And, on one hand, I really believe in people being open about life choices, as it normalizes different options and lets others know that there are many ways to live. On the other hand, I imagine that, once their kids hit middle school, they may feel that their moms released a bit too much information.

And, on one hand, I believe that everyone should have full reproductive freedom. On the other hand, doesn't this all seem, well, a bit much? And doesn't each level of technology (in vitro, carrying someone else's embryo, being implanted with multiple embryos) bring with it an extra risk?

But, hey, God bless 'em, you know? And yay for freedom!

WC: Some Personal Horn-Tooting

2009-04-13T13:35:00.005-04:00

(Photo by Shilo McCabe.)

There's some weirdness happening at Amazon.com, where lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered books have been suddenly put into an "adult" ghetto where they are no longer ranked and are more difficult to find. I'm not going to write about that yet, because it is currently unclear if Amazon.com was hacked and how Amazon is going to respond to the situation.

I did, however, note on Salon.com that my book (The Lesbian Sex Book), along with a number of other titles, was no longer being ranked. And someone with the screen name of Strawberry wrote a wonderful response to me that made my day:

Let me just throw a great big giant personal 'THANK YOU'! I bought my copy of "The Lesbian Sex Book" way back in college and I adored it. I feel all fangirl excited now!

Aw, shucks.

WC: Jerome Robbins Documentary

2009-04-08T14:21:00.002-04:00

(photo by Frederic Ohringer)

Broadway director-choreographer Jerome Robbins was a temperamental genius. People chose to put up with his nastiness because he challenged and inspired them to do better than their best--but few have nice things to say about him as a person. Jerome Robbins: Something to Dance To, a 2009 PBS American Masters documentary, has a lot going for it: a fascinating story, interviews with smart and articulate artists, performance footage, and access to various interviews Robbins gave over the years. It's a solid introduction to, well, an American master.

I do wish, however, that they hadn't put all the footage of Robbins dancing in slow motion, and I also wish they had let the people being interviewed talk more. In particular, in the DVD extras, I wish they hadn't divided people's interviews into thematic sections: for example, Austin Pendleton's comments are spread over four or five sections, and each has to be clicked on individually.

And I mostly wish the documentary had a certain oomph to it. It just wasn't as interesting--to me at least--as I felt it could be.

DW: To Go or Not To Go?

2009-04-06T16:54:00.011-04:00

About 6 months ago I connected (via Facebook) to a childhood friend who (along with her family) has a very significant place in my past and my psyche. When my mother was sick, I stayed with her family for several months, and her mother was someone I loved very much. In the 1960's she was young, glamorous, and reminded me of Samantha on Bewitched. She even had an adorable widow's peak. We would spend hours sitting in the kitchen talking with her about our 6th grade adventures while she ironed her satin sheets--sipping a can of Black Label beer and smoking her Kools.

One of the many highlights of this friendship were the serial sleepovers we would have at each other's house. Though we were in the same class at the same school for many years, our "day" life was very different than our "night" life. In school, we hung out with different people with some overlap, but sleepovers were different. We would watch "Chiller Theater" or Johnny Carson, or any adult'ish movie we deemed relevant and interesting. We would play Barbra Streisand albums and soundtracks to Broadway shows and movies, singing passionately into our respective hair brushes. Goldfinger was a particularly vivid number that we spent hours choreographing and concluded, in our collective 9-year old perspective, that it would be a great strip tease song.

My parents' friends were people that didn't set their alarms for 7:00 am. They travelled the country playing in or managing burlesque houses where they worked with people like Phil Silvers, Danny Lewis (Jerry's father), Abbott and Costello, and many others. It was very Guys and Dolls, and they had a ritual known as "night lunch." This was something I looked forward to during the sleepovers. Night lunch was something you ate after the last show, around midnight. It could be mussels or a ham sandwich, eaten in your hotel room or a nearby bar. When our parents became suburban they thankfully didn't abandon this wonderful habit, which meant cold spaghetti or leftover meatloaf was always a possibility. I remember staying at the Paramount Hotel in New York in 1967 with my parents, walking to the grocery store around the corner to get bread, cheese, bologna, and fruit. We always had an ice bucket in the room, with a small jar of Guilden's mustard nearby.

My friend and I eventually went our separate ways for high school and college, and haven't seen each other since 1977.

I noticed she hadn't been on Facebook for a few weeks and had a feeling that something was very wrong. I poked around and saw a Wall message that a friend had posted that said "you and your mother are in my prayers." Shortly thereafter she wrote me the devastating news...her mother's lingering cough turned out to be stage 4 lung cancer. She said that the X-rays looked like a snow storm.

I decided that I needed to acknowledge her mother's presence in my younger life, and sent her a Teddy Bear last week telling her how much I appreciated her being there for me, ie, being a mother when I didn't have one, and how her tuna fish sandwiches are one of the strongest sensory memories that I have of my childhood. Her secret was putting in a hard boiled egg, but it wasn't too eggy, it was just perfect. I received an email late last night that contained her obituary and then a note from my friend saying that she had received the bear and was very touched.

My dilemma is whether or not to go to the funeral tomorrow. It's 3 hours and a lifetime away. Part of me wants to see everyone and part of me doesn't want my memories tainted by the present. What is there to say after 30 years and all of the sleepovers? My concern is that I don't want to feel like I sometimes feel with my family, ie, having to regress to my 1972 vocabulary of words and experience in order to connect and get through the event at hand. Maybe I'm thinking too much about it, but I'm apprehensive...maybe I should just send flowers and a loving note and suggest that we connect in a less intense set of circumstances.

She is the last parent to leave this world for the next, and it feels a little lonelier knowing that she is no longer here to make those wonderful tuna fish sandwiches.

AV: Changes

2009-04-04T16:15:00.006-04:00

*Backstory: On February 3rd, my beloved wife, Aida Mancillas, took her final breaths on this earth as I lay draped across her chest. Accompanied through the long night by Aida's sister, brother-in-law, and one of the angels from San Diego Hospice, I attended to the sacred duty of helping my love move through the thin veil from here to there. The 60 days since her death have been ... almost indescribable.*

Dear friends,

I'm sorry I haven't been here for a while. It's been a mix of things. In the dark and obscured swamp in which I exist these days, I have been unsure about what or where and whether to post anything.

I have decided that yes, I will. And that I will do so most likely on a separate blog. Or maybe both together. I am undecided.
(Please, I invite your opinions on that question: let me know what you think. A different blog? This blog? Both together with duplicate posts? I really want to hear what you have to say.)

Part of the inner conversation is ongoing between a few of my inner voices. It goes something like this:

AV: No one else is writing about this grieving thing in the queer community. WTF?
Dolly: Yeah, but why are *you* the one who has to do it?
Deirdre: Yeah, and who even wants to hear your whining? The world is depressing enough and we have our own problems.
AV: Thank you for sharing, but I think that maybe my speaking honestly about my experience, maybe just maybe that might give others the permission to talk honestly about it. Even if it's only with themselves.
Dolly: Okay okay, I get it, but why do you have to be so *public* about it? Do you really want that much information out there about you? Haven't you heard about online crime?
AV: I know. I've thought about that. It's the second biggest reason why I've been silent for so long here. The first, of course, is Deirdre.
Deirdre: What?!? What did I do?? Everybody always blames me! I'm really just trying to take up as little room as possible here, y'know ... and *still* I get blamed ..
AV: No no, Deirdre ... what I meant was that I have the same concerns you do. I'm not so sure that anyone cares about what I have to say either. I mean, it's not like I'm posting the daily contents of my refrigerator or anything, but you're right, people have their own problems. What do they care if I'm grieving the death of my wife?
Dolly: well ... maybe ...
AV: Exactly. So I think that's what I'm going to do. I keep my journal, of course, but I can't find much of anything online or in print that speaks to *me* or to the unknown number of LGBT folks who are stumbling in the darkness just like me.
Dolly: So what are you going to do?
AV: I think I'm going to keep my own blog and post every few days about what's up for me, for the friends I have who are in different stages of this journey I'm on, and the resources I discover along the way that can help the next person. Or someone who's suffering just like I am.
Deirdre: Are you at least going to disguise your name?
AV: Not sure yet. Part of me would like to, but I feel it's important to talk fully about my wife, Aida, and to do otherwise would be to dishonor her and her memory. To do that, I need to be "out."
Dolly: Well, whatever. If you want to do this, okay, but just don't drag us into it.
Deirdre: Yeah, good luck with that.
AV: Thanks you guys.

so, that said, here's the link to my first post (some of you will recognize the url):
http://thiseffingblog.blogspot.com/

And an excerpt:
It has occurred to me that no one is writing handbooks for us queer folk on how to manage this thing. I mean, fer crissakes, we aren't even sure how to do weddings, let alone funerals and every single bone crushing day afterwards.

let me know what you think. Dolly and Deirdre are really interested.

WC: A Little Night Music

2009-03-23T13:08:00.001-04:00

My review is up at Show Showdown.

WC: New Review Posted

2009-03-05T14:07:00.001-05:00

I've reviewed Happiness at Show Showdown ("I feel that the show has potential. I guess I just can't rule out those bloodlines.")

WC: God of Carnage

2009-03-04T09:37:00.002-05:00

I've reviewed God of Carnage at Show Showdown ("much of the audience gave the show a standing O--unless they were standing for Tony Soprano, which is completely possible").

WC: Good TV Shows to Netflix

2009-03-01T22:59:00.002-05:00

A friend asked for some recommendations of what TV shows to rent, so I made her a list. I thought it might be of interest to some of you out there.

Some background first: although I own a TV, it is not hooked up to cable or an attenna. For me, it is a DVD-delivery system. As a result, I actually know very little about TV. I've never even seen a reality show.

As a result, I rent DVDs based on other people's suggestions, and the following list includes shows that at least one other person (my sister, a friend, etc) told me to see and that I liked as well. So you're actually getting a few people's recommendations here.

The Wire--drug gangs, cops, newspapers, schools--an entire city brilliantly and heartbreakingly depicted. Could be a strong competitor for best show ever. Not an easy show to watch, however.
Slings & Arrows--Canadian, three seasons, 6 eps per season, each season following a season of a small theatre group doing Shakespeare--Hamlet, R&J, King Lear. Funny, moving, sexy, smart.
Once and Again--newly married couple deals with exes, blended families, etc. Smart, funny, moving, psychologically astute. Unfortunately only 2 seasons are out on DVD. Very well-acted, and everyone is gorgeous, which works both for the show (they're fun to look at) and against it (hard to believe that people that good looking really have problems!)
Sports Night--smart office comedy that takes place at a TV sports show.
Northern Exposure--Jewish doctor ends up in small town in Alaska.
Carnivale--a traveling carnival with people with actual powers, including an ongoing serious fight between good and evil with all sorts of weirdness. Unfortunately, it ended after 2 years, and they had to rush the ending--they really could/should have gone another year.
Pushing Daisies--bizarre, unusual comedy about a man who can bring dead people back to life by touching them. Very quirky, very mannered. If it works for you, it's fabulous. If it doesn't, it's painful. It worked for me.
Samantha Who--another quirky comedy, this one about a woman coming back from amnesia. She used to be a bitch; now she wants to be nice. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but I really like it.
Heroes--regular people with superpowers try to save the world. The first season was quite entertaining--I hear the next two kinda suck. But the first season stands alone very nicely.
24: each season covers 24 hours in the life of a, what?, agent, spy, mega-butch-he-knows-everything govt guy. Violent, edgy, fabulous interesting characters, disturbingly pro-torture, addicting. (I've stopped watching, but I admit to quite enjoying a few years of it.)

WC: Obama's First Month in Office

2009-03-01T16:12:00.003-05:00

For a really nice summation of everything Obama's done--and hasn't done--so far, see this excellent article by Elizabeth Drew:

The Thirty Days of Barack Obama

WC: Aida Mancillas

2009-03-01T12:17:00.006-05:00

I'm sad to say that I only met Aida once, but grateful to say that I met her. In another sense, I can say that I already knew her. When I lived in San Diego, one of my favorite activities was walking across the Vermont Street pedestrian bridge. It wasn't that the bridge had a great view; it spanned a not-particularly-attractive city street. And it wasn't that the bridge was taking me anywhere I wanted to go. It was the bridge itself I liked to visit. Designed by Aida (with Gwen Gomez and Lynn Susholtz), it was full of fun quotations about bridges and about traveling by a range of people of diverse backgrounds (you have to love a multicultural bridge!). The walkway had the definition of the word "bridge" engraved along its length. The bridge was whimsical, smart, open-hearted, and fun--a true reflection of Aida.

During our brief visit, Aida and I talked about the bridge. She showed me the beautiful view from her backyard. We chatted about Andrea, who she adored with her heart and soul. She was lovely and gracious, and I'm very very sad she's gone.

WC: Theatre Reviews

2009-03-01T12:11:00.003-05:00

I am now doing theatre reviews--along with a bunch of other people--at Show Showdown.

My two most recent reviews are of La Sonnambula ("a delightful, gorgeously sung and produced confection") and Mabou Mines DollHouse ("with more coups de theatre per half hour than most directors could be expected to produce in a lifetime").

Please stop by.

Aida Mancillas: Creative community force believed in merging art, life

2009-02-16T16:42:00.002-05:00

Aida Mancillas: Creative community force believed in merging art, life

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WC: Jane Fonda's Blog

2009-02-03T17:42:00.002-05:00

Jane Fonda is keeping a rather interesting blog about being in 33 Variations, due to open on Broadway shortly. I particularly enjoyed this:

But here’s the thing: Looking at these more realistic, unadorned photos of myself, I had to take a deep breath, and with humor and acceptance, allow myself to acknowledge, I mean really allow the truth in– I am old. I am matronly. I asked one of my co-stars, “How come bags under Vanessa Redgrave’s eyes look noble and under mine they look like crap?” “Because she’s British,” he replied.

HC: Another Winter in a Summer Town

2009-02-03T10:12:00.009-05:00

Cape May, New Jersey, in February.

Cape May is the southern most tip of New Jersey. If you go any further, you are in the Atlantic Ocean. The entire town of Cape May is a national historic landmark because of its second largest collection of Victorian houses. San Francisco has the first.

Driving the four hours from Nyack, New York, south on the Garden State Parkway, excitement builds. First you pass the exits for Asbury Park--of course I think of Debra and her love of Bruce Springsteen--then the exits for Atlantic City, with its numerous casinos, boardwalk and, as my friend Robin who recently visited there put it, "a bunch of really weird people, including a huge percentage of large-breasted women with push-up bras and low-cut shirts."

After the AC exits, you drive another hour and finally see signs for Cape May. Normally, in a summer month, I'd love driving forever on the Garden State Parkway. It's nice to see the lush trees, the green landscape, proof that there are still wide open spaces and fresh air in our crowded world. Driving in February the view is stark, desolate, lonely, so seeing "Cape May" signs is a connection with humanity and life. After the signs, you still have to drive what seems like hours to get to that life, represented at first by restaurants with signs with lobsters on them, and whale and dolphin watch invitations. Still you drive, now more slowly, on a one-lane south, one-lane north road, past the occasional Victorian house intermingled with normal, everyday kinda places. The Victorians stick out because of their ornateness, the gingerbread, the multi-colors standing next to stucco or brick or aluminium sided houses. Many of the Victorians even on the outskirts of Cape May are bed and breakfasts, and very inviting, although a 10-minute drive from the coveted beach.

My husband and I are headed closer to the beach, so we keep driving. At Ocean Street we make a left. Up way ahead, I can see a strip of blue that is the ocean. We are almost there. We stop for a red light at Washington Street. To the right is a pedestrians-only outdoor mall of shops. There are no people. It looks like everything is closed...wait! A person!! The light seems to take forever, especially without anyone crossing the street. In August, hundreds of people will be crossing to get to the shops on THAT side of the street, hence the very long red. Finally, the light is green, and we drive just a little longer. What we now see is truly remarkable. Every house is Victorian; most with wraparound porches. Colorful, large, intricate. I feel as if I'd better hang on to my slender thread of reality or I will be transported back over one hundred years...and in my jeans, cotton top, and puffy winter coat I'm not dressed for it. To the right is The Queen Victoria, the main house owned by the same people who own the house we'll be staying in, The Queen's Cottage. Their other two houses are The House of Royals and The Prince Albert Hall.

There are just not enough adjectives in my vocabulary to describe these houses. I hope it's enough to just write, WOW. To know that architects and builders used to care so much, to be so detailed, to create such beauty, and to know that single families used to live in these houses, which are now all multi-roomed bed and breakfasts, is staggering. So much room, such opulence, such riches. Were they happy families, like the Smiths in Meet Me in St. Louis, or dark, tortured families like the Tyrones in Long Day's Journey Into Night (actually, that house was a stick/eastlake Queen Anne, thank you Wikipedia).

The houses have all been renovated, with each room meticulously designed to be as true to the period as possible, but also light and inviting. The Victorian Era was famous for its darkness, heavy fabrics, burgundys, browns, etc. These rooms now have a lot of gold and yellow and sage, the windows are not enclosed in velvet curtains, but light lace to let the sun, if there is any, shine in.

As a guest of The Queen Victoria, we also are welcome to enter and browse through the ground floors of the other buildings. I sample the sherry in each of the parlors, and also look through the 30 or so DVDs in each parlor. Yes, it's funny to see an antique writing desk holding up Intolerable Cruelty and My Cousin Vinny, but that doesn't stop me from taking Dave for possible viewing tonight.

The second part of the B&B is the breakfast, and what a breakfast it was. Served in the Prince Albert Hall dining room, seating 10, the buffet consisted of a hash brown potato bake with scallions, eggs, and cheese, which was fabulous. Cherry tomatoes in a light sauce with parmesan cheese. Cereals, yogurt, granola, fresh fruit salad. Blueberry muffins, bran muffins, and three kinds of sweet breads, with pumpkin, cranberry, apple, and I forget what else. Oh, and of course normal bagels and bread for toasting. All with flowing coffee or tea. Let's just say I'm glad my Weight Watchers sponsors weren't looking. We chat with complete strangers from the four corners of the world, if the world is the northeast. They are from Asbury Park, he's from New Jersey, the three of them are from New York. Kinda funny. The woman sitting next to me talked of her twin sons. The young couple across from me were very lovely. He's recovering from a basketball injury. She's a teacher of the deaf, fluent in sign language, and with adorably curly hair. We swap hair care product tips.

At 4 there is an afternoon tea. Again, bottomless cups of two varieties of brewed tea, oatmeal cranberry cookies, brownies, and a red pepper dip for crackers. When we got back to our inn after dinner, the left over cookies were there wrapped in plastic wrap for us to enjoy. The Queen's Cottage, which consists of two rooms with shared pantry/living area, is where the owners of the inns live, upstairs. The other room on our floor is unoccupied, so we have the coffee/tea maker all to ourselves, as well as this incredibly comfortable leather couch. Sorry, you former animal, you.

I've enjoyed every cup of tea, coffee, cookie, meal. There's more to Cape May than food, though...at least I think. We went for a walk on the boardwalk at sunset. Passing only four other couples and a few kids on scooters in the mile walk, it's a lonely, deserted beachside resort in February. I spotted three surfers! Just how warm are wet suits?

Right now we are sitting on the comfy couch. It's peaceful, quiet, and the snow is gently falling. We are going to go for a walk past all the Victorians. I've been to Cape May in nicer weather at least four other times (I miss you, Kathy! Yes, the stitching shop is still here). Although I miss the sunshine, the smell of sunscreen, the hustle and bustle of vacationers--bicycles zooming past, a steady stream of people heading toward the beach, cars!--there's something subdued and magical about a town that's more than half closed. When we drove to a restaurant last night, we passed about a hundred houses closed up for the summer, without a single light shining from inside. Dead houses they seemed, but really more just hybernating until their owners come back to turn on the porch lights, plant flowers, fire up the grill.

There's a bittersweetness to wintering in a summer town. I don't know that I could live here, but it's very nice to visit.

WC: A Sea of CDs

2009-01-31T21:36:00.004-05:00

I don't mean the CDs that have money in them. I mean those old-fashioned, round, shiny things that some of us middle-aged people still use rather than iPods. (It was only two minutes ago that CDs were the miraculous future of recorded music, but the future comes and goes quickly these days.)

Since I own hundreds of CDs (to be honest, I'm not sure how it happened), I decided that it would be interesting to actually listen to them. All of them. Not just the ones that are on frequent rotation. I considered listening to them in alphabetical order, or by category, or chronologically, but I decided that random order suits me best.

As it happened, the first CD was Kristin Chenoweth's Let Yourself Go, which includes a range of show songs and standards, along with an art song or two. Chenoweth's timing was excellent: she recorded the CD just as she was supposed to become a TV star with her sitcom Kristin. I assume that is why she got to sing with a band rather than the single piano that so many Broadway performers have to settle for. Kirstin turned out to be a flop the size of which hadn't been seen since, well, Nathan Lane's sitcom, but the CD was already made.

And a lovely CD it is. It largely shows Kristin at her best, relying on the extraordinary beauty of her voice with subtle phrasing, as opposed to Kristin at her worst, when she flounces around demanding, "Love me, love me!" I think that she is prodigiously talented but not always good. In this CD, however, she is wonderful. Her My Funny Valentine is the best I've ever heard, with a simple declarative style that allows the one little catch in her voice late in the song to express a world of emotion.

WC: My First Theatre Review in Years

2009-01-31T21:28:00.004-05:00

I have just joined a blog called Show Showdown. For a couple of years, the Show Showdown-ers have been posting short reviews of plays and competing to see the most shows in a year. They recently opened the blog up to more contributors, and I am one of three newbies. I'm unlikely to win the competition, as I "only" see about 60 shows a year (the others see dozens, hundreds), but I'm very pleased to be involved. (When I lived in San Diego, I was a theatre critic for a while.)

Amusingly enough, I immediately succumbed to a theatre buzz word. My friends and I often laugh when actors are interviewed, because we know that they will use the words "arc" and "journey." It could be a drinking game, with a double shot when a performer uses both words in the same sentence.

So, yes, I used the word "arc." In my very first review. It was the right word. Oh well.

SS: Queen Meabh in the Flesh!

2009-01-17T20:54:00.003-05:00

When I saw the cover of The New York Times magazine this morning, I was rather non-plussed. "OBAMA's PEOPLE" shouted the headline at me, with the subhead indicating a series of photographs of all the people who are working or going to be working with our soon-to-be president. While I'm thrilled that the Bush era is over and we are going to have a president who might actually help our country rather than push it further into social, economic and educational oblivion, I really didn't care about seeing a bunch of photos of Washington politicos.

I grew up in the DC metro area, and since I fled for New York in 1999, I have sort of knee-jerk gut retch whenever I think about my hometown. I have "issues" with DC -- it was just not my kind of town -- a severe lack of diversity among class, race, ethnicity and occupation, an unhealthy obsession with educational status, too much middle-of-the-road, "I don't want to say anything radical"-type political views, very little to do after 5pm except for bars, and my number-one complaint: Too few dating options for straight gals such as myself.

So I opened up the magazine, expecting to see page after page of wonks -- yes, "the wonks of hope" for this is to be the administration of hope -- but still wonks. Wonks are not generally thrilling photography subjects.

I was not disappointed. Aside from the opening shot of Rahm Emanuel doing his best arms-akimbo Henry VIII pose -- it was wonk after wonk.

And then I saw her. I'm not a New Age/Pagan kind of person, but the first thing that came to my mind was that this was a living reincarnation of Queen Meabh (Maeve), the mythical Irish Queen and goddess. Not because this woman had long red hair, green eyes and wore a Celtic pendent on a chain around her neck -- but because she radiated the kind of brilliance, confidence, and an interesting sense of...sovereignty is sort of the word...that are qualities very often attributed to Meabh. In her goddess form, Meabh was thought to imbue new kings with power - ancient Irish kings performed a symbolic marriage with her when they came to their thrones. Honestly -- this is what popped into my head the moment I saw her.

It was a photo of Samantha Power, who won a Pulitzer Prize for her writings about genocide and has consistently been one of the most passionate, articulate and influential advocates against genocide this generation has likely ever known. She is one of my heroines (yes, even with the "monster" debacle) and before I saw this picture, I never really "saw" her. This photo just really brought the essence of her out, and it is beautiful. This woman is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

Click here for the link to the online gallery featuring the photo of Samantha Power.

WC: Who Steals My Purse Steals Trash, But Who Steals My Identity Really Pisses Me Off

2009-01-12T19:45:00.004-05:00

I got one of those robo-calls from my charge card yesterday. It sounded different from the others--maybe even authentically important--but I totally forgot about it.

Then today, I went on line to check my credit card balance and discovered that I had purchased three Delta flights to Atlanta. Except I hadn't.

So I called the 800 number on my charge card. I was eventually connected to a nice man with an Indian accent (duh) who kept trying to convince me that these were disputed charges rather than fraud. He wanted me to call Delta and ask why they had made these charges. I kept telling him that that was irrelevant, and he kept insisting. I finally thought to mention the phone call of yesterday, and he pressed some buttons and suddenly discovered that I had indeed been the victim of fraud.

So he transferred me to the fraud department where I spoke to a nice woman named Velma. (I hadn't known that Velma was an Indian name.) She was so used to taking fraud reports that she spoke at 1000 words a minute. With a thick Indian accent. I teach seminars on dealing with identity theft, and I couldn't tell what the heck she was talking about.

After asking her to repeat herself and slow down--about half a dozen times--we got the fraud report submitted. Then she started reading me instructions on what to do next. She read so fast that she sounded like that super-fast talker in the Fed Exp commercials. Only with a thick Indian accent.

I had already spent half an hour dealing with this, and I had just begun. I don't know what people who work on assembly lines do when their identities get stolen. I wouldn't be surprised if they have to take off from work just to make phone calls.

Next I went on line to the credit services. I started with Experian, which allows you to put a fraud alert on your credit report via the Net. So I filled out the form and pressed submit, and it told me that my address was missing. It wasn't. I put it in again and hit submit. It told me that my address was missing. It wasn't. I put it in again, with no commas or number sign and hit submit. It told me my address was missing.

I called Experian and got their automatic telephone fraud report machine. This worked pretty well except that the telephone voice rattled out my many-digit confirmation number out so fast that I thought it was competing with Velma. And it rattled it out once. Only once.

Then I decided to put in another report. Officially, once you've submitted a report to any of the three agencies, it has to share the report with the other two. But I don't trust other people/companies with something that is that important to me--and anyway, their website didn't inspire me with confidence--so I decided to submit a report to TransUnion.

I went on its website and found the fraud report form. (By the way, it wasn't particularly easy to find the form on either agency site.) I filled it out, pressed submit, and got a page full of code and error messages. Very reassuring, huh? At least when I called TransUnion, its machine voice said my confirmation number slowly and asked me if I wanted it to repeat it. I did.

I decided to then focus on informing companies that automatically bill my charge card that the account had been closed. Guess what? It was really hard to figure out how to get the info to some of them. Big surprise, huh?

At this point, my lunch hour was up and I was facing multiple deadlines, so I left the rest to deal with tonight. And now I'm going to do just that, feeling incredibly grateful that I have a computer at home, that I am literate, that I understand finance, that I can make phone calls from work--and feeling incredibly worried about people who are not as lucky as I am.

SS: This May Explain Some of My Quirks

2009-01-10T20:12:00.005-05:00

My mother and father have two main hobbies each. My mother is a doll collector and my father loves tinkering with antique phone gear. I grew up in a house filled with 100-plus phones, most of which operated through a 40s-era switchboard my father purchased from a funeral home when I was 12 years old. My mother, for her part, had many more dolls than me when I was a kid. I think that may be why I have no maternal instinct, but that is another story. Recently, she's really stepped it up -- acquiring around 25 in the past year alone.

I suppose it was only a matter of time for my parents' twin obsessions to intertwine, and look! Here we have it. Yes. My father sent me this picture this morning. It is a picture of a doll on a switchboard. He tagged it, "In these troubled times, I need all the help I can get!"

WW: Obama's Inauguration

2009-01-10T11:45:00.003-05:00

When Obama invited Rick Warren to pray at his inauguration, my first response was disappointment. My second response was to tell myself, hey, he's reaching out to other people, which he said he would do, and he tends to know what he's doing. I was still uneasy, so I read editorials and spoke to friends to see if there was anything I hadn't considered that I needed to consider.

There were and are a million opinions out there. For example, Frank Rich of the New York Times, who thought it was a bad decision, wrote,

[Warren] was vociferously attacked by the Phyllis Schlafly gang when he invited Obama to speak about AIDS at his Saddleback Church two years ago.

There’s no reason why Obama shouldn’t return the favor by inviting him to Washington. But there’s a difference between including Warren among the cacophony of voices weighing in on policy and anointing him as the inaugural’s de facto pope. You can’t blame V. Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, the first openly gay Episcopal bishop and an early Obama booster, for feeling as if he’d been slapped in the face. “I’m all for Rick Warren being at the table,” he told The Times, but “we’re talking about putting someone up front and center at what will be the most-watched inauguration in history, and asking his blessing on the nation. And the God that he’s praying to is not the God that I know.”

On the other hand, E.J. Dionne Jr. of The Washington Post, wrote,

Although I support gay marriage, I think that liberals should welcome Obama's success in causing so much consternation on the right. On balance, inviting Warren opens more doors than it closes.

During my research, I found that I agreed with much of what people wrote and said, both pro and con.

Then I discussed the situation with my friend Rodney and some other friends. We discussed it as a disappointment, and we discussed it as a sort-of-acceptable political move, and we discussed how Obama seems to know what he's doing, and then Rodney said, "But it's not my inaugural anymore."

And that sentence hit me like a ton of bricks. In all my thinking about this decision, I had ignored what I had been feeling. And Rodney hit it on the nose. I was really, truly upset. And I am really, truly upset.

Rodney also mentioned that he had replied to a request for a donation from Obama's people with a, uh, somewhat pointed response that they shouldn't approach him anymore. I copied his idea, but I didn't tell them to stop contacting me. Instead, any time they approach me, I write about my disappointment and how, after giving hundreds of dollars, I have no interest in giving any more money. I end with the line, "I wish Obama supported me as much as I supported him."

Now I'm trying to figure out (1) how to let my disappointment go, and (2) whether to let it go.

I was so excited when Obama won. I was flat-out thrilled. Of course, I understood that he wouldn't be able to be too overtly pro-gay right off the bat. And I knew that he would inevitably disappoint me--and everyone else too! But I didn't expect this symbolic slap in the face, so soon. If that is what this is.

After all this thinking, I've decided to hold off deciding what I think and to see what the future brings. I'm still disappointed, but I have decided to be cautiously optimistic.

Here's hoping!

SS: When Did My Neighborhood Become The Heart of Darkness?

2009-01-05T07:16:00.003-05:00

I have to stop reading “The City” section of “The New York Times.” It seems as though every other week there’s another article about my Queens neighborhood, Jackson Heights, and more times than not, after reading the piece, I want to crumple the entire section into a jagged little ball and shove it down the writer’s throat, hard. This is because few writings about Jackson Heights are anything more than dime-store travelogues, which treat my neighborhood as though it’s some ethnic zoo, to be visited and thrilled at and then, if the tigers and polar bears don’t feel like eating the crackers you throw over the fence at them – dismissed, one way or the other. It’s insulting.

I opened up “The City” section yesterday morning to a typical example. The teaser above the piece read, “He hoped to find in Queens the exoticism he loved from his years abroad. But again and again, the doors to this world slammed shut.” I could tell this was going to be a good one, so I read on.

The writer describes moving to Jackson Heights in 2006 in an effort to discover the “discreet ethnic underworlds” of Queens, which he assumes will be as exciting and personally fulfilling as those “exotic environments” he left behind when he returned to the United States after living for six years in what he refers to only as “developing nations.” Presumably one of those nations is Indonesia, as he notes having lived for two years in the world’s largest Islamic country.

Unfortunately, this plan doesn’t work out for the writer, as the denizens of Jackson Heights and other immigrant-heavy Queens enclaves don’t seem to want to deliver on the exotic goodies the writer presumes are just hiding above every storefront or in a backroom of every restaurant. He details his many efforts to penetrate “the underworld” throughout the course of 18 months. He tries several times to get in the door at an unmarked Korean bar under the 7 train on Roosevelt Avenue, and his knocks always go unanswered, despite the obvious action going on inside, until, finally, he gets in the door, only to be greeted by a Korean woman who shouts, “No! Korea! Korea! Only Korea!”

There are many similar instances. He goes to a “crusty bar” where he encounters “Irishmen equipped with authentic accents and swollen red cheeks” (at least he can cross “find a drunken Irishman to add flare to NYT piece” off his to-do list), only to be made fun of when he orders root beer instead of booze. Luckily for him, one of the Irish men makes a racist remark, so he can dismiss this piece, which doesn’t fit in with his “Jackson Heights-the-ethnic-Disneyworld” narrative and move on to pester those living that more authentic Jackson Heights life, the ones located in the “vibrant South Asian communities” around 74^th Street and Roosevelt Avenue.

Over in the vibrant heart of Jackson Heights, while “documenting the neighborhood’s colorful streets” with his camera, the writer runs into some trouble in his attempts to capture locals striking their ethnic poses: They run away from him. He notes that he can hear several saying “snitching” and “immigration” under their breath. I have to question if this is true. I think you’d have to have superhero ears to actually be able to hear someone mumbling under their breath on a typically crowded, noisy Jackson Heights street. More likely, he asked people to pose for him, and they refused.

And I applaud them for refusing. I’d do the same thing, though I’m a white girl who was born in this country, and therefore have no appeal to writers like the one in this yesterday’s paper. I don’t fit into the Jackson Heights narrative that was clearly already in the head of this writer before he ever took his first step off the 74^th Street stop of the 7 train. I just go about my business here, living with my husband, walking my dog, getting groceries, looking for parking. All the same things that millions of people across the city (maybe in Manhattan there are less looking for parking and more looking for empty seats on the subway) do every day. And these are the same things the people in my neighborhood do as well, whether they are Colombian, Pakistani, Korean, Filipino or any other ethnicity, “exotic” or not. They are people – not models posing in a diorama at the Museum of Natural History.

At the end of the piece, the writer says he moved back to Manhattan. I hope he finds what he’s looking for there, probably it's “authentic city living” or something similar. He had it in Jackson Heights, but he couldn’t see past his own narrative.

AV: These Boots Are Made For Walking

2009-01-03T00:45:00.000-05:00

Aida has asked for boots. Nice handcrafted cowboy boots from the small shop in Golden Hill near The Big Kitchen. She has been talking about them a lot over the last few days.

The only problem is that she isn't doing any walking these days. In fact, I don't think that she's left the hospital bed provided by the good people of San Diego Hospice at all since Thanksgiving. Even that was difficult, although the trip to her parents' house in Oceanside to spend a few hours with the whole family was worth it. Mostly. The excursion exhausted her for two days. Since then she has only left our bedroom for Christmas, which was held at her sister's house. It was a mixed bag. Family surrounded her -- as did an unfamiliar room. She found peace again once we returned home.

The last weeks have seen a steady stream of visitors. Family, friends. Hospice workers (such wonderful people!!). And love. Such love. You can't imagine. Really.

The last few days she has announced to all who come, "I'm dying. It's so odd. But there it is. I didn't think it would happen to me, but I guess it is. Curious." She speaks clearly about the work there is to do, and yet allows sometimes for the possibility that all that is left is to "relax into it." And at others she is adamant that she isn't going anywhere, thank you, and who the heck are they talking about that is supposed to be dying. Not her. No Ma'am. Uh uh.

And the incredible thing about this journey is that at each stage I am given the inestimable gift of her company in a way that allows me to get kind of used to the idea of where we are. And maybe a little bit of where we're going. Each day frightens me to my core. I don't know what will happen. I am terrified that whatever change that may occur is the one that will shake me apart. And yet. And yet, when the terrifying changes happen, we manage it. And the conversations of the most recent days together have allowed us both to ponder. To wonder. To acknowledge the ridiculousness and craziness of it all. Because make no mistake about it, it IS most certainly crazy. Just plain wrong. But still, we are coming to understand it together.

While talking the other day, she said to me that being brave was not necessary.
"Don't be brave. Just be worthy of all of your accomplishments here."

She is marvelous, ladies and gentlemen. She is the most extraordinary human being I have ever met. Beyond all that pap about snowflakes and uniqueness, because while that is true, it is truer for Aida than for anyone else. I have never ever met anyone like her and I am pretty certain that she is the only one there is. Or ever has been. She is amazing. She is Aida.

http://www.carepages.com/carepages/Aida

HC: My Evening with Emma, Dustin, and "Last Chance Harvey"

2008-11-22T12:08:00.009-05:00

On Monday, November 17, I attended a Screen Actors Guild screening of the new movie Last Chance Harvey, starring Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson (see www.lastchanceharvey.com, for a trailer that gives away far too much!). The indie will be released in the United States on December 26th. The movie was described in Entertainment Weekly as a Before Sunrise (or Sunset, I don’t know the difference) for the AARP set, which, although derisive and dismissive, isn’t altogether untrue. I would describe it as a well-done romance between two intelligent grown-ups. We movie-goers know how rare that is.

After the screening, both stars were interviewed by a writer from Entertainment Weekly. Yes, Hoffman and Thompson trotted out, climbed up on high director’s chairs, and sat below and in front of the huge screen where minutes before the audience saw their faces huge, movie-screen high. It’s a great testament to both of them that they didn’t diminish in scope at all.

Hoffman sat in the middle, slouching and playing with his microphone like a little boy. He was very likable. When asked questions about his craft, he sort of shrugged and said, in his own wonderful words, just do it. The man has won tons of awards since he started acting in the early 1960s, including two Oscars (Kramer vs. Kramer and Rain Man). While Hoffman is a great actor, I’d never go out of my way to see a movie he’s in. Emma Thompson is another story…I simply adore her, and would crawl on broken glass to see her in anything. Also a two-time Oscar winner (Best Actress in Howards End, and Best Screenplay for Sense & Sensibility), Thompson is beloved by many. If you’ve seen Thompson as Margaret Schlegel in Howards End (one of my favorite films), or Miss Kenton in The Remains of the Day (another one of my favorite films), or Elinor Dashwood in Sense & Sensibility (uh, yes, another one of my favorite films), or the nonperiod The Tall Guy or Love Actually (hey! neither one is on my list of favorite films…but she’s great in both, especially the latter, bringing realism and heartbreak to an otherwise cotton-candy film), then you may feel you know Emma Thompson. She is an actress who brings a lot of who she is to each part. Actually an (ex-) friend once commented that that was what he didn’t like about Thompson: that she always plays herself in movies. I do not feel that to be true…hence, the "ex-" (although his opinion of Thompson was only one of many reasons for the end of our friendship). Thompson is not Carrington or Gareth Pierce in In the Name of the Father, both actual people she has played, but she'll make you think she is.

But I digress.

At the start of the Q&A, Thompson teased Hoffman about his use of the hand-held microphone, warning him that if he held it too close to his mouth, he “sounded like God.” Hoffman answered that he’d “always wanted Charlton Heston’s roles.” Hoffman and Thompson first worked together, albeit briefly, on Stranger Than Fiction. It was enough, however, for them to know they loved working together, had the same work ethic, and similar senses of humor. Hoffman has stated “It’s wonderful to work with someone, to have that kind of unusual experience, where the sexual innuendos are exactly the same for both of us at the same moment!”

Thompson talked a lot about the WORK of acting, that it’s hard and you have to work at it all the time. She is simply not impressed with herself at all! When asked about how she managed to write the screenplay for Sense & Sensibility, she said Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, screenwriter of most of the Merchant Ivory films, had advised her about “dramatizing everything in the book” and then seeing which parts worked and which didn’t. Editing, editing, editing down until you got to a filmable screenplay, and that she was never really sure it was “right.” The questioner said, “Well you did something right because you won the Oscar,” and she said, in essence, that that didn’t mean or prove anything, and that’s never why you attempt something. When an audience member wanted Hoffman to sign her 20-years-in-the-making Hoffman scrapbook, and then asked Thompson to sign it, Thompson said, “But this is all about Dusty, are you sure you want my name on it?”

In discussing the making of the movie (no spoilers here), both stars talked about being very impressed with the other one. Thompson made an acting choice that floored Hoffman, doing a line towards the end of the film in a totally unexpected way. Last Chance Harvey was mostly filmed chronologically, but Thompson talked about having to do the very last scene from The Remains of the Day first! She said somehow it worked for her and Anthony Hopkins, and that almost any disturbance or difficulty or mishap can be used within the character you are playing to benefit the film. Both actors talked about collaborating with the second-time director of LCH, Joel Hopkins, who also wrote and directed a movie called Jump Tomorrow. Hopkins was occasionally uneasy about the level of input from these two veterans, but learned to trust their instincts and improvising. Thompson talked about a scene in an airport bar, where, during the rehearsal, she and Hoffman circled around the bar and tables “like cats” until they found the best, most natural, most beneficial places for each of them to sit. Would her character be facing the entrance or would her back be towards Hoffman when he entered, etc. Perhaps minor things, but fascinating to listen to from these aces.

One person asked Hoffman if a scene of him on the phone shot from outside a large-windowed part of the airport was “an homage” to The Graduate. Another asked if his LCH character name “Harvey Shine” was at all a tribute to an early play Hoffman was in called Jimmy Shine. Hoffman said neither thing had ever even occurred to him until audiences brought them up.

Thompson’s answers were well thought out, beautifully delivered, and seemingly from the heart. Onscreen and off—and I can report this first-hand now—she is intelligent, sparkling, funny, warm, and just plain lovely in every sense of the word. After the question and answer period, many members of the audience gathered around each actor. I stood near Thompson and watched as she shook hands, took pictures, and chatted with many of them. She was so present, moving in closer to talk, her eyes never leaving the eyes of the one person in front of her. She was…lovely.

I’ve admired Thompson for years. Did you know she was a part of ActionAid, visiting people in Africa to spread information about HIV, AIDS, and condom use? (See http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/talking_point/3245021.stm for an interview.) She is also fighting sex trafficking with Public Service Announcements and a planned Times Square installation (see youtube and www.the-journey.co.uk).

Last Chance Harvey is far from a flaw-free movie. One plot point doesn’t work, and one is thrown in for cheap laughs and wasn’t all that funny. However, it’s worth seeing for two actors at the top of their game, some interesting supporting people (James Brolin, Kathy Baker, Richard Schiff, Eileen Atkins, and Liane Balaban, who gave a powerful performance in the role of Hoffman’s daughter), and for the London travelogue. I admit it was a little hard to concentrate on the film, knowing that at the end of it I’d see, in person, an actress I’ve admired for 15 years! I’m also sure that I’ll like the film even more seeing it a second time at the end of December.

AV: Perspective from San Diego

2008-11-20T21:49:00.003-05:00

From time to time I post the column that I write for the monthly newsletter of the San Diego Democratic Club, which has been fighting for LGBT rights for 35 years and, at present, is the largest club in San Diego and one of the largest LGBT clubs in the state. That said, boy howdy, politics ...

-------
President's Perspectives: Nov 2008

So much has happened since I last sat to write this column and yet, some things haven’t changed. I, like many of you, am still reeling from the aftermath of the election. And, like all of you, I’m heavily conflicted about the results. Torn. Kinda messed up, actually.

On the one hand, wow … President-Elect Barack Obama. Those are words strung together in a crazy wonderful sort of way, aren’t they? It’s almost too marvelous, but I’m catching up quickly to the reality of it. Did you hear he’s doing the traditional Saturday Radio Address on YouTube? President Barack Obama. Nice.

This is the result of a politics of hope that combined innovation with structure and discipline. It’s the ascension of a way of thinking that includes rather than excludes and allows for the idea that maybe there’s enough for everyone. Enough hope. Enough voice. Enough change. Enough equality. Enough.

But on the other side, there’s the fallout of politics as we have come to know … and loathe … it. It’s a politics of fear, of scarcity, and of polarization. It’s a politics that calls to our darker impulses and tells us there’s not enough. There’s only so much to go around. And if that’s true, then there’s only enough for “us” and we can’t let “them” get to it because “they” will take it all and leave us with nothing but our fear for company.

Proposition 8 was won with exactly that sort of politics. It is based on scarcity. There is obviously not enough equality to go around. In the fearful hearts of our staunchest opponents, there’s only one sort of “special” and if we are allowed to share in that specialness – the dignity of marriage – then it would no longer be special for them. Spoiled. Diluted. Not enough.

Perhaps we, as individuals, as a community and as a country, have grown too used to the lexicon of fear and mistrust over the last 8+ years. We have become accustomed to the behavior and spiritual/mental patterns of fear and defense. For some, that fear and defensiveness is in response to the unknown and the perceived danger of the Other. For some the fear is one of the known – the already-experienced – such as the prevailing of discrimination made law with the passage of Proposition 8.

All of this is held together with a dangerous expression of duality. Us vs. Them. If “Us” is good, then “Them” is bad, evil, or at least highly suspect. It becomes about our own tribal affiliation, law, and ultimately it becomes about division.

In the “Us” camp, to continue in the familiarity of our own mythology means to necessarily deny the complexity and humanity of our opponents. But sometimes our “opponents” are simply competitors. Regardless of how far afield or similar our ideologies may be, our tribal mythologies require that “we” form a separation from “them” and furthermore, that the difference must be reinforced, no matter how small.

We experienced this as a nation and as Democrats during the Primary while the Clinton and Obama campaigns spiraled into bitterness and divisiveness – and not because there were substantial differences in policy, perspective, or politics. These were two excellent candidates, both of whom many Democrats everywhere were delighted to have as potential Presidents.

We saw what happened and rather than focus on the weeks and months leading up to the Primary, I think it’s much more important to review what has happened since: a unity among Democrats that many pundits said could not happen. Democrats everywhere stood and listened to our better angels: the progressive values of expansive hope, increased opportunity, welcome diversity, full equality. An end to the politics of fear and scarcity.

And today, a little more than a week after the stunning contrast of one ecstatic victory and one desperate defeat, reports of 20 thousand marching in the streets of San Diego and many multiple thousands across California and the nation in the largest civil rights actions in decades.

Ah, this has done my activist heart good. As a longtime friend remarked to me as we walked the march route last Saturday, I knew barely a handful of the 10 thousand that were there. What a marvelous thing!

So many of those marching, rallying, and standing up have never done this sort of thing before. The organizers themselves are new to this kind of activism, most having never marched or demonstrated for anything anywhere anytime in their lives. How’s that for Democracy?

Next steps? This is surely part of the continuing path to justice for all and to the dream of shared equality and dignity fully realized. We heard many times over the last year that we were standing at the edge of history. How true that was. We just didn’t know it would look like this.

This, my friends, is an opportunity to reframe and reform into the sort of movement that includes, dignifies, and believes without question that there is enough for everyone. This is an opportunity to rediscover and reinforce a new politics of respect, of complexity, and of diversity of approach and perspective. An opportunity for so many more to engage deeply and passionately in all that we and those that came before us have worked for.

This is our chance for change. Hope, anyone?

AV: Stonewall 2.0

2008-11-16T02:00:00.008-05:00

All over the nation, demonstrations took place against the passing of Proposition 8 in CA, an amendment to the state constitution that took away an existing right for one single group of California citizens.

Thousands in cities all over California, and in Las Vegas, Memphis, New Jersey, New York, Washington DC, Dallas, Baltimore, Missoula, Minneapolis, Jacksonville, Phoenix, Anchorage ... and other cities all over the country stood up for equality.

But the largest was here at home: San Diego.
An estimated 20,000 to 30,000 people (est by police).

(for those of you who know the city, this is Broadway looking westbound towards the harbor. The marchers are turning from southbound 6th Ave to westbound Broadway.)

The organizer, 23-year-old Sara Beth Brooks, stepped up after seeing JoinTheImpact.com, a site started by another young 20-something woman in Seattle. Using the internet and text messages, Sara organized a core group of new-to-all-this activists and as a result, over 20,000 people marched peacefully and energetically here in San Diego.

Ah ... it does my activist heart a great deal of good.

Last week, our march was 8-10K folks organized in only two days. I was honored to deliver the keynote at the Rally, having worked with the also-new-to-all-this organizers to massage key logistics and message clarification. You know, wonky stuff. Boy oh boy. What a rush.

What are you waiting for? This is the next step. History, baby.

--------------
and some more media above, a couple of photos from one of today's organizer-type folks, Sachi Wilson (#2, #3)and Rex Wockner, a local (and national) journalist (photo #1).

WC: Good News All Around

2008-11-08T08:44:00.002-05:00

In the past elections I donated money to Gore and Kerry, and after each lost, I said the same thing: "I want my money or my country back."

This year, all four people I donated to won!

--Barak Obama--PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
--Jeanne Shaheen--Senator, NH
--Kay Hagan--Senator, NC
--Betsy Markey--Congresswoman, CO

How lovely to be part of the zeitgeist!

And, after years of turning off the radio the second "my" president's voice came on, I am now basking in Obama's lovely turns of phrase, noun-verb agreement, and actual content!

We have a smart president. Yay!

And I'm, ahem, finally proud to be American.

Yes, hope is the word.

HC: WOW

2008-11-05T21:52:00.002-05:00

I feel something I haven't felt in so long: hope.

With a dignified, smart, and charming leader, perhaps America can start to heal?

With a person of color at the helm, perhaps America can be brought into the 21st Century?

President Obama will have a tough job. Perhaps the collective hope and happiness of all of us will somehow assist him?

Here's hoping! What a wonderful thing!!

SS: The Morning After (11-4-08)

2008-11-05T16:48:00.003-05:00

I saw this sign outside a cafe in Manhattan, and couldn't resist having my own "sailor kisses a nurse in Times Square" moment.

~Sarah "Last shudder of the WASP Ascendancy" Stanfield

WC: President Obama

2008-11-03T14:48:00.000-05:00

It has a nice ring, doesn't it?

(konohurrah, knock wood, etc)

WC: Delusion vs Inspiration

2008-10-30T12:19:00.002-04:00

I'm reading Steve Martin's fascinating book, Born Standing Up, and I am once again struck by the fact that hard work can trump talent and skill--and can even lead to talent and skill. At one point Martin says something along the lines of, "Since I had no talent, it was lucky that I was obsessive."

Later in the book, reflecting on a youthful announcement that his act was going "to go avant-garde," he says:

I'm not sure what I meant, but I wanted to use the lingo, and it was seductive to make these pronouncements. Through the years, I have learned that there is no harm in charging oneself up with delusions between moments of valid inspiration.

Personally, I didn't understand the importance of hard work until I was well into my 30s, and even now I battle with resistance and sloth. And I play mind games with myself. For example, I'll tell myself, "It's okay that I didn't work on my screenplay since I've been so busy with my freelance project." Well, that's probably physically, emotionally, and morally true, but it doesn't get the screenplay written!

WC: Invasion of the Economy Snatchers?

2008-10-29T12:55:00.004-04:00

As always, I passed by the New York Stock Exchange today on my way to work. I didn't see the usual military men with their machine guns--perhaps since the stock market lost a third of its value, the Homeland Security people aren't bothering to guard it any more. On this overcast day, there were few tourists, although a very thin, straight, white woman in a trench coat was taking a picture of a very thin, straight, white man in a trench coat. Up on the steps of the Federal Bldg, just to the right of the statue of George Washington being sworn in as president, a reporter, camera man, boom operator, and one or two other people prepared to record a news report. The coat-less reporter flapped his arms and danced around a bit to keep warm. And streams of people flew down Wall Street to get to work.

In the midst of this, four people stood still. They were in a straight line, facing in the same direction as the people passing by, three in a row, then about 15 feet, and then the fourth. They had all stopped as though frozen in mid-step. And they stood still. And stood still. And stood still.

Meanwhile, dozens and dozens of people dashed by, paying them no more attention than they would a fire hydrant or any other inanimate object in their paths. I too was going pretty fast, and I only registered them out of the corner of my eye, almost as a blur.

And had the distinct feeling that they were pod people.

It only lasted a second. It became immediately clear that they were, what?, performance artists? People kidding around?

But for that second, I was waiting for Nicole Kidman/Donald Sutherland/Kevin McCarthy (pick one) to come darting past me, running for her/his life.

It was a cool second.

AV; HOPE!!! HOPE!!! Give them Hope.

2008-10-25T13:10:00.002-04:00

An excerpt from a speech by Harvey Milk, San Francisco County Supervisor who was assassinated in the 1970s.

Harvey got it.

So should you.

Guest Blogger: Krystal C'Costa

2008-10-20T21:45:00.001-04:00

I have a cane. It's on loan from my friend, Wendy, and I'm using it to help me get around (which is what canes are for, I suppose) while I recover from a sprained ankle. I hopefully won't need it much longer, but as means of preserving what remains of my self respect (the story behind my fall is a bit silly and a result of me being somewhat clueless), I turned my cane into a social experiment.

NYC subway commuters are known for being cranky--particularly in the morning. We're all sleepy and there is nothing more prized than a morning rush hour seat on the subway, where you can close your eyes for a few minutes and dream of coffee and bagels from the "man in the can" in front of your building. For a healthy person, if you get a seat it's gold, and if you don't, well you stand there kind of grouchily and try your hardest to make people move around you but its not the end of the world. When you're injured though and need assistance to move around, every step requires immense amounts of energy from you. It's exhausting. So getting a seat is the anthropological equivalent of uncovering Lucy.

So here is what I found:
Boarding the train:
On the LIRR, people were more willing to let me board first; they even cleared a little path for me.
On the subway, no one appeared to see me. They averted their eyes and flowed past me in an effort to get the elusive seats.

Seats:
Adult males were more likely than adult females to offer me a seat if none were available.
Teen males were more lilkely than teen females to offer me a seat if none were available.
Overall, teens were more likely than adults to offer me a seat if none were available.

Exiting the train:
Males were overall more likely to allow me to exit before them.
Males were also more likely to allow me to exit the train before attempting to board the train themselves.

What does this mean? It raised a few questions for me:
(1) Is a there sense of humanity that we lose as we get older? The teens seemed to have more human sense than adults. In addition, I noticed that they were more likely than adults to offer seats to struggling moms. Or is that as adults, we become so self absorbed that we fail to see the needs of others? Now it is reasonable to say that adults are more likely than teens to be tired or suffering from an illness or ailment that is not visible. And if that's the case, and then they are quite fortunate! And by no means should they then be forced to stand unnecessarily. But if its more the case that adults have a sense of "Hard luck" towards the person in need, and intentionally ignore the situation, then at what point does this transition occur? Are we impressing upon our children the need to be kind to other human beings, and then forgetting that message along the way.

(2) Is there a sense that women are exempt from so-called "chivalrous" acts? Finding that men were more willing to give me their seats was also interesting. Is this a holdover from the largely bygone era (now often interpreted as misogynistic) of holding doors open? As women, do we expect that it is the men who will have to act in social situations? I recognize that the male/female distinction I am making may draw criticism, but this is merely an observation and not a declaration on the law of the land. To be clear, I am wondering about the percentage of women I observed who kept their eyes resolutely on their book or newspaper while I swayed a bit precariously before them

I guess the bottom line is what does it take to acknowledge another human being in need? Is it a purely individual feature? Something wired into us that has become dulled through time? Where does simple human compassion come from?

Should we blame technology? Numerous studies have reported a decline in social skills with the growth of social media--to be fair, there is a growing body of research that focused on the emergence of new kinds of social skills needed to navigate online worlds like Second Life. Are we so immersed in the digital that we have forgotten how to interact with one another? Between iPods, portable video players, video games, phones that do everything from letting us check email to updating Facebook statuses, have we lost the ability to recognize reality (until the subway announcer says your stop is coming up)?

I'm not on a mission here at all. I'm lucky that I'm still able to stand so getting a seat isn't a top priority for me, but I've seen very pregnant women ignored and bumped and jostled until someone looked up from his iPod and decided to give up his seat. I've seen men who take up three seats because they can't sit with their legs closed. Wendy suggested that in these situations, you can and should ask (politely) for him to shift. "It takes a village." But I've also seen a man call a woman a "fat***" because she asked him to shift over--and this woman looked beat. She was wearing one of those nursing uniforms that home health aides wear, and she just looked tired. He said, "Your fat*** won't fit." She never sat down.

What is the cause for this seeming social deficit?

DW: Zelda and an Epihany

2008-10-17T21:39:00.005-04:00

So Darryl and I were having dinner tonight and we started talking about Scott Fitzgerald, and how he had
read the biography "Zelda" while we were in Prague a few years ago. I read "Zelda" in 1970 when I was very impressionable and became rather obsessed with her story.

We were talking about all of this and then we got to the part where Zelda dies in a fire in Asheville in an institution. I just started crying and I really couldn't speak about it anymore. It didn't occur to me until tonight why I was so identified with their story, and most of all, Scottie. My mother was effectively removed from life when I was 11, after suffering a stroke after brain surgery for Parkinson's Disease. Like Scottie, I had a sick mother, and a father who inherited the parenting of an 11 year-old child who got her period on Christmas Eve. I'm sort of stunned as I write this, and am a bit amazed that I just didn't off myself given the circumstances.

It's amazing how some things stay with us. I am really blown away by the visceral response I had to this conversation. It was like opening up a dark closet, that had another dark closet embedded within it, and then another one, and another one, and another one.

I'm very grateful that I'm not sitting in my room re-reading Zelda and overly identifying with her demise. What continues to amaze me is how as a young person I was attracted to biographies of people who shared many of the same family issues that I did. WIthout knowing it then--they all had narcissistic, seductive fathers and mothers who struggled, but were unable to maintain healthy boundaries.

It's nice we can have "ah ha" moments and not be utterly vanquished by them.

AV: No and Yes

2008-10-15T00:43:00.000-04:00

Hey, send this to your contacts! Esp if they're in CA.

AV: Ellen Speaks Out

2008-10-14T17:59:00.002-04:00

Love, Portia ... :)

AV: Won't You ?

2008-10-08T02:18:00.001-04:00

AV: OMG! You're Such A Good Debater!

2008-10-04T01:03:00.004-04:00

you can see it here online.
(and you can click the image below for the larger can't-find-my-glasses version...)

(and yes, it's a bit gratuitous, but really ... you betcha!)

WC: What I Hope Biden Says Tonight

2008-10-02T14:51:00.001-04:00

"Governor, I serve with Hillary Clinton: I know Hillary Clinton; Hillary Clinton is a friend of mine. Governor, you're no Hillary Clinton."

AV; Waddles and Quacks ...

2008-09-20T13:04:00.003-04:00

This humble post began life as a comment/reply to Wendy's post about our Brave New Fucked Up Economic World ...
but it got longer than a comment should rightly be.

(when does a "comment" become a "post"? when the author says it does!)

Here goes ... (written after reading all the coverage this morning of the latest economic news in my local rag).

I'm wondering about that so-subtle attempt (see comments to Wendy's post) to directly link the greed of the money managers at FM1 and FM2 with the Clinton administration. This goes way beyond either FM, and lies at the rotten heart of the economic system. It's just a cold fact that not everyone can resist the lure of the "free market" and will take advantage of those that have principles and ethics. I suggest a viewing of the documentary "Enron: The Smartest Guys In The Room" before you go any further.

(I know that for me, when I was buying a house in mid-2001, that before long the dollars just felt more and more like monopoly money ... how could it be any less "game play" to folks who deal in the billions of dollars?)

The Good News
Today's news about bail-outs, wherein the US Govt is poised to take on faulty mortgage debt, and its acquisition of at least one financial giant - AIG (who a friend says has been recklessly buying its way into the insurance market at low-ball bids for the last 4-5 years ..), at the very least is good for one reason: the term "fascism" can be more easily applied. Fascism is what happens when Government merges with Corporation. This has been happening all along, but at least now it's right out there for the world to see. How can that be a bad thing?

And did you notice the "far-reaching new emergency governmental powers" on the edge of being granted?

But hey, at least this time it's a bi-partisan effort.

Weirder and weirder ...

AV: Still Trying To Figure It Out

2008-09-19T23:31:00.004-04:00

Not a long post from me today. I have too much to write about and I just can't decide what it should be. Should it be more videos? Stories about the current administrations dismal failures (yes, I know ... which one?) or perhaps about the surreal presidential campaign. For example, I'm curious where the 527s are about Gov Palin's "I was for it before I was against it" bridge faux pas. Just asking.

I could write about how acorn season has begun in earnest here in the south of the west, where we live at the terminus of two Interstates: one heads into another country and the other falls off into the sea. I kinda like that.

Yes, acorn season. We've been picking em up and checking to see which ones are viable (the sinkers) and which ones might make fine jewelry (the floaters). Cataloguing them as we pick 'em up. I got 441 alone at a friend's house in Escondido - from the "mother oak" as she called it.

But no, I'm sitting here trying to figure out just why so many people are working so hard to make sure that I know without a doubt that I'm not worthy of being equal. What is it that makes some people so afraid that they would spend their money (in THIS economy, fer pete's sakes ..) to ensure that I and my family can never have all the rights everyone else has.

It's just beyond me.

WC: Greed and Stupidity

2008-09-17T22:55:00.004-04:00

I work in the Wall Street neighborhood (though not in the Wall Street milieu). I work near Citi and Deutch Bank and AIG, etc. And the 'hood has changed markedly in the past week.

When I pass the Stock Exchange each morning, there are usually hordes of tourists, usually Chinese, all taking pictures of each other with the Stock Exchange in the background. Monday morning, however, there were few tourists, but the place was swarming with media: reporters, camera people, assistants--and trucks decal-ed with familiar logos: CNN, MSNBC, FOX.

Some reporters were trying to get men in suits to comment on the economic situation, but mostly they were getting brushed off. As a woman in jeans, I was not who they wanted to talk to.

Fast forward to this morning, when I stopped into Cafe Wall, where I often get a breakfast sandwich (bialy untoasted, turkey bacon, one egg; Raymond, a cute Hispanic man with a pony tail and an amazing memory, gets it ready without my having to order it, which is very nice). And the place was empty (NY definition of empty at 9:30 am = six customers). I asked Raymond if it had been this way all week and he nodded, and then pointed to the next bldg over, as if to say that people there had gotten laid off.

Lunch was at a luncheonette. (No, I don't eat all my meals out, but I did today, as it happens.) And, at 1:30, when it usually would be close to full, it was about half empty.

And the streets are quieter. It's easier to get around. It's spooky!

While writing this, I decided to get up my nerve and check my retirement funds. I've been saving for retirement since I was 27 years old. I can't say I've suffered horribly to fund my retirement, but there are things I've done without for Wendy-present in order that Wendy-future may be able to eat and have a place to live. Each year I put 18% of my income away into my 401K plus as much as can into a Roth IRA. So, drum roll, what do I have to show for it since Dec 31, 2007? A loss of about $30K. So far.

The future of our economy is truly frightening, and the reasons for our problems are truly infuriating. As a friend and I sort of coined together: who needs terrorists when you have republicans?

Greedy fuckers have stolen billions of dollars from our economy, yet again, and now we have to bail them out, yet again, and worry about our jobs, yet again, and worry about keeping our homes, yet again, and worry about eating cat food when we retire, yet again. And the worst of them got away with it, yet again.

A friend asked today if it makes sense to put money into the market just now. I've decided to stick to the same distribution I've been using all along for my 401K. Does that make sense? Who knows? Suzie Orman says it's a bad time to be investing. Does that make sense? Who knows? Some people say that times like these are the perfect time to invest. Does that make sense? Who knows?

Greed is killing this country.

Well, greed and stupidity.

DW: The Tsunami of No Possibilities

2008-09-15T22:35:00.011-04:00

I was having breakfast on Sunday with my cousins Lori and Bonnie. This was a rare treat and not something we get to do very often

We were speaking of the feeling of "dread" and Lori said, "yes, it's the tsunami of no possibilities, isn't it?" I thought that was such an accurate description of the terrible feeling that can envelop us at certain moments. I had it briefly the other day and it felt just like I did when I knew that I was getting an F in geometry, for the third time in a row.

Emotion is the body's response to the mind. I think of that often when I find myself reeling or spiraling. It happens much less often than it used to, but when it does visit, it leaves me feeling like water can run through my body without stopping in my bladder, like there is no warm bed to climb into for refuge, or a favorite food that will quell my hunger. Clearly, it is the mind that shepherds us into such desolate places.

The day before we went out for breakfast we were celebrating my aunt Pearl's 85th birthday. Family has always been a mixed bag for me, ie, always grappling with the "wanna stay/wanna go" kind of thing. I'm not sure why, but my nervous system just suffers a major assault when I come into contact with certain family members. My petals fold, I completely withdraw, and I'm at the bottom of the pool not hearing anything but the sound of my breath struggling to stay submerged for as long as possible. All I could think of is how enormously grateful I am for my life. My struggles are nothing compared to the drama that has engulfed so many of my relatives. There isn't the need to elaborate--suffice it to say that I was in a room that contained a DSM for every day of the week.

See the complex thing here is that for so long, as a child and adolescent, I wanted nothing more than to live in Queens with my life centered around my aunts, uncles, and cousins. My world (as I imagined it) would have gone something like this: 12:00 pm, pick-up my aunt Pearl and go to Alexander's. Drop her off, take my aunt Annie to Waldbaum's. Drop her off, stop at my cousin Karyn's on 108th Street and have dinner, watch TV, and talk about my life--and at least three times a week. It's sort of my version of what I imagine living in Brooklyn was like where everyone revolved around everyone else's lives. Now I just have my own life to revolve around and sometimes it feels weird and un-natural when I think of my genetic predisposition.

It's Monday, and I'm glad to be back to my life and my new kitchen. I can't wait to put away my crushed tomatoes, pasta, rice, and grains into the 80 inch pantry. Much better than chauffeuring the aunts around Queens Boulevard.

WC: Quote of the Day

2008-09-11T11:24:00.005-04:00

From Why Is the Internet So Infuriatingly Slow? By Chris Wilson on on slate.com: "The Internet owes its success to two pillars of human activity: masturbation and procrastination."

The guy's got a point.

AV: Karl mentions Chula Vista!

2008-09-06T02:04:00.002-04:00

Another gem from Jon Stewart, this time on our favorite subject of late: Sarah Palin.

AV: I'll Stay Right Here Until You're Fast Asleep

2008-09-03T01:58:00.006-04:00

I wish I had a better photo ... or rather, I wish I had a photo of my mom from inside my head. A photo where she was laughing or something. Instead, all I have is a photo of a photo of a glamour shot she had done because she both felt and wanted to feel beautiful.

My mom passed away on September 3, 2005 with three of her children by her side. That would be me and two of my brothers: Richard, the eldest and David, the youngest boy (but still older than me, the "baby" of the family). The middle boy, Mark, wasn't able to make it there in time due to transportation issues and severe dysfunction. But that's another story.

My mom lived in Oregon for the last years of her life, having moved there (following her parents and younger sister) from San Diego in the early 80s. I never dreamed that I'd be there when she died, but it all worked out that way. I always expected that I would simply get "the call." I really didn't think I would have the chance to say goodbye.

My mom died of complications from Hepatitis C, contracted through a needle stick that occurred during her over two decades as a Registered Nurse (15 of those years as an ICU nurse). My brothers and I had moved her into an assisted living apartment within the few years prior to her passing and had been travelling as able to be with her, meet with her caregivers, and do our best to manage her growing needs.

And so, living so far away from her, I never thought I'd have the chance to be with her. When I did get the call, it was to her bedside in the ICU of an Oregon hospital where she never fully regained consciousness.

We - my brothers and I - stood at her side as, after we removed the breathing mask, her spirit moved swiftly from her body. I felt it go fully two minutes before the machines did that thing they do on all the medical shows (which are frauds, imho).

If I could do anything differently, I would go back and hold her hand more tightly, and remind her that while it was okay to be afraid ... that she really had nothing to fear. I would have helped her make ready.

Darel, godspeed and save some of that cheesecake for me.

     Her apt door, with memorial notice.

   Memorial table
     My brothers at the mouth of the river to the sea, where we scattered her ashes. This happens to be the perfect capture of both of them and is a favorite photo for me.

WC: Cynicism vs. Class

2008-09-01T16:42:00.002-04:00

Andrea, "The Pain of Progress" is a great title that sums things up very very nicely.

And now it turns out that Palin's daughter hasn't exactly been abstinent, and Obama has called the topic off-limits. Obama is right, and gracious, and classy.

But could you imagine if it had been Chelsea? Could you imagine what Fox "News" would have had to say about that? The far right would have managed to make that story last many news cycles and overshadow Hillary's accomplishments, just as they made the notorious blow job overshadow Bill's.

I'm glad to be on the side of the person with ethics. But I have to wonder, in a little tiny voice, if maybe Dems need to play hardball too? I mean, it's kind of tiring voting for the ethical people who lose, you know?

But I still think Obama is handling this the right way.

Sigh.

AV: The Pain of Progress

2008-09-01T14:00:00.005-04:00

I agree with all that has been said about Sarah Palin.

Yes, I agree that it is progress. And I especially agree with WC's friend Dennis when he said that what we really want is for the same opportunities for mediocre gay people as for mediocre straight people (my paraphrase, of course). Goddess knows I'm working my tukus off out here in California for the rights for every queer couple to get divorced in the same average 5 years after marriage as any straight couple. Now that's equality! And I'll give my last for it.

All that is true. Sarah Palin is a woman and she's done a damn good job of climbing through one of the "Old Boys-iest" Networks in local government that one can find in the state. She did it through a talent for opportunism, charm, and intelligence. She also did it by picking up on the fact that the populace at large doesn't seem to care about policies and "all those notecards" and stuff. They want to be entertained and led. She's smart. She sees the cracks in the door ... or ceiling, in this case.

And that's a good thing. A woman running on the highest ticket in the land. And, as has been said many places, one that could land her in the President's seat. Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled about this. In the abstract.

I was tremendously thrilled about Hillary running and thrilled about the very real possibility of her getting elected. I loved the idea that girls everywhere were seeing every day the power and potentiality of their gender, and that it was hot -- and not in the conventional sense, necessarily. But HOT as in "on fire." I love that. I still love that. It won't -- can't be undone. Even by all the egregious sexism from both sides. It can't be undone and girls and women have learned something that cannot be unlearned. We're moving on up, sisters, and it's about time.

So yes, Sarah Palin has succeeded in her world and has been chosen by the GOP (whether or not it was McCain himself remains to be seen) and it's a horrible choice for the county.

I am applying the same thought processes here to Sarah Palin and her potentiality as co-pres or maybe even President that I would apply to anyone else at all. No softballs. No handicaps. Because in my mind she is a candidate, just like Joe Biden is a candidate. Let's acknowledge the history and the shattering of gender assumptions in America and then let's move the genitalia issue to the back burner now, shall we?

On a purely political field, her ultra-conservative values are anathema to anyone remotely middle-to-left of the social conservatives who have been striking at the heart of this nation for years. Her anti-choice, pro-oil, anti-environment stance is enough for me to realize, regardless of her gender, that I don't want her anywhere near the White House. Heck, I don't want her near the statehouse in AK, but she was elected in a time of sweet opportunity.

Did you know she lobbied to remove the Polar Bear from the endangered species list? Did you also know that the North Slope, one of the last purely pristine places in her state, is now the site of a multi-billion oil pipeline (builder: TransCanada) and that her husband is an oil worker on the North Slope?

Did you know she has no education policy, no infrastructure, state services, health policies? She's a picture and as progressive as it is to see a woman on the ticket, we should all be disappointed in this choice. There are other qualified ... and steely conservative ... women out there in the political world who could have captured the percentage of voters he's looking at.

And honestly, I don't see how anyone who voted for Hillary could consider voting for the McCain/Palin ticket. Why were they supporting Hillary? In any case, based on my conversations over the last several days within the party and with independents, social moderate repubs, etc, I believe that the instances of Hillary supporters who support the GOP ticket are grossly overreported. Heat vs. light.

And, BTW, if the GOP is soooo besotted by her "tough gal maverick" image, why are they shopping her around to voters wearing a blouse unbuttoned to her bra, hair soft and down ...and not in the image she says she chose for herself (and hasn't departed from in years): skirt suit, blouse buttoned to collar, hair up ... "school marm". What, is she not sexy enough for them? Not "accessible" enough in the way only an unbuttoned white blouse and long flowing hair can imply?

There's more to say on this, of course.

But let's return, shall we, to the historic and jaw-dropping, ceiling-busting, taboo-breaking potentiality of a brilliant black man to the highest office in the land. Let's have a few words about the cultural movement there.

And don't tell me he hasn't got any experience.

WC: And Yet . . .

2008-09-01T12:41:00.002-04:00

I agree with everything that AV said below about tokenism and how Palin is pathetically underqualified. And yet . . .

The fact that someone is being chosen just because she's a woman is still progress. Compare her to Dan Quayle. They're both terrible choices in terms of their ability to govern. They're both laughable. I knew JFK, and neither of them is JFK. But, if we can have a stupid, incompetent, embarrassing male VP nominee, why not a stupid, incompetent, embarrassing female one?

Tokenism is a step--an annoying one, but a step. I've been a token many times. When I had my column, it was often the only thing remotely female-oriented in sleazy gay-male-sex-oriented publications. Was it infuriating? Yeah. But it was also an opportunity. I got my point of view out. Maybe someone listened. And when the checks arrived, I cashed them with only a whiff of rue.

Palin is also a token in terms of her being of the far right. That part's frightening, because she may well pull in votes for being mega-conservative. But, even there, they still picked a reprehensible female.

I know this is a perverted view of progress in many ways, but it's also a realistic one. Politics will always be politics, and cynicism will frequently reign. Why shouldn't women get to play that game too?

AV: Aha!

2008-08-31T21:30:00.004-04:00

Just found this while surfing around the LA Times website: the latest of Sarah. See anything different?

(please scroll down and read my immediately previous post for info on what I'm talking about)

AV: The Last 8 Years in a Nutshell

2008-08-31T21:20:00.006-04:00

From a story in the LA Times this morning about Sarah Palin (which, by the way, was extraordinarily objective and even complimentary, lest anyone out there in bloggyland question the message because of the messenger) -- emphasis mine:

French said he thinks that Palin has a "sort of Reaganesque, kind of Teflon quality," due to her charm and "force of personality."

Indeed, Halcro said, those qualities meant that debating Palin was an exercise in frustration. The day after a debate in Fairbanks, they found themselves in conversation at a breakfast in Anchorage.

"She said, 'You know, I go to these debates, and I'm just amazed at your grasp of issues and facts. You show up with no notecards; you just kind of spurt it out. But I look out over the audience, and I wonder: Is that really important?' " Halcro said. "And you know, I'm a policy guy, and I'm thinking, 'Yeah.' But people didn't care. She has a way of walking in a room and filling the room with her presence, so people suddenly forget about their concerns about healthcare or education or anything else."

---------------

So there ya go, sports fans.

Oh, a prediction, when Joe Biden takes game to her during a debate, he gets socked in the mouth by the McCain campaign. They're already floating spin about how he's likely to be "ungentlemanly." I think he should take it to her like she's any other candidate and if she can't keep up, he can - respectfully - leave her far far behind sputtering.

Also, the "school marm" look she says she cultivated to escape the beauty queen image? A friend of mine think she's already with Cindy McCain's personal shopper. Look for great shoes, softer hair, new (or NO) glasses, and of course ... pearls. Of course, he's a sucker for pearls and good shoes.

I'm willing to be wrong about that last bit. And I hope Biden is a gentleman every time he slam dunks a question and makes it apparent she's got no business out of Alaska.

AV: Phyllis Schafly Is A Woman Too

2008-08-31T00:58:00.001-04:00

So, wondering what I think? I'll bet you already know.

I think that the choice of Sarah Palin was a desperate attempt to sway supposedly disaffected Hillary Clinton supporters towards the GOP ticket.

How sad.

How is this any better than being asked to join some group because they need some "diversity" at the table? How many of you have been the single woman, lesbian, latina, jew, etc etc etc in a situation like that? Did you feel special? Maybe. Did you feel used? Maybe. Did you begin to feel as if your authenticity as a person wasn't exactly what was wanted? Think about it, won't you?

Would Sarah Palin be on the ticket if she didn't have a vagina? Dollars to Oil Pipelines she wouldn't be. And that's just bullshit, IMHO.

I considered launching into her deplorable politics and the fact (that no one could possibly miss) that she is NO Hillary Clinton. Her politics are spoiled-wilderness miles to the right of Senator Clinton's and she hasn't got a nano-second of experience even on the phone with the Congress, let alone the folks who happen to be in charge of the countries whose policies include screwing with us as a nation.

Yeah, she's a mom ... and a good one at that. Great. She's got some drive and competitive spirit. Great. I love that. She's willing to speak a little truth to power and what's not to like about that?

But she's the former mayor of a town of 6000, and the Governor of a state whose population isn't even half of California, AND less than two years into her first term in state elected office, she's under investigation for firing the guy who wouldn't fire her former brother-in-law (during his nasty divorce from her sister).

Geez. And THAT'S supposed to make Hillary supporters pick up the torch? I've spoken to more than one who have picked up the companion pitchfork as well. It's an ugly mob, sisters.

Again, it's just sad to me. It's a token that the GOP will parade as change. Sure, it's a woman, and no matter who takes the prize, it'll be a first. But just because it's a woman, doesn't mean it's a change. See the subject line of my post.

And besides, did Elizabeth Dole have something BETTER to do? Did they even bother asking?

HC: Why I'm Glad It's a Woman

2008-08-29T17:02:00.002-04:00

With the United States next election, history will be made. Either a black man will be president, or a woman will be vice president. After 230 years, our country will no longer be helmed by white men.

That is progress.

I'm hoping that whichever party wins, the glass ceiling is finally and forever broken.

WC: Why I'm Glad It's a Woman

2008-08-29T14:18:00.002-04:00

Just had a conversation with a friend that made me realize I should probably explain why I'm glad McCain's choice for VP is a woman.

Years ago, when I was coming out of the closet, my good friend Dennis (now gone 13 years sadly) mentored me in the process. And he said something (well, many things) that really stayed with me:

We're not fighting for the best of us to have the opportunities other people do--we're fighting for mediocre gays to have the same opportunities as mediocre straights.

Similarly, although I hate the fact that some women (gays, blacks, Jews) are republicans, I cherish that an asshole female republican can maybe have the same opportunities as an asshole male republican.

Women's political clout has definitely grown in this election cycle. McCain's choice may be a cynical attempt to entice disaffected Hillary voters (may they not be that moronic!), but how nice that women are now a group to suck up to.

I swear, it's a form of progress.

(Dem Club Pres AV: I'd love to hear your take on all this.)

WC: Okay, I Admit It

2008-08-29T12:21:00.000-04:00

I'm very pleased that McCain picked a woman for his VP nominee. I hope they lose. I hope they are completely humiliated on election day. But, still, it's kinda cool it's a woman.

WC: My First Movie (Well, My First Movie Not Related to a Medical Condition)

2008-08-24T16:59:00.005-04:00

A few weeks ago, I spent a very fascinating few days watching a movie being made of a script I wrote. But we need to start with a flashback:

About four years ago, my short play You Look Just Like Him was performed at the Estrogenius Festival at the Manhattan Theatre Source in New York. The story of a young man meeting his biological mother for the first time, You Look Just Like Him is my favorite thing I've ever written, and I'm glad to say that it was very well-received (it didn't hurt that I had an excellent director, two very good actors, and one brilliant one, Nancy Sirianni).

Enter Jason (aka Jake) Kaminsky. Back when YLJLH was done at Estro, he had wanted to audition to play the son, but the timing didn't work out for him. Move forward to 2007, and Jake Kaminsky is now a producer. He decides that he wants to make a short relationship-oriented film as a sample of his work, and YLJLH pops into his mind. Jake tracks me down on the Internet (he finds me through a post I had put up on a blog seeking lesbians to interview for my Lesbian Sex Book, 3rd edition) and asks me if I want to turn YLJLH into a script.

Hell, yeah!

And so began what turned out the be an educational, wonderful, frustrating, eye-opening, lovely, excellent experience.

First, writing the script was strange and difficult. Jake had a lot of opinions on how the script should be developed--many of them excellent--and I had trouble letting go of the idea of the story and characters being mine and mine alone. However, I'm completely aware that film is not a writer's medium. (Did you hear about the starlet who was so dumb that she fucked the screenwriter to get ahead?) So I rewrote the script to his specifications. And rewrote. And rewrote. And I took a word-based play and turned it into a visually-based screenplay--an odd and challenging and surprisingly rewarding task for someone as in love with words as I am.

And the meetings with Jake were often fun. He's a nice and funny guy, and it was exciting to be working on this project together. As a writer I spend a lot of time alone, and I cherish the opportunities I get to collaborate.

I was very pleased with Jake's choice of a director, Doug Hall. I had seen a play that Doug had directed, and I found his work clear, concise, communicative, smooth, well-timed, polished, and professional. Doug had never directed a movie before, but neither had I had a script filmed before, so I figured we were even.

Jake, Doug, and I met a couple of times and discussed the script. The result: more rewrites. I didn't keep track of how many times I rewrote YLJLH total, but I'd guess between 15 and 20. I think most of the rewrites were improvements, but I'm honestly not sure.

The auditions were inspiring, horrifying, fascinating, and deeply dull, as auditions usually are. I am in awe of how someone can come into a small room full of strangers and share intimate parts of his- or herself. As I writer, the chances I take and the rejections I receive are a little bit distanced, but the performers are there, in the room, in their bodies, with their emotions. Amazing bravery.

We had already cast one role--the bio-mom's husband--with Robert Clohessy, a subtle and smart actor who was in Hill St. Blues, Oz, and Across the Universe. So the auditions were for the mother and son.

New York has a staggering supply of really talented people--and many of them are really, really, really, really good-looking. One actor was so tall-and-handsome-and-built-and-charismatic that he raised the temperature of the room just by walking in; this was a man who gets laid whenever and wherever he wants. He was completely wrong for the part, but it was fun to see what he could do.

Most of the actors trying out for the son had similar takes on the character, but there were occasional differences. One guy came in dressed as though he was going to a rave in the East Village--totally not who the son is! One guy cried. And cried. And cried. And cried. Although we all worked very hard to treat every actor with respect, it was all we could do to not burst out laughing until he had closed the door behind him. Beside the crying being overdramatic and HAMMY, it was completely wrong for the scene.

Greg Parri had already worked with Jake and I think Doug too, and as soon as he walked in and started reading I knew they were going to be working with him again. First of all, although he is quite good-looking, he isn't generically handsome like so many of the others. He has his own look, which includes beautiful eyes and a sweet sexy mouth, and he looks like a real person. He's also a wonderful actor. And he's just right for the role.

The array of women we saw for the mother was more varied--many different looks, different types, different approaches. It's amazing how much we rely on looks for how we understand people and their behavior. The same exact action reads differently if done by, for example, a tall coolly pretty blonde, a squeaky voiced cutie, and a heavy-set brunette with a deep voice. Casting requires acknowledgment of an audience's preconceptions so that you can choose the best person to express the story you want to tell. In my mind, it was down to three women whose combination of looks, voice, and talent worked for the role (one of whom was Nancy who had played the character at Estro). We chose Valerie Wright, who looks like a younger, sexier Sandy Duncan. Part of me feels like I betrayed Nancy who was truly amazing in the play and gave a great audition but Valerie had the look we wanted and also gave a great audition (and a wonderful performance).

So, there we were, with a first-class cast, a reasonably good script, a wonderful director, a hard-working creative producer, and even a little budget.

Which is a good time to stop for now. More next week.

HC: How much is that doggie on the roof

2008-08-23T10:06:00.006-04:00

The Metropolitan Museum of Art now has a Jeff Koons' balloon dog sculpture on the roof. It has to be seen. It is adorable, whimsical, and more than a little mind-boggling.

It's a folded balloon dog, but it's 10 feet tall.

It's a balloon, but it's made of stainless steel.

It's on the top of a roof, and there's the fear that it could blow away at any moment...but you know it's not going anywhere.

It's its own entity, but there YOU are, reflected goofily in it, distorted like in the mirrors on an amusement park pier, making it impossible to take the sculpture seriously, but WOW WHAT A SCULPTURE.

If sweet, funny, huge balloon doggies aren't your thing, go down to the shark in a box display by Damien Hirsh, entitled "The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living." This piece of art grabs you by the throat, and gut, and is more than a little creepy.

In our daily lives, how many of us will come face to face with a shark? Yet at the Met, there you are standing mere inches away from this amazing creature as it floats, menacingly, but not. Seeing this shark at the Met is akin to seeing Queen Victoria at a wax museum. It's not going to happen in real life, but it sure feels real. This is another exhibit that messes with your head. The shark looks so alive but it's not. I felt guilty that this shark, shall we say, gave it's life for art? It should've died a natural open-sea death, finally being eaten by all the other hungry living things in the sea. If it were, however, I wouldn't have the opportunity to see it, and be thrilled by it. It's very creepy and totally fascinating. You want to look deeper and deeper into the shark's mouth, but it feels invasive. You know it's dead but there's that little feeling in the pit of your stomach that says WATCH OUT I'M GOING TO BITE YOU. The fact that the shark looks dissipated only adds to the slightly sinister feeling of the exhibit.

AV: Joe!

2008-08-23T02:03:00.003-04:00

Obama picks Joe Biden for VP.

Among all the current noise (and sure to be more), hop on over to the Huffington Post (Ariana!!) and read this lovely little missive to Mr. B. from a regular sort of gal.

She calls it "Joe, let's talk"
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/erin-kotecki-vest/joe-lets-talk_b_120774.html

BTW, does anyone else remember watching ol' Joe during the Watergate hearings ... when he still had hair?

(I am soooo glad it wasn't Bayh ...)

DW: Rain and Marriage

2008-08-20T21:49:00.009-04:00

My husband lives in fear that we (I) have left the windows open, once again, and rain will come gushing in to our house...ruining the new wood floor, his African masks, and everything else that's important to him. In other words, he is derailed by the idea of anything getting wet.

I find this funny and frustrating at the same time. It's gotten so bad that I actually felt tense one afternoon while at work. I suddenly realized it was raining and half considered racing home to check the windows. About a month ago I suggested we air out our the basement. After opening the windows I spent the entire day asking, "now you're sure you're ok with the windows being open down there, right?"

This may sound careless and cavalier, but I don't mind if things get wet. My theory is that they'll dry eventually. That doesn't mean that I don't take precautions, but it would never occur to me to check the windows every morning before I leave the house. For some reason I find this difference in our outlook to be very amusing. Then again, he would never spend $5 on a fresh pineapple and I would.

I can forgive this preoccupation, because the one area we never disagree on is books. No matter how many times we swear we're not going to buy any new books, we somehow slip, and there's a new pile on either side of the bed. As I get older I've come to appreciate the differences that do exist (vs resenting them), and I'm able to see how they make life a bit richer and can even be instructive. When I was younger, the idea of being with someone who was not like me was not an attractive option.

I've probably learned to appreciate differences the most from my business partner. He is a very detached, non-emotional kind of guy who has taught me a lot. We ordered Chinese food last night because we were working late, and he opened his fortune cookie that said "life is a tragedy for those who feel and a comedy for those who think." I thought that was an interesting perspective to ponder. Eckhart Tolle says that emotion "is the body's reaction to our thoughts" and that it is a mistake to overly identify with our them. I'm working on that.

So we leave next week for a 9 day business trip. I'm praying that irony doesn't rear its head and dampen our abode while we're toiling in the Las Vegas desert.

HC: Sharing

2008-08-19T22:10:00.002-04:00

My 14-year-old daughter is a big Twilight book series fan. She's read, and loved, all four books, especially the first and last. I decided to read Twilight, to see what the big deal is. The biggest deal of all--aside from the fact that I'm enjoying the book, and it's intriguing--is that my daughter is SO excited that I'm reading it, so she can talk about it with me, and share it with me. This may seem like a minor thing, but it's not. I read in bed, and Emma comes in the bedroom every 10 minutes to see where I am and to see if I'm enjoying it. It's very special.

When she and her brother were little, I read to them a lot, and my husband read to them even more. All four of us love to read. If you like to read, you're never lonely, you're never bored, if a flight is delayed it's an okay thing: hey, more time to sit and read.

I'm really happy my daughter has read all the Harry Potter books, and the Twilight series, and tons of other books. I hope that love will continue forever. It certainly has in me.

AV: If You Master The Wolf, He Will Guide You

2008-08-16T17:20:00.000-04:00

scroll down.

http://xkcd.com/461/

AV: Brains

2008-08-11T23:37:00.003-04:00

This is one of the amazing talks brought to the world on the TED Talks website. Something new every week and all the talks that have gone before are archived on the site as well as available on iTunes as video podcasts. Free.

Today, for your deep well-being, is ... (directly from the site itself). Something you could not have imagined for yourself ...

"Jill Bolte Taylor got a research opportunity few brain scientists would wish for: She had a massive stroke, and watched as her brain functions -- motion, speech, self-awareness –- shut down one by one. An astonishing story."

http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html

Please watch/listen tell me what you think. (no pun intended)

Guest Blogger: Jayne Relaford Brown

2008-08-10T22:39:00.003-04:00

(This was delayed going up because I was out of town. Sorry about the delay. WC)

Picture: Albino Wallaby

Dispatch from Downunder 4: Last Full Day

Leaving Tasmania tomorrow, and more importantly, leaving Janice's brother Dave and niece Danielle in the Brisbane airport. A weird limbo of sorry to go and can't wait to resume our own lives. Feeling we should do something special today, but feeling we've seen what we need to see. The important thing is happening as I write this in the game room at the Bayview Villas--behind me the sounds of Dani and Janice razzing each other as they play ping pong. Dani's off the cell phone and playing with us, and tonight, pizza together at our favorite spot down the hill.

Some frightening things: Hearing someone say "What up?" or "She thinks she's all that" in an Aussie accent. Sadly, "that's so gay" has made it here as slang. Katrina makes fun of how I say "water," and when I tell Dani about it, she thinks I'm hysterical too. She imitates me, and it sounds like she's gargling. "Wahterrr." Katrina teaches me how to say "Kebab" properly: kehBABB (rhymes with stab). Dani and Dave are both ready to move to Tasmania, and I can see why--it's wonderful encountering other cities where you say, yes, I could live here.

I have not seen a superb wren, but I DID see an albino wallaby! And platypi! Life is good. Three days of travel coming up, but great pictures and memories. Thanks, Write Bunch!

AV: Here, Now

2008-08-09T12:46:00.004-04:00

Howdy Write Bunch buddies!

Today I'm posting the column I just wrote for my San Diego Democratic Club newsletter column.

Last night Aida and I attended one of the most moving ceremonies of love and committment that we have ever witnessed. Two extraordinary individuals who are more like twin souls separated at birth stood encircled - literally - by a great wide community of folks whose commonality is our love for them.

In addition, I am eyeball deep in the campaign against Proposition 8, the proposed amendment to the California consitution that would eliminate the freedom to marry for gay and lesbian couples. It's a tough road, but it looks like we can win this thing.

So, here 'tis. besos, queridas ...

President’s Perspectives - August 2008

Today I attended the beautiful and wondrous wedding of dear friends. There’s a lot of that going around these days and more to follow, if my calendar is any indication.

As I watched my friends pledge their lives to one another in the company of their family and friends, and receive the validation of the state, I reflected more than once on the long and difficult journey to the place where they stood encircled by the love of their community and steeped in the joy of the moment and of the years to come.

Yes, a long road for both of them and goodness knows that each of us sometimes are a little flummoxed and bemused when we stop and look behind us at the path we’ve taken to wherever we stand at any given moment. Some of us look at our lives and wonder, perhaps not for the first time, “how did that happen?” Perhaps we look at the person with whom we are sharing our days and ask how it was that our paths crossed? “We’re so different!” or “I didn’t even know you” or “How long were you living in the next apartment?” How does someone from one side of the globe, for example, find the hand of another all the way across the world? How do we end up side by side with the families we choose – or the ones that choose us?

It’s a mystery to me and I’ve been doing a bit of pondering the mystery these days. We seem to be at the edge of something so big, and yet so simple. Something all-encompassing, I believe.

Things are changing.

And it’s not just the weddings, as if that weren’t enough to shift one’s perspective several degrees. Although the sudden steeping of joy and delight around us is truly miraculous in so many ways, I think that it’s the fact that many of the faces I see around those blissful and solemn couples are the same ones I see around the table at phone banks and committee meetings and campaign walks and outreach trainings. They’re your faces.

I see you everywhere! How did you end up here? Did we all know each other? Who invited us? I look around and I see as many different paths to this place as there are people. Some of you arrived at this tiny place on the map from other countries. Some from perhaps the next city over, but from a tradition that’s worlds apart. Still others travelled from what felt like another planet. And some have always been here to welcome the new arrivals with a quick tour and a smile.

Regardless of the path, long and arduous or simple and short, here we are at the edge of … something. The map has been circled for us. This place. This time. We are here together to make it happen – to shepherd each other and our communities into the future.

Can we do any less than those couples who gather themselves up and step into the open road of the future knowing that together they can create anything. I think that, all together, here – now – maybe we can do more.

I’ll see you at the phone bank.

No On 8, Equality For All
www.NoOnProp8.com

AV: Thanks, White-Haired Dude!

2008-08-07T18:41:00.003-04:00

I know I know ... you've been hearing about this, and maybe seeing it on the news, but the full-length version is really worth watching. It's just hot.

(btw, I think this is the best response. makes me wonder what she would have done with the Swift Boat ad ...)

Guest Blogger: Jayne Relaford Brown

2008-08-05T19:35:00.002-04:00

Dispatch from Downunder 3: Hello from Hobart

After days of recuperating from a luggage-tugging (re)injury that left me unable to lift a spoon to my mouth or type, and a screamingly horrible internet connection here at hotel, here I hope is blogpost. Thanks to The Write Bunch for letting me communicate here--it's added a lot to the trip in terms of seeing/thinking like a writer, and really keeping images and memories in my head.

First, a backup to Eungella (pronounced Yung'la, Land of the Clouds in the aboriginal), the one place we have made a point to return to each visit. The Platypus Pool on the Broken River is my kind of place of worship. In this rainforest pocket, people from all over the world gather, hushed, in anticipation and near-silence. A ripple, a few bubbles, and "There! There!" softly in several languages, or the universal pointing, as a platypus surfaces and we all fall in love. Every time they are still smaller than I expect, only a foot long or so--duckbill, fur, feet and eyeliner that could look fierce or sweet. A few seconds of paddling and they're gone again as we all follow the ripples to the next surfacing.

The road to Eungella goes across the cane fields, past the cane trains and the sugar factories smelling of molasses, up 4.5 ks of 12% grade, and into the mountainsides of waterfalls, palms, shaggy cedars, strangler figs and staghorn ferns. I walked one of the trails with a bottle of water, my camera, and a little note with my name and "Meeting Janice Chernekoff at Broken River tea room." Our cell phones are useless here, and our wallets in the woods. Excitement tippled with fear to be on a trail alone with only one encounter in 5 ks. But the beauty--worth it. How many pictures of a stunning trail turning deeper into rainforest an you take? Heaps, when each turn is more beautiful. And the soft mossy path is heaven.

Hobart--go there if you can. Lonely Planet says 3rd most photogenic city in the world. It rises San Francisco-like from the bay to rooftops on the hill to snow-covered Mt. Wellington, where eucalyptus have adapted to bush-size to survive. (Cadbury Factory!) Downside is the convict past. We went to the Female Factory, a prison where women and children were brought for "crimes" like stealing shawls or food, or "bad behavior," generally accused by partners or bosses. They were sentenced to hard labor, sent out to work as maids, then sentenced to more hard labor when they got pregnant. There's a dig exposing 3 of the stone cells, about the size of dog runs at the pound. Then you can go to the gift shop and buy strawberry fudge. One bright note: there's a legendary protest where several hundred of them exposed their bare bums to the governor and his wife, slapping them (their bums) to register their contempt.

We're off to Bruny Island this morning, hoping to see the penguin rookery, the southernmost lighthouse and pub in Australia. I'm in love with Tasmania, so happy we came. More to come. Cheers to all. Jayne

Mamma Mia!

2008-08-02T11:35:00.005-04:00

Yesterday my 14-year-old daughter and I went to the movie theater to see Mamma Mia! I was seeing it for the second time, and Emma for the third. Had I had more time, after it ended I would’ve sat and waited for the next showing to begin, and watched it for the third time.

Is it a good movie? No, not really. Is it a happy, joyous, funny, goofy, delightful, life-affirming movie? Yes.

The first time I saw Mamma Mia! about two weeks ago, the movie started, and Amanda Seyfried started singing, instantly, and I had my doubts about the film. This is a MUSICAL musical. There’s lots and lots and lots of Abba songs. Seyfried has a pleasant voice, is likeable, and pretty. The song is so-so. I’m not a huge Abba fan, although this movie makes the most of the almost-interchangeable sounding songs. Seyfried’s enthusiasm and smile, not to mention her giggling and jumping up and down, could induce sugar-overload, but she won me over quickly. Her character is getting married to a man with a beautifully chiseled chest on an idyllic Greek island, where she lives with her single mother, Meryl Streep. Seyfried picks up her two best friends—her bridesmaids—at the dock. More jumping up and down and giggling. Another song. A few minutes later Streep drives in her beat-up old jeep to pick up her former back-up singers, Julie Walters and Christine Baranski. After this point I realized my face was starting to hurt because I was smiling so much. By the time the trio started singing "Dancing Queen," and skipping and running down to the dock, gathering other island women--old, young, fat, thin, pretty, average--along the way like semi-demented earth mother pied pipers, I realized I loved this film.

Look! Up on the screen! Lots of women! And look at the leads! Three women over 50! On screen at the same time! Actually, I just checked imdb.com, and all three women are over 55. Not only are they over 55, they aren’t playing someone’s mother or girlfriend. They just…are. And they are beautiful. And they have wrinkles, (very little) body fat, glasses, etc. They are just…adult women. Getting to see three middle-aged (if they live to be 110…) women being flirty, sexy, seductive, and youthful was a delight. I also loved the friendship between the three, which felt very real. They teased each other, cheered each other up when one of them was blue, supported each other, obviously loved each other. I wanted to make it a quartet.

If you don’t like musicals, I can’t imagine you liking this film. This is a serious musical. Although I’ve never had a problem with people bursting into song on screen, even I might’ve cut a song or two here. Many reviewers complain about how not-very-good Mamma Mia! is, and then almost sheepishly admit to having a great time during the movie. [I enjoyed this Slate Spoilers review: http://media.slate.com/media/slate/Podcasts/SS080718_MammaMia.mp3]

The audiences for both viewings of Mamma Mia! were mixed. Yes, a lot of women of all ages, but boys and men, too. The audience’s enjoyment was palpable. Lots of laughing, WITH the movie, not AT it. The film's greatest strength is that it doesn’t take itself seriously at all. For gosh sake’s, the graphic of the title is silver, sparkly, flashy, all caps, and has an exclamation point. What greater sign do you need to say, “This is going to be a fun, splashy movie. Just come for the ride with us.” Both audiences even sat through the extra songs during the end credits, when there’s usually a mass exodus from the theater. I can only hope that the stars of the film were having even half as much fun as they seemed to be having.

Honestly, if anyone seeing Mamma Mia! ran screaming from the theater after the first three minutes, I’d understand. Anyone seeing a disjointed clip from the film might well loathe it, but somehow in context it all works. For me, anyway.

I liked how messy grown-up lives can be. When I was a kid, I thought grown ups had everything in hand, everything settled. Now that I’m officially grown up myself, I realize that most of the time we are all flailing about, and that nothing is ever really settled. Seeing Streep, Walters, and Baranski acting like very grown-up 14-year-olds, being silly, and most importantly, having tons of fun, made my spirit soar. Maybe I’m just so starved for images on screen of the future me. Maybe I’m simple-minded (probably). Maybe I’m easy to please (nah). I just loved this film. It was light and fun and I’ll see it again.

DW: The Band

2008-08-02T09:22:00.003-04:00

I believe it was Paul McCartney who said, "I'd rather have a band than a Rolls-Royce." I've been thinking about that lately and how much I agree with the sentiment.

This may sound odd, but owning a company, at least this one, is sort of like having a band.... without having to pack-up and play out every night. When we returned from our Vienna meeting, it was sort of like returning from an EU gig where more people showed up than expected and everybody clamored to buy our CD. But beyond the receptiveness of the client/fans, is the internal experience of being in the band, who's John, who's Paul, etc., how each member brings something unique to the set, and the almost addictive nature of co-creativity.

The only way I could be working as hard as I work is if it seemed more like play, which most of the time it does. I've said this before: when I wake up in the morning I know I can go to my office/studio and invent anything I want to invent and that's a very cool thing to be able to do. We pulled off this Vienna meeting with only 3 1/2 weeks to prepare, totally balls-to-the-walls kind of thing. At the end of the meeting, the client says to us, "if I get a promotion it will be because of this meeting." The whole thing was a bit surreal, from staying in this great hotel to flying British Air Biz-class and getting a complimentary massage in the BA biz lounge. At one point I just had to laugh, because it was all so over the top. About 3 hours into the flight home, I walked over to Steve and Dawn, sprawled out on their "couches" drinking beer and watching videos, and said, "don't you feel just a little guilty?"

While the travel perks are great, the best part is hanging out with my band mates, debriefing the day, having some laughs, and planning the next caper. I can honestly say that I've never been happier and realize that every band has its day, and I'm just savoring ours minute by minute.

I remember my old boss Ed Calesa saying to me, "someday you're going to have your own company and have wonderful stories of your own to tell...."

All things must pass, and I really want to be conscious, grateful, and present for everything that comes our way.

AV: Dang!

2008-07-30T02:05:00.005-04:00

http://www.marlysmagazine.com/multimedia/index.html

Truly Amazing!

Please scroll down to the black background MySpace video. (especially if you thought I was making it all up. you know who you are ...)

AV: My Eyes Have Eyes

2008-07-29T01:47:00.007-04:00

I actually got a ticket for Comic Con this year. It was a Friday-Only ticket, but as luck would have it, that's exactly the one I needed.

I was even able to find parking in time to make it to the only presentation that I really wanted to see: Lynda Barry. The. Goddess. Of. Alternative. Comic. Poetry. Genius.

She of the Freddie Stories, Ernie Pook's Comeek, and All Things Marlys. She regaled a room with her extra geeky charm (and a special ability to sing "You Are My Sunshine" very articulately - with her mouth closed! Dang!) and stories of how art, music, and play are NOT ELECTIVES. Nope, they're not. But I'm preaching to the choir here, I know.

She also said she really likes attending the Comic Con, that it's like the Cousin Picnic.

Flatterer.

She was nervous and read her index cards and slides (from her new book, "What It Is"! See a whole 14 page preview in PDF!) and told stories about little kids she's met and how creativity and play doesn't come from within. It's an external force.

To wit: at a restaurant, a small boy's piece of bacon unexpectedly came to life and engaged him in a drama of life and death.

Boy (holding bacon aloft): I'm going to eeeaaaaat you!
Bacon (tiny voice): No!! Don't eaaaaaaat meeeee! Please!
Boy: grrr! Yes, you're mine! Grrr!
Bacon: eeee! No, pleeeeeeaaassssse!!!
Mother (suddenly finished with her phone conversation): What are you doing?!?!?
Boy: um ... (looking dazed at the bacon in his hand as if awakening from a dream ... what *was* he doing???)

Who knew the bacon was going to come alive so suddenly? Unexpectedly? And to play out such a primal drama as that?

Her book is about writing and play and making room for the image and the specialness of everything you already are. It lives up to its press!

Just buy the book, okay? You will be so sorry if you don't. Okay?

For extra measure ... if you don't know her, or her characters ...
http://marlysmagazine.com/
AND ..
(copyright by Lynda Barry for all time forever and forever)
"MY EYES HAVE EYES"

Guest Blogger: Jayne Relaford Brown

2008-07-25T22:25:00.001-04:00

Dispatch from Downunder II: Word-Love

For a word junkie*, Australia provides particular pleasures. Just as my EFL and, more sadly, my EF&FL (English as both First AND Foreign Language) students distract me from despair with their analyses of "Escape goats" (which actually do provide a nice way out) and "back rounds" (when I would be happy if they could analyze the fore round of what they read), being in a place with a different English keeps my monkey brain happily entertained.

I don't mind at all the signs telling me to "mind the step." In fact, I'm tickled. I was tired enough in the Brisbane airport that I couldn't find the elevators. I thought the "Lift" signs might be where you take off, or where you could get a beer. When i pass what I would call a "popsicle truck" and see it sells "Waffles and Fairy Floss," I'm thrilled, even if the floss is bags instead of freshly spun. Instead of looking at the sights, I read the signs.

Some, like the announcement of the "Debutante Ball" this weekend at the Pioneer Valley H.S., are startling for their content--we seem to be out in the boonies and it is 2008--but most are pleasurable for the words themselves. You don't yield when driving, you "Give Way." In front of busy Woolie's, crossing pedestrians are aided by an "Island Refuge." More startlingly, down the way in front of the senior housing complex, is the "Aged Island Refuge." Double the points? I'm coming to terms with terms like "mature" and "senior," and if the teenage clerk at the movie theatre thinks I should get the senior discount (here it's a "concession"), I'll take it, but I'm not ready to think about becoming "aged."

Here, you call phone numbers with "Enquiries," which seem so much more sophisticated than questions. And the ubiquitous "No worries" when you thank someone here seems so much more philosophical and generous than the grudging "No problem" from the servers in the restaurants back home.

*"Word Junkie" is not a term I use lightly. Growing up, my sister Nancy and I were language sponges. We developed British accents, or at least a Victorian syntax, when we read British novels. When we got together with our Texas cousins, within two days we said you-all or y'all and answered "Ma'am?" or "Sir?" when we were called, instead of "Huh?" On long station wagon drives, our father read the funny-sounding names of towns out loud, a (probably annoying) habit I continue to this day. He would also lead us in thematic runs on puns: "Lettuce get married," said the eggplant, "if you care at all for me." But she was only interested in his celery. Wendy knows I mean no disrespect when I appropriate a word or phrase; in fact, the opposite--there is no WASP equivalent for "Oy!" Though I did hear a new usage for the word this morning when I walked down Dave's block and his neighbor hollered "Oy!" to stop his yapping dog.

Guest Blogger: Jayne Relaford Brown

2008-07-25T08:32:00.001-04:00

Dispatch from Downunder: Welcome, Home

I really didn't want to go this time. I know it sounds like whining ("whinging," they would say here) to complain about having to go to Australia AGAIN! It's so many people's dream, and a seemingly impossible one. But to put my body in a tin box and travel halfway round the world, step out of my life and into another, to step out of time when I was already counting down how few weeks remain until the semester starts again--and I know there is no sympathy for someone who has the summer off whinging about that! But I wanted those weeks to go on puttering in my garden, to get to eat the heirloom tomatoes I've been nursing along, and the twenty blueberries on my baby blueberry plant. I wanted to see if the gladiolas would bloom, to watch the progress of the morning glories along my fence, to eat a peach from the backyard tree.

What set me right was Janice passing along a message from Dave that he'd bought and washed new towels for us, gotten a new mattress top, and if we weren't comfortable with that one he'd bring his out to the granny flat for us. And I remembered him setting out a huge bowl of fruit for us last time, and a bouquet, and the fully stocked fridge--how much it means to him to have his sister travel from the states, and how welcoming he's always been to me.

That's why we put our bodies, and our finances, through this: to hang out on the veranda having a beer with Janice's "baby" brother, to watch his daughters Katrina and Danielle, now 18 and 16, transform in two-year increments, to celebrate the amazing thing of two siblings surviving and re-finding each other as family. Mackay's a little berg that doesn't seem so different than Berks County, PA--just substitute sugar cane and pineapples for corn and soy beans. The little art centre in town has a gallery you can go through in an hour and be done with. But this isn't "Been there, done that": it's "Be here. Do this."

So here we are, hanging out in Dave's granny flat with our legs up the wall to recuperate. The eucalyptus trees outside make this Southern CA girl feel at home, but last night on the veranda there was the sound of a bird that really was a gecko, and Katrina said the fruit bats are scratching and all the mangos before they can get to them. There were fresh bouquets everywhere to celebrate our arrival, and large bars of Cadbury Dark with liqueur centres, and the wonderful mattress, and the incredible fruit platter. Dave taught us how to eat lychee nuts, and it's crunchy apple season in the other hemisphere. It's good to be here.

SS: Our New Baby

2008-07-20T00:26:00.002-04:00

James and I have added to our brood. Presenting...Matilda Marie Stanfield-Murray. Yes, I have fulfilled the dream I've had ever since I saw "Milo and Otis" in sixth grade. I have a pug. A pug puppy. There was never a happier woman...

WC: Weird Medical Definition of the Day

2008-07-19T23:11:00.001-04:00

fetus papyraceous

a twin fetus that has died in the uterus and become flattened and mummified

AV: Mongols

2008-07-13T00:03:00.002-04:00

Seems that the 4:30pm Friday showing at the local multiplex isn't quite the matinee anymore. It cost me $10.50 to watch a couple of hours of men behaving badly. And then, disatisfied with the ending (which I won't spoil for anyone who's gonna go see this movie), I spent an hour or so on Wikipedia looking up Genghis Khan.

Did you know he supposedly had red hair and green eyes? Either that, or his dad did. Something about the "sparkling ancestor." Geez, I can barely manage metaphor in my daily life when I'm looking for it. I certainly can't negotiate it in what's supposed to be a history lesson.

These days I'm much too literal.

That said, the landscape and the story (for what it was) was beautiful and entertaining (respectively).

Tonight I'm sitting in the chair next to the bed again and Aida is sleeping deeply an arms length away from me. Today she had her radiosurgery treatment. This was after she had a haircut and before we went to the wedding of her niece Marcy to her fiance Jeremy.

Beauty, blessings, and an open bar.
We left early.

More later, my friends. Here's hoping you all make the matinee of your choice.

HC: My Upcoming 3D Journey

2008-07-11T09:37:00.005-04:00

Today my kids, husband, and I are going to the movies to see Journey to the Center of the Earth in 3D. It's a remake (sort of) of one of our most enjoyed family movies. The 1959 version starred James Mason, Arlene Dahl, and Pat Boone, and had huge lizard monsters--you know the kind, with the fin glued to its back. By the way, did you know that apparently there's an ocean in the center of the earth? Pretty cool, huh?

I rarely go to the movies any more. It's just so expensive. Netflix costs $18 and I can see 10 movies, TV shows, and documentaries a month. Today's trip will cost $44. But I feel the 3D thing is certainly worth seeing in the movies.

Do you remember when some 3D movies were shown on TV? I think it was in the 80s. One of the films was Gorilla at Large, with a very young Anne Bancroft. I got my free cardboard glasses from a 7/11 store, and got my headache as soon as the movie started. However, you could really see that one person was behind another. I don't love the "let's throw things at the screen and make the audience duck" stuff, but I do love the depth. I realize that Brendan Fraser and his costars are very likely going to be hurling things at me on a regular basis. If the 3D is as good as it is in some films at DisneyWorld, I'll be ducking a lot.

At DisneyWorld there's a 3D movie about Donald Duck conducting an orchestra. I don't remember why, but the instruments come to life and inhabit clips of other Disney movies, such as Peter Pan and Aladdin. The 3D was amazing, and I had a jolt not just from the front of my head: the little girl in back of me reached out to grab whatever 3D thing was in her face, and grabbed the back of my head!
I'll write a review when I come back from the movie. Fingers crossed it's a lot of fun!!

DW: Nuclear Family Weapons

2008-07-10T21:46:00.005-04:00

The last few months have been very turbulent vis-a-vis my extended family. All kinds of stuff has come up around loyalty, honesty, and most of all, authenticity.

A cousin of mine is going through a divorce, and it has triggered all sorts of things for me, primarily the "original" triangulation of my parents and me. The current stand ins are my cousin and his wife, who I've been very close to for a long time. There is a strain of Jewish histrionics with a touch of Sicilian justice embedded in my family's world view. Blood is blood, family is family, and there's . never a question of who you support when it"s family vs the "other." Except, there IS a question, at least for me. Why do I have to choose? My cousin's wife is someone I truly adore--and I cannot shun her. I realize that my affection for her might feel offensive (at this moment) to her soon to be ex-husband, but I can't "cancel" a friendship of 20 years because my cousin has decided that he needs a new life.

God, there's so much to say that it exhausts me just thinking about it. This is a very big topic and I need to think about it some more. My cousin's sister (who is like a sister to me) summed it up best: being authentic means revealing the in-authenticity of it all.

And when that happens it feels like everything can blow-up and dissolve. 40+ years of shared birthdays, holidays, weddings, and funerals can go up in smoke. What is the fear residing inside of all of this? Abandonment, the loss of love, the icky-ness of feeling disloyal. I find my lack of being able to be direct and open with my cousin (regarding my feelings) utterly unbearable. Ironically, I was on a conference call the other day, and one of the parties called me up immediately following the call. He said, "I'm in awe of how direct you are--you just put it right out there. I could never do that." How funny is THAT? A former friend used to talk about my "miserable introductions"-- the excessive prologue I tend to give before delivering the punch. I feel like I'm never direct when it counts. Ram Dass once said "if you think you're so evolved--go live with your parents for a week." That's kind of how I feel about this relentless emotional stammering that comes up when I'm speaking with my cousin.

There's a hefty co-pay here no matter what side of the street I'm standing on, and it makes me both angry and sad.

I'm leaving for Vienna tomorrow and all I can think about is siting in a cafe, drinking a great cup of coffee, and having some distance from all of this, at least for the next few days. I'll try to file some reports from the field.

AV: Trees Falling in the Forest

2008-07-10T02:01:00.003-04:00

I can't decide if it's more or less liberating that no one seems to be reading this blog. On the one hand, that almost makes it easier to write about the realities and vulnerabilities of daily life on planet earth.

On the other hand, how pathetic is that?

That said, I've always considered myself somewhat of an idealist although that seems to express itself more often as naivete. That, and idealism seems to be what I have energy for since cynicism is way more exhausting.

So ... here goes. Between posting stuff from YouTube, I've been knee-deep in the local campaign committee for the No on 8 effort. "8" being the number of the Proposition that will ban marriage in CA for gay and lesbian couples if it passes in November. I agreed to co-chair the local effort while the state campaign and steering committee plugs in and oils up the efforts in other cities all over the state. Heady stuff and lots of work ahead.

There's all the other politics too. City Council and Congress and State Assembly races and the perennial attacks on a woman's reproductive rights.

And next to me in the shadows of our bedroom, Aida is sleeping. She's a little restless as she tries to find a comfortable place ... some elusive spot on the bed that doesn't cause her joints to ache.

Last night she dreamed about her doctors, all three of them. I asked her what the dream was like and she simply said that they talked about things all night long. She said that she had gifts for them in the dream, but couldn't remember what they were when she woke.

She usually brings acorns.

Tomorrow morning - early- we meet with her oncologist (aka "Dr Cutie") for the monthly gabfest. He will ask her how she is and pay rapt attention to her, laughing at her jokes and loving her in his own doctorly way. He has no choice, really. She does that to people. You should meet her.

He will also ask if we've heard when she's scheduled for another treatment of the stereotactic radiosurgery. That horse nudged out of the barn about a month or so ago when her bi-monthly MRI showed another small tumor that had set up shop next to the one they treated in January.

We will tell him that we haven't heard yet. But, we will report that she had her pre-treatment MRI and mask fitting and that we're ready. Or rather, she is.

Last night another friend passed over. We wave to her from this side of the river, assuring her of a visit, but later. Later, Janelle, later. Just keep singing.

WC: On the Edges of the Big Leagues

2008-07-09T18:38:00.002-04:00

A movie is being made of a short play of mine. I haven't written about it for fear of jinxing it (konohurrah, poo, poo, poo). I started working on the screenplay last year, I think, and tomorrow we are having auditions. I'm thrilled.

And among the people we are auditioning is someone I saw on Bdway in a Sondheim show. So, at least for the length of the audition, someone will be speaking my words who has sung Sondheim's. Wow.

WC: Freedom of Speech?

2008-07-09T10:26:00.005-04:00

For two minutes of your time, you get to see a truly amazing example of just how much republicans respect the constitution: click here

I found the website's insistence on mentioning the woman's age--as though a 61-year-old was automatically a sweet innocent person who couldn't possibly be guilty of anything--to be a tad old-fashioned and condescending, but . . . oh well.

AV: A Ladybug Picnic!

2008-07-08T21:07:00.002-04:00

a giggle good time from my past. Maybe yours too!

HC: No Fireworks This Year

2008-07-07T08:41:00.002-04:00

On July 1 I was in Victoria, Canada. Turns out July 1 is Canada Day! Who knew? I bet lots of people knew, but not me. We signed on for an orca watch followed by fireworks viewed from the boat out in the harbor. However...on the return trip after orca watching I've never been more nauseated in my life from the motion of the boat and the diesel fumes. I kept my head down, eyes closed, and knew if I moved my head I would just die.

I was so sick on the boat that I didn't notice that three of the other people in our party of six were also really queasy. When the boat docked, we escaped. Only the hardy non-nauseous 16-year-old boy stayed, alone, for the fireworks. As I fell into bed, not even daring to brush my teeth--after being guided from the water to the hotel by my lovely daughter, only occasionally opening my eyes and seeing my feet moving on the Canadian cement--I heard the fireworks outside my window. I'm sure they were great.

On Whidbey Island off Seattle, fireworks went on display on July 3. By the time they started, I was in bed, exhausted from a long day in Victoria, followed by an hour and a half ferry ride, an hour car ride, a 20-minute ferry ride, and another car ride.

I wasn't home to see any New York fireworks for the actual July 4 festivities. I was having a quiet, peaceful day on Whidbey with my cousins.

I didn't miss the fireworks...I was too busy visiting newly found beloved relatives, having a great time in another country, relaxing, etc.

It struck me as appropriate, too, as my patriotism at this moment is on hold. Next year I hope to be cheering the fireworks and waving my Obama flag.

AV: Cool, huh?

2008-07-03T22:22:00.003-04:00

I just purchased a guitar and mandolin (Together! On Sale! Only $99 from musiciansfriend.com! Free shipping!) and, even though I played night and day in high school, I can't manage to tune the guitar quite right. I think it goes like *this* and then, ack, play a chord (from the chord chart I downloaded from wikipedia.com) and .... uh uh. nope.

Then, a simple google search on How To Tune A Guitar and ... viola!

6stringer: playing the guitar

Groovy.