Miss Information

What irks me into anger is the opinion I read of some religious yokel who stated, and I quote loosely, “Gay marriage is not a civil rights issue. Black people have no choice. They are born black. But gay people choose to be gay.”

This insults everyone.

First of all, I have never met a single Gay person who has chosen to be Gay. I have met some Gay people who have chosen to repress their sexuality and turn to food. This renders them elephantine and certainly date-free. I have met Gay people who took a long time to come out of the closet. This is not a problem, just a journey. But to say that someone chooses to be gay? No wonder there are so many homophobes. They must wake up each day and wonder, “Is today the day I’m going to act on my minor homo-erotic impulses and choose to become a big devil-worshipping homo?”

And even if being gay was actually a choice, well, is it such an awful choice? Considering overpopulation? Actually, given the state of our air, living a gay lifestyle is probably the sanest choice. But friends, you, the Miss Informed, it is not a choice.

Further bad taste:

Saying that Black people are born Black so they have no choice, while being true, just sounds kind of tacky and ill stated.

But let’s move past the victimization of Black people for a moment, which I would never deny or pretend has not been absolutely horrific in our country. Black Americans were treated the worst way possible. And when I imagine slavery, I am filled with murderous rage. I hate it when someone tells me that I have to get up before 10 AM. I cannot imagine someone threatening to whip me if I balked at having to plow the back forty. So, yes, the deal for Black people was rotten and the prejudice, especially in the deep south, let’s face it, has been almost insurmountable. But during the last forty years, at least ideologically, if not materially, it has gotten better. I believe the material will come. Though I do not deny that when you run the numbers on Black wealth compared with White wealth, any human accountant hangs his head in shame. It’s disgusting.

Black people and all Women, with the support of all kinds of other people, have fought like hell for full, equal citizenship in every way. And it has been won. Again, only ideologically. But still, it has been won. So WHY THE FUCK on earth are Black people so against Gay people sharing the same rights? I have to tell you, we Gay people are pretty furious about this. Though the original statement of the religious yokel above made no mention of Black ideological violence against Gay people, I had to add it here. The question of civil rights for Black citizens compared with Gay citizens is no longer the immediate discussion. The real trouble, now, when considering Black citizens and Gay citizens is that Black citizens, by a large majority, want to disenfranchise Gay ones, which eclipses the whole discussion. SHAME, shame, SHAME on you, Black Homophobes who hide behind the cloak of religion. You can’t do that. You must stop it. Today.

This Blog Entry is Brought to You by

GRIEF.

I am lucky. When I have a big emotional thing going on, I just get worn out.

I can barely keep my eyes open. I just want to sleep.

And then, I do. For like ten hours.

I hear stories from all sorts of people who have trouble sleeping, especially when they are upset. Me: I just conk out. And for that I am grateful.

So my natural response to our just deceased cat? Nighty night.

Nighty night.

Sweet Puss, Oliver

Adam said it Best:

Dear family and friends,

It is with great sadness that I report that Don and I put our beloved cat Oliver down today. His health had been declining for several weeks and he stopped eating about 10 days ago. His quality of life was rapidly deteriorating and we decided it was best to do it now before it got too bad. Never an easy decision, but we both feel it was the right one. He was 16 1/2, and he died peacefully in my arms, purring right up until the last moment. He was an incredible pet -- so friendly and loving and beautiful. He gave and recieved so much love during his life, and that is a beautiful thing. He will be sorely missed. Goodbye, my boy.


 

I'm Really Different (Now) !

I’m Really Different (Now)!
A Musical Performance Piece, with comedy by Karen Kilgariff and Music by Don Cummings. And a guest.

Friday, April 3 @ 9PM.

The Little Room at the New Largo

366 N. La Cienega Blvd. Los Angeles 90048

No Reservations taken. Sixty Seats. Come on.

Ten bucks.

New Material.

Remarks:

“Karen is so funny. The music is great. I’m coming back.”

Crazy 8

The Mormon Church, Focus on the Family, The Knights of Columbus and the American Family Association along with a bunch of other moronic bozos pumped forty million dollars into the airwaves of California to terrify people (about their children, mostly) into voting YES on Proposition 8.

Fuck them all.

During a civil rights fight, sometimes you have to behave like Martin Luther King Jr., and then sometimes, you gotta go full Malcolm X.

When I was in college I used to say, con motto, “I understand the fury of black people. If I was black, I’d be out of control with anger over being so oppressed. I’d wreak havoc.”

What I was really saying without realizing it was that I was a furious oppressed minority. But it was easier to see it as something outside of myself. For surely, a white guy at a nice college had no reason to be upset. But I was.

And I am.

To have those MMU’s, THE MISERABLE MORMONS OF UTAH, march into California to aid in getting the votes to add an amendment to our constitution to legally discriminate against gay couples is something that cannot be taken like a gentlemen. This now means war.

There is much hope. There is a law in California that states if the constitution is AMENDED, it can be done so by a simple majority referendum (which is ridiculous, but as we have seen, true). However, if the constitution is revised, which in this case it has been REVISED because it removes equal protection for certain citizens, then the only legal course for this REVISED CONSTITUTION action is through the legislature and NOT by referendum.

Legal teams friendly to the equal protection of gay people are moving forward using this tact to beat away this new REVISED constitution parading around as if it were solely an amendment. The response from the terrified religious right? “No fair! You can’t do that! That’s why we did all this and spent all this money! So you can never be heard from again!”

What do they think? The legal battle is over? Really? This will not end until gay marriage is legal in the State of California. I always remember a weird little story about a dog and a rabbit. The dog is running toward the rabbit because it wants to eat it. But the rabbit runs even faster away from the dog because it wants to live.

Gay people want to live. We will run faster and we will win. A hard rain is gonna fall on you, you wretched dogs, and you will go hungry.

My advice:

Miserable Mormons: Stay out of our state.

Knights of Columbus: Go choke on your sauce. Being of half Italian heritage, having even been given some strange awards by your organization in high school for having this boot blood, I once entered your strange hall and I immediately despised your creepy, moldy VFW stench and your peasant, backward parochialism. You make me embarrassed to be Italian. Stay out of our state.

Focus on the Family and The American Family Association: Your children, probably about ten percent of them, are gay. Gay as geese. Gay as ganders. Gay. How nice of you to discriminate against your own children, you vile ideologues. Stay out of our state.

Total war.

For the more than ten million voters who voted YES on proposition 8: You go to bed every night now, understanding that you have reduced your being. You are now smaller. And for this smallness, you will have less. When less comes your way, know that it is a physical manifestation of your decrease. So, when you are in pain due to your decrease, know that this pain was cause by your filling in the YES dot on the ballot card, along with the other small things you do every day that manifest your smallness, you small, scared beasts.

For the almost ten million voters who voted NO on proposition 8: Thank you. Thank you. I have met so many people, most of them straight people, who are as passionate as I am, even more so at times, about the equal rights of every human being in the great State of California. My neighbor still has his NO ON PROP 8 sign up on his lawn, next to a burning candle. It is a kind of vigil, I assume. Thank you, neighbor. Thank you, everyone. The numbers are closing in. It is tight. And soon, with legal action, and any other action we have at hand, we shall overcome.

And if I see any of you miserable Mormons crossing our state line again to spread your hatred, I am going to slap you fucking senseless with a recently used ten inch dildo.

November 4, 2008

Aren’t you simply relieved?

Young Frankenstein

PLEASE VOTE. Though it would make perfect sense to write about Election Day Eve, I have one more play to write about before I leave New York City to return to Los Angeles for the election night party, and the monster is Young Frankenstein.

Look, I just went because it was a family thing. Two kids coming, one nine and one ten years old.

What do you take these boys to see? Mary Poppins? They had no interest. Spamalot? The parents had already seen it. Billy Elliot? But wouldn’t that look like I was pushing ballet on the boys?

Halloween weekend, Young Frankenstein it is!

Because of the New York Marathon, no one was in town so getting tickets at TKTS was a breeze.

Oh Readers! Young Frankenstein was hilarious. So much better than The Producers, which I experienced as pure pain.

Susan Stroman directed the scary hell out of it. There were physical bits that worked exceptionally well, including physical comedy that tickled one into tears.

The biggest comic role, Igor, was played by Christopher Fitzgerald with a perfect touch and like the rest of the cast, not as an imitation of the original actors from the movie.

Roger Bart as Dr. Frankenstein was perfectly pleasing. I actually worked with him years ago. He was a pleasant chap then and a highly watchable one now. He had such long cool hair when we were in our twenties. Easy going, breezy guy.

Beth Leavel as Frau Bucher hit the right notes. Kelly Sullivan as Inga did what she could with the role. Michele Ragusa stayed so far away from Madeline Kahn in this characterization, you wish she hadn’t.

An added bonus for me was the show was written by Thomas Meehan along with Mel Brooks. Thomas Meehan is from my home town and he wrote, gasp, Annie. On career day in high school, I went to hear him speak about how he wrote Annie---just a handful of us in a classroom. He was speaking again during the afternoon and on career day, you either went in the morning or the afternoon to your chosen event. But I had to go twice, so I could hear him speak again. I went to my French class and told my teacher I was cutting her class to go hear Thomas Meehan, for a second time. She was fine with that.

Look, you can get tickets half price, easily, for Young Frankenstein. And it is worth it. Sure, if you know the movie it is a greater experience. And the music, well, it is not memorable. Actually, there are a couple of times when the singers melted into very close harmonies. One could have enjoyed even more of that. I mean, if you’re going to write a musical, why not write some cool music?

But, frankly, it was all about bits, this play. And they were good bits, well executed, snappy and very funny. Light as a feather. The play felt even faster than the movie.

Lighting techniques were used that made the set seem half stage, half movie, which worked to the show’s advantage. Lightning, too. Huge castle sets. A roll in the hay that flew through the woods. And my, what knockers.

Kindness

Kindness, written by Adam Rapp, now playing at Playwrights Horizons, is a somewhat absurdist, somewhat naturalistic mysterious murder but not murder play. In a world of sharp alienation and uncaring discord.

What saves the day? Ultimately, there is kindness, which is what this play is all about. Not some feel good kindness, but a bigger kindness, the forgiving kind. A cancer ridden mother who has no energy to try to understand her son and a scorned society girl who is going nowhere except perhaps one day to prison, surround a young man who is quite removed from and saddened by his life.

The society girl kills for cash and eggs on the son to kill his own mother.

If he were to kill her, would it be an act of kindness since he would be putting her out of her misery? Or would it be an act of kindness to not kill her, to let her live the remaining days of her disease ridden life, miserable, vulnerable, coughing up blood. You decide.

I keep seeing plays that have ambiguous endings. Must be the echo effect of a bunch of MFA teachers from ten years ago who are afraid to commit to a point of view for fear of appearing foolish, or maybe they don’t think people should know each other. A shame thing.

But this play, well, Adam Rapp has a special way of making it his, even with the ambiguity. It is not MFA progeny. It is his voice. True and despairing and very funny.

The acting in Kindness is wonderful. Across. Adam Rapp directed and it reminds me that directing one’s own material is often a perfect idea.

The play, while very funny in spots, left me somewhat cold, but then, after the final moments, left me crying my eyes out as I walked along Forty-Second Street beneath the circus lighting of all the urban redevelopment.

This mother/son play, the relationship really beating at the heart of the thing, is simply sad. And though many theatre goers I observed leaving the building had the look of smug subscribers who were thrilled they get to be audience members of such “edgy” “smart” fare, I just thought it was so Fucking sad.

Then I had Moo Shoo Pork.

But then I still thought it was so sad.

I survived the Moo Shoo.

And twenty-four hours passed and I still think it is so sad.

Mouth to Mouth

I love The New Group. It’s a solid theatre company doing very solid things. Their biggest hit in recent memory was ABIGAIL’S PARTY by Mike Leigh.

Tonight, with an old friend, I went to see MOUTH TO MOUTH by the very interesting playwright Kevin Elyot. It takes place in a South London suburb. The more I think about it, the greater I think the play is.

When MOUT TO MOUTH ends and you get down to the fundamental skeleton, it seems like it is nothing more than, “He died because of that?” But then, you start to think, oh no, it’s not just that, it’s this, too.

Beware: the relationship between a son and a mother. And many other things.

What Kevin Elyot does as a playwright, in this case, is he presents things that seem so banal. But while banality reigns over the settings and the plot, problematic sex and death lurk at every corner. It is done subtly and surprisingly.

The actors, across, are fantastic. To see this kind of acting, up close (we were third row center) is really what going to live theatre is all about. And as a bonus, by chance, someone I used to act with in college, Andrew Polk, plays the great showy role of the smart, gay, nihilistic, coke snorting doctor. He fits the niche of the modern day priest or bartender: he hears confession and worry but he doesn’t care about it too much. For him, it’s just about survival.

The rest of the cast is spot on. Christopher Abbott as the son (wonderfully real and perfectly attractive), Lisa Emery as Laura (wonderfully real and perfectly brittle) and Elizabeth Jasicki (simply comedic and brilliant) are all lovely to behold. Especially Elizabeth Jasicki—very right kind of spice you want in your play.

The director, Mark Brokaw, with his impressive list of credits, can add this one to the heap. He handled the material delicately, truthfully, slightly creepily, lyrically and with great reality. Ninety minutes.

Fifty Words

You know, sometimes you see a play and your response is, "I am SO GLAD the playwright went after it!"

Michael Weller's FIFTY WORDS at the Lucille Lortel, produced by MCC Theater, was a pretty interesting night of a marital fight.

In about ninety minutes, a couple goes through the huge range of most of the bad things that can happen in a marriage. And it is done deftly. At times, it is executed somewhat oddly. I got the sense that Elizabeth Marvel, as the wife, was not the perfect actor for the role. She was supposed to be a bit of a wacked, ambivalent Bitch. It was mentioned. But she spent much time making smiling faces that covered up, what?

Norbert Leo Butz was more grounded and believable as the angered, frustrated husband.

These two held the stage for the whole evening. You have to hand it to them. Directed by the august Austin Pendelton, you were always pretty clear about exactly what was going on. Though, again, I think a little more mess would have been a great addition. Some random behavior that could add emotional depth to the words of the play.

But, rarely does a play go head on into the bad nastiness of a really rocky marriage. Applause is in order for Michael Weller and for the actors and the director who took it on and really made a solid sandwich out of it.

I Am a Beagle, No That's Not It

This is the third time I am pulling out this “joke” tonight—and it could very well fall flat here, also for the third time.

There is a famous line in one of the final monologues of THE SEAGULL, uttered by Nina who has returned from the provinces as a pretty failed actress, “I’m a seagull, no that’s not it, I am an actress.”

Back in college, so many actresses would do that monologue in class and usually it was very painful to watch. So I turned to one of my friends, after a particularly bad rendition, and said, “I am a beagle, no that’s not it, I am a mattress.”

Of course, it’s just a rhyming thing and is not high comedy. But to me, the humor lies in the dada quality of picking any old rhyming, useless words. This absurd joke relates to how ridiculous it is that all these untrained college actresses had the nerve to just march into the middle of class and insist upon performing this very difficult monologue. Vanity, surely. But then, at nineteen I auditioned for Juilliard as Biff from DEATH OF A SALESMAN, something best left to straight men, who once played football, over thirty years old and not after a full weekend of being high on mushrooms.

Okay, if you have to explain a joke that much, it clearly is a bad one.

Tonight, we went to see THE SEAGULL based on the most glowing theatre review I have ever read in The New Yorker.

It was beautiful. But it was over directed. It was mostly British actors, from a British production and it seemed like a British play. The British spirit is nothing like the Russian spirit. The play hit me as a very cold thing. Though, Ann Dowd as Polina, suffering from unrequited love, which is a huge theme throughout, delivers reality beautifully. Perhaps because the character is from a lower class? Or because I am from a lower class?

Zoe Kazan, as Masha, understood the humor the best. Of course, it’s the funniest part. But she was lovely.

I felt Kristin Scott Thomas overdid it as Arkadina.

And the director, Ian Rickson, let almost nothing get out of control. Would have been nice if something did.

It's Disgusting But It's True

It’s disgusting, but it’s true. I am looking at black people differently now.

I think it must be insecurity that makes one see others as “other”. Has to be. Then, in this competitive world you can think to yourself, “Well, I have a leg up on that colored one over there.”

It’s disgusting, but it’s true.

I was in a plane today, flying from LA to NY. It was loaded with recently retired African American women who were returning to NY after their retirement celebration trip to California. They were all members of a union. City workers. I asked one of the retired revelers where they worked but I couldn’t get an answer any greater than, “For the city.”

Okay, so they worked for the city.

And, I found myself loving them. Even though they exhibited all the things I usually do not like in city workers. They had huge asses and they moved very slowly (especially up the ramp when we disembarked…and you know how it is when you are getting off the plane, you just want to ZOOM) and from the amount of canes I saw, I assume many of them were collecting disability.

But I didn’t care! They are the new leading race. Something in me snapped. I saw every single black person, every single retired city worker as more human than I ever have before.

There is something else going on here. I made it a special assignment for myself to be more in the moment during this trip. Problem is, when you are a writer, you spend way too much time in your head…which can cut you off from how you are feeling. So, I decided that this trip, I was going to think less and just interact more so that I could have more spontaneous, joyful days.

That could be part of it. But really, I think it’s all about Obama and me. It’s disgusting, but it’s true.

California Did Not Fall Into the Sea

Hello from Big Sur.

There we all were in Big Sur having a wedding for two women who love each other. I was the minister. A Buddhist priest followed and chanted a blessing. These two women are now married according to the laws of California.

And what happened? Big Sur is still Big Sur. The fog still rolls in when you may not want it. Elephant Seals are just an hour away, flopping on the beach. Breakfast is still served.

No on Prop 8. Because there's just no reason for it.



 

We Want Your Children

I feel for the Christian Right. In a way.

Tests on brains have shown that conservative people have different brains. Their fear center (the amygdala) is more active.

Poor dears.

So they are more afraid. And the more afraid you are, the more you see things in black and white. No time for touchy-feely gray.

So when they say the crazy statement, “Prop 8 is going to make it so teachers have to teach about gay marriage in school,” well, that’s just their fear talking. But their fear is not unfounded. Sure, this false statement is wrongly reductive and listening to them running and hollering like their hair is on fire is sad. But in a way, their lying statement is a concretized idea that they can bind their fear to. They have murky, scary feelings about gay marriage. This hardcore black and white thing flies out of their mouths, from their fear center, which is basically, “Get your faggot hands off my children!”

The Christian Right should be afraid, though, and I do feel sorry for them. The world continues to evolve, and they still believe in a two-thousand year old myth. Not the most adaptable sorts. It’s difficult to find peace when you are constantly fighting reality. And gay rights, as well as the shear number of gay people, is on the rise. This is real. And perhaps only natural.

Out in the animal kingdom, when population pressures or pecking order pressures get great enough, for many species this leads to an increase in homosexual behavior. I understand that we are not cows or monkeys, but we are cow and monkey enough that perhaps this is going on with us, too. If nothing else, people sure are coming out more readily, in like Junior High. The combination of people feeling more at ease with their sexual orientation and coming out mixed with the cow-monkey POSSIBILITY that there is an increase in the number of gay people because of social pressures mixed with just way more people on earth so way more gay people on earth mixed with television, the internet, modern dance, you just, you can’t swing a double donger without hitting a gay person. And that’s just at your family reunion.

The world is changing. And the Christian Right doesn’t want to face this in the worst way. They are throwing their children toward the voters saying, “My child. My precious child. How can you teach this to my child?”

And you just have to say, “Because maybe your child is a little homo, since there are so many more of them these days the possibility has increased, and wouldn’t it be better if (s)he could be way more relaxed about it? And if (s)he’s straight, wouldn’t it be great if (s)he would be way more relaxed about it, too, since the homos are showing up in droves, like zombies, albeit friendly ones?”

In effect, the Christian Right is right. We are coming after their children. No, it won’t be a law that gay marriage will have to be taught in schools, but there is a much greater chance that gay marriage will be talked about in schools, off the cuff, much as anything that exists on earth is talked about: like whale migration, imaginary numbers, Verdun and state capitols.

The world is changing. It is more open. And it is way more gay. Maybe more so than ever before. And we do want your children. To know it? Yes. Only because it is true. We are coming after your children with our gay openness. Lock them indoors! But don’t be surprised when you turn around if little Matthew is doing a grand jeté across the playroom floor to Clay Aiken’s latest offering. If he can’t help himself, he can’t help himself.


In celebration of California, as a Universal Life minister, I head up to Big Sur to marry two women this weekend. I hope there are children there.

An End to Slavery

Going to Iraq to take over the oil fields was a really bad idea. Furthermore, if we had succeeded, it would have made slaves of many Iraqi citizens. They know this and that’s why they want us the HELL out of there. They do not want to be enslaved. Who does?

If we want a large energy sector in our economy, then we are going to have to get creative. Not warring, which is a drain in every way, but creative.

Creativity is what drives an economy. And B.O. is a much greater friend to creativity than the Republican buffoons. Let’s create new things! And let the Iraqis have their freedom. Release them.

I look forward to Barak Obama residing in the Oval Office, in great support of creativity, releasing the slaves of Iraq. The final release: by a brilliant American man of color.

Let freedom ring, brothers.

Hateful Things

Voting Yes on Proposition 8 is a hateful thing.

Adam and I have been married and then dismarried by Multnomah County in Oregon. Tonight was our fifteen year anniversary. We can get married during the next two weeks in the state of California. After that?

And if Proposition 8 is passed, will the people who were married in California while it was legal, will they be able to continue being married? So just a handful of them will exist? Like when they made the EV1 electric car and then discontinued it?

For our fifteenth anniversary, we went to eat at Delancey’s, a new Italian restaurant on Sunset near Gower. It’s a bit of a brew bar, too. Tasty. I highly recommend the white bean and oily tuna crostini.

Then, horror of horrors, we saw Wicked. Friends, as you know, this thing has been running everywhere on earth, forever. What can I say? It’s the Wizard of Oz story from the biographical point of view of the Wicked Witch of the West, based on the novel by Gregory Maguire, partially deconstructing the Land of Oz, but not so deconstructed that the place isn’t still completely recognizable. The one note charleys run around up there as paper characters, circling around and learning to either love or hate the outraged Elphaba who happened to be born with green skin and magical gifts. All sorts of things are made up that tie in with the Wizard of Oz story—it is uneven. It is difficult to tie into another story. You become a slave to that tie in. And one longs for the original Wizard of Oz , not this sideways romp that really, when examined logically, falls apart all over the place. The music screams, “I have worth even though I’m green." The actors in it are up there for almost three hours and they give it their all. You have to take off your big witch hat to them. It can’t be easy. They do it well. Teal Wicks as Elphaba sings wonderfully. Oh goodness, I was bored. Hatefully bored.

The tone was set for this hateful feeling because this morning, I read Sei Shonagon’s Hateful Things. Tenth Century Japan. It’s fantastic. Here it is.


Hateful Things

One is in a hurry to leave, but one's visitor keeps chattering away. If it is someone of no importance, one can get rid of him by saying, "You must tell me all about it next time"; but, should it be the sort of visitor whose presence commands one's best behavior, the situation is hateful indeed.
One finds that a hair has got caught in the stone on which one is rubbing one's inkstick, or again that gravel is lodged in the inkstick, making a nasty, grating sound.
Someone has suddenly fallen ill and one summons the exorcist. Since he is not at home, one has to send messengers to look for him. After one has had a long, fretful wait, the exorcist finally arrives, and with a sigh of relief one asks him to start his incantations. But perhaps he has been excorcizing too many evil spirits lately, for hardly has he installed himself and begun praying when his voice becomes drowsy. Oh, how hateful!
A man who has nothing in particular to recommend him discusses all sorts of subjects at random as though he knew everything.
An elderly person warms the palms of his hands over a brazier and stretches out the wrinkles. No young man would dream of behaving in such a fashion; old people can really be quite shameless. I have seen some dreary old creatures actually resting their feet on the brazier and rubbing them against the edge while they speak. These are the kind of people who in visiting someone's house first use their fans to wipe away the dust from the mat and, when they finally sit on it, cannot stay still but are forever spreading out the front of their hunting costume or even tucking it up under their knees. One might suppose that such behavior was restricted to people of humble station, but I have observed it in quite well-bred people, including a Senior Secretary of the Fifth Rank in the Ministry of Ceremonial and a former Governor of Suruga.
I hate the sight of men in their cups who shout, poke their fingers in their mouths, stroke their beards, and pass on the wine to their neighbors with cries of "Have some more! Drink up!" They tremble, shake their heads, twist their faces, and gesticulate like children who are singing, "We're off to see the governor!" I have seen really well-bred people behave like this and I find it most distasteful.
To envy others and complain about one's own lot; to speak badly about people; to be inquisitive about the most trivial matters and to resent and abuse people for not telling one, or, if one does manage to worm out some facts, to inform everyone in the most detailed fashion as if one had known all from the beginning -- oh, how hateful!
One is just about to be told some interesting piece of news when a baby starts crying.
A flight of crows circle over with loud caws.
An admirer has come on a clandestine visit, but a dog catches sight of him and starts barking. One feels like killing the beast.
One has been foolish enough to invite a man to spend the night in an unsuitable place -- and then he starts snoring.
A gentleman has visited one secretly. Though he is wearing a tall, lacquered hat, he nevertheless wants no one to see him. He is so flurried, in fact, that on leaving he bangs into something with his hat. Most hateful! It is annoying too when he lifts up the Iyo blind that hangs at the entrance of the room, then lets it fall with a great rattle. If it is a head-blind, things are still worse, for being more solid it makes a terrible noise when it is dropped. There is no excuse for such carelessness. Even a head-blind does not make any noise if one lifts it up gently when entering and leaving the room; the same applies to sliding-doors. If one's movements are rough, even a paper door will bend and resonate when opened; but, if one lifts the door a little when pushing it, there need be no sound.
One has gone to bed and is about to doze off when a mosquito appears, announcing himself in a reedy voice. One can actually feel the wind made by his wings, and, slight though it is, one finds it hateful in the extreme.
A carriage passes by with a nasty, creaking noise. Annoying to think that the passengers may not even be aware of this! If I am traveling in someone's carriage and I hear it creaking, I dislike not only the noise but the owner of the carriage.
One is in the middle of a story when someone butts in and tries to show that he is the only clever person in the room. Such a person is hateful, and so, indeed, is anyone, child or adult, who tries to push himself forward.
One is telling a story about old times when someone breaks in with a little detail that he happens to know, implying that one's own version is inaccurate -- disgusting behavior!
Very hateful is a mouse that scurries all over the place.
Some children have called at one's house. One makes a great fuss of them and gives them toys to play with. The children become accustomed to this treatment and start to come regularly, forcing their way into one's inner rooms and scattering one's furnishings and possessions. Hateful!
A certain gentleman whom one does not wish to see visits one at home or in the Palace, and one pretends to be asleep. But a maid comes to tell one and shakes one awake, with a look on her face that says, "What a sleepyhead!" Very hateful.
A newcomer pushes ahead of the other members in a group; with a knowing look, this person starts laying down the law and forcing advice upon everyone -- most hateful.
A man with whom one is having an affair keeps singing the praises of some woman he used to know. Even if it is a thing of the past, this can be very annoying. How much more so if he is still seeing the woman! (Yet sometimes I find it is not as unpleasant as all that.)
A person who recites a spell himself after sneezing. In fact I detest anyone who sneezes, except the master of the house.
Fleas too, are very hateful. When they dance about under someone's clothes, they really seem to be lifting them up.
The sound of dogs when they bark for a long time in chorus is ominous and hateful.
I cannot stand people who leave without closing the panel behind them.
I hate people whose letters show that they lack respect for worldly civilities, whether by discourtesy in the phrasing or by extreme politeness to someone who does not deserve it. This sort of thing is, of course, most odious if the letter is for oneself, but it is bad enough even if it is addressed to someone else.
As a matter of fact, most people are too casual, not only in their letters but in their direct conversation. Sometimes I am quite disgusted at noting how little decorum people observe when talking to each other.
Sometimes a person who is utterly devoid of charm will try to create a good impression by using very elegant language; yet he succeeds only in being ridiculous. No doubt he beleives this refined language to be just what the occasion demands, but, when it goes so far that everyone bursts out laughing, surely something must be wrong.
A man who has nothing in particular to recommend him, but who speaks in an affected tone and poses as being elegant.
An inkstone with such a hard, smooth surface that the stick glides over it without leaving any deposit of ink.
Ladies-in-waiting who want to know everything that is going on.
Sometimes one greatly dislikes a person for no particular reason --- and then that person goes and does something hateful.**
A gentleman who travels alone in his carriage to see a procession or some other spectacle. What sort of man is he? Even though he may not be a person of the greatest quality, surely he should have taken along a few of the many young men who are anxious to see the sights. But no, there he sits by himself (one can see his silhouette through the blinds) with a proud look on his face, keeping all his impressions to himself.
A lover who is leaving at dawn announces that he has to find his fan and his paper. "I know I put them somewhere last night," he says. Since it is pitch-dark, he gropes about the room, bumping into the furniture and muttering, "Strange! Where can they be?" Finally he discovers the objects. He thrusts the paper into the breast of his robe with a great rustling sound; then he snaps open his fan and busily fans away with it. Only now is he ready to take his leave. What charmless behavior! "Hateful" is an understatement.
Equally disagreeable is the man who, when leaving in the middle of the night, takes care to fasten the cord of his headdress. This is quite unnecessary; he could perfectly well put it gently on his head without tying the cord. And why must he spend time adjusting his cloak or hunting costume? Does he really think that someone may see him at this time of night and criticize him for not being impeccably dressed?
A good lover will behave as elegantly at dawn as at any other time. He drags himself out of bed with a look of dismay on his face. The lady urges him on: "Come, my friend, it's getting light. You don't want anyone to find you here." He gives a deep sigh, as if to say that the night has not been nearly long enough and that it is agony to leave. Once up, he does not instantly pull on his trousers. Instead, he comes close to the lady and whispers whatever was left unsaid during the night. Even when he is dressed, he still lingers, vaguely pretending to be fastening his sash.
Presently he raises the lattice, and the two lovers stand together by the side door while he tells her how he dreads the coming day, which will keep them apart; then he slips away. The lady watches him go, and this moment of parting will remain among her most charming memories.
Indeed, one's attachment to a man depends largely onthe elegance of his leave-taking. When he jumps out of bed, scurries about the room, tightly fastens his trouser-sash, rolls up the sleeves of his Court cloak, over-robe, or hunting costume, stuffs his belongings into the breast of his robe and then briskly secures the outer sash -- one really begins to hate him.

** Favorite.

A VERY SIMPLE BLOG ENTRY

NO ON PROP 8

You hear me?

Two Sides to Every Story

Of course, the intelligent, steady B. Obama is going to win this election. This excites me, internationally speaking, because B.O. understands there are two sides to every story. I am impressed with his foreign policy thrust: to see other countries as real places, deserving to be considered, fully. I am not talking about Iran, so much, but more, his general attitude--that we are part of this huge world and everything we do affects everyone else and vice versa.

So--in any conflict, President B.O. understands, it's not just what YOU want, but also, what does THE OTHER PLACE want? It's a bigger, more generous view. Where generosity exists creativity can flourish, problems can be solved.

Republicans are famous for HOME LAND, WE ARE NUMBER ONE, PATRIOTISIM, VICTORY!-- this is a very one sided view of the world. It just screams, ME! WIN! NOW! MINE! I GOTTA HAVE IT! PRIDE! GIMME! I'M BETTER! HUNGRY! KILL!

The problem with sticking to the one sided view is one ends up stoking one's inner monster into action. Eventually, the monster within will grow and break its way out and try to eat all the villagers of the world.

And if you are very unlucky, a camera might catch that inner monster. Some would even recognize it as a gargoyle.

 

Election Trains

Have a fabulous trip. You got on the right train.


 

Language is Thought

Tonight’s final debate showed the poor ancient mariner, McCain, exasperated and cranky as usual. You really were waiting for him to shout, “Hey you, get off my lawn.”

Besides dismissing the very serious issue of a woman’s right to her own health during pregnancy, McCain also dismissed Obama, twice, for his eloquence.

This can only backfire. Eloquence is a virtuosic use of language. Language is thought. Obama’s great eloquence is an expression of his great command of his well formulated thoughts. Obama’s access to his full range of well studied information and well formulated policies into cohesive language puts us all at rest. A huge sigh of relief. A smart man has arrived. And he is going to figure some stuff out. And he is going to talk about it clearly as he is doing it. Eloquence.

I am all for eloquence. And for a woman’s right to choose.

Now, read this hilarious posting from October 7 by Helen Philpot.


Margaret and Helen Post: Maverick My Ass Hilarious. Take time to read her other posts, too.

The Buckley Stops Here

Christopher Buckley, the son of the conservative creator of National Review, William F. Buckley Jr., resigned from his post at the magazine because he endorsed Obama instead of McCain.

He couldn’t take the hate mail

OR

COULD IT BE that he has seen the emptiness of the conservative movement, a callow lot that wants power and financial gain at all costs, while offering nothing in return?

It was a pretty dicey move for him to endorse Obama. Of course, I remember when all those damn Democrats voted for Reagan and the Dems didn’t drum those people out of the fold.

Why so dogmatic, ye Republicans? Smells like the end—

Christopher Buckley, one assumes, is intelligent enough to know what kind of beasts surround him, so when he endorsed Obama on Tina Brown’s The Daily Beast, he probably knew what was in store.

And maybe, just maybe, like his father, he stood up for what he believed in, for what is the correct and sane choice at this moment and for that he was handed his head.

And McCain still proffers supply side economics. While Rome (and Los Angeles) burns.

I Was Reading Some Seneca This Morning

I was reading some Seneca this morning in Lopate’s great book The Art of the Personal Essay.

One piece was about NOISE, the other about ASTHMA.

Living as I do, in smoggy, loud L.A., I was struck by the similarities to ancient Rome.

What struck me most about the asthma piece was Seneca’s take on death, a take that I have had for years. It gave me great peace and a little hit to my vanity that Seneca and I, on very separate occasions, separated by about two-thousand years, arrived at the same conclusion: Death is going to be just like it was before you were born, and that wasn’t particularly painful, was it?

The Roman Classicists were so pragmatic.

Imagine if you will the day before you were born. What was that day like? If you are a pro-life blastula fetishist, then imagine the day before you were conceived. What was that day like for you? There’s death for you.

When you go to your great reward, I imagine it is that day. Get the New York Times front page all about that day. That’s where you’re heading.

CHANGE

Someone, very liberal, who is absolutely voting for Obama turned to me the other night while a bit drunk and joked:

Q:
What does the CHANGE in Obama’s campaign stand for?

A:
Couldya Help a Nigger Get Elected?

If you missed Frank Rich’s Op-Ed this weekend, do take a click below.

Obama the Terrorist

Doing the Gay Math

Proposition 8, which will be voted on in the state of California on November 4, will take away the rights of same sex partners to marry.

It could pass. Though, men and men and women and women have been getting married for months and it doesn’t seem to be weakening traditional marriage or destroying children. So perhaps, people will vote to allow these benign gay rights to remain intact.

Being gay, one struggles.

I remember in high school turning to my friend H, a light spirited, musically talented blond girl, asking her about some of the jocks she knew, “Why do those guys hate me so much? I didn’t do anything.”

Really, I just wanted to be liked, like any other teenager. And I was. But I was also despised, sort of. I say sort of because I was only despised for an attribute of me, not all of me.

Being despicable for no other reason than a condition of who you are, at rest, is pretty wretched stuff.

Why do I slide back to high school? Because that is when most people are honest. And though it is painful, it is all so clear.

So you have to ask, why would someone hate you so much for something like that?
My answer: I think anyone who was different in any way was hated.
And why is that?
My answer: Because competition is fierce and any aggression that can be used against you to push you out of the pool, permanently, of “real competitors” is a boon to the aggressor.

Numbers. Human beings are mathy. This math is used to gain the competitive edge. Strong, able kids of medium intelligence calculate the curve of what is allowable in terms of character traits. The fewer people within that curve, the better, because those are the only “real” people you will have to compete with. There is a collective choice by the inner curvers to agree to keep all the others they deem unfit, out. This reduces stress for those who remain within the margins of “normal” since the number of possible competitors becomes collectively decreased.

Any attempt to allow more people into the allowable area of the curve is stressful for people all ready inside. It means more competition. Besides, with more character traits flying around, which would increase if the unallowed were allowed, the rules would get looser. And then, with looser rules, how do you know exactly how to compete? More stress.

Eventually, the allowable numbers do increase because sane people are the force behind the vector of social change (Voltaire, King) and this is infuriating to those who were trying so hard to keep the numbers down. (And rightfully so, since isn’t it in their best interest to keep competition reduced?)

It’s just math. And it just takes a little bit of awareness to realize this. I am upset about the thousands of Californians who want to take away gay rights because they are bigoted and lazy enough that they want to compete less. In addition, I loathe them for being so stupid. It’s simple math.

Psychological Profile of a Moose Hunter

The following blog entry from my friend, “Postcards from Hell’s Kitchen” puts forth a striking psychological profile written by Debbie Ford about the lipsticked Sarah Palin. It is a bit self indulgent, as all psychological writing is, and questionable in its results since it begins and ends so reductively, on the one hand.
But on the other hand, it is juicy, damning, intelligent and makes me shudder with agreement.

I do not believe in a definitive, complete diagnosis of any individual. Obviously, most everyone has too many sides, too many relationships drawing out those sides, that to say someone is a complete narcissist or totally passive aggressive or 100% depressive, you choose the neural calamity, is more a reflection of the sayer’s inability to see a larger composite of someone’s traits.

However, one does like to be given proof for one’s opinions. Sure, all discourse is suspect. We endure the introduction, thesis, support, with a final, “In conclusion,” knowing too well that the support is chosen from a limited, self-serving field of vision and the conclusion, though obviously emanating from the author’s logic, may not emerge in the mind of any given reader the same way—but who cares?

Let’s get to it:

Seductress Sarah

The Depression Will be PVRd

Obama is going to inherit a mess, but since he is a large thinker, drawing large thinkers will come naturally. These people will problem solve, incentivize, manage and stand firm. With a Democratic House and Senate.

With the help of Hillary Clinton.

And so many others.

Though Iceland has gone out of business, which is pretty interesting, and has taken a loan from Russia to stay open, I do not believe we will suffer as greatly. Of course, China has done for us over the long haul what Russia is going to do for Iceland overnight.

Sloppy, mismanaged decade, one could say. Never let the debt get too big. People keep forgetting this.

But there we sat on our sofa, watching the presidential debates, which we PVR’d. In fact, we PVR’d four channels because we like to watch the variety of commentary afterward. How can there be a depression when I can record four channels of television, simultaneously?

B.O. has a Big Plan. And it smells pretty good.

J.M., well, hard to play on those letters. Poor old man, rambling around that red carpet like old Uncle Charlie at some nephew’s graduation party, a nephew he doesn’t like much, and it’s past bed time. Wheezing into the microphone as he bee-lined to the next question.

Referring to the future president of the United States as “That One” was quite a shock. It reminded me of my grandmother who was born in 1910. She referred to people she didn’t like as “That One.” She also said of her own sister, in disgust, “Up her hole.”

One wonders what is going to come out of Mr. McCain’s mouth next. Maybe something like, “I am replacing Sarah Palin,” or “I concede the election.”

Can’t wait for That One.

Who Needs Money, Really?

As the banks fail, so don’t we.

Human beings are loaded with moxie.

I think I even still remember how to make corn muffins.

Since corn is eternal, I probably won’t go hungry.

This contraction, this big huge contraction, like a dying octopus caving in right through the middle of his beak, well, it’s a sea change.

Sometimes a certain era becomes just a big dead octopus. And there the suckered carcass rots on the ocean floor. People are freaked out about death. I think there are a few religions out there based on this fear. But death is pretty cool. Think what comes from death! New life. New ideas. I even got $250 this year when my Great Aunt Rose died.

Systems or portions of systems die. It’s a cleansing. People will be more cautious where they put their money after this. It is time for caution. Thought. Introspective creativity. New templates.

It is best if we are in a state of slow motion for these kinds of things to take form. How can you create new systems and implement them if everyone is going super fast? You can’t.

So, the contraction had to happen. It’s about China. It’s about the environment. It’s about war. It’s about atomized egos.

Get into the slowness. Find your groovy, relaxed, aware self. Try to keep your easy lifestyle capitalized as best you can. Understand it is better to focus on the health and happiness of living beasts than it is to focus on super successes. Invite your neighbors over for a pot roast. Invite me over for a pot roast.

The RACE is on

I had sympathy for Sarah Palin? Because Katie Couric asked her very simple questions and she could not answer them? That she was so dumbfounded and vulnerable and looked like such a terrified loser that I thought she was the victim of the terrible running-mate choice actions of cynical play-to-the-base politics? That I actually saw her humanity and wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her it was all going to be okay?

And what did I get for my compassion? An ego-drunk girl-child. A power hungry lunatic. She wants to get into office so bad, praying for McCain’s death, so she can become, GASP, president. Or at the least, a Cheney level policy controller. She wants it like dogs want pot roast, like vampires want blood, like low end beauty pageant queens want undeserved fame.

Please excuse me for falling for her for one second.

She’s back to her old tricks of speaking with forked tongue and winking in code. She is trying to scare people with lies, as we have seen this week. “Barak Obama pals around with terrorists…he’s not like you or I.”

It is racism, fear-of-otherness, whatever you want to call it. She is a tiny-souled monster.

Sarah Palin is diseased pond scum.

I release her off my radar.

And now for the positive antidote:
Time to watch Richard Trumka. I surely cried.

Body Snatching

I want to put something out here about Sarah Palin.

She was out of her body during the debate. To me, that’s all that matters. If you’re out of your body, you’re out of your mind, you’re out of synch with what’s really going on.

She was still the terrified woman (girl) looking to be loved, winking at the camera like some bloated Jon Benet Ramsey. She is a weather girl. If she were a man (boy) up there with his hair all up and winking at the camera, I’d say he was a weather boy.

What was most telling was at the end of the debate she and Biden, good sports, both, came together for a gentlemanly shake. She hung onto him, not literally, but emotionally, almost as if she were saying, “Oh my God, I got through it, did you think I got through it? What do you think Daddy? Tell me I did okay. Glad that’s over. Phew!”

Not long ago, I felt sorry for Palin as she dug herself into an incoherent hole in front of Katie Couric. Now, she has redeemed herself in the art of being able to speak in sentences with noun, verb, noun, verb. But that’s about it.

The McCain campaign has nothing. She has nothing. It’s not her fault. But what is disgusting and troublesome to me, and it is something I have witnessed in many of their brethren whether they are running for office or not, Republicans are often detached from their bodies, floating around in wacky ideology, soaring around their projected world view in complete fear.

This fear feeds into their egos which feed into their terror of communal answers to huge problems. Their fear drives them to want every single problem solved with market forces which is just an economic term for competition. Their fear requires competition in everything.

I’ll have none of it.

Why?

Why am I feeling so Blue?

And why does it feel so good?

What Way to Make a Living

Tonight, at the Ahmanson, I witnessed the musical 9 to 5. They took the movie, added tons of new songs by Dolly Parton, lots of 1979 office design, catchy choreography, expressive mid-century Dali-esque sequences, a huge screen in the rear with backlit visual effects, very particular period props (a great sequence with a tank of a photocopier), a couple of the musical theatre stars from Wicked and Allison Janney who is totally game and solid. It was enjoyable. Directed by Joe Mantello.

The show stopper was in Act II when Judy, played by Stephanie Block (originally played by Jane Fonda in the movie) sang Get Out and Stay Out, a plea to her ex-husband to leave her be so she could get on with her life of empowered single womanhood. Stephanie, as many people know, can sing he ass off. She certainly did tonight. Force of nature, really.

Look, I don’t know why people like musicals so much. Hell, I love them. There’s something about sitting there with all that going on. It’s a great expression of life. You have story, acting, design, music, dancing. What else could you throw in there? I guess sex and guns. But wait! This play has those, too.

I don’t know if I would suggest that you should put down your white out and run down to the Ahmanson to see this office musical right this minute. I mean, it’s pretty corny and the cause-vagine is so thirty years ago, it is hard to understand why one would need to see it now. And as a piece of feminist history, let’s face it, how could it carry any weight? Being a musical-from-a-movie-via-Dolly Parton-etc.?

But it’s a romp. And maybe the point is, it can be just a romp now that we’ve come so far in the work place. Sure, women still don’t make as much money as men for the same work and men are still pigs in their hearts if not in their actions, but there have been considerable advancements. Just look at C. Rice or S. Palin or that CEO, who was she?

The play is less political than it is entertaining. And there we are. This show is on its way to Broadway. Try to get free tickets.

Let's Eat Pie Together

When I hear stories about the depression, and I heard many from my old grandma, Nanny, and her sisters, it was rough. After school, their snack would be a little bread, dampened somehow, with a little sugar on top.

But people helped each other. There was a kindness.

With less room for competition (the game pieces were taken away), there is more room for communalism. And so there is.

Frankly, let the swamp be drained. Let Wall Street quake and break. We’ll survive.

I have some ideas:

1)Whatever banks and investment firms are left standing right now, let them take over the other ones. The responsible institutions should be rewarded for staying afloat.

2)Since everyone hates the idea of taxpayers doing this huge bail out of 700 billion big ones, why not get the money from another source? Why not nationalize the oil companies and use their assets to buy these failing institutions?

3)Once the oil companies are destroyed by being nationalized, why not make all future energy exploration (ie: renewables) a utility completely controlled by the government?

What the hell did this country think? That everything was really worth what we thought it was worth? When houses quadruple in value in eight years, doesn’t that sort of smell like speculation? And whenever there has been huge speculation, what has always happened, always?

Capitalism could work if it were highly regulated. But friends, in addition, we need some form of socialism, or at least an amalgam of government and business working very closely together, for education, health, energy and let’s just throw the internet in there, too. At least then, you wouldn’t have to kill yourself, like some slave, in order to be smart, healthy, energetic and able to check your email.

Tyranny of the Majority

In free countries, where everyone is more or less called upon to give his opinion on affairs of state, in democratic republics, where public life is incessantly mingled with domestic affairs, where the sovereign authority is accessible on every side, and where its attention can always be attracted by vociferation, more persons are to be met with who speculate upon its weaknesses and live upon ministering to its passions than in absolute monarchies. Not because men are naturally worse in these states than elsewhere, but the temptation is stronger and at the same time of easier access. The result is a more extensive debasement of character. –Alexis De Tocqueville, Democracy in America, 1831-32





Full chapter, Unlimited Power of the Majority in the United States and its Consequences—Alexis De Tocqueville

Call Me Franky

Let’s be frank. This election season is stressful, not necessarily enjoyable and full of questionable regressive characters.

And I feel bad for all of them. I don’t know what hit me today—maybe it’s all the meat loaf I’ve been eating or the imminent death of my dog, or something even worse, like the economy collapsing, but I am feeling downright compassionate.

I believe Obama, McCain, Biden and Palin are suffering.

Obama seems to be shutting down. He is not all that decisive. He’s smart. But he seems a bit like a depressed smoker, which I think he might be. He’s mildly suffering.

McCain is just a crazy old coot. He reminds me of the skirt chasing guy in the old age home, flying around the halls in his wheelchair, doing erratic things like throwing pureéd orange food at people, for some reason in his failing mind that seems perfectly right to him. He’s a terrier on his last legs. He’s suffering publicly.

S. Palin. I never thought I’d say this, but I feel awful for her. When perfectly neutral Katie Couric asked her again about foreign policy, Sarah Palin just stumbled and stuttered, formed half sentences of gibberish, talked about Russian and Canada in the most silly way, and looked like her feelings were just plain hurt. Everyone is focusing on the facts of her factlessness. I saw a person who was unwisely chosen from a sea of bad candidates and is mercilessly drowning in that choice. She is in pain. She is suffering greatly.

Biden needs a haircut. He is suffering the least.

These are people, people. It does not look like any of them are doing so well. They have to vie for leadership of a country that is going down some sort of drain. Who would want that job?

The person who is not suffering at all? George Bush. Why? Because he’s drinking heavily.

Fight With the Boxer

LET’S NORMALIZE!

Look, the swamp is being drained. The final act of the Bush Hell Storm is playing before our eyes.

But it all began with Reagan, during the deregulation years. “Trust the big corporate guys. They got your back.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all knew how this would end.

It never made sense. Endless growth? How do you do that?

If you want endless growth, then you better grow something. Besides ugly McMansions.

It is ending terribly.

But that does not mean we cannot still be EXTREMELY OPTIMISTIC ABOUT THE FUTURE! Weeeee!

Obama’s numbers are very far up. McCain and Palin are going to explode.

AND BARBARA BOXER IS STILL WORKING STRONG TO SECURE A BETTER FUTURE FOR ALL OF US!

She wants you to take a minute to tell her what you want to see for the future of transportation in this country. I asked her for subways in Los Angeles, overhead pod cars that run on electricity, and underground conveyer belts for the transport of all freight.

Fight with the Boxer! She wants to hear from you!

And when you are finished telling Barbara, cut and paste your suggestions here, in the comments section!

Travel Clean, friends.

Click Here To Tell Barbara Boxer Your Transportation Ideas

An Email Plea to Change the World

I received this today from my good friend, Marian. No one knows better than her that it is TIME.

Hi My name is Marian Fontana and I lost my husband Dave Fontana, a firefighter on September 11th, 2001. On that day, (which coincidentally was my 8th wedding anniversary) I not only watched my husband die on television, but I watched the world, country and city change forever. After my husband died, I worked with political leaders including Hillary Clinton to slow down the clean-up at Ground Zero and advocate for the firefighters and the victims families. What helped me through that difficult time, was the profound shift that took place in our country and our world. For the first time in history, "everyone was an American," united in our humanity, collective grief and effort to fight terrorism in our world. For me personally, it made something positive come from the ashes of Dave's death and I was buoyed by seeing the very best of who we are. Why am I telling you this? Because, it has deeply saddened me that the current administration squandered that once in a lifetime opportunity to unite and fight terrorism globally. Because this administration has used 9-11 as an excuse to go into a country that had nothing to do with that day and start an infinite war that has lost more lives than 9-11. Because more women are becoming widows every day. Because I am tired of seeing our country go from united, to divided in a unprecedented display of partisan politics. More than anything, because now, it is happening again. McCain/Palin are using 9/11 to prey on people's deep rooted fear and once again, it is working. On this 7th anniversary, my sadness and grief were deeper than ever. I not only grieved for Dave, my best friend for seventeen years, or for my son who will grow up fatherless, but I grieved for this country and how far we have fallen from that profound moment of unity. I grieved because for the first time in my life, I am losing hope. I am writing this campaign because I will do whatever it takes to help Obama win. We need change because to me, it feels like humanity itself is at stake. Thank you Marian Fontana

Hooking Up in the Twin Cities (1)

We flew to Minnesota to see some really great friends get married. Marriage is a lovely thing and demands you pay attention. It's emotional, delicious, and if done right, light hearted and breezy. These are the groom's great shoes.


 

Hooking Up in the Twin Cities (2)

But really, it was the bride's shoes that made it worth the trip.


 

I'm Really Different (Now)!

I’m Really Different (Now)!
A Musical Performance Piece, with comedy by Karen Kilgariff and Music by Don Cummings. And a guest.

Tuesday, September 23, 9PM.

The Little Room at the New Largo

366 N. La Cienega Blvd. Los Angeles 90048

No Reservations. Sixty Seats. Air Conditioned. New Material. Come on.
Like ten bucks.

La Gloire

The French call it La Gloire. The Chinese call it Glory, but in Chinese.

Some Americans call it their Divine Right, a mission from God that feels so correct.

Wherever you live, in many cultures, there is a feeling that your culture should be number one. Like the Denver Broncos or something.

Recent articles about tent cities rising up around major American cities is creating neo-Hoovervilles, or what I like to call, Bushtowns. This is where our rampant spending and glory hunt has brought us.

The overreaction of Neocons to the disaster of 9/11, 2001, which they touted as What-Must-Be-Done-to-Make-Us-Safe, was really nothing more than a veiled excuse to maximize glory. It is the fight of the very right to expand, overtake, plunder and enslave. In this case, they would have been mostly happy to acquire the oil, which they did not. If their motives were not only cynical rapaciousness, that they did desire democracy in Iraq, well, certainly, there are better means to achieve this goal than the ham fisted use of marching into a sovereign nation uninvited, killing innocent people and torturing prisoners without due process all to the tune of Because-we-must for our safety, revenge and necessart ideological expansion.

It was all glory. The glory of oil. The glory of making others live under a system that is the RIGHT system. The glory of smacking people into submission and lording it over them for their own good. The glory of the largest embassy ever built in a capital city. The glory of saying, “We have the might to do this. We are doing this. You cannot stop us.” Feels so good to do whatever the hell you want.

Glory builds triumphant arches, but these structures are only visible to the folks back home in the town square. It might make them feel good, but a monolith is just a big load of stone and eventually, you have to keep cleaning it because of all the soot.

Men love the taste of glory. (Sarah Palin prefers the term Victory.) It is primal monkey motivation, the feeling that one monkey can make the other monkeys in the crowd do all the banana work while the most glorious king monkey smugly decides which banana in the huge pile is to his liking. It is not wrong to aspire to glory. In fact, it is impossible to ignore something which is so biologically based and can feel so good when it is engaged into action. But there are other ways to achieve this. You can’t just do something just because it feels good.

Besides, old glories fade. Enough. Take care of the folks at home. The rest of the world is the rest of the world. And truly, they don’t want you there. We sure don’t want them here telling us what to do. You want glory, glory seekers, find it. But not at the expense of others. And I will not be so presumptuous as to suggest the more positive ways to fulfill your glory hole. That would be vainglorious of me.

Why I'm Voting for Obama

Let’s start with the glaringly obvious:

He’s smart.

He’s young.

He’s thin.


Now, let’s move to some deeper human traits:

He likes to build consensus.

He knows his way around the internet.

He can raise mountains of money, which is a reflection of his ability to rouse the rabble.

He cares about the common good.


Now, let’s focus on a few issues:

He wants to make health care more available and affordable to more people.

He believes in oversight, especially financial oversight.

He is not afraid to use force when necessary.

He wants corporations to pay more taxes.

He is a green economist.

He knows how to choose a solid running mate. Imagine his cabinet.


What more do we need? Let’s just forget about focusing on all that McPain. Whatever you focus on, you get more of. Let’s focus on B. O. (This is the first time I’ve stumbled upon his initials.)

What’s gonna make the WHITE HOUSE smell ever so sweet? :

B.O. and J.B.

Healthy People if Nothing Else

As the money wears out…JUST ONE THING:

Give people Health care.

Sure, you can skim 95% of the money out of the market.
You can burn 95% of the fossil fuels.
You can use 95% of the water.

But, couldn’t you just make sure that all the people who are making it possible for YOU to scam the cash get health care?

Should people die from lack of care while YOU fill your coffers?

Okay, greed is a motivator. We know it. I don’t know why I am happy with not owning a castle or why someone living in a cardboard box isn’t motivated to live in a corrugated metal hut, but there are different levels of physical lust and it seems we are all living together.

However, the desire for a healthy body, 100% healthy, is universally shared. So why not spread enough around so that is possible?

But wait, is the desire to be completely healthy universal? Do people choose to be unhealthy? In fact, do people choose to be poor and unhealthy, together, because they are on a big ol’ victim trip?...I don’t believe it. I am no Calvinist.

So, we must take care of the humans. If you ran a zoo, you wouldn’t let the monkeys get sick. You’d give them antibiotics WHENEVER they needed them. At least do the same for your fellow man.

Deepak's View

From Deepak Chopra's MySpace blog, is his entry about Ms. Palin, hockey mom, unprepared to lead, but well prepared to make us take notice of WHAT-THE-HELL-IS-GOING-ON?

Though you may or may not be a Chopra fan, I always find him thoughtful in a holistic way. Read on.

And then, I swear, that lipsticked pit bull needs to be off our radar.

We need to focus on what Obama is going to do for our future.

Luckily, the full stock market correction is here. That's a bit of truth the Republican do-nothings cannot run away from.

D.C.'s view on the shadow:



"Obama and the Palin Effect"



Sometimes politics has the uncanny effect of mirroring the national psyche even when nobody intended to do that. This is perfectly illustrated by the rousing effect that Gov. Sarah Palin had on the Republican convention in Minneapolis this week. On the surface, she outdoes former Vice President Dan Quayle as an unlikely choice, given her negligent parochial expertise in the complex affairs of governing. Her state of Alaska has less than 700,000 residents, which reduces the job of governor to the scale of running one-tenth of New York City. By comparison, Rudy Giuliani is a towering international figure. Palin's pluck has been admired, and her forthrightness, but her real appeal goes deeper. She is the reverse of Barack Obama, in essence his shadow, deriding his idealism and exhorting people to obey their worst impulses.

In psychological terms the shadow is that part of the psyche that hides out sight, countering our aspirations, virtue, and vision with qualities we are ashamed to face: anger, fear, revenge, violence, selfishness, and suspicion of "the other." For millions of Americans, Obama triggers those feelings, but they don't want to express them. He is calling for us to reach for our higher selves, and frankly, that stirs up hidden reactions of an unsavory kind. (Just to be perfectly clear, I am not making a verbal play out of the fact that Sen. Obama is black. The shadow is a metaphor widely in use before his arrival on the scene.)

I recognize that psychological analysis of politics is usually not welcome by the public, but I believe such a perspective can be helpful here to understand Palin's message. In her acceptance speech Gov. Palin sent a rousing call to those who want to celebrate their resistance to change and a higher vision.

Look at what she stands for:

1. Small town values -- a denial of America's global role, a return to
petty, small-minded parochialism.

2. Ignorance of world affairs -- a repudiation of the need to repair
America's image abroad.

3. Family values -- a code for walling out anybody who makes a claim for social justice. Such strangers, being outside the family, don't need to be heeded.

4. Rigid stands on guns and abortion -- a scornful repudiation that these issues can be negotiated with those who disagree.

5. Patriotism -- the usual fallback in a failed war.

6. "Reform" -- an italicized term, since in addition to cleaning out
corruption and excessive spending, one also throws out anyone who doesn't fit your ideology.

Palin reinforces the overall message of the reactionary right, which has been in play since 1980, that social justice is liberal-radical, that minorities and immigrants, being different from "us" pure American types, can be ignored, that progressivism takes too much effort and globalism is a foreign threat. The radical right marches under the banners of "I'm all right, Jack," and "Why change? Everything's OK as it is."

The irony, of course, is that Gov. Palin is a woman and a reactionary at the same time. She can add mom to apple pie on her resume, while blithely reversing forty years of feminist progress. The irony is superficial; there are millions of women who stand on the side of Conservatism, however obviously they are voting against their own good. The Republicans have won multiple national elections by raising shadow issues based on fear, rejection, hostility to change, and narrow-mindedness. Obama's call for higher ideals in politics can't be seen in a vacuum.

The shadow is real; it was bound to respond. Not just conservatives possess a shadow -- we all do. So what comes next is a contest between the two forces of progress and inertia. Will the shadow win again, or has its furtive appeal become exhausted? No one can predict. The best thing about Gov. Palin is that she brought this conflict to light, which makes the upcoming debate honest. It would be a shame to elect another Reagan, whose smiling persona was a stalking horse for the reactionary forces that have wrought us to the demoralized state we are in. We deserve to see what we are getting, without disguise.

The Water Wars

Do click on the picture below to see it in its full horror. Ripped from my New Yorker this morning.

First, the corporations go in. Then, we feel ownership of whatever commodity they are controlling. Then, when things get dicey, we send in the military. Oh yeah--Eisenhower warned us of the industrial-military complex.

Now it's water.

We've all seen Chinatown. Controlling water is nothing new. But as this turns global, watch us go to war with Denmark for Greenland.

Friends, please stop having babies.


 

Feed the Children: Two More

Q:
What happens when two past-their-prime dancers and a mute dressed like Nijinsky duke it out for a solo spot on the teacup stage at the North Hollywood fundraiser, FEED THE CHILDREN?

A:
It involves a seal.

FEED THE CHILDREN
By Don Cummings
Directed by David Narloch
W/ Michael Vincent Carrera, Emma Hawley, J.C. Henning & David Narloch

A one act play, part of The Summer Sizzle One Act Play Festival.
Series A (And you get to vote)

TWO MORE SHOWS

Saturday 9/13 & Friday 9/19 @ 8PM

The Chandler Studio Theatre
12443 Chandler Boulevard
North Hollywood CA 91607

Tickets: The Production Company
or 1-800-838-3006


 

The Anniversary

Seven years later and it is still the most defining event of our century.

To those who lost their family and friends on this day, I am so sorry.

Also to those who lost their family and friends on this day, seven years ago, I am appalled that our government used it as an excuse to invade Iraq. It is disgusting.

And to those who lost their family and friends on this day, to hear a vice president nominee claim that it was God’s will that we invade Iraq, I am mortified. One should never let the prom queen run for class president. She’s usually an idiot.

An email circulated today which basically stated, “Don’t click on Palin links. It just tells the news websites that you want more Palin links.” Good advice. Ignore her and she will go away.

People get bored quickly. They will be Palined out by this weekend. Then we can get back to the task at hand: Choosing Obama over McCain.

Seven years ago, so many of us lost our innocence and an entire government, save a few of the brave and outspoken, lost its integrity. I want a return of both.

All This Talk

So, Americans are lining up behind McCain and Hockey Momma Palin. Big deal.

There is a dialogue going on between them. It goes something like this:

“I’ll say nothing if you say nothing and then we’ll pretend that everything is okay.”

It’s the denial vote.

When I went to high school, the class president was an awesome, bookish nerd. He was tall, skinny, a track runner and very into how things had to be run. He loved his work. He was reelected every year in a landslide.

He was the right guy for the job.

Of course, when people are afraid, they leave their senses. I believe Americans have lost their minds. And when people lose their minds, they don’t necessarily want the right guy for the job, they want a protector. And Hanoi McCain and Moosedressing Barbie seem to be more the protector types.

I could imagine at the Debates, no matter what is asked of McCain, all he has to answer is, “Hanoi,” and he’ll get a pass. Palin: She’ll just smile and respond, “Hockey Mom,” to every inquiry. And the rumble of millions of heads nodding in agreement will be felt across the land.

Friends, Obama has to want this like Bill Clinton wanted it, like Hillary still wants it. He has a huge job to do. He has to convince people that an old war vet and a moose killer are not going to make them feel safer, that really, they are going to merely fiddle while Wall Street burns.

I don’t mind McCain so much, as a person. Sarah Palin, however, is simply foolish. Together, they add up to almost nothing. When McCain and Obama debate on national television, it will be clear that one man is vital and the other man needs to retire. But if people are terrified, they may not be able to see this reality.

I wish Obama and the Democratic Party would take the huge risk of really saying,
”This is the new world we are going to live in. It will be peaceful, clean and prosperous. And this is exactly how we are going to get there.”

But I believe he is already saying that. I just hope people get out of their turgid state so their ears start functioning. And that they believe him.

Traitor

Traitor, starring and produced by the intelligent and talented Don Cheadle and also starring the beautiful Guy Pearce, one does get pulled into this caper of world wide FBI searching into a terrorist plot. It’s engaging stuff. The acting is solid. The shooting is good. The story, an idea by Steve Martin, is interesting, though fundamentally structured like stories you’ve seen before.

And Don Cheadle gets a little earnest at the end. Too bad.

But this is the thing about Traitor. I was sitting there watching the movie and it just seemed so normal, now, to have a movie about Jihad. It’s just, I guess I always thought it would be a blip, but it is a world idea that seems to be sticking. And it is sticking in movies. And there I am paying to watch it. The terrorists won’t go away. Our need for an enemy won’t go away. Everyone loves a good fight. And in our culture, everyone loves a good fight where we are definitely much mightier. It adds to our smugness.

Clearly, we are all keeping this alive. Why is it still alive?

We need something else.

I Am Not the Only One on Earth

The season is here. Allergy season in Los Angeles. It’s hot. It’s dry. The leaves are dying on the trees and opportunisitic mold is starting to eat everything up.

Certainly, this is not ideal. But who am I to say that other things shouldn’t live so I can have a more enjoyable earth experience?

My allergy theory: The reason why there are so many allergic people is because nature chose for us. Think about it. All sorts of horrible things must have flown on the backs of specks. Plague on rat dander. Who knows what on pollen, mold and dust mites! So, if your immune system attacked anything that was sort of speck-like, it did its best to remove all kinds of diseases.

At least, that’s what the positive side of me thinks.

In any event, allergies are just allergies, an inconvenient variant. Not as bad as diabetes. But certainly not as innocuous as iris color.

Other things live on earth and allergic people just plain ol’ want to fight them!

I say, let ‘em live! Here’s the clip:


GORGEOUS LIVING BEASTS

September 5, 1974

I ate lunch today with Chris, Steven, Jimmy, etc. I’m really having fun in the Jr. High. But It’s gonna be tough. Well Nanny came over tonight. So I guess I’ll be a going to bed.


That “a-going to bed” quality of my journal entries is some sort of mock hokum thing. I don’t remember being like that at all. But you know how it is when you’re a kid, trying on hats, making different noises, being a character was more fun than being yourself.

The three guys I ate lunch with were all a year older than me, from my neighborhood. I had spent the summer with them and a whole bunch of other people playing a lot of bumper pool, smoking, and drinking Boone’s Farm Apple Hill and Cherry Orchard Wine. I don’t remember what I ate at that lunch, but I do remember the feeling of belonging. We were all trying to be so cool, well I was. They were already very cool. It was 1974 in the suburbs of New York, which is like 1968 in San Francisco. I remember we ate in the eighth grade lunch room. You didn’t have to be in eighth grade to eat there, but most of the seventh graders didn’t so I felt like I was given an upward social bump. It was mayhem, that lunch room, packed. A cool looking old room with very high ceilings and highly polished old wooden floors. The guys, Chris, Steven and Jimmy, ate as quickly as possible because the deal was, you only had about thirty minutes for lunch. So, you’d woof down some food and then go out to “the shed” which was an aluminum utility shed in this rocky copse of trees behind the school. All around it was wide open playing fields. The shed area was not too big, but the trees gave cover so we could all smoke. Once the vice principal started making regular visits to the shed, we eventually gave it up and started hiding in the row of pine trees along the fence on the north side of the soccer field. Once that was discovered, we’d hop the fence, which was the only thing separating the school grounds from the grassy hill that rolled down to the New York State Thruway, and smoke there. There was so much smoking going on in Junior high of 1974.

Election

When I sat tonight and watched Sarah Pangolin, seeker of Cheney’s throne, mother of many, with her pinched righteousness in full attack, I could only think of Reese Witherspoon in the brilliant movie Election.

.

Call me pro-sexist, but I LOVE perky, aggressive women.

You know, Sarah Pangolin is kind of fun. She’s sort of game. She even winks at a crowd.

And though one might cringe thinking, “Oh my goodness, this moose killer is just one melanoma away from becoming our next president,” it seems clear, at least to me, that she is pretty much a lightweight. Not a complete joke. But a joke of some kind.

Alaska? Not really reflective of how the rest of this country works. Though large in land mass and resources, it’s really a small state with very few new ideas. Pangolin is, proudly, a small town mom, a pit bull wearing lipstick, an ambitious Christianist, a don’t-you-tax-me, but give-my-state-tons-of-federal-tax-money schizophrenic. Good for her for grabbing the spotlight! The mentally ill need our attention. But certainly not through any sort of national health care, I imagine.

Of course, I have a big gay beef with the Pangolin. She wanted to put legislation into Alaska law that denies health care coverage for gay partners. So, pretty much, I can only experience her as a great northern Nazi.

With regard to something less baleful, I don’t take much issue with her pregnant daughter. It's not Bristol's fault. Obviously, it’s pretty easy to get pregnant when you’re reading abstinence literature while your hockey boyfriend fills you full of cum. Not much we can do but love and accept the newborn.

And who doesn’t love the Pangolin’s little Down Syndrome baby? What a cutey! A chromosomally flawed but lovable creature. I’d like to say some of my best friends have Down Syndrome, but I have always found their company a bit tedious, always pointing to the overhead lighting as if they have just discovered it for the first time and asking for pretzels.

I’ll admit that life does begin at conception, but if something is growing inside your body and you don’t want it, by all means, kill it. Ideal? No. But people kill their unwanted blastulas, always have. No sense in making something illegal that is as common as swatting flies. I’ve blogged it before: If you have no problem executing fully grown human beings then you should have no problem murdering the unborn. You can’t be Pro-Death and Pro-Life at the same time. It just doesn’t make sense.

In my heart (and we all know how useless that sentiment is: Think of Bush’s heartfelt knowledge of Putin) I think McCain will lose. Maybe not in a landslide, but nevertheless soldiering back to Arizona, non-victorious. I believe his historically strong belief in self-defeat will do him in. The Pangolin will help him get there.

Of course, I could be wrong.

Get on the Train: Transsiberian

See Transsiberian.

It is the rare movie, especially a suspenseful one, that deals with character so well as does Transsiberian. It takes a long time for the story to pull out of the station. You wonder when it’s going to really cross that tundra, and when it does pick up, fast, about midway, you are so glad you had the slow ride to afford you the chance to get to know everyone.

This is really Emily Mortimer’s movie. Everyone else is supporting, but in very big ways.

There is no way to delve into the plot without destroying all surprises, so I will not. But it does start with some sort of drug investigation. At movies’ end, not everyone remains alive.

So let’s talk tone, style, beauty, overall effect.

It’s a sad movie. It feels really Russian. Snow is everywhere. The cinematography is stark and lovely. The story is surprising and pretty horrible all the way around.

Woody Harrelson is not completely believable as a Christy yokel. But he’s appealing, nevertheless. Eduardo Noriega overdoes it as the “Spaniard”. He’s already Spanish. Why overdo it? Kate Mara is spot on as the troubled youth.

Ben Kingsley is, of course, God.

Emily Mortimer is spectacular in all her brightness and shadows. Fine, sharp performance. Every moment. Something about actors who can really stay in reality, without slipping into vanity or showiness, this is what we want, right?

The train is also a star. A big star. And if you are any kind of old world romantic or engine freak, as I am, you must choo-choo down the track and get to the entertainment station.

One of the only great movies this summer. Go, if you can still find it.

I give it 3.8 out of 4 pangolins.

See Transiberian

Hopefully a Sign of Things to Come

There are many ways to sing the National Anthem. Not that I like war songs, but let's think of it as a song of strength and determination. Watch and listen to the National Anthem at the Republican National Convention sung by Miss Minnesota, giving it her best shot.

Then, watch Jennifer Hudson at the Democratic National Convention. Just when the song is about to go high, she modulates into an even higher key. It’s what Democrats are doing now. We see the challenge and we are setting the bar even higher and we are, clearly, reaching it.

Nothing against Miss Minnesota. Hear for yourself.