Being of Asian descent, I'm excited about the coming New Year.  Unlike Christmas, New Year's has special significance for the Japanese -- it is a time to renew ties with family, dispense with old debts and ill will, and clean the house to begin anew.  And, as with most Asian festivals, much of the primary focus is upon food: On New Year's Eve it is customary to eat a meal of wheat (soba) noodles to ensure good luck and black beans for prosperity, then visit friends and family on New Year's Day while enjoying a feast of different foods that each have their own symbolism. 

One very important symbolic ceremony doesn't take place much around here anymore because it requires a lot of people and considerable work space.  The mochitsuki (mo-cheet-soo-kee) is a grand community activity that involves pounding sweet rice grain into a sticky, smooth dough that is then formed into small cakes, or mochi (mo-chee).  It's an activity that takes a good deal of skill, too.  As one person rhythmically pounds the rice grain with long-handled wooden mallets dropped from high overhead, another person must reach into the barrel with nimble hands to turn the dough before the next mallet lands.  When the dough is smooth and shiny, other hands pinch the dough into small cakes which are allowed to cool on a table covered with a thin layer of sweet rice flour, then eaten with a sauce made from sugar, ginger and soy sauce.  Yum!  What a fantastic, tasty way to begin the New Year!

Despite the absence of a good, old-fashioned mochitsuki, I wish for everyone everywhere a year of personal prosperity.  May you, your family and dear friends experience inner peace and contentment... because each of you deserve nothing less.

UPDATE:  Acknowledging intense international and domestic pressure, the Bush administration on December 31 announced a ten-fold increase in aid to the tsunami-stricken countries.  Now all that remains is whether those countries will actually receive any of the aid package.  (Thursday's edition of the New York Times carried an excellent editorial (click here for the print version -- registration may be required) explaining that, despite a similar gesture to aid the Indian province of Bam after it was struck by an earthquake one year ago, they have yet to see any of the aid money.) 

Good news, at least concerning one person; the friend I thought was in Thailand for the holiday cancelled her trip.  She plans to go in April, instead, although conditions will no doubt be barely better than now. 

As I watched Monday's Nightline coverage of the tsunami's aftermath, I couldn't help feeling moved by the sheer scale of the disaster.  Something inside me stirred, I wanted to hop the next plane out.  But I also know the futility of going without a firm idea of what can actually be done.  A friend and I were talking at lunch today while watching the monitor above the bar when she echoed the sentiment of wanting to go there (she'd been in Sri Lanka before, although I'm not sure in what context).  By five o'clock this afternoon she'd already attempted to contact a friend who has connections in the Bangkok area, and I think she's actually going to leave in February.  Then I got a wild idea. 

First, ask anyone who witnessed the events on September 11 and you won't find many who didn't feel the same internal tug, wanting to go there, to do something -- anything -- as long as it was to help.  In fact, so great was the desire to reach out that many simply left their homes and jobs to go to New York City.  Second, contrary to popular belief, people are actually more willing to give of time and money now than ever before. 

I believe that volunteerism and civic commitment smolders in each and every one of us.  And it's a sociological principle that humans are naturally inclined -- even programmed -- to come to the aid of someone in need.  But simple life obligations of work, family, school and community compete with noble intentions to volunteer more time or donate more money to worthy causes.  And it has become more difficult to choose the "worthy cause" because social service needs continue to multiply.  What if the big corporations could be persuaded to subsidize employees who use their vacation time as rescue/aid workers?  For example, in exchange for a ten-day or two week commitment as a rescue/aid worker in Somalia or Indonesia, the employer pays for three or four days of the employee's time off.  One result would be an increase in the number of able bodies to relieve emergency workers in disaster-stricken or severely underdeveloped areas of the world.  Another, more significant, result would be an increased level of corporate responsibility, a term that has been blithely bandied about by Wall Street "watchers."

Some people may scoff at this idea, particularly those who are pressing for implementation of an early warning system such as the one that has existed for years in the Pacific Rim.  (The reason there isn't one in the Indian Ocean basin is because the countries in the basin are so disadvantaged as to not even factor in the global economy.  The countries' peoples then, and their welfare, are insignificant blips in the life continuum.  And let's not forget that there's not much oil in Southeast Asia.)  Even if there were an early warning system in place that undoubtedly would have saved lives, it would not prevent the incredible property and land damage that only water is capable of rendering.  Finally, Southeast Asia simply doesn't have the infrastructure to support the components of an early warning system.  Take a look at photographs of circa-1880s New York City, and you'll see garish towers supporting six to eight levels of telegraph and electrical wires; that was before city planners got smart and began burying utilities under the roadways.  Such is the condition of most of Southeast Asia's moderately developed countries.

A rescue/aid worker network would do a world (literally) of good, and it would certainly carry more sincerity than the piddly $15 million that President Bush so magnanimously offered (a particularly laughable gesture considering that the cost of the Iraq War is somewhere around $150 BILLION).  At the very least, it would serve to replace or supplement the National Guard forces that would ordinarily have been sent for disaster relief -- that is, if they weren't busy killing off civilians in Iraq.

Well, despite my best intentions, I managed to have a decent Christmas weekend.  Of course, a lot of that is because I won $40 playing poker -- not too bad for an hour and a-half's work.  And I won against my obnoxious and self-absorbed brother, who'd been telling all of us how he was going to clean our clocks after dinner.  And the really great thing was that I won most of the money on HIS game.  Heh, heh, heh.  Revenge is indeed sometimes sweet.

Now I'm worried about a friend whom I know is visiting Thailand for the holiday; her home recording indicates that she expected to be home Tuesday morning, but I haven't heard anything after leaving messages at her home and on the cell.  Can you even imagine what that scene must be like?  Imagine waiting all year to go on vacation, then falling victim to a freakin' natural disaster... and a tidal wave at that.  I am hoping that she was busy in her hotel packing her bags, nowhere near the beaches, and that I'll hear from her by the end of the week.  In the meantime, if anyone wants to make a donation to the relief effort the American Friends Service Committee is one of many organizations accepting donations. You can contact them at

AMERICAN FRIENDS SERVICE COMMITTEE
AFSC Crisis Fund
1501 Cherry Street
Philadelphia, Pa. 19102
215-241-7000
www.afsc.org

On to sports news.  Unless you've had your head in the sand you know that former NFL (National Football League) linebacker(?) Reggie White died unexpectedly Sunday from what doctors believe may be a lung ailment.  But I'm having trouble summoning a lot of sympathy for his untimely passing (unlike tonight's Monday Night Football half-time tribute that made the man appear to have lived as a saint).  Oh, he was a great player, racking up more sacks than any other defensive lineman, but White was also a bigot.  In 1998, he delivered a speech to the Wisconsin state legislature that denounced not only blacks but homosexuals, as well.  The sad thing was not that the Wisconsin legislature didn't put a stop to his drivel, but that White rightly guessed that he could get away with the speech given his stature as a professional athlete.  And it was exactly his athlete status that bought him credibility in supporting Trent Lott's Defense of Marriage Act and advocating for the "rehabilitation" of gays.  I'll tell you what... even if I could be "rehabilitated," it wouldn't be for the sake of someone like Reggie.

Christmas is the Christian form of ethnocentrism.

A media era will end tonight when "Now with Bill Moyers" broadcasts with its namesake as host for the final time.  Moyers's exit occurs, ironically, at the end of the same week during which FOX News announced the signing of arch-conservative Zell Miller. 

Moyers is one of the last journalists whose ethics are beyond reproach.  His departure from public broadcasting after more than three decades leaves a gaping wound in journalism because his was, as Meryl Streep said, "a voice crying in the wilderness -- on behalf of the wildreness -- for decades."  Indeed, Moyers ensured that certain subjects remained in our consciousness long after corporate media sidelined them because they weren't conducive to the bottom line.  He deplores, too, the marriage between government and media, telling anyone who will listen that the First Amendment was intended as "a firewall between politicians who hold power and the press that should hold power accountable."  Instead, the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and the FCC have capitulated to the media conglomerates, whose executives are generous contributors to the Republican party.  Moyers examined this issue during the April 26, 2002 "Now" broadcast:

Twenty years ago there were fifty owners of America's major media outlets.  Now there are six.  How a handful of companies came to exercise such control over the media is one of the [most unreported] stories of our time.  Two-thirds of today's newspaper markets are monopolies [and] the music and news delivered to over half the radio audience is controlled by four giant corporations.

Moyers will continue to produce documentaries with his wife, Judith Davidson Moyers, the president of Public Affairs Television.  That means his voice will be a little deeper in the wilderness, but that's still where the most unique creatures are found.

The fact that the Social Security program is in deep trouble has been known for at least two decades.  Roosevelt's New Deal vision of a society forever free from worry of another Great Depression was terrific in theory, but wasn't designed to withstand the economic deficits that have skyrocketed since the dot-com and tele-com bubbles disintegrated.  And no president has pushed for the privatization of Social Security as much as George W. -- never mind that he'll never have to rely on it.  Here's my thought on the topic. 

The stock market is nothing more than a gigantic pyramid scheme, one of the many carrots dangled in front of Americans to make them feel as though achieving the dream is still possible.  Actually, it does pay off for a select few -- like Bernie Kerick and Martha Stewart -- but another fact about the market is that one makes money only when one has money to invest in the first place.  Eighty-nine percent of Americans have no idea of the difference between a stock or a bond, let alone the advantages or pitfalls of either.  Couple this ignorance with tiered stock offerings that divide shares into Class A, B, C (and sometimes D) shares and the obvious inference that some are superior (senior) to others, and one soon discovers that even the stock market has social stratifications. 

A majority of Americans can't afford their own health insurance (because most of them work for Wal*Mart), can barely afford their homes if they're lucky enough to own one, and occupy the lower income strata that benefits least (if at all) from the much ballyhooed tax cuts of the current administration.  Exactly how these folks are supposed to find money sufficient to invest in a private "investment program," that may or may not ensure their future social welfare, is anyone's guess.  Even if there were investment money available, the likelihood of affording a class of shares that will actually pay a return is diminished by the simple economic fact of diminishing returns.  There will always be a finite number of shares available regardless of the number of splits that occur, and each split diminishes the value of the whole by deflating the value of individual shares (at least the class of shares that this type of investor can afford). 

The feds are betting that Americans will chase the privatization carrot exactly because of stories like Bernie Kerick's (who earned some $6.2 million from the sale of Taser International shares), and because Americans repeatedly prove themselves susceptible to get-rich-quick schemes every time they buy a lottery ticket.  The feds are encouraged because consumers continue to support Wal*Mart expansion, believing that the number of jobs created by a store opening in their neighborhood will infuse the economy -- when in fact the standard of living falls because the jobs pay a lower wage than those of the businesses that were driven out.  So it all comes down to the numbers that people are willing to see, rather than those which tell the real tale.  And it was precisely the unseen numbers that allowed companies like Enron, WorldCom and Global Crossing to dupe so many for so long.

I'm not actually worried about my own social security.  At the rate the feds keep raising the retirement age bar, I won't have to worry about it until I'm 85-1/2.

Isn't is odd that it's only AFTER someone dies that you hear the interesting stories?  My maternal grandmother recently followed her ancestors home, yet all I ever knew of her were the grousings of her children (and the childrens' children, whose perceptions were undoubtedly clouded by the former).  Now, almost two weeks after she was buried with just one child and one grandchild in attendance, an uncle (by marriage) is sharing what he read in letters from my grandmother's half-sister. 

My grandmother was truly the last of a breed, the granddaughter of hatamoto samurai (personal guard of the Shogun).  She was born in the United States and educated in Japan, attaining a level of education that, for Japanese women of the day, was reserved for a select few.  Later, she would be called back to the United States and an arranged marriage, into a class much lower than she ever felt deserving of.  I knew for some time that she had a half-sister, whom she hadn't spoken to for well over fifty years, but this week was the first I ever knew of the existence of a brother.  Although I've never met either one, both are younger than my grandmother -- and I hope that, during a planned trip to Japan next summer, I will be visiting them and not their graves.  The half-sister had three children, whom I also hope to meet; but it's weird to know that there are relatives on the other side of the world whom you never knew of.  My immediate family is very small, and the joke we've always shared with friends is that if ever they met someone with the same last name as ours, dammit, let us know because they're related to us! 

Well, darn it all, I tried to pull the plug on this thing but I just can't -- I've got too much to say about the irony I see all around me.  Like the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) issuing warnings on RU-486 (the "morning-after" pill), citing dangers to women after one woman developed a serious infection and another died (from an unrelated cause) when it was discovered that both had taken the prescription-only pill.  Not one week earlier, Vioxx was recalled for its link to heart attacks and strokes -- information that the company had at least one full year before the recall.

Or how about the latest development in the so-called "Spy Files" case?  The local police department claims that it stopped conducting surveillance on alleged "terrorist organizations" (such as the Colorado Coaltion for Middle East Peace and the American Friends Service Committee), by showing up at protest demonstrations and canvassing nearby parking lots and writing down vehicle license plate numbers for tracking, and sometimes infiltrating the organizations.  Not only did the surveillance never cease, but the department refuses to subject neo-conservative groups to the same scrutiny (like the ones protesting at tonight's and tomorrow's Holiday Parade of Lights, after organizers of the parade barred any float displaying a religious sentiment).

Here's a good one... George W. just nominated the former New York police commissioner Bernard Kerick as this country's next Secretary of Homeland Security chief, succeeding Tom Ridge.  I dunno, you tell me what qualifies Kerick; the man is a high-school dropout.  Bush, playing the 9/11 card for the hundredth time this week, said Bernie was "at the World Trade Center minutes after the first plane hit" and "there when the towers collapsed."  What Bush didn't mention is that Bernie comes straight from a security consulting firm -- one in which he's a partner with Rudy Giuliani, and which stands to profit handsomely from what are sure to be plentiful no-bid contracts.  Apparently, if it was good enough for Cheney and Halliburton it's good enough for Bernie's and Rudy's Keystone Kops Konsultants.

Finally, the West is clamoring for Ukraine's popularly-elected prime minister, Viktor Yushenko, to step aside and allow the defeated Viktor Yanukovich to remain in power.  The U.S. even sent Colin Powell over there, claiming widespread election fraud and ballot box stuffing.  Well, aren't we a fine administration to cry "foul"?

Fini.  I give up.

But thanks for checking in.

I think I've recovered from election-induced depression, although the confusion is still making my head hurt.  My state went with Dubya but chose a Democrat for the Senate (and a freshman at that), while choosing evenly among Representatives.  Moreover, the voters rejected a state constitutional amendment* that would have subjected contractors to liability but then approved an amendment to raise cigarette taxes for a (so we're told) state health care fund.  Basically, the voters approved one group escaping payment for its mistakes while penalizing another for an activity of personal choice and risk that doesn't drain any more resources than drunk drivers.

The deed, however, is done.  Moving forward will require an equal or greater intensity than that which went into this election, and even greater scrutiny of world and domestic affairs.  I hope that Bush -- with the help of Congress -- will indeed make his primary goal that of peacekeeping and unity rather than perpetuating the divide-and-conquer, slash-and-burn imperialism of his first term.

*It still isn't quite clear to me why these issues were proposed as constitutional amendments rather than considered as legislative matters to be written into municipal or state statutes.  Shouldn't constitutions be amended only when doing so benefits an overwhelming majority of the citizenry?

After spending the better part of the day working the campaign and canvassing neighborhoods to get out the vote, there's nothing more to do than sit back and watch the returns.  I'm a bit puzzled why the networks are televising coverage at 7:55pm Mountain Standard Time when the polls in California don't close for another five minutes, and Hawaii's don't close for another three hours and five minutes? 

The woman I was partnered with tonight wondered aloud whether our efforts made a difference.  The only sure answer to that question is this:  we'll never know whether we made a difference, but I'm happy to have done SOMETHING.  My objective was to help get people to the polls if it meant driving them myself, but the best impression we could have made was simply being involved, to be out there working the neighborhoods and knocking on one door after another for hours on end. 

I only hope that, should the race be as close as in 2000, the Supreme Court will not step in to decide.  Unfortunately, the Court not only set a dangerous precedent by deciding that election but did so wholly inappropriately.  As a judicial entity, the Court's purpose is to decide only matters of judicial or legislative import -- it is not within the Court's province to answer questions of a political nature. 

Still, I will be terribly disappointed if Bush wins a second term.  A Kerry victory won't repeal the Patriot Acts, make possible a clean exit from Iraq, or reduce the power of big business... but it may again rightfully separate organized religion from government, restore assistance to those of greatest need, and encourage a more favorable global perception of the US (starting with rejoining the Kyoto Accord). 

If nothing else, a Kerry victory will most likely ensure a Supreme Court that will leave untouched a decision (Roe v. Wade) that has nothing to do with God and everything to do with freedom of choice.

Saw "The Motorcycle Diaries" tonight with my scoot buddies... and it is a must see.  The movie is based on the journals of Ernesto "Che" Guevara and Alberto Granado as they journeyed through Latin America in 1952, and how that journey shaped them personally and politically.  It is unfortunate that more people might not see this film because of its title and characters (probably every leftist in the area saw it in its first week), because the story is so much more than eight months of Che's life before he became a revolutionary.  One can't help but leave the theatre with a clearer notion that every life -- regardless of where or how it's lived -- is somehow interconnected with every other life. 

Go see it this weekend, and tell me what you thought.  If nothing else, I hope you come away feeling inspired and empowered, knowing that one person CAN make a difference.

Having been roundly chastised for not blogging recently, I'm back.  In my defense, however, I've been a little busy getting my ass kicked in grad school  -- and although I'm having a great time, trust me when I say it's a killer.  It's been bad enough trying to acclimate from semesters (15 weeks) to quarters (10 weeks), but then they split the quarters into two sessions.  And five weeks doesn't give you a lot of time to fuck up.  The class I just finished was Social Marketing Communication, which applies the principles and concepts of commercial marketing to the social change movement.  The workload was horrific, too -- two textbooks, four papers and a group presentation.  It's a wonder I didn't kill myself.  (Note to self:  Don't take courses taught by the assistant dean.)

Needless to say, personal time has come at something of a premium lately.  But it didn't prevent me from meeting my pal at a local restaurant/bar, under the guise of having a late night bite.  Turns out she wanted to introduce me to the barkeep whom I'd actually met a number of years earlier.  How pathetic is that, when your friends try to set you up with relative strangers?  Yes, her intentions were noble, but it's a sad state of affairs when the prospects considered are people of only passing familiarity even to the go-between.

Still, there must be a better way to go about this meet-and-greet business.  Bars?  No thanks.  Nothing for me to do there -- can't drink, shouldn't dance, and rather not be a wall support.  Social groups?  Too much emphasis on show-and-tell.  Internet sites?  Nah, no one seems capable of breaking the envelope of two or three email messages, nor does anyone seem to possess the fortitude required to actually meet.

Ah well.  I guess it's good that I'll be busy for the next five weeks.

While at lunch today, a friend and I ended up talking about relationships.  We were sitting outside observing passers-by, and I happened to comment on one woman in particular who appeared to be part Asian, whose overall look just struck me, and I said, "Now, she's cute."  You would've thought I'd revealed the secrets of the universe, because my friend nearly had a stroke:  apparently, she's been trying for some time to figure out what "type" of person I'm drawn to.  I guess she's puzzled as to why I've been single for a good while and, frankly, I'm mystified, too.

She asked whether I was too picky, and that led to a discussion about how very difficult it is to find people with whom we (both of us) are compatible.  Interestingly, she has been coupled for as long as I've known her, while I have remained unattached.  She asked whether I might be too picky, but I'm not certain that's the case.  It's true that there is rarely a perfect match -- but while she will have a companion for the sake of companionship, I want the whole package.  For me, there are levels of attraction, each subsequently leading to the other -- physical, emotional, intellectual and sexual.

Perhaps it's unfortunate that I wasn't blessed with the ability to engage in physical relationships without the emotional bond.  I guess that's what's called working from the inside out.  All the same, nearly every one of my friends have always been coupled in some fashion or other, whether through a monogamous relationship or steady if sporadic dating.  And I'm left wondering what qualities they possess that I do not -- or vice versa.  Maybe it's as simple as that they know how and are more than willing to play the game, while I am not.  It's too bad, because someone somewhere is missing out on a bright, active, honest, loyal, faithful and funny companion.

Good lord, I've just described a dog.

It amazes me that, as much money as I've spent on bargains found on the 'net, it has never occurred to me to look for tobacco products.  But as of today, thanks to the New York Times (registration required) and an article by Eduardo Porter, I can save money on that, too!  I intend to place an order as soon as this is posted....

The upshot of the article is that state attorneys general would like to sue the Seneca nation for mail fraud because it (and a few other Native American websites) sells tax-free tobacco products on the Internet.  The issue is, in a word, contentious because states are barred by treaties from taxing Indian tribes on sales of tobacco and fuel; so state legislators, faced with increasing budget deficits, are working feverishly to figure out how to get around those pesky treaties. 

The article reports that New York City estimates its annual revenue losses from uncollected taxes to be in the millions of dollars.  Meanwhile, lawmakers in Washington, D.C. are marshalling forces with lobbyists for anti-tobacco groups, and a convenience store trade group would like to see legislation that specifically permits states to sue Indian tribes (which, by the way, are sovereign nations).

Read between the lines, though, and you will recognize as I did that big government -- as it has before -- is helping the tobacco industry itself avoid culpability.  HELLO!?!  Where did the tribes get their tobacco from in the first place?  The article reports that 20 billion packs of cigarettes were sold in 2002; and Philip Morris Company's 2003 Financial Snapshot reflects revenue of $60.7 billion.  (In fact, I'll buy and send a carton of cigarettes to the first person who finds and posts, via "Comments," verifiable figures reporting the tax breaks that Philip Morris Company has received from our government.)

Interesting, too, that Philip Morris has sued non-tribal and foreign Internet tobacco sellers -- but no Indian sellers. 

Some things never change.  People will always use tobacco.  And big government will always protect big business and shareholder profits, targeting symptoms instead of the sources.  Lyle Beckwith, senior vice president for government relations at the National Association of Convenience Stores, articulated this principle clearly:  "If you don't deal with the Indians, you don't solve the Internet tobacco problem." 

Because in business -- as in warfare -- the easiest (and most vulnerable) target is the little guy.

Pet Peeves.  We all have them, and I'll admit I have a couple.  One is managed fairly well because when it happens, the other person is simply reacting to their environment -- something competely out of their control.  (It kinda bugs me when I'm talking to someone and they turn to speak to someone else, do something, or point out something entirely unrelated to the conversation at hand.)  But what torques me most are inconsiderate or uninformed drivers. 

Like the ones who refuse to acknowledge that you've just let them edge their car in front of yours, because you realized that there are a shitload of cars behind you and they might not be as nice as you are.  So you let them cut in front of you... and then off they go, never breaking their chit-chat with the passenger (or the person on the other end of the phone).  And then the light changes just as they're zipping through... and now you're stuck at the light. 

Or how about those who STILL don't know that, unless posted otherwise, you can turn right on red? and left on red from a one-way to a one-way?  And while we're on the subject of turns, whatever happened to turn signals?  Are they optional equipment now??  (SUV drivers are the absolute worst for not using signals; I guess it's because that would fall under the category of multi-tasking, and everyone knows SUV drivers can't walk and chew gum at the same time.)

Then there are the drivers who've never figured out the purpose of those solid white lines that follow through the curve around a corner.  They're not solid because the cutting blade on the Public Works truck wasn't operating correctly; they're meant to direct the flow of traffic.  If you start the turn from the inside lane then you end up in the inside lane.  By the same token, if you turn from the middle lane then the solid line will direct you to the outside lane.  In other words, folks, don't cross those lines. 

But here's the biggest one.  In my day, new drivers were taught never to make a lane change without physically turning the head to look back over the shoulder and check for cars in the blind spot.  It's called a head check and, unless you're wearing a brace or have a stack of gold rings soldered around your neck, there's really no reason not to do it.  Yet I constantly see people going through wild gyrations to check their mirrors -- scrunching down to see the bottom of the side mirror, grabbing the steering wheel to lift themselves higher to see the view from the rear mirror, or leaning 'way over the steering wheel to extend their view of either side mirror.  Good grief, every one of those uses four times more muscles than just a head check.

Okay, I feel better now.  At least until tomorrow morning.  Maybe I'll drive to work pretending I'm in an SUV.

There are occasions when a photograph does so much more than freeze a moment in time.  Sometimes, they tell a story that would otherwise take 30 minutes to articulate.  A local paper printed a picture last week that captured, in a millisecond, true government hypocrisy.  It showed 627 immigrants taking their oath of citizenship in front of the state capitol building, and all manner of people were represented:  Latino/a, African, Asian, European.  Directly in the center were three men -- one from Nigeria, one from Ireland, and another from Costa Rica.  And all were wearing the uniform of the United States Army.

As I gazed at the photo, scanning the faces, I found myself wondering what each of them left behind in their countries of origin.  Perhaps the educational or job opportunities are greater here, or maybe they were drawn by a vision of owning a home made of something other than mud and straw.  Or maybe they believed the part of the Constitution that says Americans have a right to choose their religion, to express themselves through speech, to bear arms, and to cast a vote.  There's also a good chance that at least one was escaping persecution or certain death; heck, there are so many countries with US-backed guerilla forces, it's difficult to keep track.

Still, since 9/11, the War on Terrorism and the Patriot Act have made it tougher than ever to achieve American citizenship.  And as difficult as we've made it for Arabs and East Indians, we've never let up on the Hispanic immigrants.  Instead, we've done everything imaginable to further disenfranchise them, claiming that they rob Americans of jobs while draining government entitlement programs.  (Funny thing is, I have yet to see an Aryan building janitor.)

Which leads me to why I found that photo at once disturbing and supremely ironic.  The three men in the center -- the ones in uniform, who collectively represent a minimum of 20,000 air miles -- are expected to lay their lives on the line for what is turning out to be a wholly unwinnable war even though they are not citizens.  And then we have the temerity to accuse former senator Max Cleland, a citizen by birth, of being unpatriotic.

It remains a mystery to me why so many people still consider the United States a land of opportunity.

Isn't it interesting that, even as we're "fighting" the War on Terrorism, President Bush and the Republicans in Congress have allowed the ban on assault weapons to expire?  I know, I know -- if someone really wants an assault weapon they'll find the means to obtain one.  I guess what really troubles me is knowing that the NRA (National Rifle Association) will spend upwards of $23 million on President Bush's re-election campaign.

Good to know that Michael Moore's "Bowling for Columbine" was so effective in opening the eyes of our erstwhile legislators.

I have a certain respect and admiration for people who have not only a good idea of their purpose but are happy with who they are.  It must be incredibly empowering to know of one's worth and value to others in their circle. 

I'm not there yet.  In fact, I'm not certain I've ever been close to it in all of my adult life.  I'm actually beginning to suspect that it's a genetic flaw, that it simply isn't possible to experience what others all around me are.

Immanuel Kant said "it is a duty to maintain one's life," but we preserve life AS duty requires -- not BECAUSE duty requires.  Does this mean, then, that there really are more unhappy people than we realize?  Kant went on to say that "if adversity and hopeless sorrow have completely taken away the relish for life, the unfortunate one, strong in mind, indignant at his fate rather than desponding or dejected, wishes for death, and yet preserves his life without loving it -- not from inclination or fear, but from duty -- then his maxim has a moral worth."  Is this why societies established the prohibition against suicide?  Do we stand upon a higher moral ground for not succumbing to the sometimes overwhelming urge to depart our stations?

There's times aplenty when I could bear abdicating my share of that real estate.

The local Pacifica Radio Network station just started broadcasting in this metropolitan area!  After a year of struggle, negotiations, and fundraising, a local signal was purchased and programming began Sunday, just in time for coverage of the Republican National Convention in New York City.  Yes, the appearance at first glance is that Pacifica's programmers must be confused.  But the coverage is not just of what's happening within the walls of Madison Square Garden; it's also giving a picture of what's taking place on the OUTSIDE, including first-hand accounts by peaceful protesters.  In other words, they're covering the stories that will never make network [read:  corporate] media.  A truly independent media outlet is a welcome addition to this market, a perfect counterbalance to National Public Radio (which is about as liberal as [John] Kerry himself).

It's been most interesting to hear the divisions that exist even within the Republican Party.  Amy Goodman (WBAI's host of Democracy Now!) interviewed a convention speaker this morning, who complained and sputtered about immigrants taking American jobs and using government resources.  But the Governator himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger, addressed the convention Tuesday night, saying that immigrants are not only welcome in this country but guaranteed to achieve exactly what they desire.  (Before Arnold decides to run for president, I hope he reads his copy of the Constitution.)  And am I the only one who remembers that W. said he would NEVER use September 11 as a campaign platform?  Republicans have some nerve calling Democrats wishy-washy....

Honestly, if I weren't so convinced that a vote for the Green Party was the same as a wasted vote, that's the direction I would go.  Whoever said that America has two parties, both right-wing, wasn't speaking a complete untruth.

New Jersey lost its governor, James McGreevey, last week when he announced that he is a "gay American," and that his infidelity violated his obligations of matrimony.  (Ah, if only every politician were so forthcoming and honor-driven.)  Unfortunately, McGreevey probably felt in his heart of hearts that by resigning after coming out, he was doing gays and lesbians everywhere a huge favor.  I have to disagree.

McGreevey did, however, obtain precisely the effect he desired.  The press and the public, rather than examining McGreevey's impropriety in giving his former lover a state job with a high degree of responsiblity (for which said lover had no experience) focused upon the issue du jour,  whether gays or lesbians can be effective elected officials.  No one seems concerned that McGreevey is just one more example of the power elite who successfully manipulated and dodged political ethics (if not policy).  And gay rights activists are, of course, all a-dither because McGreevey's announcement catapulted their cause right back onto everyone's radar screen.

And what's with calling himself a "gay American," as though it were the latest chic ethnic identity?  Looking at it from my own generally accepted standard (to borrow a term of legal import) of race-based perspective, I sort of resent the implication that I/we should acknowledge a previously unclaimed heritage -- as if to do so would confer certain entitlements.

I found myself agreeing with an advisor of McGreevey who urged him not to resign.  By framing his resignation as the result of a conflict of moral/matrimonial obligations, and employing the same as subterfuge for his ethical and administrative violations, McGreevey cheapened the very real internal conflict that every gay and lesbian grapples with in questioning whether to remain in the closet. 

Reports from observers and monitors in Venezuela indicate that populist president Hugo Chavez overwhelmingly and fairly won re-election last Sunday.  It is an interesting result, in light of information that at least one payment was made by the US government to backers of Venezuela's opposition party -- which purchased records of voter information from ChoicePoint, a US identity verification service.  ChoicePoint was also involved in the 2000 Florida election snafu, providing information that led to the [illegal] purge of that state's voter rolls.  The company apparently did such a splendid job domestically that the Justice Department offered it $67 million for information on voters in Brazil and Mexico, too.

Do you detect a pattern here?  It appears that US-backed forces in these countries simply haven't been able to meet government mandates, requiring an escalation in tactics by attempting to engineer election outcomes.  Indeed, the election was done by computer.  (Bonus question:  Guess the manufacturer of the electronic voting machines used in Sunday's election.) 

My worry is that the outcome of the election will be used as ammunition to defend the use of electronic, paperless voting in our November presidential election.  It isn't a stretch to speculate that proponents of paperless voting will tout the veracity of the system by holding up Venezuela's election results as an example.  In the meantime, I'm certain that Bush is clinging to the hope of re-election and more opportunities to oust the popular Venezuelan (and Brazilian, and Mexican, and so forth) president -- if not with guns, then with computers.

UPDATE [8/18/04]:  Excellent column by Medea Benjamin, at alternet.org, defining at least part of the reason Chavez soundly defeated the opposition.  His administration's willingness to fund expansive social programs for Venezuela's underserved -- with income derived from sales of the country's oil -- has earned the majority's loyalty.  No wonder the opposition is pissed; when poor people have access to (free) health care, education and job training, it's a step toward equality.

Hello again to any who may have missed my banal musings.  In the two months since my last post, my work status changed quite dramatically from two shifts per week (less than part-time) to five (really full-time).  While that's been nice in terms of money (treating myself to a very nice birthday present as well as acquiring a more powerful scooter), it threw my circadian rhythm (assuming I ever had one) into an endless loop.  I think I'm finally adjusted ... but the cat is still really pissed.  Oliver is a thirteen-pound orange tabby with one helluva case of separation anxiety.  He insists on being in the same room with me even if it's the smallest one in the house (i.e., the bathroom), and his preferred method of demonstrating his dislike for my increased absence is to lunge at my feet as I swing them into bed at night.  It's gotten so bad that I now take a squirt gun to bed with me.  I hope I don't die in my sleep because the newspapers will have a field day --"Woman found dead in home next to Super Soaker."

The new scoot's been nice, too (when it's not being towed away -- long story, another time).  It's a 2003 Piaggio (division of Vespa) BV200, in platinum, with side and top cases.  Purist riders who favor the vintage look won't like it but it's definitely for the progressive modernists.  It is such a blast, I never want to quit riding!  I picked it up June 26 with 15 miles on it, and it now has 500; and I can't wait to blow through the break-in period to get it to top speed (book claims 76, I've hit 60 once or twice).  And it's already been to its first scooter rally, Mile High Mayhem, in Denver.  For all you scooterists who've never made it there, I highly recommend the event; lots of scoots, lots of quirky folks, and something for everyone.

          

* * * * *

Let's change gears now.  If your state held a primary last Tuesday, did you vote?  Did the election turn out the way you wanted it to? 

I voted, but the results were a GIGANTIC disappointment.  My state is one where the Congressional race was a hot contest, since a Republican senator is stepping down.  The Democratic candidate I liked was defeated, the Republican candidate I most despised won, an initiative that would have prevented the circus from coming to this city went down to defeat, and the biggest weasel among the District Attorney candidates won in a landslide.  But more than anything I was disappointed that, in this city of a million and a-half people, barely fifteen percent could be bothered to actually get out and vote.  Basically, 15% of the population decided how the other 85% will live during the next four years ... and even beyond. 

Meanwhile, polls have George W. at his highest approval rating ever.  (How's that for a poll that has "skewed" written all over it?)  This, even as he invokes memories of September 11th in his latest nationwide television commercial, an appeal he pledged to never use.  I just wonder how much influence The Heritage Foundation has over this president; is it as much, or more, as was exercised over President Reagan? 

And speaking of The Heritage Foundation ... nothing scares me more than a Republican of color.  (Actually, gay Republicans are scary, too.)  If W is re-elected, keep an eye out for conservative (Filipina) columnist Michelle Malkin to be appointed to a Cabinet position.  Malkin is currently promoting her new book that defends America's World War  II internment of Japanese Americans, and advocates racial profiling in the name of national security.  (For a terrific blog entry discussing Malkin and her book, see Matt Stoller's August 7th entry at The Blogging of the President.)  Malkin probably also thinks Amadou Diallo was a gangleader in the making and it was better to remove his potential influence before it was too late.  The interesting thing about Malkin's position is that she once decried the internment -- until The Heritage Foundation took her under its wing and turned her into a hugely successful and syndicated columnist.

          

* * * * *

Finally, one more chance for audience participation.  Did you ever have an attraction to someone that you just couldn't shake, no matter what you tried?  On the other hand, do you know of some secret technique that will do the trick?  If the answer is "yes," do tell because I could certainly use some suggestions.  There's nothing more annoying than wanting something which you have no hope in the universe of getting.  And it's not as though I don't have any experience with it.  The same thing happened about six years ago (turned out to be a miserable failure) and it took two years to get past it -- I can't waste that much time again.  Maybe someday I'll recount the details here; for now, I just want to get past it.

Until next time ... peace.

Walking out of the therapist's office for the last time, it felt bittersweet; desperation drove me there searching for solace, self-assurance ushered me out to find purpose.  I'm not entirely certain where my next stop will be or the road I'll take to get there, but I'll arrive much sooner having shed much baggage. 

Leave a light on for me.

Once again, America has proven that its cultural memory is about as long as its fuse.  Accolades and praise are gushing forth from the media and the public, calling former president Ronald Reagan a true American patriot.

Indeed, Reagan's "legacy" is being compared to that of Abraham Lincoln, and there are suggestions afloat that he be immortalized at Mount Rushmore or on US currency.  In reality Ronald Reagan was, despite his popularity and movie-star appeal, one of the most calculating, ruthless, conniving, non-egalitarian, secretive and elitist Presidents ever to occupy the Oval Office.  His administration's policy of "low-intensity warfare" killed thousands in places such as El Salvador, Mozambique and Angola, and doomed US troops in Lebanon and Grenada.  (Never mind that he once declared that ketchup should be reclassified from condiment to vegetable and admitted that he relied upon the advice of wife Nancy's personal astrologer.)

Even before his election Reagan's party was operating to ensure a successful bid for office.  Jimmy Carter, Reagan's predecessor, was saddled with soaring inflation, a budget deficit, and the hostage crisis in Iran.  The miserable failure of the two hostage rescue attempts was brought about at least in part with the assistance of CIA and other cooperatives -- and was the nail in Carter's presidential coffin.  In fact, the agenda for Reagan's administration was mapped out well in advance by conservative business leaders and campaign supporters who would become part of his famous "Kitchen Cabinet."  One of the cabinet members would be Joseph Coors, whose Heritage Foundation published for Reagan two Mandates for Leadership, one for each of his terms.  The mandates called for tax cuts for the wealthy and credits for segregated schools, dramatic cutbacks in subsidies for public housing, food stamps and education, and policies supporting the US military's suppression of democratic movements in third-world countries. 

* * *

Reagan once declared that it was "morning in America"; what he meant was that it was morning for wealthy America.  But it was the beginning of a long sunset for supporters of free and democratic societies.

Okay, so I've pulled my head out of the sand and am ready to roll once again.  Actually, I've been in a transition mode for the past few weeks, getting my shit together in preparation for a couple of major life changes (which, I hope, were not over-rated).  Significant change number one will be rotating to days after working six years of nights and weekends, and most of that at a part-time pace.  Initially, it was a bummer working nights and weekends because all my pals' activities -- and volleyball tournaments -- took place on (what else?) nights and weekends.  But it afforded me the opportunity to finish my undergraduate degree (first-generation college graduate, I am), and gave me a good dose of life on "the other side."  I must say grocery shopping at three in the morning has its privileges (no lines), but there are disadvantages, too (no one to wrap the crab legs or slice the roast beef).  And I could drive to the mountains in record time to watch the moon and stars, as I did a few nights ago when the moon was its fullest and closest.  I also had plenty of time for things like haircuts (a biweekly necessity), talks with the therapist, trips to the bank (to withdraw the part-time pittance I'd earned), skiing on snow instead of other people's skiis and, oh yes, blogging.  Now, I get to do these things at the same time as the rest of the million and a-half people in this city.  And it's not such a bad job, anyway.  I wouldn't consider it a life career, but it certainly pays the bills and keeps the cat in kibble.

It's the other significant change that I'm most excited about -- acceptance to a local private university's graduate program to study a new, rather innovative program that will bring together elements of the public, private and non-profit sectors.  Imagine that, getting excited over school at 43 years of age.  The key, I am told, is that (unlike undergraduate programs) graduate school programs truly want their students to succeed; you're not simply a number and a source of revenue, and the instructors aren't there because they never made it through their doctoral programs.  And, I have to admit, I'm most ecstatic that my degree will come from this institution of high repute rather than the local state university which has hosted its share of controversies and zealously religious wingnuts (not to mention the largesse of at least a few generations of a family that made its name in beer).  I went to pick up my student ID today and was compelled to enter the bookstore; it was like walking into another dimension.  I browsed through the racks of school-name sweatshirts, tank tops, T-shirts and shorts, and finally chose a baseball cap (handy to hide the helmet hair after you've been riding the scooter a couple hours) ... and a lapel pin.  Although I'm not ordinarily a lapel pin sort, I do have two that I'm very proud of:  my honor society pin and, now, my graduate school pin.  I plan to put the latter on my briefcase, the one I take to work, so that I'll always be reminded of what I'm working toward.

In all of the furor over American Nick Berg's (videotaped) beheading, it is nearly comical that the talking heads and patriots who didn't want the world to condemn a few rogue American soldiers at Abu Ghraib prison now demand annihilation of anyone who is (or appears to be) Muslim ... or Iraqi ... or Arab ...

I would like for someone to please explain the phrase "That's so gay." 

Once, while I was waiting to check in at a volleyball tournament, one guy walked over to another standing behind me.  There was first the typical guy talk ("Hey, what's up," "Yo dude, how's it going," "Who won the game last night"), then one asked the other if they were planning to do some upcoming race.  The other said, "no way, that's stupid ... that's gay."  I let a couple moments pass, then turned and asked whether the race was gay because it was stupid, or the other way around.  Actually, it was two-part question: the second part was, "And, am I stupid because I happen to be gay?"  The dude didn't even have the balls to give me an answer, weaseling out of a confrontation by saying "I don't want to discuss it right now."

That happened a year ago.  Well, tonight a similar thing happened -- at the same tournament -- only it was a different guy.  The guy in front of me in the hitting line was talking shit with the setter, the content of which I didn't catch until I heard him say, "That's so gay."  I assume the phrase is derogatory, because I've heard it uttered only within the context of something deemed distasteful (and bloggers use it in the same context).  I guess a better person could blow off such an experience as nothing more than a close encounter with ignorance.

Nevertheless, I wish I could invent an equally derisive phrase to use with flippant disregard around and toward straight people. 

More information is being released about the abuses suffered by seven Abu Ghraib prisoners at the hands of US military personnel.  The latest account is that of the hooded man who tells of being forced, with other prisoners, to masturbate and simulate oral sex.  Most striking to me was the realization that our "ambassadors of peacekeeping" -- US soldiers -- proved themselves to be on par with grade-school bullies by subjecting their prisoners to perform acts (albeit simulated) of homosexual nature. 

Even more intriguing is that two of the perpetrators are engaged to one another ... and the woman is pregnant.  Yesiree, fine examples of America's brave young soldiers who are fighting for our "freedom," and will soon bring another loving, compassionate human being into this culture of American family values.

Note to the Log Cabin Republicans:  Now might be a good time to reconsider your loyalty to a party and administration that permits such atrocities (claiming all the while that (i) they had no knowledge of what was happening (read:  Gitmo), and (ii) those soldiers do not represent the character of most American people), and is willing to do whatever it takes to amend (read:  limit) the Constitution to bar even you from marrying.

PODS -- Personal On Demand Storage.  Why is it that people living in gigantic homes still need extra storage?  Too much shit from Wal*Mart, no doubt.

It was bound to happen ... National Public Radio, which once was listener-sponsored public radio, has caved to the allure of Wal*Mart.  I heard the promotion this morning:  "News this hour is brought to you by [some sponsor] and your neighborhood Wal*Mart store." 

As if there weren't enough, I have another reason to hate Wal*Mart.

However, I have to admit there's one funny piece to its expansion.  The ALP blog posted a story of the first Wal*Mart opening in Numazu, Japan.  I just can't help but chuckle at the image of all that merchandise on sky-high shelving ... and all the little shoppers down below.  Apparently, miniaturization does have its limits.

Is suicide a behavior unique to the human species?  I ask because the other day I was making coffee and noticed ants marching around the sink.  There weren't a lot, three or four at most, and they seemed to be absent a particular purpose or destination - and then I noticed one ant that was ass up vertical (or ass down - who can tell?) on the counter next to the dish rack.  Really.  It was kinda freaky to see him like that.

I began to imagine what led up to his demise.  Maybe he was creeping along the window ledge, intensely engaged in the perpetual hunt for food (of which there was none) when, suddenly, faced with the prospect of going home with an empty mandible he gave up hope and took a header, and smacked right into the countertop.

Not that I'm an advocate of ants - or anything with six or more legs.  But it does make you wonder, no?

Okay, I've held my tongue long enough. 

Someone needs to explain for me a sound and logical argument supporting same-sex marriage, preferably someone who is unswayed by political affiliation or gender orientation.  Thus far, not one of my queer friends has deviated from the assertion that attaining the right to marry their same-sex partner is tantamount to achieving equality with the greater (heterosexual) population.  However, it does prove that my friends may as well be sheep. 

Advocates of same-sex marriage say that married people have the benefit of certain rights.  For instance, married people have the right to survivors' benefits, the right to visit their spouse in a hospital (whatever type that might be included), the right to adopt children, the right to inherit, and the right to make medical decisions.  But wait!  Where on the marriage certificate are such rights enumerated?  Oh, I see ... the rights we speak of were born of policies created by institutions seeking to draw distinctions between those who are married and those who aren't.  In other words, policies of societal control. 

For those of you who don't remember (or weren't listening) in their Sociology classes, how about a refresher?  These United States were founded by a landed gentry that employed marriage as a means of obtaining property, and restricted the institution of marriage to members of their own class (the laws of the time also classified women as property).  In fact, women were unable to hold property or cash assets in their own name, were expected to give up their maiden name upon marriage, and still don't earn the standard of wages that men do. 

There is no historical proof that the institution of marriage was created to permit an equalization of any sort -- not among the marriage partners, and certainly not between the sexes.  Which raises a critical question:  So long as inequality remains among the greater heterosexual population, where in the larger picture does the argument of achieving equality for gays and lesbians fit? 

The "rights" sought by proponents of same-sex marriage -- inheritance, property, adoption, etc. -- weren't created when marriage was.  It seems to me that the better fight would be changing the policies that were created as afterthoughts to marriage, rather than blindly (and sheepishly) endorsing a patently non-egalitarian social control measure. 

Ah, baseball.  I love pissing away a day (or evening) at the ballpark, watching the duel between pitcher and hitter, outfielder and baserunner, listening to the crack of the bat....  Frankly, there was a time when I couldn't stand to watch the game, before I played softball and knew the rules and a bit of strategy.  Watching a game makes me think of fishing:  both require an enormous amount of patience to sit through long periods of relative inactivity, but the payoff is often exhilirating.

One of the best parts of a game is people-watching.  There's all kinds at a game, and between innings the camera operators pan the crowd to transmit larger-than-life images via the Diamond Vision screen ... a sort of focused voyuerism.  And, in an odd way, it's a time to feel a part of a community, sitting amongst 50,000 people who -- for nine innings, anyway -- all have something in common. 

Oops, my bad.  What was I thinking?  Suddenly, between the fourth and fifth innings, the illusion is abruptly shattered ... the Diamond Vision has become The Kiss-Cam.  Yep, those 20-foot x 20-foot, gazillion-pixel images of heterosexual couples kissing, while being egged on by the hoots and hollers of [nearly] everyone else in the stadium, magnify every queer's role as a second-class human being in a way nothing else can.

Anyone interested in buying season tickets?

Irony:  An outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.  For example, finding what you are certain you want ... and can never have.

Hey, Mr. Bush, if Osama was responsible for 9-11, exactly why are we in Iraq?

Addendum:  Shortly after the 9-11 attacks on the World Trade Center, the press published various and sundry reports of government and intelligence officials saying they never imagined that planes could be used as missiles.  New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof recently penned his version of how such a conversation might have unfolded (Why Didn't We Stop 9/11?), given adequate intelligence information.  (Exactly what purpose did they think the kamikazes served in World War II?)

... ha ha ha ha ...

Note to self:  Change phone number and find other employment ... Liberia, perhaps.

Note to file:  Baiting and switching is seriously under-rated.

labelle:  Congratulations, my friend.  I bow to your courage which is superior to my own.

Having two jobs sometimes sucks ... not least because it gets in the way of time I could be spending shushing down the slopes (albeit on rocks since the drought hasn't done much for the snowpack). 

Yet it offers interesting lessons.  I've long wondered just what it is that makes poorer folk more giving, more willing to part with money than those who have plenty to give.  Ask anyone who works in the non-profit sector and they'll tell you that the bottom 5% of the income spectrum gives far more (and more often) than those in the upper 5%; indeed, it is the working class and the barely-working class that keep the sector afloat, comprising 55% of charitable giving (a whopping 77% of all charitable donations comes from individuals).

I deliver flower arrangements for a friend who recently opened her own business, and we get all types of customers -- including businesses, law firms, hotels, banquet facilities, realtors and public relations firms.  The rest are individuals who order arrangements -- deliveries to private homes for birthdays, anniversaries, or just-for-the-helluvit.  I go to expensive homes, middle-of-the-road homes, have delivered to several hotels, and areas that aren't known in real estate parlance as desirable locations.  And you know what?  The poorest home -- the one least able to part with a dollar -- was the most willing to tip me for the delivery.

I once believed that the reticence of rich folk to give up a dollar simply exemplified what made them rich.  Silly me.  In fact, po' folk are prolific givers because they know what it's like to have to eke out a living; it's much more difficult for those born into money to arrive at the same conclusion.  Perhaps never having worked at all, let alone two or more jobs, never worrying about collecting coupons to save a few dollars at the grocery store, never faced with the dilemma of too much month at the end of the money, the affluent lack a mechanism by which to develop a clear concept of what it means to scrape by.

The thought that I might actually make enough money someday to have my own home, drive a better car, or dress in clothing with "dry clean only" labels is nice ... but it's not truly important to me.  I'd rather preserve my faculty of empathy than lose it to materiality.

It would be nice if my head would stop buzzing for just a moment.

This past weekend saw the end of ten months of planning, writing, designing, negotiating, recruiting, training, and implementing our 2004 International GLBT Film Festival.  And although nicely attended it was nevertheless exhausting ... but I'm having a tough time getting the buzz out of my head.

What troubles me now is that I feel somehow disconnected and out of sorts.  It reminds me of times when, suffocating in the overt heterosexuality all around me, I would get in the car and race to the local women's bar just to be around people like me.  I'd hang 20 minutes or so, soothed and comforted by the sameness all about ... inevitably, however, I would have to leave and return to the daily standard that is life surrounded by heteros who could give a shit how keenly I felt alone in a crowd.

For four days I didn't have to worry about my adrogyny, could embrace friends with abandon, and speak without self-editing ... four days to be exactly who I am without judgment.  I imagine the freedom to be as the once-incarcerated, newly-released must feel.

To those who are thinking, "That's a self-esteem thing, " to hell with you.  Try these:

"How old were you when you discovered you're heterosexual ?"
"What made you choose to be heterosexual ?"
"Why can't you just be gay like everyone else ?"

The buzz is now deafening.  Wish I could drink.

Open letter to the Massachusetts Legislature:

Don't you find it just the tiniest bit ironic that the Puritans, who were fleeing religious tyranny in England, landed upon your shores nearly 400 years ago -- and by voting today to amend the State's constitution to ban gay marriage, you have endorsed precisely the persecution the Puritans were escaping?

What did Destiny have in mind when she introduced us? Did she see a complement of yin and yang, a balance between linear and abstract? Perhaps it doesn't really matter ... my world is the better for it.

Thanks for you.

Transition forward
from darkness to light prevail;
farewell history.

                         -muragaki

(haiku: an unrhymed Japanese poem recording the essence of a moment keenly perceived. From A Brief History of Haiku, D.Russell (available at http://www.authorsden.com))

lost in time ...

To know where one is going, one must understand where one has been.

I don’t remember anything from my childhood. I don’t remember playing with friends, being in school, games at recess, places I went or things I did. I don’t remember having dreams or hopes, and I don’t remember what I wanted to be; I only remember wishing I wasn’t.

When I realized I had no memory of being a child, I became incredibly angry. It meant that that time was taken from me, never to be replaced; I lost 14 years of my life and I have nothing to show for it. But I think I found a way to get some of it back.

When I was six, we moved to a new neighborhood. There was a girl the same age as me who lived down the street, and we walked together to elementary school every day. When we started junior high we became a bit more distant, and the gulf grew throughout high school. But we still talk occasionally and even manage to get together every five years or so, because there’s something special about having known someone nearly 40 years.

I recently called her to ask a favor. I asked her to think back to the years when we were close, to remember the things we used to do, the places we used to go, the dreams we used to share. Yesterday, we finally were able to connect and get our schedules to mesh, and we set a time to get together and talk … and she can tell me the stories of things I don’t remember.

And yet, I’m terrified. She has no idea why I don’t remember, because she never knew what my life was like at home. Even though I’ve come to terms with it personally, it’s something I never told her. I’m afraid she’ll start telling me things that no amount of searching will help me recall, and that I’ll only grieve more the loss of those years. I hope it is instead a gift that fits the missing piece of my identity puzzle.

of Zen and self-discovery ...

Identity theft is all the rage these days. “Keep or destroy your receipts,” “Beware of camera phones when standing in the grocery checkout line with your credit card.” Billions of dollars are lost every year to identity thieves who gain access to an individual’s social security number and date of birth, open a few fraudulent credit accounts, then go on free-wheeling Internet shopping sprees. But as damaging as financial identity theft is there is another, more insidious form that strips one of their identity entirely, not to be rediscovered for years. And other forms cause harm that isn’t apparent for a generation or more.

An example of the former is mental, physical or sexual abuse: endured as a child, the psyche defends itself by shutting down everything not absolutely essential to basic survival. And the mechanisms that block the hurt also shut out … everything else. The ultimate cost is calculated in the years spent in vain attempts to recover what was irretrievably lost, all the while losing out on opportunities for lack of knowing how to handle them and losing friends because they never understood.

The theft of identity that evades discovery for generations is just as costly. In late 1941, my paternal grandparents were living in Stockton, California; my maternal grandparents were in Los Angeles. They and their families were among the 120,000 Japanese-Americans who were forced to leave behind their homes, businesses and lives for uncertain futures in internment camps surrounded by barbed wire. The majority of evacuees were second-generation (Nisei), most in their late 20s or early 30s with young children. Their parents, being the first generation (Issei) in the country, spoke little or no English and relied on their children to explain why everything they had worked for was suddenly gone. The end of the war saw their release from the internment camps but not from the prevailing anti-Japanese sentiment. Some Issei elected to return to Japan, and many Nisei renounced their U.S. citizenship to join their parents; and many more renounced Japanese culture altogether, refusing to speak the language or hand down the traditions, even refusing to give as yet unborn children Japanese names.

I grew up without knowledge of my own culture, with only an American name, and not the slightest idea of what my great-grandmother ever said to me. It is ironic, then, that I should have to endure the prejudice of looking Japanese without even knowing what one is supposed to be. Still, I hope to one day learn the language and customs that were withheld, and synthesize that with the identity I’m discovering in my journey as a survivor of abuse. And when this incarnation reaches its end, I know I’ll take a better being to the next.

Why the question of citizenship is moot

The United States Supreme Court today will consider the case of the Pledge of Allegiance, or, more specifically, whether the phrase “under God” in the pledge violates the country’s Constitutionally-mandated separation of church and state. (For a brief history lesson on the Pledge, as recorded by Dr. John W. Baer in 1992, visit http://history.vineyard.net/pledge.)

I am not at all certain why the Supreme Court is taking up the matter, as it doesn’t appear that the Pledge was ever mandated by any municipal, state or federal law. Nevertheless, I refuse to recite the Pledge ... although the reasons aren’t premised entirely upon my disdain for organized religion.

On April 19, 1942, in response to war-time hysteria brought about by the allegedly surprise bombing by Japanese imperial forces of Pearl Harbor, then-President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the forced removal of 120,000 Americans of Japanese ancestry from the West Coast of the United States. The Order decreed that anyone with as little as 1/16 Japanese blood was subject to evacuation, and that they leave their residences within 48 hours taking only what they could carry by hand. For the duration of the war, life for these evacuees would be eked out in a 10’ x 20’ space in tar-paper barracks, strategically located on the most desolate lands of the U.S interior, including Death Valley. But despite the fact that not one individual of those imprisoned was ever been found guilty of a war crime or espionage, the Supreme Court determined that the U.S. government acted properly.

That random abrogation of Constitutionally-guaranteed civil rights -- just one of many in the U.S. and all for no better reason than unfounded fear -- demonstrates unequivocally that neither loyalty oath nor pledge will save my ass from the whim of government or its God.

What's in a word? Dyke ... Fag ... Homo ... Queer. Sticks and stones may break my bones, blah, blah, etc.

One of my work pals told me she discovered that she isn't as straight as she thought. After looking up the word "queer," she determined that it really did suit her. I now consider myself in good company. Way to go, labelle. Love ya always :)

When I sat down to think of a catchy name for this blog (mind you I have not one creative molecule in my body), I couldn't shake the concept of zen as it relates to the transition in achieving one's potential. Then the notion of queerness arose and I thought, "Shazam! A perfect example of lifelong transition!" (One never stops "coming out.") You see, there's been a controversy in the gay community for decades, centering on the notion of deliberately referring to ourselves as dykes, fags and queers. As the argument went, reclaiming those terms would eventually remove the concomitant stigma when said terms were flung by detractors. Well, I've never understood how [what amounts to be] self-deprecation could dull the razor-sharp pain of being called something that dictionaries categorize as derogatory slang.

However, popular notions of what it means to be queer have flexed with time. In the U.S., "queer" in the 30s or 40s meant "odd" or "strange." It only recently became synonymous with homosexuality and, because of that association, I always shied away from using it. On the other hand, there is NO ambiguity about "dyke" or "fag." [Remember grade school?]

My journey then, is ... The Zen of Queerness. And even if I weren't a lesbian, I'd still call myself queer.

An interesting thing about falling within three distinct demographic categories - gay, Asian and female - is that each category has unique proscriptions which preclude acceptance of the others. Hence, being gay means being distrusted by straight females; being Asian means being rejected by your own race because you're gay; and being a female who is neither femme nor butch pretty well eliminates acceptance by everyone.

But then, I've spent my entire life trying to fit in somewhere. Fitting in with my family of origin was impossible because of childhood mental and physical abuse. Eventually, the learned distrust interfered with healthy interactions with people outside the home; that is to say, I was so fearful of anyone outside the home "finding out" that I became painfully withdrawn around others. But it comes out as being standoffish, so that no one really knows how to take me. I suppose I've gotten better about fitting in, but it still takes a long time for people to get to know me.

And then there's that thing about one group shutting out the other. Why is it so hard for people to just accept others, to realize that every one of us has a story worth telling and none of us is better than our neighbor? A local alternative newspaper recently published a column about lesbians who do visual evaluations of each other, taking stock of a person's potential worthiness based upon what their appearance conveys. (The only reason the columnist wrote of the subject is that she was subjected to it herself ... and isn't it true that one doesn't fully understand another's situation until they've experienced it, too?) But, I honestly can say that I haven't experienced racism, classism and sexism from others to the degree I have from lesbians.

It's sad when you aren't even accepted in your own subculture(s).

Gorgeous weather today ... think I'll take my scooter for a ride. If you've never ridden a scooter, it's an experience I recommend highly; a buddy took me for a ride on hers last summer, and I've been hooked since. Unfortunately, there still aren't many riders in this area, even though we have 300 days of sun on average per year. But my buddy still managed to put together a small group that regularly gets together in the summer to ride in a gaggle - and we must be a sight to see!

The best part of owning a scooter? Parking wherever I want to, rolling right up the sidewalk to the establishment's front door. And a fill-up only costs $1.75....

It's funny, that this one short life we're given is often compromised because we can only select one option from among many. On the other hand, there are a few of us who had - in some respects - no option whatsoever, and we've paid for it all our lives.

Somewhere along the way we discover that, even though there were once factors beyond our control, we can exercise a form of personal manifest destiny. Territory that was once claimed by others can be repossessed and restyled as our own, despite lacking the purity of first effort. Perhaps it is just as well. Speaking only for myself, I'm not sure I would have traded any of those choiceless instances; they made me who I am. And even though it's taken most of my 43 years to realize it, who I am the best gift I have to give.