Crying Revisited

Things that have made me cry in the past month:

· Shrek 2, shared by a very sweet 8-year-old boy on an airplane from Seattle to Detroit

· Re-reading my post on how amazing life is

· United Church of Christ on Alki, during the sermon and feeling truly welcomed by an “Open and Affirming” congregation

· Fremont Solstice Parade, as 200 women marched past belly-dancing

· Seattle Storm game, when the crowd applauded breast cancer survivors

· Seattle Storm game, when the crowd cheered for the team and they won by 30 points

· Seattle Pride Parade, as Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG)

· Seattle Pride Parade, as Dykes on Bikes drove by

· Seattle Pride Parade, as American Veterans for Equal Rights (AVER) marched by

· Today, while writing about my beautiful girlfriend

I talked to Dianne about it in therapy. I almost started crying when I spoke of it. But not in a bad way, like I said before. I am not sad when I am crying, generally speaking. I am moved. Literally, to tears.

Dianne nodded knowingly and said, “Ah, yes. Heart crying.”

“What does that mean? Talk to me about this ‘heart crying.’”

She proceeded to tell me that my heart is incredibly open right now. She told me that there was a reason I cried while sitting next to an 8-year-old. Because 8-year-olds have open hearts. They have not yet been taught to close up and wall over and protect protect protect. It makes sense that the times that I’ve choked up have been in large groups where there is a great deal of energy moving. The energetic power of 200 beautiful (not necessarily in the traditionally accepted way) women marching down the street was almost too much for me to handle. When crowds applaud, I almost burst into tears. It’s like these unexpected bursts of literal energy coming from people around me. And I’m out there open, exposed, and vulnerable to it – just riding the current of my own emotional river. Dianne pointed to the fact that I am finally with someone who sees me truly as I am and that this is safe for me. Certainly safe enough for me to cry freely with her or to giggle with her about the fact that I’m crying…AGAIN.

I am not a crier, see. I never have been, other than approximately once per quarter, when everything would just come bursting out of me in this hours-long gush of hiccup-sobbing that exhausted me. My dad is a crier. I remember watching him cry at movies or television dramas or even during church at weddings or baptisms. I remember rolling my eyes, as my mother had done before me and likely her mother before her. I remember judging him – how un“man”ly. Or something. Me. Ew.

Now I have a whole new take on the thing. I am, in fact, amazed at my dad’s openness and vulnerability to the energy that flows around him. Why shouldn’t he cry at momentous spiritual occasions in the life of individuals or the church? Why not allow himself to be moved to tears by truly moving and beautiful things? Kudos to him!

So I am just going with it here, folks. Be warned: I cry these days. I am open-hearted right now and many random things can cause a surge of powerful emotion in me. (I swear it’s something even animals can sense. As Faith and Chase and I were walking back to the car in the midst of the Pride Parade today, I glanced down at a dog. The dog immediately looked at me and locked eyes with me. It moved its body around and pulled against its leash just staring at me with these eyes. It was really intense. Faith later told me I should have stopped, but I wasn’t sure I could have handled it if I had. Of course, perhaps this is something I’ve possessed for a while. I’m brought back to one of the more awful nights of my life when I hit a cat with my car. The cat ran under a deck that was closed off such that I (and no one else) could get to it to help it. And then all of a sudden, this fatally injured cat dragged itself out from under the porch and across the yard to lie down and exhale its final breath in the middle of an open yard next to me. This cat felt safe enough, for whatever reason, to allow me near to it in its death, instead of hiding out and dying alone like most cats prefer to do. It was powerful. And it’s making me cry right now.)

I think I need to be careful with myself with this. I have not yet learned to open and close this part of me. I need to know how to protect myself for times when the energy around me is not so good. I think I need to avoid crowds when I am feeling energetically depleted. I think I need to (and will) achieve more of a balance than what I am currently experiencing. This sort of heart-openness is somewhat new to me, or at least this experience of it is. But it’s sometimes nice to feel so alive and in tune with the things happening around me. And so long as Faith can just put her arms around me and kiss me on the cheek or forehead or wherever and still love me, even in the midst of my tears, I’ll make it through just fine.

(Bi) Pride, or Why I Am Completely In Love with My Girlfriend

I am bisexual. I don’t really like the term and I generally call myself “queer” instead, but more than any other commonly accepted “identity,” I am bisexual. I am probably more bisexual than most, as I have been so consistent in dating both biological sexes in equal parts that my dear friend Ali once commented, “I find great comfort in how you always date one then the other then the other then the other” and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, Ali is unique in her comfort with this.

It’s not that easy being bi. I think I’ve written before on these pages that the fact that I’ve dated women is just a turn-on to be objectified by heterosexual men. And the fact that I’ve dated men is a threat to many in the lesbian community. And though I’m placing blame outside of myself on this one, I have to be honest and admit that those thoughts have been internalized.

There are times that I will mention my attraction to women as a turn-on for a heterosexual man. And there are even more times that I feel embarrassed admitting to a lesbian woman that I am attracted to men. When I am in the heterosexual community, I feel objectified; when I am in the homosexual community, I don’t feel “lesbian” enough. The heterosexual community in general doesn’t think much about Pride. The homosexual community goes overboard with Pride. And the bisexual community often seems to be left on the outskirts, struggling even to be proud.

Sure, we’re included in the now famous “LGBT,” but we seem to sit on the sidelines. We can “pass” so life must be so much easier for us. In many ways, that’s entirely true. I can walk down the streets in the deep south with relatively little fear or self-consciousness. I know “straight” lingo and have walked the walk. I am very ingrained in “straight” culture so it is easy and comfortable for me to exist in that realm. But there’s the other half of me that finds my connection with women to be so beautiful and mind-blowing that I don’t want to leave that out of my life. So I walk the line. Of course, walking the line brings criticism of being unable to choose one or the other, or of being a sex addict, or a pervert, or whatever. There seems to be criticism from both sides and it’s difficult to take.

Having recently passed my one-year anniversary with Faith, things continue to be interesting. My heterosexual friends seem to talk around the topic of my “former” heterosexual interests, as if Faith has no idea. Hell, there are times that I try to keep it to myself, for fear that she would feel threatened or upset or something. Just a couple of weeks ago, Faith and I hosted a birthday party. At the party, there was Faith and me, one heterosexual couple, and one single heterosexual woman. Once again, there was a bit of an awkward moment when the heterosexuals at the party were all reflecting on the fact that I had previously dated a man. My dear friend then said something like, “So that must have just been a phase. Are you over that now?” Before I could even respond, my beautiful girlfriend jumped in with, “Angela will never be over her interest in men. That’s just a part of who she is.”

I don’t think she has any idea how freeing it is to hear her say it. Faith knows my past and she allows it to be my past without any feelings of guilt or unbelonging. It makes me me and she loves me. She loves me.

I have been missing men lately and that has been hard for me. I’ve tried to just deal with it myself and not address it with Faith, again out of fear or out of an attempt to protect her from that. This has caused a lot of self-reflection and a lot of pondering what it means more personally to be bisexual. There is no such thing as a bisexual relationship. How, then, do bisexual people achieve a happy and fulfilling relationship with just one person? I have no interest in being with any other woman. Faith is my girl, through and through. The way she sees me – the real me – and takes care of me and loves me unconditionally is more than I could have ever asked for. Her affection for me and the safety I feel with her is enough to move me to tears. But what do I do with this whole other piece of what makes me me? Is it just supposed to disappear into nothingness? That seems unlikely and unreasonable and I’m not willing to expect such impossibilities from myself. I don’t know the answers, so I am working through it.

I’ve been working through it completely by myself for a while now, with only a few vague conversations with friends. Recently, Faith and I were walking the Discovery Park loop trail and it came up somehow. For the first time, I talked openly with her about the feelings and thoughts I had been having. I told her that I feel sad about losing this part of me and that I’m scared of that, but that I just love her so much. It was hard for me to say to her. I don’t know that I would want to hear it from my partner. But Faith, true to form and beautiful and amazing as could be, simply assured me that she completely understood and that it was fine that I’m going through this process and that she loves me. I can not believe the security that she feels in this relationship, as if there’s some higher power that has brought us together and she trusts that and trusts me and trusts her own good judgment. Her security helps me so much to be who I am and to communicate openly with her about it. It’s truly amazing.

This weekend is Pride in Seattle. Marching in the parade last night was a community group of bisexual people. I cheered my heart out as I stood there holding hands with my lesbian girlfriend.

I am bisexual. And – with the help of a supportive girlfriend, family, and community – I’m proud of it.

MySpace

I recently succumbed to the MySpace bug. Having noticed that everyone seems to be abandoning their blogger blogs to start blogging at MySpace, and wanting to take full advantage of the website to read and comment on my friends’ posts, I signed on. I created a MySpace account and took some time filling out parts of my profile. Knowing just a portion of how many people are on MySpace, I made an effort to make my “interests” appear “witty” and “successful.” I’ve visited my MySpace page every day since its inception, and I still don’t get it.

First, just the whole point. Okay, okay – I have begun to understand the amusement (not to mention the time-wasting factor) of doing little searches for people you haven’t thought of in years to try to glimpse what they’ve become. And it is fun to see pictures and read blurbs and observe how others have tried to appear “witty” and “successful.” But I have been continually frustrated by not getting enough information. Great – so I can see people’s interests. And perhaps sometimes I am lucky enough to see their job title. Or maybe they do keep a meaningful blog that fills me in just a little bit. But mostly, people seem so vapid through the lens of their MySpace accounts. Maybe they are; maybe they’re not, but the MySpace layout seems to minimize the thought and emphasize the pictures and short comments from MySpace "friends" who may or may not be real friends.

Second, I have no earthly clue how to navigate around MySpace. I just discovered today that I have an inbox and a “friends request” list (with the mere click of a mouse button, I get to decide who gets to be my “friend” and who doesn’t). I still am not sure quite how to access them. I seem to just happen upon various things on MySpace. And perhaps that’s part of the fun.

It’s different, blogging on MySpace. Here on blogger, I remain mostly anonymous. Only a handful of people know that I’m here, and those who would stumble on my blog by accident would not likely trace the blog to me. Considering the relative intimacy of this blog, I take some comfort in my anonymity. However, I keep thinking that the best part of MySpace is reading through the blog entries and peering further into the lives of people you once knew. So I keep thinking that I should probably write some blog entries there, so that people “peering in” would have something informative to read. And then I think maybe I should just link back to this page. But ultimately, I don’t think that I want random people who were not my “friends” in high school to have access to these surprisingly personal (web)pages.

And then there’s the popularity contest aspect. Like it or not, I keep track of how many “friends” people have. And I wonder if I’m not putting my all into this because I don’t want to face rejection (again) from my former peers. It doesn’t matter that I AM witty and successful – not to mention happy, driven, smart, political, AND surrounded by amazing people who care very deeply for me – I still weirdly seek the approval of whomever visits the site. I check every day to see whether new people have sent me “friend requests” or whether anyone has left a fun “comment” on my page that makes me look popular and fun. And I get disappointed (quite regularly) when there’s nothing new.

Sigh. It’s a slippery slope, my friends (or “friends,” whichever the case may be). First blogger, then MySpace, and I’m sure I’ll end up with a Friendster account someday. Ah, the internet….

Mind & Body, Body & Mind

My body hurts. This is not new. It has been my reality for over two months now. It started with lower back pain similar to what I experience just before I start bleeding, but more intense. I prepped for a long heavy bleed, but my period came and went normally while the back pain raged on.

I got sick with a cold, took a final exam, and then got on a red eye flight to Tennessee to attend my grandparents’ dual memorial services and help start the process of sorting through the lives of these people I hardly knew. These were people who always seemed to be related merely by blood and not by any sort of emotional interest or investment. Even so, the trip was extremely emotional for me. It’s strange, but I almost feel closer to them in their deaths than I ever felt during their lives. I certainly know more about them, if nothing else.

Upon my return from Tennessee, I developed a peculiar rash on the front of my right hip. For five days I watched it. For five days it did nothing. It didn’t get better; it didn’t get worse; it didn’t change color; it didn’t change shape; it didn’t hurt – it didn’t DO anything. And still the back pain….

I finally went to a doctor. A 60-something white male M.D. He diagnosed me with oral or genital herpes… on my hip. Despite the fact that neither my symptoms nor the development of the rash matched what he was telling me and what I already knew about herpes simplex, he was adamant that this was oral or genital herpes (on my hip!) and that this was absolutely NOT herpes zoster – the strain of the herpes virus that causes both chicken pox and shingles.

But then something strange happened the day I left the doctor: the mysterious rash started to hurt. A lot. Ultimately, there was a band about four inches wide from my spine to the rash that was painful and extremely hyper-sensitive. It hurt to touch it; it hurt to have the temperature change; it hurt to wear clothes over it; it hurt not to wear clothes over it. I sought a second opinion and was diagnosed with shingles. Meanwhile, I had caught another cold. I had been sick twice in three weeks AND developed shingles. Fortunately, the cold and the shingles both faded away. My lower back pain was a different story.

Dianne suggested that I go to a chiropractor. Read: an energy worker who is educated as a chiropractor. This has been a bizarre experience for me. I lay on his table while he rubs talcum powder in circles on a small table with one hand and “scans” my body with his other hand searching for “hot spots.” The theory is that his fingers will stick to the table whenever he hits an energetic blockage. It is weird and I’ve had to do some interesting mind work to try to remain open to the possibility of this being effective. Whatever my mind is doing though, as I lay still on the table, I feel the pain occur in waves: I experience very intense back pain to complete comfort and back again all without moving a muscle, just depending on what he is doing. After I leave my back feels achy, as if I’d just received a massage. It’s freaky, but you have to believe that something is happening.

Still, I wasn’t convinced. I returned to an M.D. for X-rays and blood work, all of which came back completely normal. While that was a relief, the back pain had reached a level of intensity that led me back to acupuncture, despite my nervousness about it.

Meanwhile, somewhere along the way, my neck tweaked out again, creating significant pain in my neck, shoulder, and upper back in addition to the lower back pain. Also, my right knee has become inflamed and it cracks and pops and hurts a great deal.

I’m a mess.

****************************************************************

Dianne is convinced that my body is trying desperately to talk to me, and I can’t help but agree. The chiropractor and acupuncturist have similar theories: something seems to be blocking my energy and/or blood flow and this is causing me pain. I was forced to do some thinking when Dianne suggested that there is a significant disconnect between my mind and body. I reflected on the reality that I experienced absolutely no pain or other symptoms commonly associated with shingles until AFTER the strange rash was given a name that my mind could compute.

To present, I feel like my body is purging and my mind is just trying desperately to hang on. I have been crying a lot. It seems like anything can make me cry these days. But this isn’t the same kind of crying that I experienced nearly two years ago when I began therapy. That was depressed crying – sad crying. What I am experiencing now seems to be emotional crying – crying when I am happy, when I’m sad, when I’m moved by something, when I’m with people I love. My body is releasing with an intensity that can be frightening. I have found myself “hiccup” sobbing more in the past two months than I have in the past several years. And it still feels like there is so much more that needs to come out.

Last week in therapy, Dianne suggested that we need to start working on understanding what is blocking me. She assumed this to be the first time my body has responded this way. I pointed out how I used to get nauseous to the point of vomiting when I was around someone I was attracted to. And then there was last year, when it took almost a full year of physical and massage therapy to work out the tension and blockage in my upper back and shoulders that was causing incredible pain in my neck.

And maybe this all sounds crazy. Like, it’s probably just tension. Just relax, right? But what I know is that I truly don’t know what I’m holding onto, but it scares the shit out of me to find out. I start crying at the mere though of digging deeper to try to work through whatever it is. I’m surprised by the fear I have around this, and that scares me even more.

Even so, I know that it’s hurting me to keep holding onto it. Literally. I don’t know what it is and I don’t have a clue what it will look like to figure it out. Hell – I don’t even know that I’m ready. But I know I’ll be okay.

My task in the meantime is to own it and make it mine. I’ve caused myself a lot of grief trying to hand it to others, begging them to make it go away. So I get to do the work now at connecting my mind and body. I get to try to listen to it and try to take care of it when it tells me to. I get to breathe with it and think about it with love and gentleness and not with pain and frustration. I get to work on being conscious of the way my body moves – to try to strengthen my core muscles to protect my lower back. I get to know my body better. And I get to understand even more about the path I’ll travel to medicine and healing.

And we’ll just see what happens next….

So Said Stephen Colbert To the President...

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Before I begin, I've been asked to make an announcement. Whoever parked 14 black bullet proof S.U.V.'S out front, could you please move them. They are blocking in 14 other black bulletproof S.U.V.'S and they need to get out.

"Wow, wow, what an honor. The White House correspondents’ dinner. To just sit here, at the same table with my hero, George W. Bush, to be this close to the man. I feel like I'm dreaming. Somebody pinch me. You know what; I'm a pretty sound sleeper that may not be enough. Somebody shoot me in the face.

"Is he really not here tonight? The one guy who could have helped. By the way, before I get started, if anybody needs anything at their tables, speak slowly and clearly on into your table numbers and somebody from the N.S.A. Will be right over with a cocktail. Mrs. Smith, ladies and gentlemen of the press corps.

"Mr. President and first lady, my name is Stephen Colbert and it’s my privilege tonight to celebrate our president. He's no so different, he and I. We get it. We're not brain backs on the nerd patrol. We're not members of the fact (police). We go straight from the gut, right sir? That's where the truth lies, right down here in the gut. Do you know you have more nerve endings in your gut than you have in your head? You can look it up. I know some of you are going to say I did look it up and that’s not true. That's [because] you looked it up in a book.

"Next time look it up in your gut. I did. My gut tells me that's how our nervous system works. Every night on my show, the Colbert Report, I speak straight from the gut, ok? I give people the truth, unfiltered by rational argument. I call it the no fact zone. Fox news, I own the copyright on that term.

"I'm a simple man with a simple mind, with a simple set of beliefs that I live by. Number one, I believe in America. I believe it exists.

"My gut tells me I live there. I feel that it extends from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and I strongly believe it has 50 states. And I cannot wait to see how “The Washington Post" spins that one tomorrow. I believe in democracy. I believe democracy is our greatest export. At least until China figures out a way to stamp it out in plastic for three cents a unit.

"In fact, ambassador, welcome, your great country makes our happy meals possible. I said it's a celebration. I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least.

"And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq. I believe in pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. I believe it is possible -- I saw this guy do it once in Cirque du Soleil. It was magical. And though I am a committed Christian, I believe that everyone has the right to their own religion, be it Hindu, Jewish or Muslim. I believe our infinite paths to accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe it's yogurt. But I refuse to believe it’s not butter. Most of all I believe in this president.

"Now, I know there are some polls out there saying this man has a 32% approval rating. But guys like us; we don't pay attention to the polls. We know that polls are just a collection of statistics that reflect what people are thinking in "reality." And reality has a well-known liberal bias.

"So, Mr. President, pay no attention to the people that say the glass is half full. 32% means the glass -- it’s important to set up your jokes properly, sir. Sir, pay no attention to the people who say the glass is half empty, because 32% means its 2/3 empty. There's still some liquid in that glass is my point, but I wouldn’t drink it. The last third is usually backwash. Folks, my point [is] that I don’t believe this is a low point in this presidency. I believe it is just a lull, before a comeback.

"I mean, it's like the movie “Rocky." The president is Rocky and Apollo Creed is everything else in the world. It's the 10th round. He's bloodied, his corner man, Mick, who in this case would be the vice president, and he’s yelling cut me, dick, cut me, and every time he falls he says stay down! Does he stay down? No. Like rocky he gets back up and in the end he -- actually loses in the first movie.

"Ok. It doesn't matter. The point is the heart warming story of a man who was repeatedly bunched in the face -- punched in the face. So don't pay attention to the approval ratings that say 68% of Americans disapprove of the job this man is doing. I ask you this, does that not also logically mean that 68% approve of the job he's not doing? Think about it.

"I haven’t. I stand by this man. I stand by this man because he stands for things. Not only for things, has he stood on things. Things like aircraft carriers and rubble and recently flooded city squares. And that sends a strong message, that no matter what happens to America, she will always rebound with the most powerfully staged photo ops in the world.

"Now, there may be an energy crisis. This president has a very forward-thinking energy policy. Why do you think he's down on the ranch cutting that brush all the time? He's trying to create an alternative energy source. By 2008 we will have a mesquite powered car.

"And I just like the guy. He's a good Joe. Obviously loves his wife, calls her his better half. And polls show America agrees. She's a true lady and a wonderful woman. But I just have one beef, ma’am.

"I'm sorry, but this reading initiative. I've never been a fan of books. I don't trust them. They're all fact, no heart. I mean, they're elitist telling us what is or isn't true, what did or didn't happen. What's Britannica to tell me the Panama Canal was built in 1914? If I want to say it was built in 1941, that's my right as an American. I'm with the president, let history decide what did or did not happen.

"The greatest thing about this man is he's steady. You know where he stands. He believes the same thing Wednesday, that he believed on Monday, no matter what happened Tuesday. Events can change, this man’s beliefs never will. And as excited as I am to be here with the president, I am appalled to be surrounded by the liberal media that is destroying America, with the exception of fox news.

"Fox News gives you sides of every story, the president’s side and the vice president’s side. But the rest of you, what are you thinking, reporting on N.S.A. Wiretapping or secret prisons in Eastern Europe? Those things are secret for a very important reason, they’re super depressing. And if that's your goal, well, misery accomplished. Over the last five years you people were so good over tax cuts, W.M.D. Intelligence, the affect of global warms. We Americans didn't want to know, and you had the courtesy not to try to find out. Those were good times, as far as we knew.

"But, listen, let's review the rules. Here's how it works. The president makes decisions, he's the decider. The press secretary announces those decisions, and you people of the press type those decisions down. Make, announce, type. Put them through a spell check and go home. Get to know your family again. Make love to your wife. Write that novel you got kicking around in your head. You know the one about the intrepid Washington reporter with the courage to stand up to the administration. You know: fiction.

"Because really, what incentive do these people have to answer your questions, after all? I mean, nothing satisfies you. Everybody asks for personnel changes. So the white house has personnel changes. Then you write they're just rearranging the deck chairs on the titanic. First of all, that is a terrible metaphor. This ship's not sinking.

"This administration is soaring. If anything, they are rearranging the deck chairs on The Hindenburg...

"Now, it's not all bad guys out there. Some heroes, Buckley, Kim Schieffer. By the way, Mr. President, thank you for agreeing to be to my show. I was just as shocked as everyone here is I promise you. How is Tuesday...tonight?

"General Mosley, Air Force Chief of Staff. General Peter Pace. They still support Rumsfeld. You guys aren't retired yet, right? Right, they still support Rumsfeld. Look, by the way, I've got a theory about how to handle these retired generals causing all this trouble, don't let them retire. C'mon, we've got a stop loss program; let's use it on these guys. If you're strong enough to go on one of those pundit shows, you can stand on a bank of computers and order men into battle.

"C'mon. Jesse Jackson is here. I had him on the show. Very interesting and challenging interview. You can ask him anything, but he’s going to say what he wants at the pace that he wants. It's like boxing a glacier. Enjoy that metaphor, because your grandchildren will have no idea what a glacier is.

"Justice Scalia’s here. May I be the first to say welcome, sir. You look fantastic. How are you? (imitates hostile gestures Scalia was reported to have made)

"John McCain is here. John McCain - John McCain. What a maverick. Somebody find out what fork he used on his salad, because I guarantee you it wasn't a salad fork. He could have used a spoon. There's no predicting him. So wonderful to see you coming back into the republican fold. I have a summer house in South Carolina; look me up when you go to speak at Bob Jones University. So glad you've seen the light.

"Mayor Nagin is here from New Orleans, the chocolate city. Yeah, give it up. Mayor Nagin, I would like to welcome you to Washington, D.C., The chocolate city with a marshmallow center. And a graham cracker crust of corruption. It's a malamarsh is what I’m describing, a seasonal cookie.

"Joe Wilson is here, the most famous husband since Dezi Arnez. And of course he brought along his lovely wife Valerie Plame. Oh, my god! Oh, what have I said? I am sorry, Mr. President, I meant to say he brought along his lovely wife, Joe Wilson's wife.

"Pat Fitzgerald is not here tonight? Dodged a bullet.

"And we can't forget man of the hour, new press secretary, Tony Snow. Secret service name, Snow Job. What a hero, took the second toughest job in government, next to, of course, the ambassador to Iraq. Got some big shoes to fill, Tony. Scott McClellan could say nothing like nobody else.

"McClellan, eager to retire. Really felt like he needed to spend more time with Andrew Card’s children. Mr. President, I wish you hadn't made the decision to quickly, sir. I was vying for the job. I think I would have made a fabulous press secretary. I have nothing but contempt for these people. I know how to handle these clowns. In fact, sir, I brought along an audition tape and with your indulgence, I'd like to at least give it a shot. So, ladies and gentlemen, my press conference."

(Note: A video section followed with Colbert sparring with reporters and eventually running away from journalist Helen Thomas. Find that here.)

(I pulled the speech from here and here.)

My favorite comment on Chris Durang's blog (I italicized and bolded my favorite part):
"For every occasion the media starts showing some backbone, along comes an event like this to show just how cowed they truly are...

In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, you couldn't avoid a replay of the displaced homeowner telling Vice President Cheney to go f*** himself. Here we have a guy with television show on 4 days a week, telling the PRESIDENT, HIS MINIONS AND THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA to go f*** themselves for a good 20 minutes. And it seems to me he KNEW he was bombing-bombing in front of that crowd, anyway. And he did it. Maybe he was afraid, but in that moment, he was fearless. He was saying what 30 to 42 percent of the American people (depending on which survey you subscribe to and how much of the margin of error you want in Bush's favor) desperately needed Bush to hear: You're an awful President. You're an awful person. We don't know why so many reporters want to continue the ruse but we are not believers and we are not amused. We are hurting. We're finding it increasingly difficult to fuel our cars and heat our homes, and to work more means to spend less time with our families who are getting shortchanged by your No Child Left Behind nonsense. You have divided this country, perhaps the deepest its been divided since our Civil War. If you can't help us, at least stop hurting us. And if you can't stop hurting us then don't be surprised when a man far more intelligent than you hurts you, in front of your face, for the world to see, crushes your wittle feelings into so many mashed potatoes (so you can't injure yourself, like you would with a pretzel), and for once makes you know what it feels like to be somebody's bitch. Lord knows it's how we all feel every time you open your piehole.

If there's even the slimmest of chances Stephen Colbert reads the HP, I congratulate him and thank him and consider him more of a hero than anyone in this Administration could ever hope to become. no matter how many medals of Freedom they may inappropriately receive."

- slappymagoo, 05.01.2006

Life

Sometimes I am amazed by life. Last night George followed me as I crawled into bed. I couldn’t turn off the light because I just had to watch him for a while. I had to see the way that he tells me that he’s happy, or how he shows me where he wants to be petted. I love the way his eyes follow things – toys, bugs, invisible objects. More amazing to me is that this creature – this whole other species – appears to know me and love me in precisely the way I know and love him.

I remember being this amazed by Midnight. It never ceased to astonish me when Midnight chose, on his own accord, to spend every night of our shared lives with the full length of his body stretched out alongside mine, kneading and nuzzling my neck, purring away. Even before that, it was incredible the things that cat allowed me to do to him when I was much younger. I used to wrap him up in baby blankets, dress him up in doll’s clothes – it was just awful the things I did to him. ; ) And he tolerated every moment of it without really ever fussing about it. In his old age, he never lost his recognition of his family. He always seemed to know just who I was, even though I saw him only once or twice a year. And his love for my family never wavered, not through the pain of arthritis or through the frustration of getting his mats combed or cut out. Even when he rarely moved off my parents’ bed, he was quick with a purr, a kiss, and some ever-available drool whenever someone he loved entered the room. How amazing is that?

And of course Murray… watching him live and die with such strength and grace brought me to tears on more than one occasion. He was the first that I cried over and he most surely won’t be the last.

I can only imagine being a parent. To hold a human life so precious to you, to see their open minds and unconditional love, to wonder what they’ll make of themselves when they grow up and always knowing that it will be something wonderful. To see bright little eyes that seem to recognize only you and to be the only one who can make the hurt stop (at least for a minute)… How amazing is that?

I look around at the people who are close to me now. Each is amazing in her/his own way. It is powerful how we nourish each other just by our mere existence and our ability to love and have compassion. The diversity of our interests is what allows this society to carry on. The myriad skills that we all possess and the willingness to pursue our dreams are astounding.

So sometimes I am just amazed by life and I take some quiet moments to reflect and rejoice and allow myself to be moved to tears.

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

I’ve been meaning to write this blog entry for some time now, but life has gotten in the way of my posting anything lately. However, as I just read two fascinating articles yesterday about corporate involvement in killing the labor movement (not shocking) and in supporting the current genocide occurring in Darfur, Sudan (slightly more shocking), my sense of urgency in spreading this word was renewed.

I am an activist. At various times in my life, my activism has been far more visible than it is at this moment. In college, I was running discussion groups, organizing marches, tabling in the cafeteria – whatever it took. At present, a full time job, school, relationship, city life, and the rest have cut back on my more “visible” activism. And yet, I am always seeking out ways to influence culture, both locally and on a more global scale. Much of my activism at this juncture in my life tends to be more personal than it once was. Not that the topics are any more or less personal to me (duh), but my methodology has changed. Mostly, my activist emerges during one on one conversations, as I truly believe in grass roots activism and mere exposure to different ideas is a good way to get people thinking. Or sometimes I just talk about things that may not be common knowledge. Or I write about various injustices on my blog. Etc., etc. These aspects of my activism are well-known, as I tend to be loud and verbose. My monetary activism is less well known.

Several years back, the company I work for sold its soul to the devil (literally – the infamous Carlyle Group holds a large portion of the stock). Prior to that sell-out we were technically an “employee-owned” company – meaning simply that all employees owned a certain number of shares of stock in the company. When the vote came down that we would sell out the employee-owned portion of the stock, most of the employees got paid for their share. Most of us came out of it with something resembling retirement income (which was nice, considering that the company, at that time, had no other retirement program in place). Our options were to keep the money in the low-risk/low-yield 401K account that was automatically created for each of us, or to roll the money over to some other type of account. Many of my colleagues let it sit, many more cashed it out to buy first homes or pay off debts, and me? Well, I did some research. Even before I knew I had an option, I knew that I did not want my (relatively meager sum of) money to be invested in an evil corporation…or several. And thus I discovered the wonderful world of Socially Responsible Investing (SRI).

I began conversations with Justin Harris to explore options for my newly established retirement account. Justin specializes in this work and his office has something like over $140 million dollars invested in companies that meet certain environmental, labor, product, and other good business requirements. Money is not invested in the “military industrial complex”, the “prison industrial complex”, weapons manufacturers, evil pharmaceutical companies, the alcohol/tobacco industry, companies that profit off of war and blood, and various other companies that violate environmental laws, labor laws, and other laws. Participating companies are constantly evaluated to be sure that they are in compliance with the established requirements. Those with vastly more money than I have are able to further sway corporate activity by investing and divesting in companies of their choice. It is a beautiful thing.

You don’t have to be wealthy to have an impact either. There are options out there for even small sums of money to go a long way in helping out this world. For retirement accounts, Calvert is a great place to start with a relatively low minimum deposit. First Affirmative is even more diverse in its investment options (but they have a rather high minimum deposit of $50,000). Pax World Funds is another one. Domini Social Investments, Insight Investment, Parnassus Investments, Sierra Club Funds, Women's Equity Mutual Fund, and several others with religious bents. Just do a little research. Although I have used ING Direct for my money market (savings) accounts for several years now, Justin recently exposed me to Self-Help Credit Union, which is a socially responsible version of ING Direct with comparable (read: even better) interest rates. (Although I have not yet made the change, exposure is the idea here.) I believe Self-Help has a one time $25 fee to join and maybe a minimum account balance, where ING doesn’t, but you could always start with ING and make a change once your account swells to the required minimum level. Whatever you want to do with your money.

That’s the point, isn’t it? Too many of us just go along with whatever someone tells us about our investments (and our health). It seems to be too much work to do the research and to learn what to do with this stuff. I’m not saying you need to learn how to invest for yourself. (Hell – I am neither interested nor willing to invest for myself! That’s why I have Justin.) I am just saying that you have choices. You can talk to your company or your financial advisor or whomever and ask them about SRI. And if they have no answers, you can talk to someone who does. And then you can move your money if you decide that it’s the right thing for you.

There are movements out there, people. The article I read yesterday in this week’s Nation was about how two Harvard students discovered that Harvard had invested millions of dollars in a Chinese oil company that was contributing vast amounts of money to the Sudanese government, which was most certainly using said money to commit atrocities in Darfur. The Harvard students organized, and by April 2005 Harvard divested. Most of the other Ivies followed suit, and then the California educational system, and then the California Teacher’s Union (with nearly $140 billion invested). Clearly, these divestments have not quashed the genocide. But, in response, the government of Sudan has taken out several advertisements in the New York Times and other media decrying these divestments. The effects are being felt. And that started with two students who did not like how their university’s money was being spent.

If these students could make such a difference without even using their own money, imagine what you can do. Every little bit matters, no matter how small the amount. How cool is that? The moral is: even if you, like me and many others, feel that right now you don’t have the energy or interest to be active, you can be with relatively little effort and a great deal of effect. Look into it and never have to wonder/worry about what your money is being used for.

Oh, and for those of you who are curious about the rate of return on socially responsible investments: research has demonstrated that SRI funds perform the same as non-SRI funds. I’m convinced it’s the way of the future. Or at least, it needs to be for this planet to survive.

(I’ve linked to many pertinent sites, but send a comment if you want more information on SRI.)