annaghela

Perfecto!

2009-02-27T08:07:00.000-08:00

I don’t know if y’all meditate or give any credence to getting messages from the Universe, and frankly, I’m probably not interested if you don’t, seeing as what follows might just sound ludicrous to you…but I’m sharing anyway.

I’ve hit that fork in the road where I know I’m not currently doing what I ought to be doing. No, I’m not doping incessantly nor drinking my liver into cirrhosis or boinking my brains out (that point I wish were different). I’ve chosen to ignore those urges I’ve had to write for a living and instead have devoted my time to lining some outrageously arrogant billionaire’s already grossly over-lined pockets.

It’s dawned on me that enough is enough. Time to get my shizzle together…that, and I’m taking inventory of what I can do to take my own personal development to the next level. The complete spiritual overhaul started years ago – it’s not one of those things I can pressure the general contractor (read: me) to get done in six months – and I’m adding a few more things to the “To Do NOW!” list.

The top priority on that list? Let go of perfectionism. Huh? Yeah, I said it. Let go of that pesky niggling mosquito that’s many a time rendered me paralyzed with procrastination. Not that procrastination is necessarily a bad thing, as I’ve found I have a startling ability to focus on something when I’m under pressure – pressure usually self-generated by leaving something to the last minute. I can pull out term papers that have flashes of brilliance and perfectly genius gems that would never have found their way into a paper that wasn’t done the night before (or more often than not, middle of the night before) they were due. I’ve enjoyed operating under the “coal don’t become diamond ‘less there’s pressure” mantra for decades now.

Setting that aside, I’m talking about the procrastination that’s attached itself to *my* projects; the ones I’ve always dreamt of starting but never knew (or dared) how to tackle. You know how they say everyone has a book in them? Mine has been begging to get out and play for years, but I’ve ignored its pleas because I hadn’t the faintest idea where or how to start telling a story and I couldn’t be bothered to tell a story that wasn’t perfectly formed in my womb (brain) before I birthed it (spewing it out in perfect prose onto a pristine blank page). Letting go of perfection might mean I end up with a premature, incomplete, and utterly deformed baby, but hell, I won’t suffer from a pregnant pause/procrastination any longer.

Pardon the horrible mothering metaphor. It’s nearing 1 o’clock in the morning and I’ve put most of my literary natch to bed, and I don’t have the perfecting pressure of a deadline. This stuff gets to get out otherwise it’ll keep me tossing and turning when I do finally turn out the light.

But back to my question about messages from the Universe because that’s really my point here. I’ve perked up and started paying closer attention to what I get to master in the next while and the message of letting go of attachment to perfectionism keeps popping up.

I’m an avid blog reader, and every single blog I’ve clicked on lately has an article on perfectionism. How to overcome it, let go of it, ignore it, and trump it. It’s almost as if someone were taking a metaphorical 2x4 to my head and insisting I take note. Believe me, I’m taking notice.

I started writing *my* novel last night. Fuck perfectionism…and damned if I didn’t enjoy just writing. No worries about plot, about character development, about slinky seductive language as bold brush strokes. Nope, none of that. Turns out it’s mostly mental diarrhea, but I don’t care - I finally started doing something I love.

I’m writing this now because my savvy deserved a little assistance to recognize this top priority on my list. I have a set of cards that are eerily similar to tarot cards, but aren’t. They’re more like message cards. You hold the question you have in your mind/heart, and pull cards. Inevitably the cards you pull are scary in their accuracy. I was playing with them just before I cracked the laptop to type this all out.

My question: what do I do to raise my vibration? Okay, that’s not the whole question, but this isn’t a dear diary kinda moment so there’s no need to give away the whole enchilada. In any case, the four cards I drew ALL had this to say:

“LET GO OF PERFECTIONISM”

Crazy, huh?

Oh, I did have to cave and run this through spell-check. I’m not stupid enough to let go of all my perfectionism.

(Cards
1: Priorities. Let go of procrastination and perfectionism
2: You Can Do It!: Let go of perfectionism and know you’ll do fine; You are a valuable and beloved person; You can fulfill your purpose – you are on the right track
3: Focus On Your Strengths: The more you bless and appreciate your strengths, the more they will grow; Remember to view yourself with love and compassion; Exercise – honor your body
4: Artistic Expression: Do this, it is the key to your life’s purpose and you will find your ideal career.

I still boggle at the perfection of these cards for me at this very moment. I want to change careers to do something I adore (write), and the fear that crippled me most in going for it was that I wasn’t perfect. It’s so nice to be reminded that fear is total and utter bullshit.

Au revoir les desires des enfants... Ciao 2008

2009-01-03T19:30:00.001-08:00

I don’t really want to fall prey to the cliché approach of doing a year-end review of good ol’ 2008….but it was one hell of a year. Eh, I can’t do a breakdown of what was what and when it was, but I can say that one of the most profound lesson’s I managed to learn in the past 12 month is that I get exactly what I want – just never in the way I want it.

Take, for example, time of from work. I wanted it badly – oh, so badly. Just some time to relax, kick back, get grounded. I’m pretty sure my craving for that time would have lead me to sell what little bit of soul I have. Well, I got it. Lots of it.

I actually do end up not working the last two months of the year, and don’t have to work the first two months of 2009 – and I still get a paycheck. How’s that? Back surgery. I had the distinct pleasure of experiencing excruciating pain, chronic discomfort, and general misery for a good solid month (and it turned what was supposed to be a sexy vacation into something equating a nightmare – I’ll have to get the verdict from the other party to make it official, but I suspect he’d whole-heartedly agree with my assessment). Not to mention the fun of post-surgical recuperation and physical therapy where I had (or rather have – it’s still very much a present tense experience) to learn how to walk *properly* instead of the duck-like way I had been doing for the last 33 years. There’s also the disturbing haze of opiate pain killers and my now defunct, completely poisoned, and surely permanently damaged liver (anyone care to compare Ibuprophen overdose experiences? Anyone?).

Needless to say the time I have out of the office is now spent mending my body, which still amounts to a whole lotta work – or working out. I got what I wanted, but I didn’t expect I’d get it quite like this.

I admit to spending a good chunk of 2008 craving affection, sexual attraction, intellectual stimulation and lots of sex. Oddly enough I got it – it just happened to come in the form of a very long-distance something or other. It’s not the easiest affair to conduct, but I can’t say I haven’t been satisfied with it so far. I would have loved to have had a geographically convenient lover. Instead, he’s miles (3500 of them) away. So, I’ve learned to take pleasure in hearing him whisper sweet, nasty things in my ear on the phone rather than feel his breath on the back of my neck. I’ve grown thankful for the chance to learn about him during 4 hour phone conversations on a Friday night instead of not talking while sitting next to him in a movie theater.

Nothing compares to actually being next to him, to watch him move, to listen to his voice inches away, to taste him, to smell him, to look up from a book to find his eyes already on me, to hold his hand, or to feel him inside me. However, those experiences are rendered all the more potent and poignant because of the physical distance. I wonder if I would ever know the profound pleasure of being with him if I didn’t know the distinct difficulty of being apart from him. If only I had some witty quip to deprecate this sappy paragraph, but I’ve been rendered a softy. Damn. I guess that’s what caring for someone does to you.

Before I fully embark on creating my wish list for 2009 a little voice whispers to me that I might take a moment to remember that getting what I want apparently comes at a rather high price. Time to cue the music, as I’m reminded by the great philosopher Mick Jagger and his mate Keith Richards that ya can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need…..

Righto. What do I need this next year? Hm…. Best tread carefully.

Blah blah blah

2008-05-19T11:51:00.000-07:00

Words are phenomenal.

They are rich, lush, fragrant, shiny, hefty, weighty, corpulent, loaded, subtle flexible, shifty, deft, forceful – yet for all their obvious power, they can be muddy, murky, shady, fraught with innuendo and double entendre.

They make it all the more tempting to read between the lines, are found written on walls (how foreboding!). They’re as clear as day and as dark as night.

For all their strength, they can be fragile and seemingly everyone’s word can be so easily broken.

They are the most graceful and soft of things, and the harshest and cruelest of weapons. They are sweet, delicious, succulent and lusty - they are harsh, sharp, battering, brutal, malicious and cutting. They are rapier sharp and ethereal whispers.

Words mean something. Or they can mean nothing at all, mere gaps in between silences.

(This past week has been a powerful lesson in words…words in all their glorious paradox.)

Ratios

2008-05-08T15:17:00.000-07:00

My girlfriends make me laugh – granted they also provide a dearth of opportunity to reflect on interesting philosophical questions that I’d probably skip over because who *really* spends their time thinking about the ratio of people one kisses to the people one boinks.

Yup, that is the question du jour. Hell, I might as well just put up the email exchange, because it’s much more to the point than my weak-ass attempts at summarizing it.

From: Girlie friend
Subject: disturbing fact

Last night I was thinking about all kinds of things having to do with intimacy. I was bothered when I thought "who was the last person I kissed but didn't sleep with?"I can remember two in the last 3 years.Only two. The rest of them I slept with. This is driving me crazy... am I such a slut? Or am I too scared of someone kissing me? WTF? The numbers should be more like you sleep with 10% of the people you kiss. For me, it's like 95%.

From: Me 8-)
Subject: Re: disturbing fact

Wow...this is an interesting question and really indicative of what actually *is* intimate to you (of course I'm thinking of my own track record, and I'm stumbling here, too).

Nah, you're not a slut. I'd be a slut, too, if that were the case. The last guy I kissed I haven't *yet* slept with (it's in the cards, it's just a matter of time) and I mean really kissed. (I kiss a LOT. Hell, last night I kissed five different men right on the mouth and none of them are going to be sharing my bed anytime soon if ever.) But the ones I really, really embraced, yeah, I've slept with all of them save one.

And that gets me to thinking that I only really truly share a phenomenal kiss with the men I *want* to sleep with. That for me, kissing is an indication of my desire to share physical and emotional intimacy. Perhaps that's the same for you...and in that case, wouldn't I really want it to be 100% of those that I kissed like that I slept with? Yeah, I think so.

I'm getting to the point where I only want to really share that kind of emotional and physical vulnerability with someone I absolutely want to share my bed with...so my numbers would be skewed. Why bother really kissing someone I don't want to end up horizontal with? It's just a waste of energy...so when you say that you've slept with those men you really kissed, I'm thinking cool...she's not kissing for sport, she's kissing for purpose. Reminds me that I prefer kissing when it has intention behind it rather than just a way to pass some time or make a date less awkward.

Kissing is powerful - it's much, much more intimate than sex. It involves breath and trust and connection and hearts beating next to one another. It's the thing that when you're having sex, actually closes the circle of connection: bodies joined and mouths joined create that perfect circle. It's an essential component of intimacy - it's the beginning and the end of intimacy. To me, it's not a casual thing to engage in, and it's the first step to sharing a deeper physical connection. So with that, I'd say that if you were kissing without the intention of fulfilling that physical connection, then you'd just be a tease and a slut.

From: Girlie friend
Subject: Re:re: disturbing fact

I laughed when you talked about kissing for sport to make a date less awkward... kissing is the most awkward and awful part of a date. There are two moments in a typical date that I hate... when the server brings the check and it's sitting on the table with a big question mark over it and the awkward moment when it's time to say goodbye and collect your good night kiss.

I feel better after reading your thoughts. I am picky enough that I don't kiss around, and when I do share a kiss with someone it is an indication that I am open to more than just that kiss.

xoxo!

Now really, after that exchange, I’ve managed to justify my bedding record, slither out of a pejorative label AND articulate my philosophy on why guys really ought to appreciate kissing more than most do without actually coming out and saying it. Whoops, that cat’s out of the bag.

In any case, it’s stuff like this that makes me happy – and if I get a good giggle out of it, it’s a goldmine.

Martyrdom (no...this has nothing to do with it being Easter Weekend)

2008-03-22T17:51:00.000-07:00

I recently had a conversation about sacrifice in a relationship. It seems common knowledge that some sacrifice is required for a successful relationship to flourish, right? Seems like we all have to sacrifice something in order to make the other partner happy, or that’s the conventional wisdom. Screw that. I don’t buy it.

This conversation revolved around my buddy making the off-hand comment that he feels like it’s necessary to sacrifice his dreams and aspirations in order to make his wife happy and save his marriage. He made that dumb-ass comment and I lost it. Really lost it.

It just frustrates me when anyone I care about talks about having to sacrifice themselves to make someone else happy. I call bullshit.

First off, I don't believe anyone can ever make anyone else happy. It is just not possible. No one can *make* me happy because it's really my own perception of life and the things that happen in it that will determine whether or not I am happy. It’s about *my* outlook, and frankly, no one else can ever be responsible for that chemical compound that occurs inside my head/body that helps frame my either pessimistic or optimistic outlook. No one. It is often the case when someone does something they think will make me happy but because of how I see the world and have experienced it, my reaction to their actions is anything but happy. A lame example, but it does serve to illustrate one of my points.

Secondly, I don't actually value the actions of someone who insists on debasing themselves in an attempt to "control" or "manipulate" my feelings - even if it‘s an attempt to brighten my day. It's almost as though I recognize that they don't value themselves enough for their own wants/desires/needs to be important, and so I don't think of them or their needs as important. If they want to sacrifice their lives for someone else, fine, let 'em, but to me that means that their life really wasn't important enough for them to even value it that they had to give it away to mean anything.

Of course I'm over-looking notions like compassion, caring, truly wanting the best for someone else because you love them, etc. I'm simply talking about the virtue of valuing self and *really* being conscious of when one chooses to undertake an action that might compromise the value of their own life because they see a better good in giving that part to someone else.

Listen, I don't know bupkus about how this friend and his wife operate in their relationship, and I’d be an ass to presume that I could have told him anything about how things “really” were in their relationship, let alone be arrogant enough to offer advice about it. So I didn’t. Instead, I offered this one last little toss-it-away tid-bit:

“If you ever find yourself continually playing the martyr in the relationship because it makes things "easier" for you in terms of tension, then perhaps you're not being honest with yourself about how much you really value yourself.”

Martyrdom is for those who fear the responsibility of living fully for themselves.

The Attention Whore & The Banker

2008-02-27T13:22:00.000-08:00

Ever have those times where a tidal wave of life lessons just seems to wash over you, relentlessly, so that you can barely catch your breath before the next one comes crashing atop your head?

Melodrama isn’t attractive, but I still indulge in it.

In a round about way, I got another little lesson yesterday afternoon. I have a pretty close friend with whom I exchange emails on a daily basis. A few days passed where he didn’t have the luxury of time to write me, and I didn’t write him (despite having no responsibilities at all that needed tending to and hours and hours that should have been put to better use).

Yesterday afternoon got an email from him with the following (oh, and small preface here: my mantra is “I’m no attention whore, baby!”):

I know you're not an attention whore. You're terribly reciprocal in your correspondence. I don't get a note unless I give one. Fair enough. Keep in mind though that you're welcome to write about the mind minutiae that crops up during your day at the gallery.

Fair enough, indeed.

Got me thinking. Terribly Reciprocal. Shit. He’s right. He’s very, very right. I am so insecure as to offer an explanation for it: I honestly think I’m bothering people when I write emails or phone them, or text them. It’s like I’m demanding that they pay me immediate attention and fulfill my need for validation, and it makes me cringe to do it. Sad thing is, I know it’s not the most emotionally mature of perspectives, but it’s the same one I’ve had since I was four and it’s gonna take a lot of work to break from it. The odd thing is, I’m so fucking delighted to hear from other people. I don’t attribute delight to their hearing from me, however….Whatever. It’s stupid and it’s all mine.

Small life lesson you say? Haha! There is much more to it than that. His email followed immediately on the heels of my having read the following passage from Reflections on the Art of Living: A Joseph Campbell Companion:

“The Christian interpretation is one of debt and payment. Paul was preaching to a group of merchants, who understood the whole mystery in terms of economics: there is a debt, and you get an equivalent payment. The debt is enormous, so the payment has to be enormous. That is all bankers’ thinking. Christianity is caught up in that.” (p. 145)

(The passage actually pertains to the idea of redemption, the fall, and the cherubim guarding the entrance to the Garden of Eden. Christians take it literally, Buddhist’s take it metaphorically, interpreting it as a psychological transformation. I feel like I ought to put it in its true context, but it doesn’t mean I can’t extrapolate what I *need* from it.)

And what I did get out of it is this: I’ve got a Banker mentality, too boot! Double Whammy. Dude, this sucks. I’m all about the Tit for Tat, debt & payment, logging of accounts. I’ve got to break out of the banking box and just start bloody giving already, without keeping tally. I do that in other aspects of my life (I treat, I spot, I listen, I blah, blah, blah…and I rationalize and justify) - but apparently I can’t do that in my correspondence (or my phone calls).

So Tidal Wave of Life Lessons, thanks. Thanks, no, really thank you. I’ve learned something else today. It’s not the prettiest of truths to learn, but damnit, I needed the lesson. :D

If you try sometimes, you just might find...

2008-02-25T12:25:00.001-08:00

Actually, had the coolest experience the other day. Despite the coolness of said experience, the day itself was pretty mundane, nothing bad and nothing good happened, it just sort of was. My mood, however, was uber crappy.

I got news that another friend of mine was moving. That makes three in the last two weeks who have solidified plans to leave. I don't have abandonment issues but for some reason it hit me full force that the people I love are not going to be around and I hate that. Worse, I decided to open up an email from my brother with a bunch of new pictures of him playing: in the studio, on stage, etc. and there was one of him back from 1978, an old black and white photo of this beautiful little boy in overalls climbing up on a stool, looking at me with the sweetest expression and I literally started to cry. In the middle of the gallery I started to choke for air. And then the tears flowed. Amazing that my mascara didn't run (I'm such a girl sometimes). I texted him that I loved him and missed him. He texted back that he loved and missed me, too. And the only thing I could think of in response was that I wanted a hug from him. And seconds later, from a thousand miles away, my brother texted me the best hug I've ever had. Odd as it sounds, I could actually feel his arms around me. Okay, even thinking of it now my eyes are starting to well up. Fuck.

I have a tendency to write things down to get my emotions out. No one ever reads the crap I spew, it's just stream of consciousness stuff anyway, but it at least lets me get the garbage out of my system before it starts to rot inside. I typed just moments later that I was in such need of some human warmth at that moment that I was tempted to accost the next man who walked in the gallery and ask him for a hug (I didn't need a feminine comfort, I needed something masculine). About thirty minutes later a man does come into the gallery.

Do you ever encounter people where you just know they're good and there's an energy about them that immediately makes you comfortable? That was this guy's energy. Older, short, balding, merry bright blue eyes, lithe, easy smile, open. I was still in a mood and responded to his questions flippantly. He picked up on it, asked why, and I told him straight out I was just a liar, that nothing out of my mouth was true and that frankly he should be suspect of anything I said. Granted I said it with a smirk. He told me that was the most honest thing I could have said in the moment and that seemed to break me in half. The rest of the twenty minutes we spent talking were amazing. We exchanged information as he'll be back in a few weeks and wanted to catch up with me then. As he turned to leave, he stopped turned around and opened his arms. A long, strong, heart felt hug. Nothing sexual, just this really genuine warmth. It took me several hours to put it together, but it did occur to me that I actually got what I needed the moment I needed it (being held) but only after I had actually admitted that I needed it.

It felt profound. I'm reading "Reflections on the Art of Living" which is a compilation of Joseph Campbell's stuff. The combination of the hug and the reading have got my head in a spin...

I wonder if this is an indication of my state of mind at the moment, but what comes to mind are the words of the devilish prophet himself, Mick J.... "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need." And yes, in my head, the words are accompanied by a lithesomely prepubescent boys choir.

Time to beg the doctor to put me on some sort of meds, don't you think?

Ruminations....

2008-02-22T17:52:00.000-08:00

I recently had a friend ask a few questions that gave me pause for thought. It’s been a while since I’ve had to articulate some of the more meta values in my life; I couldn’t pass it up. For what it’s worth, this is what I managed to convey. Forgive the Q&A format – I couldn’t interrupt its natural flow.

I had one of those little ah-ha moments the other evening, and it's an old idea, one that every one knows but that I'd forgotten: Follow Your Bliss. Felt amazing to really embrace the idea, and then disaster struck when I realized I haven't the foggiest clue what my bliss is. It's a mission statement of sorts, one that never fails to inspire and resonate as absolute truth - it's just a bit of a challenge when one hasn't figured out what brings their bliss (I fall into that category).

Whatever that bliss is, though, you ought to take advantage of every opportunity to bring yourself closer to what you love to do.

You never know what kind of people you'll meet who will be happy to help you further down the road to meet your dreams. You never know what kind of experiences you'll have that will open your eyes to some of the pitfalls of your aspirations, or the advantages you never knew about.

Q. What are some interests or goals that you are working towards right now?

My goals have changed over the years - have diversified, have faded, have morphed into things I never imagined I'd do. I'm waiting for the Foreign Service to come through because I'd like to experience life abroad on a more permanent basis again. I miss the lifestyle I grew up in and I want it back - so the FS is a means of getting closer to it.

I dream of writing a book - what kind of book I haven't any idea - but the notion of putting words to paper that carry meaning, that will have impact, that will be like a child (a legacy) means everything to me. I've tried to get into workshops but have struggled to make schedules mesh. It's something I ought to prioritize, and I will eventually, but I kick myself every day that passes and I haven't made a step toward becoming a proper author.

I want to find clarity and someone to share it with - but that goal is incredibly elusive and it requires the happy participation of a second party (partner) over whom I have little to no influence and I'm honestly trying to figure out how much of a priority/goal it really is.

Q. How does motivation change over the years?

I don't know how it is for most people, but for me it became not about the accomplishment aspect but about the quality of the experience. I approached activities, things, people more in a way of making the encounter as rich as possible instead of just ticking off the experience as something I've done and not really mining it for all it was worth. I suppose my motivation has become about quality rather than quantity (although you never really divorce yourself from the notion of racking up as many interesting experiences as possible). As motivation shifts, so do priorities, and as with all things, they can evolve into things we can't imagine.

My motivation has changed from having glamorous things and stories to share (experiences) into being more concerned with being content, sleeping soundly at night, sharing intimacy and true connection with the people I love, solidifying friendships, being able to recognize my feelings and desires and being able to satisfy those wants and needs. I've become selfish in a different kind of way (I think we all remain selfish, but the nature of the selfishness changes, if that makes any sense) that feels richer and less concerned about outward appearances (getting outside validation - validation from others) and more satisfyingly self-centric (becoming more real to myself, becoming more familiar with how I work, becoming more grounded and centered). Perhaps that's an aspect of motivation as well....but it certainly is something I've noticed and found important.

Q. What is the next thing you look forward to, or do you feel you've plateaued and are now looking for something new?

Have I plateaued? Sure have. Am I frustrated by it? Of course. It's something that gnaws at me every day. I'm certainly looking for something new. I do believe there are times in your life when you'll need to do some serious reflection - the past year has been one of those times for me - and although it's proved fruitful in some cases, there is still more I need to figure out. Those moments of reflection are little plateaus, and they're important to prepare you for the next uphill climb. I'm not angry that they exist, I'm grateful because I've found value in being able to appreciate what is rather than feeling obligated to change it.

Daddy's Hands

2007-10-30T21:15:00.000-07:00

My father’s hands are the hands that define beauty to me. They are like the hands of Michelangelo’s David – disproportionately large, square with long fingers, powerful, steady, calming, sure. My father sliced off the tip of his middle finger on his left hand, at an angle where he didn’t lose length but lost the fingernail, when I was 6: a freak lawn-mowing accident. I prayed for his hand to be whole again, I hurt to see those perfect, artist sculptured hands marred. I suppose at that point in time I believed enough to make it happen. The nail grew back, thick, grey, ugly, but whole.

My father’s hands are the hands that cared for me: brushed my teeth, bathed me, oiled my little brown body after baths, put up my hair in rollers before bed, pulled me near for hugs and kisses. They are the hands that hurt me: spanked me, slapped me, tapped on my breast bone relentlessly when he wanted to drive home his righteousness and demand penitence from an unrepentant stubborn little bubella.

Those same hands are surprisingly soft, softer than my own. I learned to read palms on my father’s hands, in fact, from his hands. The mounds of his hands cushy and ripe, evidence of voracious appetites he passed on to his little girl. I still hold them, surprised at how tender they have grown. I measure my own hands against his, and fall short every time. Mine are long, also disproportionately large, built for command and authority, unaccustomed to nurturing.

Instead, they are hands that want to speak. – that want to create harmonies and themes and dynamic haunting refrains that tickle eyes and ears – but don’t quite know how.

It’s funny how hands become the focus after bed and bodies have been exhausted. The last man I was with repeated over and over again as his own hands held mine above my head while he explored my nooks and crannies, “what beautiful hands, what beautiful, beautiful hands” until I was convinced he knew no other words.

My own father wrote a similar tribute to his father’s hands. Pictures of my grandfather’s hand dominate the landscape, they cast their own shadow. Legend – and it is legend, I never knew the man – has it that they were larger even than my father’s. People who knew him never fail to mention the size of his hands.

I’ve read another son’s homage to a set of fatherly hands and cried at the familiarity of it; a tribute written by my daddy’s hands.

Photos Suck

2007-09-08T12:45:00.000-07:00

I've recently met a man with a photo fetish. He calls it a hobby. I call it a pain in the ass. Another friend of mine actually teaches photography at a local college and has asked me to help him out with a figure study...supidly, I said yes. First hurdle crossed, the next is to see if he can actually convince me to shed clothing and pose. But that being said, I have had a bit of a thought about photography in general.

I've always been photo phobic, both in front of and behind the camera. No logical explanation for it, really, but there it is. I used to proffer the excuse that it stole my soul, like some Native American tradition, in order to get out of the shutter's gaze. Then I discovered Ruth Bernhard and began to believe that photography really did capture someone's soul. I remember seeing a Weston exhibit years ago and being seduced by the undulations of peppers and the haunches of vegetation and falling madly in love with the play of shadow and light. And I envied the eyes that could see the world like that. Yesterday a book of Roy Stuart photography arrived in the mail and again, and as I perused the hyper sexual pages I again astonished at the myriad ways to look at the world.

If only I didn't have such an visceral reaction to the camera as apparatus...I remember a line from one of my favorite fiction books: John Le Carre's The Night Manager (I always wanted to be a spy...) where one character was snapping away and another turned to her and said "Can't we just *remember* this for fucking once?"...It resonated with me, as my memory seems so much more a generous editor to my life than does a camera.

Communion? What sort of sacrament is that?

2007-06-09T17:38:00.001-07:00

I’m feeling somewhat melodramatic today. I hate days like this - they’re a pain in the proverbial keister. Strangers can say things that flatten me. One perfect stranger brought me to tears. That’s a lie - he didn’t do it, I did, but I used the words to twist my guts into a churning hurricane of garbage and filth. (If only the filth were the filthy stuff I *really* like instead of this emotional tornado…and now I’ve been reduced to using weather analogies. I’ve fallen hard.)

I’ve had a few conversations lately that are out of my usual shallow end. In fact, I’ve felt rather like drowning some of the stuff has been a little overwhelming. Of course it has to do with relationships (is it *that* obvious that I’m preoccupied with the concept as of late?). My darling friend R has been a source of comfort and a great sounding board when it comes to the dynamic of letting someone close enough to witness vulnerabilities. He’s helped me refine my ideas of what I want, or need rather, or maybe it’s a combination of both…

A guy came in the gallery this afternoon who I struck up a conversation with - one of those conversations that doesn't often happen with random strangers, but is the kind that you need in order to remind yourself of certain things you want, value, need, ache for. I can never trace the path back to where the conversation started or how certain things came up, but I think I needed to hear and to articulate some of the things that were said. He accused me of being a man eater with a big wall - it was a backhanded compliment, but I had to laugh and accept it for what it was. I told him of course I had a wall, but that he wasn't willing to see that there was a door in the wall that allowed people to knock, get the key, and walk right through without having to try to scale the wall or break it down. In a way, I think that's how most people are: they have doors that they give the *right* people keys to, that they invite in, and we feel frustrated or dismissed or angry because we aren't invited to walk through their door.

We talked about his fiancée. He's known her for 30 years, they grew up together, and finally they're going to tie the knot. He said she knew him too well, that she knew things about him that he wished she didn't know about him and he was scared that she knew too much. I thought that was an amazing thing to say - made me wonder, aloud of course, about what it is in the nature of men to not want to be too exposed or vulnerable. One of my best friends is a guy (old fart, feels like an older brother, but I trust him implicitly) who has shared a similar sentiment about not wanting to expose himself too much to anyone, that he didn't want to share his core with anyone, even his wife (of 22 years). All I could think was that there was something so incredible about seeing someone's core, about being trusted enough to witness someone at their rawest...not to touch it, that's verboten, but to see it... But the point of this is that I arrived at a conclusion (I do my best thinking while talking, I guess it forces me to refine my thoughts in order to articulate them to my satisfaction, it's the bane of my existence): the core is that *primal* thing you were talking about...and a woman wants to see a man's core and I think he wants to see hers as well. I called it communion. And I issued the verdict that ultimately, we all ache for communion.

That was my deep thought for the day.

Now I want a nap.

Hello God, it's Me...But I'm Not Margaret

2007-03-15T10:08:00.000-07:00

Okay, it seems a little religion heavy, but for some reason I’m being inundated with religions conversations – left, right and center. But as always, it proves fruitful…at least when I talk about it (debate may be a more accurate term; arguing is even more precise), I have opportunity to refine my thoughts. It’s not like this gal couldn’t use a little more ladylike refining….

Tradition is lovely. It gives place in the world. It does an amazing job of giving us context and location – in time, in space, in culture. But occasionally it requires a smidgen of examination. Well, it does if it’s religions tradition.

There is nothing like the sweet escape from the maddness of parentally imposed religion – yeah, I know that it’s part of the individuation process, and it’s supposedly part of psychological progression, but seriously, admit it, it’s nice to challenge the old rents’ matrix.

Mitigating circumstances aside, I'd have to say that probably the distaste for man made religion in the first place is that obedience (uncompromising attachment) to some arbitrary rules and regulations seemed completely illogical. All rationality aside, I always thought spirituality was supposed to *feel* right or good. What I was brought up with didn't feel right, and it still doesn't feel right, so I don't want to do it. I wanna feel good about the unknown mystical outter whatever and I'm still a huntin' for what feels good. If I never find it, I don't know that it matters, as long as I don't stagnate and give up the pursuit.

I remember the moment I told my father I didn't believe in his church, and I remember how much it hurt him. I also remember him telling me to never say that in front of my mother because it would kill her. I suspect he was and still is right about this. Pops and I had a conversation a few years back in which he asked me if I believed in God.

I told him I was still sussing out the notion of God, although if there was one I figured he'd have a few different qualities than what I'd be taught. What caught me by surprise - and he's never admitted it since - was that there were aspects of his religion he didn't quite believe in, but that he had to *really* take on faith in order to accept the whole - and he did mention some doctrinal aspects that are lynch pins to his religion. I took comfort from the thought that even my father (such a monumental figure) had doubts about his belief system.

Last Sunday, we had another little chat. Aside from a revelation (ahem, couldn't help it) from him about a few serious moments (months) of doubt about the existence of God (from a man who is incredibly active and devout in his faith) - which did shock me, by the way - he brought the conversation around to the need for a firm belief.

I think to what I wrote a few days ago about the need for explanation. It seems a more concrete idea to me, a more concrete need in all aspects of our lives.

2007-03-14T10:33:00.000-07:00

Chatting with my buddies, my various boy buddies (hey guys, it’s not an insult, some of you are still boyishly charming!), about when men actually to be called "Men". I’ve arrived at several conclusions based on extensive research (ahem) and experience (cough). It’s more of a theory, really, but the empirical evidence seems conclusive.

I’m going to address you all in second person, forget the tired old third person voice for this one…I really am talking directly to my buddies.

So, on to my theory about the progression of maturity in the good ‘ole XY. It's an age thing - something doesn't go off in the brain until you guys are about 32, and then the first inkling of humanity starts to take shape. Up until then, your lot is pretty consumed with shiny things, toys and tail. Y’all are magpies and you’re fine with that (hell, we're fine with it too, you peacocks you!). Early 30s you start to figure out that there is more to life than strange *naughty word* and big eff-off toys; you start to realize that it's about the interpersonal connections you make, foster, share, nurture with people (of either sex and to various degrees).

Late 30's something *really* clicks and most guys wake up to the fact that you can't take it all with you, that you’re *not* defined by what you have or what you do for a living. Slowly, but surely, you begin to realize that you really want to create a life for yourselves, and that a full life usually involves another person specifically, and other well-cultivated relationships in general.

It's at this point where you start to bear responsibility for your feelings and your needs (and thank God when you all finally start to be able to identify what you're feeling and being able to label those feelings…by the way, what is it about guys needing labels for things..."It's got to have a name!"...), that you start to earn the title of "Men".

At least, that's what I've reduced the whole thing to, based on my experiences with guys in the 30s & 40s. (I've tried explaining this to guys still in their 20s, but for some reason they don't want to hear it....and interestingly enough, it's only guys in their late 30s who ask when they become men...food for thought there.)

There is nothing sexier than a Man.

Masochism 101

2007-03-13T09:45:00.000-07:00

A recent conversation about plain ole’ stubborn grips on old belief systems has me pensive, yet again.

It’s difficult to have a conversation with anyone who is married to a particular set of beliefs, granted I prove just as obstinate as the next person when my way of thinking is questioned. In an ideal world we’d all have enough patience to let someone actually share their paradigm, listen, think about it, and *then* proceed with caution to rip ‘em apart and shatter the other person’s world view.

I think we initially reject any bit of information that counters our preformed notion of what the world is – automatic rejection. It’s almost instinctual. There's a phenomenon with a particular name (wish I could remember it, I also wish I weren’t so lazy as to not look it up) where we all hunt down info to lend credit to our already established beliefs - reinforcement, if you will - that seems hardwired in human nature. It does boil down to fear - or monumental ego in some cases - that what we've given purpose to is really a figment of our imagination. I'm scared shitless that my entire life will have been pointless (that whatever causes or pursuits I've spent energy on). The last few years I've been mired in an existential crisis, trying to find meaning in anything, realizing that only I can give meaning/importance to something, and finding that more often than not, I haven't valued my opinion enough to believe that something I make matter actually matters. It's a depressing thought. The realization scared me to the core. I remember sitting outside a coffee shop with my best friend and having that little tid bit dawn on me. The floodgates opened, and I spent an August afternoon crying my heart out. There are times when it still pierces me and I ache...Why would anyone want to feel that way when they can avoid the whole crisis by *not* testing their beliefs? There's a masochistic streak in those of us who want the puzzle to make sense.

Now if the masochism would bring me a little pleasure instead of pain.

The masochist says to the sadist, "Hit me." The sadist says, "No."

See! The old adage just proves my point – the initial reaction is always negative…

Systems Breakdown

2007-03-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to really say, but I’ve been musing about a few things lately, so I figured I’ve articulated, I might as well put them up to remind myself ten years from now what I was thinking at the time. Undoubtedly, I’ll find myself ridiculous and sadly confused at the ripe old age of 30 something. Not that I plan on evolving all that much, but fate (or life, rather) will surely dictate that I refine a few of my opinions. That being said, here goes nothing…

I have a theory that we do everything in our lives - make all choices - in order to reduce our anxiety, and that we will often choose the miserable known over the fearful unknown because the unknown makes us more anxious than the detrimental known. I also believe that most of our lives are spent seeking explanation - trying to find our location in space, time, thought and energy.

I suppose the crux of my argument is that religion (or any belief paradigm) is constructed to provide explanation, to provide comfort, to reduce anxiety. We continue with scientific research in order to get explanation, we construct formulas to provide explanation, we try to create pattern in others' behavior to provide explanation...we are seduced by conspiracy theories because they provide pattern and explanation for what is otherwise inexplicable.

I'm sure we could apply systems theory to pretty much everything in life. That's what seems to make it so difficult...everything is connected, linked, related. Makes it utterly impossible to take a firm position on anything anymore.

When it comes down to it, most people I discuss this with don’t particularly embrace my notions about what a comfortable state of understanding is. Seems that most people want, need, crave comfort (in terms of a belief system), and I’m okay with knowing, with limbo, with the possibility that comes along with not being tied down to one concrete belief.

Pro-Choice

2006-10-16T14:42:00.000-07:00

The following was in response to a particularly stupid post on CL about pro-choice, anti-war liberals being PRO- ABORTION. It is shocking how often some idiot equates being liberal with being anti-life...so in response to this particuarly inane logic train, I posted the following:

"Just because someone is pro-choice DOES NOT mean that they are pro-abortion. No woman is ever going to gladly offer her body up for an abortion, nor is she going to look forward to making an emotionally devastating decision on whether or not to terminate a pregnancy.

Abortion is not something we shout hip-hip-hooray about, but those of us who maintain that it is an *individual* choice that should rest in the individual woman’s hands not the hands of some bureaucratic decision maker on Capital Hill sporting a Y-chromosome and a penis will continue to protest the attempts to wrestle the decision making power from the person whose womb is directly affected.

Ironically, abortion is a question of personal liberty and about the extent to which the government should be able to dictate policy over an individual’s health and body; preservation of personal liberty and minimal government interference have traditionally been bastions of the *conservative* platform. No longer – as evidenced by the Terry Schivo case where the highest legal authority in the land had to hand down a ruling baring the Executive branch from meddling in the health care choices of a private citizen. Instead, we liberals have taken up the cause of preserving personal freedoms from the usurpation of the federal government; we’ve come full circle.

It is a ridiculous and absolutist stance to equate being pro-choice with pro-abortion. Apparently you have lost your capacity for rational, subtle and nuanced thought. Reason is our only means of perceiving reality – our only source of knowledge. Taken to a logical conclusion, the two previous statements would mean you’re taking a vacation from reality. "

There is nothing more infuriating than myopic and absolutist idoiots.

Friendships

2006-06-07T11:09:00.003-07:00

I've been corresponding with an acquaintance about the nature of friendship. After one particularly dire email from him, I felt compelled to rhapsodize about relationships. Unusual for me to take such an optimistic slant to such things, but every time I re-read my response (I've read it a few times, hopefully not with an egotistical impetus) I believe more strongly that it's all true. I thought I'd share it:

I am fortunate enough to have some local friends I can count on for face-to-face time and affection (I am the annoying sort who insists on hugs and kisses hello and goodbye, somewhat out of a sense of my cultural upbringing, somewhat out of the enormous pleasure I get from physical touch). But it is difficult to find people with whom I want to spend a lot of time, and I have grown comfortable living on my own and being my own company, and I do find great comfort being on my own in my own space with my own thoughts and no need to try to explain my (sometimes crude) behavior. I do have a number of acquaintances for whom I have a sense of affection, and whom I find enormously entertaining (and for whom I believe I am a source of entertainment - I certainly have a role to play in their circle: the bawdy, brash, confident, highly sensuous woman who always has a ready wink and an innuendo to share. It's a I have made for myself and into which I slip comfortably when asked).

Today I've had some time to write down a lot of my thoughts, which have been centered on the nature of inter-personal relationship...and one of my more obnoxious conclusions was that I wish there was something as easy as economic theory that could easily be applied to how we approach relationships. Something along the lines of the fact that we can predict market response based on a select number of indicators and usually we're pretty close to actual market response. (Right, econ is not easy for most, but it's a philosophy/pseudo-science that tries to predict behavior based on fundamentally irrational human nature, and it seems to satisfy the need to understand human behavior in context of money. Why shouldn't it explain something as irrational as friendships/relationships/love?)

The two friends of whom I wrote are irreplaceable. They will always occupy a place in my life, they have already for many years. The nature of the place they occupy may certainly change, as it has over the years. But the fact that they are important to me has been consistent. To what degree and in what capacity they are important may change. I am no longer the most important woman in my one friend's life; that
role belongs to his wife. And the nature of his love for me over the years has changed, and it will continue to change (most likely becoming more purely platonic and I can imagine it decreasing in potency); my love for him has undergone dramatic changes, but it exists and barring some horrific incident where my love turns to indifference, I anticipate it enduring 'til I snuff it. My best friend Aleza has been a constant, despite the irregular communication, for more than half my life. I believe, earnestly and with conviction, that we will always be friends. Granted, we both make better efforts to keep the lines of communication open in these past few years, but there exists a sympathy between us that matures as we get a better grasp on life. I hope that sympathy continues to deepen and I do intend to see to it that I put forth that effort.
That being said, I don't think they exhaust my capacity or my need to care about someone else, or someone new. My need for closeness is not anywhere near
being sated. I've never been convinced that I had a limited capacity to care, and that I would have to divvy it up between a certain number of people and that my love for someone would diminish because I'd acquired a new friend and now they needed to some portion of my affection. I don't believe in a quantity theory of love. I can't. If my love were predestined to only grow to a certain amount, then that means that I am limited in everything. My potential, my understanding, my ability would have a preset limit...I would be bound by some finite number and infinity would cease to exist for me. I refuse to believe that. It comes back, again, to the nature of economics and the concept of making a bigger pie rather than having to reportion the pie.

There remains vast space for more people to care about. I don't know if I could ever
dispense the love that I want to be able to generate. But, one dose of reality continues to mar the perfect sentiment: my love may be limitless, my time, however, is not (a phenomenon everyone else also has to cope with...).

I hope that I won't create boundaries to friendship in the future. Friendship, without the component of romantic or erotic love, doesn't hurt. Friends fulfill needs, no one friend will fulfill all needs, and I think because it is impossible for one person to be all thing it makes it easier to accept those so-called "short-comings" that people in friendships create. Friendships of a riskier nature are a completey different topic.

I am also fascinated by the circumstances in which friendships end. I have several stories about my experiences with that. I am guilty of cutting people off without explanation. Twice in my adult life. There were immediate and distinct reasons why I cut them off, and I admit, I did not think about their feelings. I know it hurt them; I've also been cut off without explanation. I licked my wounds and tried to figure out why I'd been shut out (by a group of mutual friends, at that, all women). I still wonder what it would be like to run into one of them and gauge their reaction to me now.
But here's a question: how much effort do you spend to try to maintain friendships? I know that sometimes my laziness (distraction, preoccupation) puts the blame of extinguished friendship squarely on my shoulders. I've realized it takes effort, and yes, I am hurt that sometimes people don't see me as worth the effort... I've also realized that sometimes I'm scared to reach out and try to create something with someone new. I'm timid that they might reject me, or that I come on to strong, or that when I stop playing the entertaining, comic Ghela and become the more philosophical, quiet, reflective and observational Ghela that I might put them off - they might only enjoy one aspect of me (which is truly rude on my part, who the hell am I to assume what they like or don't like, etc.). And I realize it's my fear of rejection that dampens my enthusiasm for new people. And if I'm lucky enough, I set that aside and ask someone else for a little time and interaction in the understanding that it's going to require a little risk on my part to see if there is some mutually
satisfying relationship that can be built.

But again, I hate to think that I'm low enough on the totem pole that someone would rather sit in front of a telly instead of calling me up for a coffee or shooting me off an
email (I'm giddy when I get little messages that say "thinking of you"...).

Food Glorious Food

2006-06-05T20:37:00.000-07:00

Oh the joys of Anthony Bourdain. I am addicted. The man’s travel show is delicious, to say the least.

What is it about a snarky, sarcastic, self-declared gourmand that makes stomach-turning food adventures sexy? (I have one quibble, Tony, a true gourmand doesn’t smoke. Um, I believe it has something to do with a dulling of the olfactory sense. No that doesn’t mean I’m a puritanical bitch, I do enjoy an occasional puff but no chain indulgence for me. I want to truly taste what I’m slipping down my gullet.)

I’d give anything to do what he does; most of it, anyway. Break out the passport, belly up to the bar, go local. Brilliant. And to share insights about what makes us all human: we all eat. There is poetry in that notion. We share a common need: fuel. We share common habits: eating together. We share common communication: through our hospitality at the kitchen table. There is nothing that makes people feel more welcomed, nurtured, cared for and respected than an offering to break bread.

For me food is truly a sensual experience. That being said, it is a truthful experience. For some of us still indebted to our senses for a confirmation of universal truth (epistemic stuff, for me, only comes through experience), food is gloriously sating. I’m talking about ALL five senses here, not just taste.

Food stimulates every sense. Preparing food is a truly sensual act. We touch. We feel the textures of the ingredients, the steel of the knives, the wood of the rolling pin, the coarseness of the spices. We hear the sharpness of the chopping, the clatter of the whisk, the breaking of the eggs, the farting of the kneaded dough. We smell the tang of the pepper, the sex of ground nutmeg, the warm earthiness of roast nuts, the yeast of the cider. We see the molten of the tomatoes, the lapis of the blueberries, the summers day of the lemon, the verdure of the spinach, even the white froth of the cream adds color all its own. And taste. Taste. Where to begin? The last sense is the most orgasmic. I cannot do it justice.

Why this rapture about food? Why not? I took the time this evening to do a pizza from scratch. Dough left to rise in the late afternoon. Onions and mountains and mountains of mushrooms chopped before rolling out the punched-down dough. Pecorino grated. Artichoke hearts sliced and sprinkled. Simple. Almost too simple. And yet I groaned in pleasure with the first bite; my heart mourned an empty plate.

Food is life. Life is pleasure. Sometimes is takes small rituals like making a meal to remind us of this. Sometimes it requires sharing the simplest of thing with others to bond us for life. Sometimes it takes a meal to break down barriers. I’m glad I can get a weekly dose of Bourdain as a reminder.

The Marketplace of the Heart

2006-06-05T13:28:00.000-07:00

A friend wrote me telling me I should post a small piece on NAFTA and immigration and the economic repercussions of the latest debates on illegal aliens. She also mentioned I should write about the Phillips Curve (the inverse relationship between unemployment and rising inflation). I’ve sort of thought about it. I won’t admit I’ve thought about it a great deal. I have been otherwise preoccupied with matters less politic, more spiritual, certainly matters more nebulous and intangible.

My preoccupations are with love. What a boring and completely banal subject. So trite. So mundane. So pathetic. I am not in love. I am struggling with the notion of wanting to be in love. I am struggling with the thought of the vulnerability it requires and the recklessness that it demands. I am feeling too weak to try to fight for it. I feel to insecure to ask for it in return. And this is the subject I can’t get off my mind.

I want love to be as simple and straightforward as economics. What?! Economics aren’t straightforward and they certainly aren’t simple – but what economic theory does do is make an attempt to forecast an outcome based on the natural human response to a given stimulus in the market place. And really, although the outcome is usually surprising, there have been a number of instances where the marketplace has actually let scholars make predictions whose outcomes have been prescribed perfectly. The school of economic philosophy has allowed us to come up with indicators that narrow down the scope of behavior. People create the markets, people dictate the parameters of markets, people try to manipulate the market for their own profit. Markets are constantly driven by human nature. The quirk is that behavior isn’t necessarily logical and it isn’t necessarily easy to predict, but somehow, someway, analysts have been able to take the quixotic nature of human behavior in a particular arena and explain it – from the first rumor to the final result. Economics is a way to understand human nature and one of the most interesting deadly sins (greed – which interestingly enough is also called avarice, something close to "a vice").

So why can’t economics also explain one of the virtues? Why can’t it explain love? Why, damnit? Or maybe why can’t love be simple enough to be explained by an economic philosophy? Why isn’t it a question of finding the most satisfactory mix of qualities in a person (kindness, intelligence, compassion, curiosity, self-discipline) and then acquiring them as a partner, a logical thing to do in any marketplace. The first thing students are taught in an economic class is the concept of the right mixture of goods and services – or what we all choose to put in our basket. We have, for example, a limited amount of time to work, work earns us money, money buys goods and services. What we choose to purchase with our earnings is weighed against how long it will take us to earn that money. Our time spent working and our time spent in leisurely pursuits will determine the income we have to spend on goods and services…and of course what we ultimately choose to purchase will be determined on what sort of things we value most. (I have it boil down to what material goods are worth our daydreams and playtime, but that’s just me.)

So why can’t we apply the same sort of theory to our pursuit of love? Why is it impossible to explain why we reject certain people with certain characteristics who, if we were to rationally describe what we are looking for in a love-object, are simply not attractive options? Why is it also the case that people with the "wrong" mix of characteristics – people we would rationally reject – happen to be the ones to whom we are attracted the most? And worse, why are we continually drawn to the people who have tendencies to make us unhappy…and don’t give me some profound psycho-analytic explanation of a deep-seeded belief in ourselves that we are unworthy of love so we continue to care for people who only frustrate our desire to be loved
I want an explanation – a rational explanation – so that I can figure out how to better allocate my resources (my tastes, especially) so that I don’t end up frustrated with the people I chose to attract, be attracted to, and waste time obsessing over. I like my daydreams, and I’d love for them to be fulfilled…and sometimes the longing of a fantasy is better than the reality ever could be. I’d like to daydream about impossible dreams, ones that can never hurt me by possibly being realized. The sting of disappointment that comes from a dream grasped and then broken, shattered is more bitter than the ache of knowing that dreams are merely dreams and not something to be realized.

Why isn’t there some economic theory that would save us all from the volatile marketplace of the heart?

Am I in love? I don't know. Do I want to be? That, I really don't know.

factsonfuel.org: America's Oil & Natural Gas Industry

2006-05-25T16:46:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the latest treaty from the energy industry bigwigs? It literally begs us all to question them on why we’re paying so much for gas, what the industry is doing to develop alternative and renewable energy sources.

It’s a brilliant piece of propaganda. It does exactly what any piece of persuasive media should do: lull its audience into a stupor and create a sense of trust. If we can’t ask the industry directly, who can we ask? If we can’t trust American companies to take care of us in the future, who can we trust? (Obviously not the Saudis.)

But really how dull witted can we be? It seems a thinly veiled attempt to justify the gross profits experienced by the oil industry over the last year and a half. Yes, most of us are aware that they make only 7-8¢ per gallon and that a substantial percentage of the price of gas is comprised of state and federal taxes. But considering recent allegations on price gauging at the pumps, it seems difficult to swallow any justification for such bloated profits. (I’m not dismissing the contribution of the oil companies profits to the greater-than-anticipated GDP growth for the first quarter of 2006 – 5.3% - and of course those publicly traded conglomerates have an obligation to their shareholders to hunt down profits to ensure their stock prices justify investment.)

But those profits come at what social cost?

Ever heard of externalities?

Inflation, a rising consumer price index, negative personal savings rates: all factors playing into the 16th consecutive raise in the Federal Reserves’ prime rate. All potentially crippling components to future economic growth. Did we all forget what effect these numbers had on the stock "adjustment" last week, when the Dow Jones dropped 200 points in one day?
And now the Fed’s Bernake’s cryptic communication style has the market getting jittery, when the Fed is supposed to create a climate conducive to reasonable growth and checked inflation.
But back to the propaganda. The commercial is simple, stripped down to the basics: a current of diverse faces streams across the screen demanding to know what we pay what we do at the pump. Talk about a message claiming corporate responsibility and demanding social justice.

It’s brilliant. But I just don’t buy it.

Where to start, what to say?

2006-05-25T15:22:00.000-07:00

I suppose this is where the adventure begins: words I will be held responsible for from this day forward. Self-censure may well become a daily ritual, one which will curb this otherwise loquacious tongue (the fingers are not so eloquent, they require a few exercises before their flexibility keeps pace with outrage, frustration, humor and giggles).

Right. Enough with trying to wax eloquent.

A little time spent this afternoon reading other blogs, spent the most time reading about the violation of the Congresses "constitutional" right to privacy by the Executive branch. I have to wonder what it is that brings together a divided Congress against an effrontery of overreaching Executive powers. Suspicious as it may be, the only thing I can think is that they are hiding something, probably a deep-seeded sense of guilt about the rotten, rank corruption that has set in like damp rot, something that can't be masked cosmetically with a little paint and soft lighting; corruption this set would require a razing to the foundation to fix.

And that's only the Congressional Branch. I wonder how incredibly impossible a task it would be to try to correct the course of the Executive Branch. I'd venture to say that the Executive Branch operates more like a Monarchy - dare I say Theocracy? Really what ever happened to the separation of church and state even as a mere concept, let alone practice? - where GDub prances around preoccupied with ego instead of taking a good whiff of what's really going on. Me thinks there is something rotten in the state of Denmark...

That being said, the most articulate discussion I've found is from Jack M. Balkin's blog. I recommend you read:

http://balkin.blogspot.com/2006/05/corrupt-congress-is-shocked-to.html