Just another little something...

When I close my eyes I see visions of last night’s dreams. An endless, expansive night, swimming though temperature-less pools with you standing there watching, and as I wander down dark pathways, you follow, accosting me in empty corners. When I open my eyes again it is all gone.

When I awoke this morning, I realized once again that you were gone, still. I lay in bed unmoving, closing my eyes again trying to recapture those fleeting moments of subconscious.

Eventually, I had to move again. Return to my life, my reality.

Everyone has their own narrative for their life. A story that they tell themselves that makes sense, that leads them where they want to go. This may change over time. You may think now that five years from now you’ll have a family with three kids and working a full time job. But next year you might decide, “in five years I think I want to be sailing around the world.” But the day-to-day narrative generally stays the same: this is who I am, this is what I do, and if I continue to be and do these things this is where I’ll go. Yesterday, I was at work. Today, I’m going to work. Tomorrow, it’s the weekend, so I think I’m going to do projects around the house. The fact that you have a house is part of your narrative. The fact that you work is part of your narrative, and all of it is carefully described in your mind so that it’s understandable and controllable. The problem happens, not when things change subtly over time, but when they change suddenly. When that narrative is broken, when a trauma occurs. Suddenly things are no longer understandable. Things aren’t under control. You have no idea what you’re going to be doing tomorrow or the day after that. There is no concept of five years from now. Where you were yesterday has no relation to where you are today and tomorrow. That is what the human psyche cannot deal with. There needs to be a concept of continuous, linear identity and story. When that changes there is a sense of being lost. Being in an uncontrollable situation. Which drives a lot of people mad.

The key to recovering from a sudden break, a sudden trauma, is to be able to reincorporate it into the narrative, to make it part of who you are, to claim it as who you are, and integrate it into who you were before, and were your story was going previously. That’s why changes over time, those subtle changes about where you are going, don’t really have much of a negative effect. The fact is that we’re constantly integrating, reintegrating and reevaluating and we have time to figure these things out, to make it part of our story to write, and rewrite our story. The sudden break the break in the story causes the most problems when it’s not recovered, when the story line isn’t picked up again and linked to the past.

There is also the mass narrative that we have to contend with, the societal narrative. What it is to be a member of this society? What is an appropriate story to have? What’s an appropriate identity? Where should you be going and where should you have been from? These are all issues to contend with. When there’s a break in the narrative, there is also often a break with the mass narrative. Reintegrating that trauma into your story and picking up the pieces, picking up the story line again is difficult when it doesn’t quite match with that overall narrative, when you are constantly faced with the idea that your story is no longer their story. The human instinct is a tribal one, we all want to fit in, we want to be a part of this group, and we want to be accepted by others. When you no longer fit in and when you have something that’s off, that doesn’t connect with that larger story, it makes it even harder to integrate your own story, because it sets you apart. But if the trauma is denied if it isn’t integrated then the person is not whole.

The worst thing that could happen is to forever be caught in that moment, forever be obsessed with that point in time. For those who continue dwell, living only in that moment unable to integrate it into a whole identity, it becomes their identity. That moment in time becomes their story. They become the victim, not just someone who was once victimized, always repeating that role of the victim. They are always reliving, maybe not in the exact same way, but reliving the trauma, the break, there is no continuation, just an endless cycle. Until they can figure out how to break the cycle and pick up where they left off and start over again, well not start over again, but integrate, integrate is the key word.

This is my theory, at least, and this is what I’ve been trying to do. And it might be a little easier if it weren’t for the damn dreams.

It was the third time in two weeks that I was late for work. Fortunately, I have an overly understanding boss. Though, my plan is to not push it with a fourth time. Getting over the urge to curl up in a little ball and stay in bed has been the hardest part of this whole ordeal.

This morning I was just in time for an HR meeting. I don’t mind meetings, especially now. I’m not that important to the proceedings, so I can let my mind wander. But maybe that’s not such a good thing.

“Cady…Cady?”

“Hmmm…oh, yes?”

“I just wanted to know how long before that performance report is going to be done,” said my boss, Linda.

“I think I can have it to you by the end of the day.”

“Good. Sarah, how are we on the development side?”

The meeting continued around me as I drifted back into my thoughts of things not right. I would get the report done. Most of it was finished already. I was working on it before, when I was in my old reality.

After the meeting it was time for lunch. Like I have done since I started working in my current position, I took my bag lunch that I had put together the night before, and went to the park two blocks down and one block over from the office. It’s a tiny little park, maybe half a square block. It has a curvy cement path that cuts it diagonally and on either side is grass and a couple of large trees that have probably been there forever. Alternating sides down the edge of the path are benches, the metal coated in black plastic kind, with the tiny crisscross pattern, so that if you sit on them with shorts you’ll have crisscrosses on the back of you thighs when you stand up. I like to sit on the very first one, right when I enter the park. It is a good place for people watching. I can see the people walking past the park, through the park, and into a tiny little café across the street. On nice days the café has tables outside on the sidewalk.

When I got to the park, I sat down on my usual bench. I opened up my lunch bag and pulled out my juice box, the 100% juice kind that are supposed to be for kids, and my turkey and cheese sandwich. I left the piece of the fudge my grandmother gave me in the bag for later. It was the same piece of fudge I had been leaving in the bag until later since my grandmother brought it over a couple days after it happened. Well, at least she would be happy I was eating the sandwich. I remembered how difficult it was to eat anything for the first couple of days.

I sat there taking bites of my sandwich and sips from the juice box, watching the people across the street. The tables were out at the café today. I wondered what their stories were. Were things going as they planned? Or had any of them, like me, experienced sudden stops along the way? I’m sure they had. As I’m sure we’ve all been told, things happen. I know things happen, but it knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. There was a woman sitting alone at one of the small round tables reading a book, and sipping something from a small white mug. At her feet was a small terrier of some sort, sitting quietly, appearing to do what I was doing, watching people walk by. The woman was pretty with long sleek blonde hair, good bone structure, and, by her bare arms, a muscular body. She was very well dressed and was wearing fashionable sunglasses. I couldn’t tell from where I sat if they were designer or not. I imagined things were going well for her. Her life was probably going exactly as she had always planned right down to the well-behaved dog to carry around in her tote as she went around town pretending to do errands for her well off husband. But I suppose she could have had some tragedy in her life as well. Maybe she couldn’t have children and that’s why she got the dog.

Another person caught my eye walking up to the café, an older man. As he walked into the café I could see that he was tall and husky, a little on the chubby side with signs of good beer drinking showing on his belly. A blue truckers hat, the kind with snaps on the back, covered his graying hair. His blue t-shirt was faded, but looked fairly clean. His cotton shorts were also faded, green, with what looked like small bleach stains and small holes speckled over the front. He went inside and came back out a couple of minutes later with a mug and sat down at one of the tables. He was facing me and I could see his face clearly, though he didn’t seem to notice me looking. His face was like one you’d often see somewhere on a Midwestern farm, and his 80's style glasses were changing from clear to tinted, underlined by a mustache any man would be proud of. He crossed his legs and I could see that his white socks were speckled by gray lint. Or maybe that was just the design. The socks climbed halfway up his bare calves, the bottoms of which were covered by sturdy looking brown shoes. His life I imagined not exactly full of roses. He was trying. His clothes were clean if worn, and he liked to treat himself to a cup of good coffee when he had his lunch break, or maybe he didn’t work. I tried to imagine what kind of job would let you dress like that, probably not a corporate office. Maybe he was an artisan, fine woodworking maybe, with his own little shop down the street. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t seem to fit but I thought for sure he looked like someone who had had a lot of bumps along the way. I don’t know why, but for some reason I feel better after imagining hardship in someone else’s life.

I finished my sandwich and juice, picked up my brown bag, and headed back to the office. I spent the rest of the afternoon finishing the performance report. It felt like tedious mindless work that didn’t really mean anything, which was perfect. I couldn’t really put my all into anything yet. I was finished with it by five and emailed it to my boss. I walked down the hall to her office to make sure she had received it.

“ Just a second, let me check. Yup, there it is,” she said, “I’ll look it over first thing in the morning and let you know what I think.”

“Thanks.”

“How are you holding up, Cady? You know, if you need to take another day or two off, I’ll be happy to sign off on it. I know how tough it can be.”

“I’ll be okay. I’m going to try not to be late anymore,” I said.

“Well, I’ll let it slide for another week and then we’ll talk. But remember to take care of yourself. Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she turned back to her computer.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said and then head back to my desk to get my things.

At home I fixed myself a small salad and then sat down in front of the T.V. It had definitely been a good friend recently. I never appreciated mindlessness so much before. When it was time for bed I got up, turned the T.V. off, and put my dishes in the kitchen sink. I went and put on my pajamas, and brushed my teeth. All the routine things. Then I got into bed and here am thinking.

I wonder if Linda really does know how tough it can be. She is an attractive woman in her late 40's. Beautiful shoulder length dark brown hair and a perfect complexion. She is very successful in her work. Everyone loves her. She has a good husband and children. It’s a story that I’m sure many people are aspiring to. Did she have a different story once upon a time? And what happened to break it? Well, obviously she recovered quite well. Me? I’m still working on my theory, on integrating, on recovering my story line. I doesn’t seem to be going too well at the moment. I still feel lost. I’m just happy I made it through the day. And I’m hoping I won’t have any more dreams tonight.

Just for the hell of it, an old school paper...

In his book An All-Consuming Century, Gary Cross tells us that “visions of a political community of stable, shared values and active citizenship have given way to a dynamic but seemingly passive society of consumption in America, and increasingly across the globe”(1). It seems, though, today we live in a society where consumerism has not only replaced the idea of the ‘active citizen,’ but also has come to be equated with it. This can be seen in the growing importance of the consumer in the political world, as well as the way the consumer approach to life has come to dominate other aspects of life as well.

The beginnings of our movement towards citizen as consumer can be seen in the 1930s with the realization of the importance of the consumer. Maintaining the ability of people to consume was seen as the way to a healthy economy. This meant keeping the consumers happy, giving them some voice in how things were run.

Consumers, Lizabeth Cohen explains in A Consumers’ Republic, were a recognized category of American citizen’s before this time. The Progressives of the late 1800s and the early 1900s had as a part of their campaign what could be considered the beginnings of a consumer protection movement. But, as Cohen says, “few Americans during these years considered consumers a self-conscious, identifiable interest group on a par with labor and business whose well-being required attention for American capitalism and democracy to prosper”(23). The recognition that consumers did need attention came during the Great Depression of the 1930s and grew steadily more important as time went on.

The 1930s saw the birth of several government agencies set up, as part of President Roosevelt’s New Deal plan to deliver the country from depression, to deal with the issue of consumer protection. Among these agencies were the National Recovery Administration and the Consumer Advisory Board, both of which were created to “include representatives of the ‘consuming public’ along side business and labor”(Cohen 19), and give these consumers a voice in the government. Cohen places these organizations in a category she calls the ‘citizen consumers.’ She says that they “were regarded as responsible for safeguarding the general good of the nation, in particular for prodding government to protect the rights, safety, and fair treatment of individual consumers in the private market place”(18).

This category also included non-government groups of citizens, such as the National Consumers’ League. They used their power as consumers to make sure manufacturers were not abusing their employees. They advocated buying only products that assured they were manufactured “under morally acceptable and sanitary conditions”(Cohen 22). Other groups organized boycotts and helped strikers against corporations they felt to be in violation of these standards.

At the same time as the notion of ‘citizen consumer’ sprang up, so did the notion of ‘purchaser consumer,’ people who contributed to the welfare of the nation and economy simply through consuming. This was a role that corporations promoted, because it was not critical of their role in production and it was easily made attractive with the promise of higher standards of living through consumer goods. Mass consumption was also seen as the real way to revive the economy. “It was the buying power of consumers in the aggregate, not the protection of the individual consumers in the marketplace, that manufacturers like General Motors, along with a growing number of economists and government officials by the late 1930s, thought would bring the United States out of depression and ensure its survival as a democratic nation”(Cohen 20).

Through the development in American ideology of the consumer as the savior of the economy, we can begin to see the primacy it takes in the list of responsibilities of the citizen. Cohen explains that, “by the end of the depression decade, invoking ‘the consumer’ would become an acceptable way of promoting the public good, of defending the economic rights and the needs of the ordinary citizens”(Cohen 23). Consumerism is both the way for citizens to assert themselves politically, like through boycotts, and to improve the economy and raise the standard of living for everyone. The main goal of the New Deal was to bring our country of depression by making sure that more people had this ability to consume, saving democracy and making sure everyone had better things. Robert S. Lynd, a member of the Consumer Advisory Board established in 1933, reflected this view. Cohen quotes him saying, “Nothing less than the viability of American democracy was at stake, Lynd insisted. ‘The only way that democracy can survive… is through the quality of living it can help the rank-and-file of its citizens to achieve,’ not simply an adequate standard of living”(19).

Consumption was not what everyone was thinking about during the 1930s. Gary Cross says that the depression put in many people’s minds the value of frugality. He says, however, that, “many Depression-era Americans were unwilling to abandon the ‘luxuries’ of the 1920s”(69). He cites the fact that many Americans continued to take vacations in their cars, even though money was tight and gasoline prices were rising. For Cross the fact that consumerism was able to develop in such a significant way during economic depression was a sign of the power it has over Americans. He says that “the Depression led to a frustrated consumerism more than a rejection of the capitalist system”(71), which had allowed the economic collapse to occur in the first place. It was also this power of consumerism that, perhaps, allowed the government to be so successful in promoting programs to increase the ability to consume and promote the purchaser consumer.

Cohen writes that “the new expectations that Americans developed during the Great Depression for how consumers should contribute to a healthy economy and polity would leave a legacy for World War II and the postwar era”(20). During the postwar era mass consumption reached a new level of expansion. In order to transfer from a war economy, where the demand for military supplies fueled production, to a peace economy, where there was no longer that demand, the government once again began to promote the idea of the purchaser consumer. Mass consumption was once again seen as the savior of the economy and the duty of American citizens.

At the same time, with the dawn of the Cold War and the rise of anti-communist sentiment, consumerism was used as a way to show America’s superiority to Communist nations. The consumers’ freedom of choice was equated with the democratic principles of political freedom. In 1959, Richard Nixon, then vice-president, proclaimed that “the variety of goods available to American consumers” was “symbolic of ‘our right to choose’”(Cohen 126). This equation of consumer freedom with the rights of citizens and the push for people to consume as part of their American duty led to a consumer fervor that Cohen says resembled a sort of religion. Cohen claims that, “faith in a mass consumption postwar economy hence came to mean much more than the ready availability of goods to buy. Rather, it stood for and elaborate, integrated ideal of economic abundance and democratic political freedom, both equitably distributed, that became almost a national civil religion from the late 1940s into the 1970s”(127). Indeed, at this point we can see how, as Cross says, “consumer sovereignty in the market place had replaced consumer rights in political life”(139).

As people began to embrace their roles as consumers, they also began interacting with other areas of civic life in the same manner as they did when consuming. Politics itself began to look like a function of the market. People began to vote for candidates as if they were deciding between consumer goods. And politicians, in response, began campaigning using the techniques that advertising used to promote consumer goods and consumption. A telling sign of this development is the statement that, as Cohen quotes Rosser Reves as saying,“ ‘a man in a voting booth hesitates between two levers as if he were pausing between competing tubes of toothpaste in a drug store. The brand that has made the highest penetration on his brain will win his choice’”(332). I believe this shows literally the equation of consumer with citizen. Politicians looked to the markets to tell them what people wanted and how to approach and sell themselves to these consumers.

In the 1980s, the voice of the consumer became the preferred method of interacting within the political and civic arena. Thanks to the deregulation efforts of President Reagan there was hardly any alternative. He dismantled many of the government agencies set up to regulate the industry in order to protect consumers. Instead, the market was supposed to be the regulator. The way for Americans to voice discontent with the corporate world was through the market, through how they chose to consume. Cohen says that through this process citizen/consumers “increasingly related to government itself as shoppers in a market place”(396).

Today we have the citizen consumer, not the one described by Cohen as striving for the protection of the people from the corporations, but as described by Toby Miller, in The Well Tempered Citizen, as “loyal citizens who learn[ed] to govern themselves in the interests of the cultural-capitalist polity”(ix). These are citizens that don’t question their roles as consumers or the ideologies behind consumerism, and faithfully accept the freedoms of consumerism, to choose between products, as the replacement for the freedoms of a citizen. This is what it means to be a citizen in the United States. Miller says that for a capitalist democracy, with a need to generate industry and a preference for the private sector and management, to continue it must produce two kinds of citizens, “the selfless, active citizen who cares for others and favors a political regime that compensates for losses in the financial domain; and the selfish, active consumer who favors a financial regime that compensates for losses in the political domain”(130). Our society has certainly succeeded in producing the latter kind of citizen.

Cross is right when he says “consumerism redefined democracy, creating social solidarities and opportunities for participation that transcended suffrage rights or political ideologies”(2). What the government, and the industries it supports, want us to believe is that consumerism is the best way for us to be citizens. “In the context of consumerism, liberty is not an abstract right to participate in public discourse or free speech. It means expressing oneself and realizing personal pleasure through goods”(Cross 3). It will keep our economy strong.

Works Cited
Cohen, Lizabeth. A Consumers’ Republic. Vintage, 2003.
Cross, Gary. All Consuming Century: Why Commercialism Won in Modern America. NY: Columbia University Press, 2000.
Miller, Toby. The Well-Tempered Self: Citzenship, Culture and the Postmodern Subject. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1993.

This is outrageous!

According to the Michigan Messenger, in Macomb County, Michigan, if you happen to unlucky enough to be dealing with a home foreclosure, you are also unlucky enough to not be considered a real citizen. The G.O.P. is planning on blocking people in foreclosure from voting. And isn't the right to vote a key part of being a citizen? So basically, here is the Republican philosophy, if you are suffering from economic woes, you don't count. I know, I know, this isn't anything new, but it's still outrageous.

If a group of people could collectively go through Kubler-Ross’s stages of grief, I wonder where our nation would be in terms of 9/11? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance? Certainly not real acceptance? Would a group that had reached the stage of acceptance continue to allow the Bush administration its continuing use of the event for warmongering and jingoism? Or would they instead look for real understanding and peace? Seven years later we are still hearing Bush’s battle cries of “Evil doers” and “war on terrorism,” without any concrete or even slightly substantial evidence that continued war is actually protecting us or bringing us or the rest of the world any closer to peace. A day of remembrance is a good thing, because, hopefully, remembrance also means reflection. But as I listen to the speeches of politicians and the pontificating of pundits on the news, I don’t hear any real reflection, or even true remembrance of the lives lost. I just hear more of the same thing I’ve been hearing for the last seven years: We’re gonna get them! You’re with us or against us! Let’s get them before they get us again! (This is paraphrasing of course.) They say that they are remembering the lost, but then they say aren’t we glad we went to war. Is that really remembering? Could a nation still caught up in these rallying cries be said to still be in the anger stage?

Sheryl Gay Stolberg, from the New York Times, wrote this about the President’s speech:
“Mr. Bush’s speech was short, just seven minutes, and the president used it to declare the memorial ‘an everlasting tribute to 184 innocent souls,’ and to remind his audience that ‘there has not been another attack on our soil in 2,557 days.’ His words served as a parting message, of sorts, from a president who, after two wars, believes fiercely that he has done what was necessary to keep the country safe."

Obviously, there is still more on his agenda then remembering the victims of 9/11. I don't necessarily agree with her wording that he "believes fiercely ." It should be he "appears to believe fiercely."

Read this article, "Poverty, Health and Political Priorities: 2000 to 2007," for a better understanding of economics and health care issues.

I am unable to sleep with the fan running and only a sheet to cover me, but not necessarily because of the heat. It’s just that sometimes reality gets to me. I should stop watching the 9 o’clock news. The unemployment rate is at a five year high (though our government is still insisting that our economy is “resilient”), the rate of foreclosure and people behind on mortgage payments are up to 9.2%, there were a couple more murders in the mission yesterday, and right at the start of the news there was an earthquake. Not such a big earthquake, but enough to realize that no matter what else is going on, the earth has her own agenda. I’ve been worried about all kinds of things this past month, but at least I still have a job and don’t have to worry about losing a home, and if there was a “big one" tomorrow none of it would matter anyway. It’s just one of those moments when I have to stop worrying, wallowing, etc., and realize what’s good in my life. Though, I’m not going to dismiss the trouble either, especially if it can be fixed. But in case anyone is interested here are some things in my life that I am thankful for: Parents that I can talk to, friends I can count on, a boss(es) that I like, a place of my own to lay my head at night, access to good beer on occasion, that fact that there is no one currently in my life who I feel like yelling at as much as my neighbor does, creativity, long walks around the lake, being able to read, having a body healthy enough to do most of what I ask of it, BBC’s Mystery on Sunday nights, living in a place with so many interesting people, and I guess I’ll end with the fact that I am still alive and have not died in a horrible accident or earthquake. Now I suppose I should try getting to sleep again.

I found a link to this story on my friends Sparky's website, and I have to agree with her "Gah!" remark. According to Dante Moore, the best way for a woman to get and keep a man is to put up with all his bullshit and do everything he says. He gone so far as to write a book for women explaining this concept. Though, I have to wonder, for the men who take this disrespectful approach to dating, what kind of woman are they actually going to end up with? Probably not the girl they've been dreaming of (unless they are really into submissives with no self esteem). I'd like to think that any self-respecting woman would say "F that," and get the hell away from those men. Of course there is compromise and questions about power in any relationship, but there is a difference between that and complete disrespect for a woman as a competent human being who deserves to be part of a partnership.

First off, I have to say that I know plenty of bicyclists who are fine upstanding people. I often ride a bike around town myself, though without the special outfit. I think it's great to bike instead of drive when you can. But I am sure most of us have had those moments of grumbling while we are driving ten miles an hour behind a bicyclist we can't pass because they are riding down the center of the lane when we have somewhere to be. If you've had that experience read Tommy Wayne Kramer's column "Assignment Ukiah - Pedaling Baloney." I thought it was entertaining.

So, I was called by the local army recruiting office this morning. Not particularly who I want to hear, or waste my cell phone minutes on, but I answered anyway because the call came from a private number, which is usually what it says when my boss calls. It was easy enough to say, "No, I don't to talk about army recruiting. Thanks anyway. Bye." But there was one bit of information that I got before that happened which made me a little upset. The gentleman on the other end of the line told me that they called me because they were calling previous and current Laney College students. Yes, I occasionally take classes at Laney College because its cheap and fun to occasionally learn new things there. However, I don't ever remember giving them permission to give out my personal information to the army recruiters. There was no check box on the admissions application that said "yes, please share my information." Nor were there any disclaimers telling me that they were planning on doing this with or with out my permission if I decided to be a student. I have the right to know these things, or at least I should, prior to their happening.

Here's a heartwarming story from the Contra Costa Times about giving people a hand when they need it most: "Scholarships keep ex-offenders on the right path."

Just a little something...

Gravity is a mutual agreement and death is an institution, not an inevitability. That is why dear Mrs. Amelda Leed continued to stay on the ground, but no longer aged. She realized these facts at some point while her husband, the late Mr. John Leed, was in the process of dying. He had no other cause other than old age. He was 82 when he died, 16 years her senior. He had a good run of it, but still she somehow didn’t see the point of his death. He had given up. And left her behind simply because he was old. And what did it mean to be old anyway. She was old, but felt great. She could still run, and fall without breaking a hip. Death was something that people did simply because they thought they had to and to get to death they aged. That was how she saw it. So she stopped because what was the point. Now, gravity on the other hand made sense, it would be awfully hard to keep track of things if they simply floated away whenever they wanted, so if everyone continued to agree that gravity existed that suited her just fine.

So Mrs. Leed, now a widow, went on living in the same small town where her husband left her. She continued to get older in years, but she really didn’t age. She was old, but she had given up counting birthdays quite sometime ago. Everyone in town speculated about her age, because most of them had known her their whole lives, but she always looked the same, acted the same, had the same spring in her step. But nobody really knew how old she was.

She had a job. She had had a series of jobs over the past decade, the latest being at the florist shop around the corner from her house. Every morning, as part of her exercise routine, she would get up at dawn, get dressed, and start walking. She would walk in the opposite direction from the florist shop, turning left or right as the mood hit her and eventually she would end up at the shop. By the time she got there another employee would be taking care of the morning shipment. She would put on some music, Artie Shaw, Billie Holiday, or maybe even some Bela Bartok. And then she would start making arrangements for the window display.

This morning she was working with a young girl by the name of Penelope. People around town called her Nelly. Nelly finished high school a couple of months ago and was planning to leave for college in a couple of weeks. Mrs. Leed liked working with Nelly. The minute she came through the door Nelly would start talking. She would talk about getting ready for college. She would talk about the parties she went to. And she would gossip about everyone in town. Mrs.Leed often wondered how Nelly knew so much about everyone, but never questioned her. She liked hearing Nelly’s stories. The town never changed much, and the lives of each generation looked a lot like the generation before. Hearing Nelly’s stories made the town seem predictable and comfortable. Mrs. Leed liked that.

“…And then Mrs. Martin said that she would tell Missy’s Mom what we were up to. And I was, like, it’s not as if we were doing anything illegal. And besides, it’s not like Missy’s mom would listen to her anyway. She hasn’t liked Mrs. Martin since that whole incident with the dog…”

Mrs. Leed was trying to remember if Nelly had told her about the dog incident when Nelly asked, “so what’s your story?”

She looked up, “hmmm?”

“I was just thinking that I’ve worked with you all summer and I don’t know very much about you. So, were you born here?”

Mrs. Leed thought to her self that she didn’t know very much about herself either. Most of her life had been so long ago that she was starting to forget it. “No. I moved here with my husband shortly after we were married. He was from here.”

“How long ago was that?”

“So long ago, I can’t remember.”

“There a rumor around town with the kids that you are, like, two hundred years old. No offense. I mean you know how kids are. I never believed it anyway. I mean, my grandmother is eighty and you look half her age.”

The old woman smiled. “Have you ever considered that it could be true?”

“Nah…You’re joking right? Anyway, nobody lives to be that old.”

“Sometimes I wonder. Everything seems so long ago. I’m starting to forget it. I can’t remember which year I was born anymore.”

The truth, which she never mentioned to anyone, was that she was well into her hundreds. And it was also true that she didn’t know exactly how far in to her hundreds. She had lost count somewhere along the way. After a hundred years she figured that it really didn’t matter anymore. She couldn’t remember the last birthday she had celebrated. She stopped celebrating when her last surviving child stopped surviving. There was no longer anyone to share a birthday with, or even to remind her that it was her birthday. She did remember the date, February 13, occasionally falling on a Friday. That made her sign Aquarius. She was having a memory of someone explaining to her what that meant. It was a woman. As an Aquarius you are prone to deep and profound thoughts…

“You should write it down.” She realized that Nelly was still talking to her.

“Write what down?”

“Your life story, you know, like a memoirs or something, before you start forgetting more stuff. Michael Kealy is writing his memoirs, which I think is silly because he’s only twenty. I mean what could he have to write about. I always thought he was weird anyway.”

“Maybe he is planning on it being a life time project.”

“Yeah, maybe. He’s going to the school I’m going to go to. I hope I don’t run into him very much. I can’t wait to get away from some of the people in this town. I think I’m going to try to get people at school to call me Penelope. I’m tired of being called Nelly. I figure this is a good opportunity to dump that name.”

“Would you like me to start calling you Penelope?”

“That would be great.”

The rest of the morning was pleasant for Mrs. Leed. Penelope stopped asking about her life and instead started gossiping about the affair that the high school English teacher and the school principal were supposedly having. And about how the fact that her neighbor smoked pot was becoming more and more obvious. Every time he stepped out of his house “he just reeked.”

A good day...

Today was a great bay area day for me. First off the weather was beautiful. I started off by meeting up with friends at the Thai temple in Berkeley for Thai brunch. We got there a little too late for it to be an ideal experience (I would recommend arriving before 10:30), but sitting on the back porch of one of the temple buildings drinking Thai ice tea, eating mango sticky rice, and chatting with friends is always pleasant. Then one of my friends and I wandered over to the Ashby flea market, which is only a few blocks away. I bought a great new pair of sunglasses for only five dollars. Then another friend came and picked us up and the three of us drove over to the city to go to Ocean Beach. (We were going to take public transportation, but my friend reasoned that it would be cheaper with three of us to drive. Though I try to use public transit as much as possible I do have many issues with the way BART operates that I will address at some later date.)

We took the long way, driving through golden gate park, which was beautiful as always. We ended up over by the Beach Chalet and the windmill. We stopped in at the Beach Chalet to grab some of their jugs-o-beer. I forget what they call them, but the jugs are cheaper then getting a pitcher, and you get to keep the jug. I think the jug and beer is twelve and if you bring the jug back the refill is only eight. My friend brought hers to refill and I got a new one. Mine is in my frig right now with the left over beer.

The great thing was that right before we ordered one of the people behind the bar dropped a champagne glass nearly on top of me and shattered glass every where I was sitting so he gave us a new one and a refill for the price of one.

After my third friend finally got the food to go that she had ordered (I would not recommend eating there on a Sunday. It was way too busy and took way too long.), we walked across to the beach. We lounged in the warm sand, drank our jugs of beer and snacked on my friends potato chips that came with her food. Unfortunately, it was gray along the shore, but it was still nice to be near the water, watching people with their children, dogs or footballs, and the seagulls waiting for said people to give them food. We finally had to move because of the call of nature (btw, the beach chalet is a great place to use the restroom). And then we wandered over to the
Dutch Windmill, which has a fabulous flower garden surrounding it. We sat on one the benches there and drank some more from our jugs-o-beer (I don't know if it is legal, but no one bugged us).

On our way home we found the freeway traffic stopped. So, we got off and ended up at the Atlas Cafe, which has good coffee drinks, decent pastries, and good soups, all of which tided us over until we thought the freeway had cleared. And last, but not least, we happened to pass a "yard" sale just a few blocks from the cafe where my friend found a great little art deco bedside table for hardly any money. Yes, it was a good day. I would highly recommend this trek to anyone.

This is also worth a look.

It made me smile at least. The song is great. www.takecaredownthere.org

Why I Hate Beauty has an interesting perspective on men's perception of women, and why so many of them can't find fulfilling relationships. Whether or not it is true or even partially true, it's an interesting read.

"A day without a dark cloud. Almost a happy day."

~ Alexander Solzhenitsyn, from One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.

I was very sad to hear today that one of my favorite authors died this weekend. So I went and pulled his book, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, from my shelf for the umpteenth time. I've noticed that the pages are starting to come loose from the paperback binding, but I suppose that is a sign of love. This book has been influential in my life in many ways, from understanding human nature to understanding history. Solzhenitsyn was an important, influential figure in the Soviet Union, using his writing to both speak truth to power and to give testament to the struggles of many.

The New York Times has an interesting story about how Russia today has lost touch with the work of this great author titled Reverence but No Outpouring for Solzhenitsyn that I would highly recommend reading. I would also recommend Truthout's transcription of an address Solzhenitsyn gave in 1978 called A World Split Apart.

A Homily for the Homeless

I thought I saw Jesus pass me in the street last week.
He just passed me by.
He was followed by an angel in disguise,
Who smiled and tossed me a dime.
Is that all the salvation I get,
All the love you can afford?
I saw him again this past Tuesday.
He tossed a cigarette butt at my feet.
His angel buddy laughed and I was ignored.
What’s that all about?
I was told Jesus loves me.
I don’t believe that now.
All I believe in is dirty streets,
Polluted air,
And assholes everywhere.
Next time I see you in the street,
Or, God forbid,
You come to my door
I’m going to pretend I don’t see you.
Screw that.
I won’t pretend,
I just won’t believe.

This is stupid, as all things written in moments of emotion are, and I will probably delete it tomorrow. But it is amazing how much time someone can spend with you and how little he actually knows about you, or how much he thinks he knows about you that is wrong. And how he will misinterpret everything you say just to make him look and feel better. So here's about me if anyone cares. I don't expect to save the world, I just want to help out a few kids, and feel like I am making a difference in somebody's life. And yes it is a real job. I like my job. There are some things about it I don’t like. Most people have at least one thing they would change about their jobs. But overall, I really like my job. My boss is fabulous. Though I would like to get back into some journalism, which I am working on, because I find learning about new things all the time interesting. I hate politics. I write about politics with disgust. I care about people and politics is not about people. And honestly I don’t care whether or not people vote. It is a personal choice. My brother was a non-voter for years. And most of the time I question whether I should vote or not. Does it really matter, and why would I vote for people I can’t stand, especially when they are the only choices. I am not always late; in fact I am often early to things I think are important. And if someone tells me they would very much like me to be on time I will make an extra effort. I like a lot of sports, and sporting events. I don't like Maroon 5 at all, but I tolerate them for some friends' sake. I will buy Street Spirit from a homeless person occasionally. I actually find it an interesting publication. The rest of the time I try to refer them to a program like B.O.S.S. I definitely don't hold anything against them. Everyone has their own reasons for being where they are in their lives at the moment. Who am I to judge? They are probably decent people for the most part. I laugh at everything, especially myself. I think religion is a big mistake most of the time. It often creates more conflict then good. But I would like to think there is something else out there, but it is not the center of my life by far. I haven't done drugs in a long time, except for caffeine and alcohol. I absolutely hated The Secret. I thought it sounded a bit too much like a pyramid scheme. I am okay with weird, offensive humor; I grew up hearing it. I like to travel, but it is something I do for myself when I get a chance. I don't expect everyone else to be into it, or want to go where I want to go. And I would never harass anyone to go with me. I have plenty of friends who like to travel with me, and I also like traveling alone. I don't always remember dates unless I write them down. But I have an excellent memory otherwise. I can remember most events very clearly, but maybe not the precise date they happened on. I don't care if anyone remembers my birthday. That is why I always do something for myself. It's the one day I take to be truly selfish and do things just for me, and the friends who decide they want to come along. I love music with a passion. And I think I have incredibly good taste. I may not know all the facts about a band or even remember the name of the song, album, or the band itself, but it’s the music that is important. I have never actually listened to Sufjan Stevens, and as such don’t have an opinion about his music one way or another. I wish I had the time and money to go to more shows. Overall I am a completely (way to much maybe?) compromising and forgiving person. I don't expect apologies from people. Apologies are often insincere. What I do expect is behavior changes. That is how you know a person is actually sorry about what they've done. I try to be very honest with people, and often find myself in trouble by expecting the same from others. But I have told lies occasionally. Most notably when I used to cheat on spelling tests in third grade. And more recently when I said I don't think about the future. I constantly think about the future. But I also know that the future is constantly changing, so I try to be open to all possibilities and see what happens, but make decisions based on what I hope the outcome will be. I try to enjoy now as much as possible, no matter what the future might bring. And I am confident in myself and my ability to survive whatever life brings my way. I definitely don’t need a man to survive. I am independent and I like myself. I am okay with my body, but I wouldn’t mind losing a few pounds, not because of what other people think, but because I think I might feel a little healthier that way. I like to be active, and if I spend too much time sitting around it makes me unhappy. I am smart and funny when people around me allow the space for it. I am a good conversationalist if you try me. Just have a topic you really enjoy talking about. Most of all I think friendship is important, which is probably why I have more friends then I can actually spend quality time with. That is all for now.

Here is my life in a nut shell:

Have a great idea, start working on it, get distracted by some other great idea (or sometimes just an okay one), a month goes by and nothing is done. Since shortly after my last post, not quite a month ago, I have had a slew of things that I have wanted to write about, some of them started, some not, but none finished. Needless to say there have been many distractions this month. Interesting articles I read inspired most of the things I wanted to write about. So instead of taking the time to write out a commentary on every topic, I'm just going to list all the articles, which you should read, with just a sentence or two to accompany them. That way at least I have posted something. Maybe later I will come back and expand upon certain themes, but probably not.

"Senate Approves Bill to Broaden Wiretap Powers" (NYT) This is one of my favorite parts: "There is nothing to fear in the bill, said Senator Christopher S. Bond, the Missouri Republican who was a lead negotiator, 'unless you have Al Qaeda on your speed dial.'" Hey, I thought he was just the pizza guy.

"Midwest floods spotlight decrepit infrastructure" (Reuters) What the government's job again? Oh yeah, war. We don't need functioning roads, bridges, or anything like that anyway.

"House of Cards: You thought the housing crisis was bad? You ain’t seen nothing yet." (LA CityBeat) Something to think about.

"Google Told to Turn Over User Data of YouTube" (NYT) To Tube or not to Tube.

"Bush-Led 'Disaster Capitalism' Exploits Worldwide Misery to Make a Buck" (Alternet) Naomi Klein is always a good read and I find this piece particularly interesting.

"Fuel for Inequality" (NYT) Who would have thought, it's the poor getting screwed again. Excellent op-ed, brings up a lot of points not much heard in the din about oil prices.

I think that's enough for right now. I will try not to get so distracted in the future.

A new ceasefire agreement was announced today between Israel and Hamas…

Hamas: We agree to stop as soon as they stop.

Israel: We agree to stop as soon as they stop.

Hamas: You first.

Israel: No, you first.

Here’s a story that roiled my blood.

CNN.com’s article “FEMA gives away $85 million of supplies for Katrina victims” is just the thing to make Friday the 13th luck seem not so bad. It is my impression that it is common knowledge that the plights of many Katrina victims are far from over. Stories are still coming out of the New Orleans area about families displaced and homeless, communities still trying to rebuild. Yet FEMA claims to not have known the supplies were needed. I find this highly suspicious. Another story by ABC News, “FEMA Boots Katrina Victims From Trailers,” leads me to believe that FEMA is in some way actively impeding the recovery of the area, either that or extreme incompetence. According to the ABC story the reason for asking displaced families to leave the trailers set up as temporary homes is because they cannot withstand hurricane season. If that is the case why are these families still in these trailers almost three years and two hurricane seasons later? The other explanation is that the formaldehyde used in making the trailers is making people sick. If the levels of formaldehyde were that high, then why were these trailers used in the first place? Some of the families may be able to find homes, but as ABC quotes ‘ “The government had no plan for long-term planning of folks, and this is in the midst of an affordable housing crisis that the country has never seen the proportions of,” said Judith Browne-Dianis, co-director of the Advancement Project, a legal action group founded by a team of civil rights lawyers in 1998.’ The article postulates that many will end up in the infamous tent city under the I-10 interstate where many displaced individuals and families are already living.

It seems to me that there never was much intention of helping out these victims of Katrina, who are mostly the poor and minorities. FEMA didn’t do much in the first days of the disaster, and they are continuing to not do all they should. Instead, the burden falls on individuals and NGOs willing to help out and give their time, which I’m sure is much appreciated. But isn’t the duty of our government to maintain the well-being and sense of security of its people (and by security, I mean knowing that I’ll have a roof over my head tomorrow, not protection against some ambiguous terrorist threat). Isn’t that what we pay tax dollars for? Where do all our tax dollars go to? Oh that’s right, to Iraq. I hope the Iraqis are enjoying the services our government has to offer them.