living in the shadow

Twenty years ago this week I made a mistake. I am still paying for it.

As with all mistakes, the aftermath is mixed. Certainly some good has come of it. And good beyond the flippant, “even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while.” But I wonder if the good could have been achieved without the mistake. The purest of conjecture. It is also clear that the very best of what came from that train wreck of which I am still entangled could not have happened but for the carnage.

Oh well.

I think Barry Bonds is refusing to hit the next couple of home runs on purpose, so that the putz Commissioner Bud Seling has to follow him around the country for a week or two.

That was my op-ed piece on the news. Hope you enjoyed it. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming, joined in progress.

Twenty years ago my father told me he had colon cancer. He’s been dead five or six years now. Twenty years ago I was just starting to think about law school. I’ve since practiced for a decade and moved into education. Twenty years ago was the relative fast pace of Northern Cal. Today, I sit in Bumfoq, Pennsylvania, writing to no one in cyberspace listening to my twin’s favorite, Billie Holiday.

Twenty years is a long time. I aged. I can’t tell if I hardened or am too jaded to discern. I still hold my optimism, but now I expect to be kicked and don’t get terribly upset when I do. My focus is rather narrow these days – give me enough money to pay my bills, land leave me alone. That’s not being cranky or anti-social. But I seek to engage society when I want to engage. I have grown weary of societal dictates.

Alright, enough cranky – although I am not cranky.

I recently discovered the music of Blind Willie Johnson. The first song I heard was, “Dark was the Night.” I thought of a New Orleans funeral procession. Remarkable song. I learned in the article (yes, that bastion of peerless-reviewed writings, WikiPedia) that the song was about Christ’s crucifixion.

Three of his songs are available on the Internet Archive (which, btw, has a lot of old blues free for the taking without having to worry about liberals asking for royalties).

Let’s roam the Internet Archive, shall we?

Today on Gender Talk (if today were February 12, 2001), “Zantui Rose has been a contributor to the trans community for 7 years as a writer, workshop facilitator, therapist and visionary. She co-mothered the Bodhi Tree House, a trans-sacred retreat space, and last year delivered the keynote address the Southern Comfort conference. She has been partnered with a transperson for 4 years, and speaks with us about transcending gender as a spiritual imperative, and about transcending the gender paradigm. She also talks about the various workshops and retreats that are conducted by she and her partner Holly Boswell, as well as Mrak Eden, in beautiful mountain settings of North Carolina. For more information about BodhiTree House retreats, email: BTH395@juno.com

“Ethan St. Pierre is a transgender man whose aunt, Debra Forte, was murdered for being a transperson. We met Ethan when he participated in the National Gender Lobby Days effort in Washington, DC. Ethan's partner, Karen Martin, is a transsexual woman and they have been in a committed relationship for a couple of years. Ethan talks about his relationship with Karen through his own change in identity and gender.”

You can’t make this stuff up. Ethan is a dude that was girl; he’s with Karen, who’s a girl that was a dude. Does that make them gay? Like some special classification – not bisexual, but like hetero-gay. I wonder if Ethan helps Karen with her make-up. Who has the prostrate?

Speaking of prostrates, I gotta get mine checked on Friday. I am whining big fucking time about it. If I’m going to stick something up my ass, it had better be connected to or somehow controlled by that one special loved one. A stranger just doesn’t do it for me. Medical exam or not. And they use so much of that goop that you fart it out later. I hate that.

Back to diversions. Let’s see, what else?

You gotta love this – the original 1928 Orson Welles War of the Worlds Broadcast. Runs about 51 minutes. Less than an hour to throw the country into a panic. Based on a book. People, get a grip.

Remember the old radio show, “The Shadow”? No, neither do I. That was years before me. But my dad used to do the laugh – something like, “The Shadow knows (insert dad laughing).” He seemed to enjoy doing it. I tried to look something other than impassive. Here are 98 episodes of The Shadow! “The Shadow knows! A-ha-ha (cough!) ha-ugg- (wheez!) ha-ha .. mmm.”

Not sure if these are good, but I presume they are. I used to love to listen to the suspense stories on the radio. WGBI in Scranton used to play them late at night when anyone who knew how to change records every three minutes was long gone to bed. This is a link to hundreds of these suspense stories.

Enough. I went back up and read about the prostrate intrusion. Can’t get past it. Gotta walk around.

narsissisticly obsessed. got a problem with that?

So no posts for weeks, and here I am twice in the same evening. You must be special. Stirring memories of warmer days when my heart was not as cauterized as it is now, days when I actually cared. I am not uncaring in the least, but I remember a time when many things moved me deeply. I remember my shell not seeming so hard and my core not feeling so rancid.

Can you be the opposite of something? I sure ain’t narcissistic. Here’s the definition I pulled.

1. Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements)
2. Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love
3. Believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions)
4. Requires excessive admiration
5. Has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations
6. Is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends
7. Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others
8. Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her
9. Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes

Well, it isn’t all that far off in some respects. Let’s deconstruct it.

Grandiose sense of self-importance? I am important, dammit. But the disproportionate aspect of effort to reward doesn’t apply to me. In fact, I work hard regardless of the reward. Narcissism 0, Clyde 1.

Preoccupied with fantasies? Isn’t everyone? The issue I have is with the word “preoccupied.” If I am here thinking about something, I am occupied with those thoughts. To be “preoccupied,” is it asking what I was thinking before I was thinking? That is very confusing to me. I am taking the point. Narcissism 0, Clyde 2.

Well, I am special. That’s what the lady on the short bus told me as I entered wearing my foot ball helmet. She was nice. Gave me cookies sometimes. Associate with high-status people? You mean the beautiful people? I would rather have my colon removed, again. My point. Narcissism 0, Clyde 3.

Admiration? Try this. Shut the fuck up; leave me alone or I’ll call the cops. Narcissism 0, Clyde 4.

(I should be a psych. I’m good at this!)

Entitlement. Seems a close variation of number 1. I do, however, think that people should automatically comply with my requests. It only makes sense, because I am right. Exceedingly so. OK. Narcissism 1, Clyde 4.

Exploitative? No. I use people for my own bitter purposes – but exploit them? That’s cold. My point. Narcissism 1, Clyde 5.

Lacks empathy. No argument here. In fact, we’ll give them a bonus point! Narcissism 3, Clyde 5.

Often envious? I could give a rip if the person next to me spontaneously exploded. My point. Narcissism 3, Clyde 6.

Arrogant? Moi? It is to laugh. Fine. Be that way. Narcissism 4, Clyde 6.

Conclusion? Borderline Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Very cool.

My twin said to be today that I have a bit of OCD in me. I think if she thinks it is “a bit” then she doesn’t see me enough. I’ll look for a self-diagnosis checklist for Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder and continue this discussion.

Can I write my own scripts?

OK, back. Sorry for the delay. Had to find the American definition for OCD. Isn’t it comforting to know that between use and Europe, with two different standards, one could be saying, “Oh, he’s fine!” and the saying, “Medic!”

Obsessions as defined by (1), (2), (3), and (4):
1. Recurrent and persistent thoughts, impulses, or images that are experienced, at some time during the disturbance, as intrusive and inappropriate and that cause marked anxiety or distress
2. The thoughts, impulses, or images are not simply excessive worries about real-life problems
3. The person attempts to ignore or suppress such thoughts, impulses, or images, or to neutralize them with some other thought or action
4. The person recognizes that the obsessional thoughts, impulses, or images are a product of his or her own mind (not imposed from without as in thought insertion)

Compulsions as defined by (1) and (2):
1. Repetitive behaviors (e.g., hand washing, ordering, checking) or mental acts (e.g., praying, counting, repeating words silently) that the person feels driven to perform in response to an obsession, or according to rules that must be applied rigidly
2. The behaviors or mental acts are aimed at preventing or reducing distress or preventing some dreaded event or situation; however, these behaviors or mental acts either are not connected in a realistic way with what they are designed to neutralize or prevent or are clearly excessive

Ut-oh. We better not go here yet. My leg is tapping and throat getting dry. Boy, my left thumb aches so badly. I gotta go.

overdue

It’s been a long time since I have written here. Sorry to those three or four coked-up manic-depressives staring out at SF bay wondering why life is so thin these days. I know you have come to count seeing witty analyses and insightful instructions on how to give a damn as you wander from paycheck to paycheck looking over your parents’ belongings on Sundays in between and making a mental note what you can sell on eBay. I understand. I’m here for you. I loved you long ago, and that has never left me. Never could. If we met again, I probably would nod politely at the familiarity of your face, and laugh when you laugh, but I wouldn’t have much recollection. Age does that to people from away. I think it is the east coast water. With such a high percentage of the US population living here, you know the ground water supply had to get personal at some point. Stay in Cal. You’re safe there. Well, safe until Sac becomes beachfront property. But people saying the “big one” is coming are a dime a dozen – that’s like a nickel a piece or something like that. Walk around with a life preserver on; you’ll be fine. Does your car float?

So I’ve been working my ass off, that’s why I haven’t written at all. I am helping to design a distance-learning school for a group of post-secondary institutions. I am the academics guy – go figure. Yeah, I shake my head at the thought, too.

I hope you aren’t looking for discussion of news or politics. I quit both. Seriously.

I quit listening to liberals when some chick said that all women should be blowing Bubba Clinton for all he did for women. How incredibly embarrassing it must be to be a person anywhere near that women, someone so pathetically vacuous. I bet you your ears pop when she walks past your desk.

And then I quit listening to conservatives when they turned on W. All W is doing is finishing what he started, and everyone around him are weak-kneed pussies. It doesn’t matter if you agree with the war or not, W didn’t lie, nobody lied, everyone was on the same page, and we marched in. So it isn’t easy. So what? You think WW2 was a cake-walk? You read the old newspapers and read about the then-war-pussies? They bitched and moaned just like now.

So anyway, I am done with politics. Done voting, too. Nobody gets my encourage to give up there soul.

So why the broader news apathy? Libs run the presses; cons run the internet. There is no news anymore – it is all politics. They can all kiss my ass.

I write. Got a book coming out in 18 months or so. No more news until some blood is let. I do my job. I raise my kids. I talk to my twin. That’s my life. Focused. I like it.

I’ll start writing about it more. Promise.

personality tests

i took a test. i guess can't complain about being a visionary. i took one a while ago and it told me i was a lesbian.

nonconforming cartoons

So I am working the girl to crank out some drawings. Forgive the lack of a question mark on the end of the interrogatory posed by the girl inside the mirror. Even an exclamation point would be better. It's tough getting kids to care about grammar and punctuation, dammit! But, alas, who am I to criticize art. Perhaps the selection of the period is meant to inspire in the viewer a combination of shock, horror, and resignation. Art can be so deep sometimes. Makes me feel inadequate. Small. Unimportant. Coal trash (well, that part is true).

Is there a painting class for adults I can take? I like paint-by-numbers. I never did one, but I remember my great Aunt Irene use to do them. I recall a real pretty doggy. It was in a quilt or next to flowers or something. I could do that. I think. Is that stuff erasable in case I go over the lines? I suck at coloring books.

nonconforming cartoons

My daughter seems to be taking some time off from expressing her angst. Having received an invitation from her new school "to not apply for re-admission" may have registered, but I doubt it - the letter also applied to her brother who never went there! How funny is that? It read something like, his "application for admission would not be accepted." Gee, guess who's the common denominator? The sole thing that bothers me is that
the writer did not have the personal integrity to call me. It is an integrity issue. Hiding behind a letter is always coupled with running in the opposite direction. Onward.

I watched my daughter work this drawing on PhotoShop. It is remarkable to me what she does with no training. I mean, I was just as fast and used the programs as robustly 20 years ago without training, but that was Lotus 1-2-3 and WordPerfect. I made number add up and look pretty. I spell-checked and paginated, dammit! And I was good at it! I knew what WYSIWYG meant before it was cool to know, before the spreadsheet-wannabes jumped on board. But I didn't do the layering and blurring and whatever thingeys that she does.

Makes me feel a little old. Kinda pisses me off.

Here is a page from her sketchbook.

I've always loved idle drawings. My best friend is an artist and I sneak a look at her sketches sometimes.


I am spacing right now. Must need more coffee.

We'll get Jourdaine cranking some more stuff as the summer unfolds. Must be some focus for her apparent evil. Or am I the puppet master, detroying all that lies in my path? I plow through young lives with seeming impugnity. Amazing, eh? I rather think of it as dwelling as equals, keeping my eyes open. I know what kids do more than their own parents. The ostrich parent has a star child who can do no wrong. He's a cutter. Did you know that?

Tis remarkable what you can learn when you find your kids, rather than requiring them to find you.

diagnosis

I always read the news. Well, more accurately, I read easily more than a hundred headlines a day, perhaps half that in ledes, and anywhere from zero to a dozen full articles. I guess I am familiar with the news each day.

But familiarity is all that is necessary. Put aside actual events – medical advances, the thwarted attack in London, the partial attack in Glasgow, Ivan the Terrible Putin visiting WDC – and most of what is left of any repetitive nature is political news. That, I have come to realize at long last, is a contradiction of terms. There is little if any news in politics, at least anymore. It is all opinion.

The Immigration Bill, v2.0, dies a senatorial death. Headline reads, “Bush’s Lost Political Capital.” The lede states that President Bush has suffered a major defeat in the Senate. What?! Bush defeated? I thought Senator Reid was riding this bill through like a cowboy on the trail – and he showed up at the end of the run with most of the herd still grazing fifty miles behind him. The boy couldn’t deliver, and it’s Bush’s fault. Push aside the Senate Leader, where is Kennedy’s face-on-the-wanted-poster in the post-mortem?

I endured the Rise of Gore as his planet-be-hot commercial for rebuilding his trashed intellectual reputation became a replacement for God. Scientists blackballed, schools buying thousands of copies, throngs at airports. Goremania arrived, just without a musical score or cutting-edge hair style. Now the stories push in two directions: his commercial has no scientific durability; Gore reconsider’s run for POTUS.

Illinois champions raising the minimum wage, then the Illinois government won’t pay its contractors the increased cost – so it retains out-of-state contractors that have lower costs.

I just don’t care. Politics is all power for these clowns. It is a game to them. A game, granted, that has and they perceive as very serious and with grave consequences. However, here is what they don’t understand: it is the process that matters. Both sides have such concentrations of power that the end result is no longer something of value. Bills are watered down to practical meaninglessness. If they aren’t crippled at passage, they are in later congressional actions. So we are most often denied a result that has merit. We then need to console ourselves that open debate occurred in the process – but no, open and honest does not happen, and the debate that does occur is not reported without a thick political filter.

This state of affairs is why all I need to do is familiarize myself with the headlines and ledes in order to be fully informed. It is also why I registered as an “Independent” instead of the republican I was since my I began voting. I will still vote for pubs. I find dems to totally lack a respect for an open and free economy, and to be on most levels, well, evil. But I will not allow the pubs to count my number as theirs before an election. As I write now, I actually have no intention of ever voting again.

I am not disaffected, just disinterested.