Oh Dear

It's been many many days since I posted. I missed opportunities to post news on NGLTF's response to the NY Times coverage, impromptu reviews of the second to the last ever Pixies concert (yes I was there), and Kerik, Social Security... the latter two are rather grim so it may be just as well that I haven't had much to say. Mainly, I have been dealing with some transition in my job and have been desperately trying to make up for the fact that I am not a very well organized person and need to put several large file drawers in order than someone else can make sense of. This is my worst nightmare really and I have been putting in some long focused hours in the office.

How boring.

At just the moment I typed the word boring, my cat sunk his long claws into my arm in protest of being called off the couch. Be careful what you wish for.

Tonight though, after a long evening in office, where I ate a ridiculously large amount of Thai food much too quickly so I could get back to my cleaning, I came home and started wrapping Christmas presents. I seem to have developed some of my own single-person Christmas rituals. Not surprising since by parents are intensely ritualistic at Christmas: Advent candles and services every night for four weeks, decorating the tree with the same family friend every year, the Messiah every Christmas morning. My Christmas ritual involves the late afternoon when I unpack the Christmas presents I have managed to collect during the last Saturday before Christmas and I start wrapping presents with Christmas music. I make something hot with booze in it and I go from Grinch to Ms. Santa in 30 minutes. I forget my holiday depression and anxiety for a few hours while I play with tape and red paper. The angst and sadness always comes flooding back, usually on the 26th or 27th, but the lead-in to Christmas is very pleasurable. I buy my parents presents I can't afford, wrap things I bought while travelling for my cousin's children, and write Christmas cards. I pride myself on writing something in every card I send, although maybe I am just being a Christmas hotshot. Perhaps I should get over myself.

Tonight the Christmas music was Everything but the Girl's acoustic, which is not Christmas music, but you see, I was given that cd at Christmas, so I listened to that cd the two weeks after Christmas. I find it to be the perfect Christmas depression music, sweet, reflective, melancholy, and a tiny bit obsessive.

Why I Never Joined the HRC

The Times has a front page article about the "gay movement's" retrenchment in the face of the 11 ballot initiatives that were passed approving constitutional amendments to prohibit same-sex marriages.

"In the past week alone, the Human Rights Campaign, the nation's largest gay and lesbian advocacy group, has accepted the resignation of its executive director, appointed its first non-gay board co-chairman and adopted a new, more moderate strategy, with less emphasis on legalizing same-sex marriages and more on strengthening personal relationships."

Unfortunately, the headline and lead paragraph allows the reader to walk away with the impression that the gay movement is the Human Rights Campaign Fund. The article goes on to quote opposing views from the Larry Kramer Initiative for Lesbian and Gay Studies at Yale and the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force who are going to keep on fighting the good fight for marriage. It's too bad they didn't talk to Evan Wolfson from Freedom to Marry, who makes the most compelling case I have heard for why glbt folks should be working towards this. It also makes no mention of the more progressive-identified folks in the gay movement who have been raising the question of why should marriage be the priority civil rights goal.

Hey Teacher! Leave Those Kids Alone

The song being sung most all the time by me and my partner in Spain over the summer was Another Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd. Not my favorite song by them. Not my favorite band. But now I sort of love it because it reminds me of hiking around Catalunya and how I finally taught him a few more bars so he wouldn't repeat only one line incessantly, but two or three. (All in all/your just another/brick in the wall) Tonight, on the 42nd street subway station platform, ironically enough after teaching my English class, I was gratified to hear it again with a fresh new interpretation. There was a guy with a steel drum, playing along with a recorded bass and drum line to the very same Pink Floyd song. I have to say, I would never think this would be a good combination, but he was kind of jamming. He had a little jazz free form interpretation going on.

This was all while I was eyeing the young man who kept storming up and down the platform muttering at the top of his lungs that "he didn't need a C train or an E train, he needed a fucking A train and he was being held up!" The unfettered expression of rage might made have made me nervous, except that I know I have done that very thing, and expressed that same intolerable antagonism to to the New York subway many a time, so instead I just kind of felt sympathetic towards him.

Isabella Watch

Isabella Rossellini is on the Daily Show as we speak, talking about her new Sci Fi channel show in which she plays "a female pope." She is just so lovely. I'm not a big science fiction fan, but Isabella Rossellini playing some sort of spiritual leader is probably worth checking out.

Tonight, I went back to the salsa workout class at the Y so I am feeling very proud of myself. It was moderately easier for most of the class to follow the basic step. There was one point where I couldn't manage even that, but the teacher to her great credit, came over and put her hand on my shoulder and got me going the right way again without making me feel like a loser. It was a harder workout than the first time around, and the last fifteen minute, I wasn't sure I was going to make it. So I was pleased with myself when I dragged myself home from the gym.

There's not much else to report, except that it is a cold, rainy night here in New York. The Daily Show is ending and "Blue Collar TV" is coming on. Time for bed.

Why Do They Hate Us?

Juan Cole cites a new study from the Defense Science Board of the Pentagon.

"The two big policies of the US that people in the Muslim world mind most are knee-jerk support for Israeli actions in the Occupied Territories and the US invasion and military occupation of Iraq. Before the Iraq war, it was mainly the Palestine issue that drove poor opinion of the US. A further issue that annoys people is US support for authoritarian governments in the Middle East. Despite paying lip service to democratization, the US is if anything more complaisant toward strong-arm tactics by rulers like Tunisia's Zayn al-Din Bin Ali, since these are deployed against Muslims fundamentalists. Bin Ali just won a fourth term as president [for life]. Apparently Washington's insistence on democratization is reserved for states that take a posture of enmity or defiance toward the United States."

The Christian Left Stands Up

So I didn't blog all day and then I tuned in Talking Points Memo to find that the United Church of Christ has initiated an ad campaign focusing on tolerance and acceptance in the church and CBS and UPN have declined to run the ad.

"The debut 30-second commercial features two muscle-bound "bouncers" standing guard outside a symbolic, picturesque church and selecting which persons are permitted to attend Sunday services. Written text interrupts the scene, announcing, "Jesus didn't turn people away. Neither do we." A narrator then proclaims the United Church of Christ's commitment to Jesus' extravagant welcome: "No matter who you are, or where you are on life's journey, you are welcome here.""

I couldn't view it with my Windows Media player, but the ad reportedly makes clear that one of the welcome populations are gays and lesbians. The Director of Communications Ministry at the UCC makes a good point:

""We find it disturbing that the networks in question seem to have no problem exploiting gay persons through mindless comedies or titillating dramas, but when it comes to a church's loving welcome of committed gay couples, that's where they draw the line," says the Rev. Robert Chase, director of the UCC's communication ministry."

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

Standing in the Shadows of Motown is a great documentary currently on IFC. It tells the story of the Funk Brothers, who were the band for pretty much every Motown hit you might have ever heard.

World AIDS Day

December 1 is World AIDS Day. For great information on how to contribute some time and resources visit The Body's Policy and Activism page.

Over at Unfogged, Fontana Labs writes HIV some hatemail.

"Dear HIV,
Fuck you. It's been twenty-three years since your big debut, and I still hate you. Thanks for killing my friends.
Regards,
Fontana Labs"

Cha cha cha

Last night I was very brave. I attended a Salsa Workout class at the Y. I've never really tried to learn how to salsa, except for the four lessons I took when I was studying Spanish in Guatemala. For one week, I showed up every afternoon at four to doggedly practice with one of the Spanish teachers until I could passably follow the first step, but when I tried to try out my new skills on the dance floor in a real live club, I was completely unable to keep up with the music, completely unable to follow my partner, and completely miserable. There are many things that I believe I would not be inclined to do well. Studying chemistry, windsailing, being a journalist would all probably fall on this list. But theoretically, if I really had my heart set on them and I really applied myself, generally one would think I would be able to do them at least adequately. I studied voice in college and achieved such an with an unremarkable but perfectly nice voice recital.

Dancing, on the other hand, is one of those things I am pretty sure I can't do, no matter how hard I try. This summer I was the subject of great ridicule when I tried to learn a traditional Catalan dance in a village in France. My feet don't go in the places where everyone else's feet go, I get focused on following the steps and completely fail to move the rest of my body with any form or posture. Don't get me wrong, I like dancing. People have at times commented favorably on my performance at night clubs, (particulary those with early eighties theme,) but anything that involved steps borders on torturous for me.

But it seems like salsa would be a good thing to know how to do. Invariably, there is some social event where it seems to come in handy. And the salsa workout class at the Y is the least intimidating venue I could identify to tackle this. I don't have to worry about a partner or wearing dressy shoes or how hair or makeup looks. I am surrounded by other women and men in sweatpants and tennis shoes, all with varying degrees of comfort with the material. Plus the ostensible purpose is to work out, so there isn't even the pressure of actually learning how to dance. Its all about working up a sweat.

I'd like to say it went well, but it didn't. I could get the basic step in the demonstration, but when we put it to music it all went to hell. When she added hand motions, it became even more of an embarassment. I looked like a nine-year old fudging an elaborate dance routine for appreciative parents and grandparents at a family gathering. But the teacher was lovely, very friendly, and didn't show the tiniest bit of exasperation with me, which is the reaction I fear the most. It was not a strenuous workout, but I figure what I didn't achieve in heart rate elevation, I made up for in enterprise.

Back to the Grind

Thanksgiving in North Carolina went off with out a hitch. There was food and general merriment. Tempers were lost, but political arguments were avoided. Thanks were given. I did regress into a teenager on a couple occasions, but managed to keep the damage to a minimum.

For some interesting info on the bird of the hour, visit Apostropher.

Protestants Defending Marriage

New Donkey makes an interesting point about Prostestants and marriage:

"Defending marriage" is far down the list of concerns, historically, of the Reformation tradition, and indeed, that tradition has done far more to loosen the bonds of matrimony, for good or for ill, and to "de-sanctify" the institution, than all the gays and lesbians who have ever lived."

More shout outs

I once got called into the principle's office and asked to tone down an editorial I wrote about racism in my high school. I complied a bit too readily and changed a few sentences to soften the tone of what I was saying. Since then have often wished I had been a bit more like Brad Mathewson who was sent home from school for wearing a t-shirt that "bore a pink triangle and said 'Make a Difference!" Brad was quoted here talking about how he sees anti-gay stickers and slogans on his classmates' notebooks and shirts. NYT reports he is keeping up the good fight though:

"A week later, Mr. Mathewson was again admonished for wearing a gay pride T-shirt, this one featuring a rainbow and the inscription "I'm gay and I'm proud." Told once more to turn the shirt instead out or leave, he chose to go home and was eventually ordered not to return to school wearing clothing supporting gay rights."

Fortunately, the ACLU has taken up his case with a law suit against the Missouri High School. Also, he appears to have his mom in his corner. The article continues:

"In a telephone interview, Ms. Mathewson said: "All he wants is to wear his T-shirts. He's a typical teenager, so he's angry that they're trying to tell him what he can and can't do. We had a meeting at the school to talk about it, but we didn't get anywhere with them. They talked, I listened, and I got more and more mad. At the end I just took him home with me."

Cure for the Monday Night Blues

Yesterday, my reward for going to the gym was a trip to the movies on a school night. I saw La Mala Educación by Almodóvar which I liked, albeit with reservations. My main objection is that it left me a little bit cold emotionally. Its structure is quite ingenious, there is a story, within a movie, within the actual movie made by Almodovar, and within each the actors are playing each other. Also, as usual with Almodovar, there are all these formal references to other filmmakers that have gone before, in this case most prominently Hitchcock, although I am sure there are others that I don't recognize. On the down side, the romance that opens the door to the primary Hitchcockian evil-doing was somewhat unconvincing to me, and at the end I found myself much more pleased with the formal mechanisms that the film uses than the human emotions depicted therein. This is sort of the opposite of All About my Mother and Talk to Her, where I you get overwhelmed by the portrayal of grief, rage, love, lust, and friendship.

Still, its a gorgeous film, there is one particularly nice scene where two scheming characters have a conversation in front of these gorgeous and spooky painted figures. Plus, its been noted before, but Gael Garcia Bernal is really hot both in as a boy and as a drag queen.

Grace

I went to another church on Sunday and I was encouraged and moved by the service and the mission of the congregation. It's a Lutheran church on the Upper West Side, situated in one of those odd New York junctures between what must certainly be high priced housing on one side of the street and housing projects on the other. The congregation advertises on its website that it welcomes all people, including gay, lesbian and bisexuals and in the past couple years has called a minister who is leading the congregation what appears to be a very explicit mission of community outreach and social change. During the week, by coincidence, on the internet, I had run across the a book that the minister wrote about her twenty years in a congregation in the South Bronx.

Rainy Day Blues

It's a rainy Saturday here in New York City and the staff of Newyorquina has repaired to her office to write a budget for her job and to blog occasionally. There is new and ominous violence in Baghdad, not to mention a special Saturday session of congress of which I am sure very little good will come, but I'll limit my fretting to something more mundane and self absorbed:

Claritin-D was for years my very good friend, keeping me breathing and generally more pleasant to be around on the day the dustmites and the ragweed were heavy in the air. Of late though, Claritin-D has not been treating me well. It gives me dry mouth and makes me feel that same sort of keyed-up distraction that one gets before coming down with a nasty flu. So I am sitting at my desk feeling kind of high. It's pretty irritating.

Not a good week for the checks and balances

First I there was this. (Via Talking Points Memo)

"Republicans in the U.S. House of Representatives changed their rules so that Majority Leader Tom DeLay could stay in power if he's indicted by a Texas grand jury. The rules change is designed to protect DeLay after three of his political associates were indicted in Texas on charges related to fund-raising for state political campaigns. DeLay, a Republican from Texas, denied any wrongdoing. "

Oh yeah and the other day this! (Discussed with great aplomb by The Poor Man.)

"Speaking on condition of anonymity, former officials described intense friction within the agency with Goss now in charge. And some say there are concerns that more officers at the CIA's counterterrorist center and elsewhere may be asked to resign or told that they no longer have a future at the agency."

And today there was this!

Senator Arlen Specter:

"I have assured the president that I would give his nominees quick committee hearings and early committee votes."

So this pretty much means that Arlen Spector is the GOP's bitch, right?

Forgive me. I'm going to hell.

A Message from United for Peace with Justice

DEMAND AN INVESTIGATION INTO WHAT HAPPENED IN FALLUJA United for Peace with Justice urges you to call the White House (202-456-1111) and your Congressional representatives (Congressional switchboard: 202-225-3121) to demand an investigation into the civilian casualties and humanitarian crisis in Falluja, and to insist that the Red Cross and Red Crescent be allowed to bring relief supplies into the devastated city. For regular updates on the situation in Iraq, they encourage you to sign up for the email bulletins of the Occupation Watch Center at http://www.occupationwatch.org

Newyorquina Salutes

There is a good article about Bunnatine Greenhouse in today's New York Times. She has been responsible for breaking up the ole boys network in the Army Corps of Engineers and recently brought scrutiny to the military no-bid longterm contracts with Halliburton. The Army Corps of Engineers is currently trying to remove her from her post in which she oversees all contracting.

"I pass colleagues in the hall who say, 'We're proud of you,' and 'You go get 'em Bunny,' " she said. "But they say this while keeping their heads straight ahead."

Oral History

I don't know quite how to explain why I think this is so cool. Its called StoryCorps and its an initiative to support people in doing oral history with their friends and family. You just go to their booth in Grand Central Station in New York City and conduct an interview with someone who you believe has an important story to tell. They are going to be setting up other booths across the country and you can also conduct the interview at home and send them the tape. They send you a cd with the interview and then include the interview in the StoryCorps Archive at the Library of Congress. They charge ten bucks for it, which seems to be well worth it as they assist with facilitating the interviews and provide broadcast quality equipment.

For anyone who has ever spent any time reading primary source historical material, or books that rely on it, you know how oral history serves to validate, challenge, and enrich our understanding of what has gone before us. The idea that anyone can make a contribution to the resources available to historians and social scienctists for years to come is very exciting.

Blogroll in the Works

Oh my gosh, I am so proud of myself! I just now copied my first HTML code from someone elses source code and added my very first link to the blogroll. This is a proud moment for Newyorquina and I would especially like to thank my boyfriend, who is my only regular reader that I am aware of, and my friend Jessica who told me how to do this last Tuesday on the phone. Thanks guys. I would never have been able to come this far without your support. This one is for you.

Doesn't Every Guy Try To Do This At Least Once?

Michael Crowley in Slate discuss the political development of James Dobson from Focus on the Family, who had a definite impact on that election, having told his 7 million radio listeners that it was a sin for them not to vote.

It was the gay-marriage debate that finally hurled Dobson into politics wholeheartedly. The subject of homosexuality seems to exert a special power over him, and he has devoted much idiosyncratic thought to it. When discussing gays he spares no detail, no matter how prurient. In Bringing Up Boys, he gleefully reprints a letter he received from a 13-year-old boy who describes wiggling his naked body in front of the mirror to "make my genitals bounce up and down" and admits to having "tried more than once to suck my own penis (to be frank)." Dobson believes that such adolescents suffer from what he calls "pre-homosexuality," a formative stage which results from having a weak father figure. Dobson further contends that homosexuality, especially in such an early stage, can be "cured." His ministry runs a program called Love Won Out that seeks to convert "ex-gays" to heterosexuality. (Alas, the program's director, a self-proclaimed "ex-gay" himself, was spotted at a gay bar in 2000, an episode Dobson downplayed as "a momentary setback.")

Via Talking Points Memo

Commentary on Arafat's Death

Juan Cole has a guest editorial from Mark Levine on Israel and Palestine.

In the weeks leading up to Palestinian President Yassir Arafat’s death American politicians and pundits have repeatedly called on the Palestinian people to use the opportunity of his passing to transform the intifada from a violent uprising into a non-violent, democratic and pragmatic program for achieving independence. This is very good advice, needless to say, except for one small problem: Palestinians have been trying to build such a movement for the last two decades, and the Israeli Government, IDF and American policy-makers have done everything possible to make sure it could not be heeded.

Rock and Roll

Yeah, I know he is supposed to be a big dick and I know it got panned mercilessly by the critics but Ryan Adams' Rock and Roll is really good music for the office. It's my taking-care-of-business/getting-things-done cd.

One Week Out

Well, I didn't post much of anything before the election, mainly because I was much too busy keeping an eye on what everyone else was saying. The night before and the entire day of election day I worked at a phone bank organized by the AFL-CIO and called people from Florida. At six pm when we were getting second wave poll numbers that were favoring Kerry in Pennsylvania and we were given new lists and told to start calling Iowa. So, Florida and Iowa, nice. My efforts pretty much went for naught in those two days, but it made the waiting a bit easier for me. And the nice union people seemed to appreciate me spending ten hours in their phone bank.

But, everyone knows what happened, and since then there has been the forboding and the grieving, and the silver lining talk, and now everyone seems to be on to the critique and what-did-we-do-wrong talk. The first couple days after, I felt dreadful, full of dread. By later in the week, I started to take comfort in the possibility of doing things differently in response to the election. This race was all about dividing us from people who are different from us, all about the Republicans using our differences to gain political control and power for their own malevolent ends. I started thinking about I could do things to counteract that and be supportive of the groundswell of activity this election has engendered. Here is a sampling of measures taken or under consideration
1) I joined the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, NARAL Pro-Choice America, and made a contribution to the Kensington Welfare Rights Union. Just like Joshua Micah Marshall said I should.

2) All we have been hearing about is the Christian Right, but next time I want to hear the pundits talk about the Christian Left. Thus, I am going to start going to a church. This idea that a particulary subsegment of Christianity has a monopoly of moral values and political engagement makes me crazy. Obviously on the left side of the fence there is no corollary to the Christian right, but I think I can't complain about the absence of religious activism for social justice when I am not supporting and engaging in some faith community. One reason I didn't really go to church was that I wasn't too keen on the contradictions inherent in being active in a church and public about homosexuality. When I think about that now, I really have to admit to myself that this is somethinge of a rationalization. New York is brimming with leftie, progressive, and open-minded congregations who would love to have nice bisexual lady. I think the truth is that I never pursued a congregation or a spiritual home because I really simply never felt compelled to make it a priority. But now I do. Plus, I am going to be praying more, during these next four years. So the search for a congregation is on.

3) Also, I think I am going to do some volunteer work in my neighborhood. I was sort of offended by a frontline community activist type I met with a few weeks ago who told me that I didn't really live in Washington Heights, because it was the white, gentrifying part of Washington Heights. (She said it more nicely that this.) See the thing I said about the race being all about dividing people who are different from us. So, I'd like to do something to help some organization or program out up here close to where I live.

Sunday evening

I don't have access to television. I came home late tonight to have this verified. I believe this has something to do with a vase full of water which was inadvertantly poured onto my entertainment center. The cable box appears to completely unfunctional and there is also a ghost of some sort in my stereo. Hitting the "open cd 1" button makes the radio come on and hitting the power button makes cd 2 come out.

So there is nothing for me to do but blog! And it's good because I had a full weekend. I did the Tour de Bronx this weekend, which is a 25 miles bike tour through the Bronx. It was cold, but the sun did come out eventually and there is nothing like a bike tour to take you to corners of the city in which you live, where you are in never ever going to go for any other reason. It might be cool if you did, but your just not going to.

Things I saw that were interesting:

A man dressed in light aqua from head to toe, this was somewhere in the South Bronx, maybe the Hunt's Point area. He had aqua brogans of some sort, and an aqua polyester pants suit. He looked fabulous, to tell you the truth. He was styling and judging by the hour, likely around 10:50 am, he was on his way to church

The Puerto Rican bicycle biker club men. I would have never thought this, but apparently there are a group of tough middle-aged puerto rican guys in the bronx with tricked out bikes. As in bicycles. They had apperati for mudflaps. There was one that was glistening, entirely retooled in chrome, with a little chrome bull dog on the front. They all had stereos attached to their bicycles, with oldies and salsa, we rode with them for awhile, and it was fun.

Throg's Neck, which the area of marshland facing Queens and LaGuardia airport, which is lovely. Bike tours like this are the coolest thing, because you ride way farther than you ever would on your own, you meet people you would never meet, and at the end of the day you are dead tired, but you biked all over the Bronx.

Flirting with...

This is nice. Kieran Healy's university prepares for a disaster.

Abu Ghraib at Home

I just saw this story on Yahoo News, which is terribly disturbing:

"ZEPHYRHILLS, Fla. - The warden and four other officers at a state prison lost their jobs after an investigation found that a suicidal female inmate was held naked for several days. "

The article goes on to say that the woman was serving time for "having sex while HIV positive and committing battery on a law enforcement officer."

Aside from the prison abuse, I find it horrifying that laws in fact are on the books that make it illegal to have sex if you have HIV. I knew there were initiatives like that in the works, but did not realize that people were serving time for this. It seems grave to me.

The Best Post Debate Coverage I Saw

I won't get the quote exactly right, but in interviewing Rudy Guiliani, who was repeating his inane and infuriating drivel about how inconsistent Kerry was in the debate, John Stewart was pointing out the what Kerry actually said was that he thought disarming Saddam was a good idea, although he disagreed with Bush's means for doing it, he added that Saddam was actually disarmed already, because there weren't weapons of mass destruction after all.

Debate

I just finished watching the debate, and I have to say, I believe that John Kerry did a good job. It will be interesting to see what other people say.

Hitting Home

In response to Bush's speech to the United Nation, Juan Cole posted this scenario yesterday, trying to frame the disintegration in Iraq in United States scale terms. He says:

• "What would America look like if it were in Iraq's current situation? The population of the US is over 11 times that of Iraq, so a lot of statistics would have to be multiplied by that number....What if, during the past year, the Secretary of State (Aqilah Hashemi), the President (Izzedine Salim), and the Attorney General (Muhammad Baqir al-Hakim) had all been assassinated?"

God Is On Our Side

I can't figure out how to link to the post directly, but onegoodmove's September 22 post overlays the paths of the three most recent hurricans with the results of the 2000 election, showing a the hurricanes' keen interest in the counties that voted Bush. I was raised to believe that there is a theological problem with the idea that God punished people for the bad things they do, even voting for Bush, but you have to admit, it is visually striking.

Dead Leaves

Well clearly all that new leaf stuff didn't amount to much. It's been days since I posted and even longer since I wrote something substantive. New strategy now: Blogger is now my home page on my home computer. We will see how that works. I have in fact found several things worth drawing readers attention to, mostly relating the disintegrating situation in Iraq. Baghdad Burning is a very powerful, tell-it-like-it-is blog written by a woman living in Baghdad and she recently got her hands on a copy of Fahrenheit 9/11. She discusses the complicated and necessarily emotional reaction to watching American soldiers talk about the fighting, the mother of the soldier raging against the war that took her son, and the difficulty of sitting through two hours of George Bush.

She says:

• "All in all, the film was… what is the right word for it? Great? Amazing? Fantastic? No. It made me furious, it made me sad and I cried more than I’d like to admit… but it was brilliant. The words he used to narrate were simple and to the point. I wish everyone could see the film. I know I'll be getting dozens of emails from enraged Americans telling me that so-and-so statement was exaggerated, etc. But it really doesn't matter to me. What matters is the underlying message of the film- things aren't better for Americans now than they were in 2001, and they certainly aren't better for Iraqis."

Snuffly

It's fall, with glorious sunny days when the sky is blue and the wind is high. These are my worst days in the respiratory department. I get terrible allergic attacks that reduce me to a cartoon character, chasing little pills as they bounce on the floor when I drop them, accidently expelling my cough drop when I sneeze in extended exagerated bouts. Yes, I am an allegra commercial. Ugh.

Crocodile Tears

I saw the spookiest pictures today across the street from my office. The man who sells old things on the sidewalk against the wall that hides the parking garage from Ninth Avenue, behind the Time Warner monstrosity, had these old photos of children that could have been taken in the twenties or thirties . The prints had been blown up to poster size photos and foam mounted so there were old images, at twice or three times their natural size in this entirely modern showcasing, mugging at me with expressions that were droll and sweet, in clothes that were entirely old-fashioned as I walked along to my meeting. I often wonder where those guys get the stuff they sell.

I'm dropping and thinking about heading off to sleep, but have been tortured by an emotionally needy cat the last several nights. My cat, who is patently not allowed in my bedroom after bedtime, has begun steady weeping outside of my door at 2:00 am the last several nights. When I don't come and open the door, he sticks his pitiful paw under the door, and jiggles the whole door. Although it seems like he is begging for food, this has happened only a few hours after his evening meal, and I speculate that its an cry for more intimacy, which unfortunately, I'm unable to give, as I'm extremely allergic to cat dander. I've tried a couple strategies to address this, but so far nothing seems to work. Tonight I got out the better cat food and relented with a larger portion, but I'm not too optimistic.

New Leaf

Hi, It's been a pretty long time since I have put up anything of any consequence, but starting with tonight, I am making a new commitment to the blog. I have been more flakier than usual because of an increase in work stress, and also feeling leerier of spending big chunks of time in the office on personal work. Also the computer wasn't really set up in the new home, until just a couple weeks ago, and even when it was, there was usually a bicycle propped up against the desk. Now that the bike can be propped up against the bed or the closet door, instead of the desk or the refrigerator, my access to the computer is literally inimpeded. The other big factor is that over the Labor Day weekend, I gritted my teeth and installed the cable modem that the nice girl at the Time Warner gave me. And it works! And its really quite amazing.

This weekend I spent in Pittsburgh, doing the generous and improbable. I attended my father's 50th high school reunion with him in a prosperous suburb of the city, as well as one of the old, venerable business clubs established by the city's business establishment. All in all, it was a very nice weekend, a good opportunity to get out of the city, a nice chance to see where my Dad grew up, and a good way to make him happy. A great part of what he wanted to do on the trip was to drive by the houses in which he grew up and spent time in and to see Pittsburgh again for the first time after many years. What surprised me is that while he was showing me around, not only was I seeing things that he remembered, but I was seeing the backdrop of the stories from my childhood. Where my father got hit by a car, the church tower that he climbed surrepticiously, the hill he climbed with groceries in his little wagon during the war, because his parents were saving their gas rations. One aspect of the suburb it its relentless homogeneity ("The only Catholics we knew lived in that house there") and with some notable exceptions, the people at the dinner were exceptionally conservative. I had lots of exchanges with people at the fancy dinner about how lovely the suburb was, which were followed by lots of curious comments about how it hadn't changed at all, after all these year it is still the same, which I took to be a coded way of saying that it is so nice it is still white. In fact the neighborhood, and the football field and the municipal park, and the little downtown area were a bit heavy on the all american high school nostalgia for my taste and I found myself reflecting on my own attraction and repulsion to school spirit, high school and the pursuit of popularity, when, as I got a little older, I found so much in the world that was more important and worthwhile than high school.

Buckets of Rain

I walked outside and stepped into a deluge of water, three inches deep that was running down the sidewalk. Ray Bradbury had a couple stories about never ending rain, of which days like today always remind me. The subway was uncommonly bad, as well. It seems that summer has come to an end.

Rereading

There's a giant hurricane coming to Florida, a school in Russia has been under siege, the single most important election in my lifetime getting into gear with bitter, bitter recrimination, xenophobia and jingoistic rallies on all fronts, it hasn't been a good week. My homemaking preoccupations seem a wee bit indulgent these days.

Checking in

On the blog front, I have been lazy, completely slothfull. All I do is turn on the television for a few moments a night and then turn it off in rage.

A Report from the Convention

Josh Marshall's Talking Points Memo reported this:

I'm here in Madison Square Garden and I just heard the head of the South Carolina delegation announce their votes and add that South Carolina is the "most patriotic state" in the country. But of course South Carolina was also the seedbed and the leader of the only organized treason in the country's history. But I guess I'm just picky.

What Would Frederick Law Olmstead Say About All of This?

Here is the latest on the status of the RNC protests on Sunday.

Little Old Ladies...

On 59th Street the other day, coming from must have been either the hospital or a doctor's appointment in the neighborhood where I work, was a little old lady in a brown tween suit, with the kind of mashed up face that older women sometimes have. She was being pushed in a wheel chair by someone who clearly worked for her and was helping her get around. On her lap, she had a big shopping bag from Agent Provocateur, which is a haute-fashion undergarment store. (The link is definitely not work-safe.)

I love New York.

Shelving System

Last week, I had a cold and I spent my sick day trying to procure a drill that would allow me to hang my container store shelves in my closet. There is brick under the walls, so my hand 7.5 volt Black and Decker drill wasn't doing it.

They look nice, they look quite well organized, and the vast majority of the things that I wanted to fit inside do, with only a little bit of moving things around in order to get to various other things.

I'm still in nesting mode. When I leave for work, the only thing I want to do at night is come home and clean the litter box. I've served lots of little meals on my end table coffee table and I have high hopes of selling some of the furniture that is in the way still taking up space.

Nesting

The apartment is coming along nicely. But there appear to be an unending number of projects that are essential to establishing order in a small space. I find myself drawn to home after work, drawn to the installation of curtain rods, the measuring of kitchen cabinets, and the destruction of graduate school files for example. One afternoon was devoted to separating myself from two boxes of cards, ticket stubs, and playbills. I was gratified to get everything into one box and I probably could have reduce the contents of that box more. My fingers were itching to toss various packets of letters from people I had not spoken with in years; but somehow I just couldn't do it. I decided that the pleasure of reading the letters again at some point in the future, as a way of remembering a different time in my life, would outweigh the freedom gained from ridding myself of that particular box of clutter. I am trying to embrace the process of cleaning, extracting, leaving behind things they might be weighing me down. But that requires a balance with maintaining the pleasure of having reminders of other parts of your life. For instance I found six letters from a student in Northern Ireland that I had during an internship I did in a school. I remembered that she had written me, but had no idea that it was that many times. My compromise is to limit myself to one box. If everthing I have saved between 1995 and 2004 is in one place, then I can't be too out of control.

Home again

Well, I am back in New York. On my third day back at the office, getting caught up, taking stock of everything I have to do. The apartment is starting to look less like someone's storage space and more like my home, which is nice. Still lots of little organizing chores to do, lists to make spaces to measure, bookshelves to obtain, but definitely coming along.

The vacation was great, the travel was wonderful, I was completely away from the internet for two weeks entirely, just checked email in Barcelona and then at the airport hotel for a few minutes. Also, I left my cell phone at home, naturally and found great relief in knowing that the ringing sounds were never, ever for me.

In one hundred words or less, on vacation I went to thermal baths, stayed with a French family with a terrace and a mountain view, visited two abbeys, hiked my way to one of them, saw all the places where Salvador Dali lived and worked, including a visit to the Museo-Teatro Dali, which is something else. Stayed in a backpacker hotel in Barcelona that looked like it had furniture dating back to the Spanish Civil War, read The Forging of a Rebel by Arturo Barea (which I am going to talk more about later), which I recommend to everyone the tiniest bit interested in Spain, unions, anti-fascism, swam in the Mediterranean on several occasions and ate octopus, wonderful fish, jamon iberico, drank cheap rose wine, and many wonderful cold beers.

Now I am back, and am enjoying getting accustomed to the new home. Also, starting today, I got back to the thirteen week plan, from which I took a three week hiatus. I biked in to the office today, which was nice because I got to take advantage of a few sunny cool days that New York City sometime has during the summer.

¿Ya termino?

I finished my Spanish class today.  It was very short, just a week of classes in the morning.  One friend commented to me that what I really need to do is spend two or three months living in a Spanish speaking country.  The questions remains as to how I could best do that.  Today has been characterized by lots of errors though. This morning I failed to remember to address La Señora next door in the respectful tone and accidently said to my teacher when we were saying goodbye, -thanks for nothing.

Clearly I need a few months here.  Or something.  So hopefully this afternoon, El Prado and tomorrow, either Avila or museums in Madrid.  It is supposed to be pretty miserable tomorrow.

 

¿George Bush es un malvado, no?

It´s been a quiet week at newyourquina because I am now in Spain on vacation. I´ve been pleased to find my first week was wonderful. My spanish has served without fail in almost every instance. I started out in Madrid, which is lovely, big modern city that is emminently walkable and full of detailed accessible maps. Also, socializing happens around lots of different visits to restaurants and bars in which you eat tapas, which apparently is my preferred mode of eating. Also, as in Italy, you can step into any bar at any time of day and order espresso, usually for a euro. Unexpected difficulties have so far been limited to finding shaving cream for women, apparently Spanish women depilate almost exclusively.

Other highlights have included:

Visiting the gay district, Chueca, and perusing the queer spanish fiction. I ended up buying a book by Alaska. Also, I found great shoe stores, which budget and time prevented me from taking full advantage of.

Croquettes. These are potato with pieces of ham mixed up in them, and we were taken to one restaurant which had the best croquettes in Madrid apparently.

Sidre from Asturias. In my mind I have dubbed the Irish part of Spain, although I´m sure that is not particularly accurate, but they have cider and bagpipes, I´m told

Travelling with a partner. This is the first vacation I have ever taken with anyone I am dating, and I have to say that it beats hiking around Guatemala by myself hands down. I have had way less time to sit and write in my journal, which I think is probably a good thing

So that is where I am. I´ll post more updates soon, but you get the idea.

Heaven's Blessings Attend Her

A nice article on my home state of North Carolina and how its politics and economy will play into the election. Via Unfogged.

Boring Facts That Don't Support Launching Bitchin' Invasions

Visit this draft registration form. Via my friend Erik, who correctly points out the questions at the bottom are the best part.

Moved

The moving is done. I have finished. There are huge spots of grit and grime that I fear may have adhered to the not too dry polyurethane on my brand new floor from the trolleys that movers used, and I have about eight bottles of vinegar and syrup etc that don't fit into any of my cabinets. There is approximately four inches between the end of bed and the bookshelf I was hoping to keep in my bedroom, but it is done, anyhow. My back held out although I had warning twinges all day and now I am trying to be careful, which is difficult when you have big boxes of books in all parts of the apartment that don't have a home.

It's very exciting, and even in the chaos, the furniture and plants appear to work in the living room, it seems like it is going to be really nice. The first night in the apartment was definitely a little strange. I never fully fell asleep and I had those half dreams about applying layers of polyurethane, and angle at which I was holding the brush as I was putting it on. This morning though I was gratified to take out at least fifteen empty boxes to the trash, which means I have unpacked a substantial amount of them. Although there is lots more to do. I could definitely be a guinea pig on one of those learning channel shows about organizing and renovation.

Oof

By virtue of my work, I am on a couple random, but interesting listserves to which I am quite sure I never subscribed. One is "Peace for the Basque Country." Another is the "Mental Disability Action Center", based in Budapest. This morning the following email was in my in box

"Press Relase

Historic cage bed ban in Hungary

12 July 2004, Budapest. The Hungarian Mental Health Interest Forum (PÉF) and the Mental Disability Advocacy Center (MDAC) welcome a ministerial decree banning the use of cage beds within psychiatric and social care facilities in Hungary.

Cage beds – hospital beds with a metal or netted cage placed on top of them to enclose a person within their confines – currently exist throughout the Hungarian psychiatric system. The Hungarian government has been under pressure for a number of years to end the use of this medieval practice. On 6th July 2004 The Hungarian Minister for Health, Social and Family Affairs, Mr Mihaly Kökény, issued a legally-binding ministerial decree making the use of cage beds unlawful, something which was promised to happen by the end of 2003."

Very disturbing. One is reminded of how much worse it could be.

How Many Points In House Painting?

One of the features of the Weight Watchers program is exercise points. If you do exercise, you "earn" a certain number of points to add to your daily allotment. This has kept me from being in violation of Weight Watchers points limits countless times. In fact, its the only way I can successfully come out with the number right at the end of the day most of the time.

Anyhow, getting my apartment ready for moving in, painting, packing, and searching fruitlessly for the correct location of a certain non-profit which accepts women's clothes for a job readiness program, (with three bags of clothes slung around my shoulders in rush hour foot traffic in midtown on Friday, but I'm not bitter) has pre-empted much intentional excercise. Not having plates and pots and pans readily available has led me to eat lots of frozen food, a thing I haven't done since I worked two jobs right after college. So I think the weightloss thing might be a bust for now. However, last week I did make note of my activity in the Online Points Tracker. When you do an exercise, you can look it up in their database and enter it as an activity that you have completed and it will automatically add the correct amount of points to your daily allotment. Packing, painting, and carrying shopping bags full of old clothes do not appear in the database however. Window washing does, oddly enough. Last weekend, figuring that painting was at least as strenuous as window washing, I logged three hours of window washing into my Weight Watchers record, which yielded me seven points. So we'll see.

Tonight, are the final touch ups in painting, mostly to cover for the times in which I got sloppy or tired, and trying to clean the apartment, which although much prettier since the floors are done, still looks a bit like a work site.

Stress Eating

I've finally scheduled the moving day, for next Tuesday. Renovation events have conspired to put off the time I was going to be able to move-in until dangerously close to the time I a) have a public speaking engagement and b) am leaving for Spain on vacation. So in the course of the same week, I am (hopefully) moving into the apartment, speaking in a panel presentation with three other people that are imminently more impressive than I, and leaving on an international trip. Any one these activities however exciting they might be, could easily reduce me to a bundle of nerves on its own.

So, I regret to admit, that with echoes of news reports about the stress alleviating properties of carbohydrates and chocolate ringing in my ears, I walked across the street and bought a gigantic Starbuck's dessert (the peanut butter chocolate bar) and a latte (skim). I think that counts as my points for dinner and breakfast tomorrow, but there you are, I did it anyway.

The thing is that I do feel better.

Discipline

The thirteen week plan to stay active was eclipsed by the ten-day plan to move into my apartment. I didn't do any exercise, but I was busy and moving all weekend so I hope that counts for something. Saturday I bought paint, did some spackling, and removed ugly shelves from the new apartment. Sunday I (and a friend) painted, and painted and painted. I still have to do the trim and the base boards, but Monday, over the holiday, I couldn't motivate myself to do it. So that is still to come. I did a respectable amount of packing on Saturday and Sunday, but I just think to myself, how did I accumulate all this STUFF? And where am I going to put it all?

Last night, I finally did motivate myself to get out and go for a bike ride, which was good.

The Round Up on Michael Moore

I ran right out to see Fahrenheit 9/11, last weekend, with all the hordes of other New Yorkers. I lucked into a 3:40 show at the Lincoln Plaza, when every show before and after was entirely sold out. In the massive Cineplex on 42nd Street the next day, three theatres worth were also entirely sold out. It was, in fact, the top grossing film in the nation last weekend with ticket sales of $23.9 million. In small towns all over the United States, many of them conservative, people are going to see the movie. The Odessa American in Odessa, Texas reported that the movie was top-grossing film at the Century 12 Theatres there, despite petitions from the Concerned Citizens of Odessa that threatened “Showing this movie could have a detrimental effect on your profits."

It's a great response to Disney's refusal to distribute it, because on some level there has got to be a certain amount of regret that they missed the opportunity to get their hands on all that money.

I liked the film immensely after I saw it, especially the discussion of the Carlyle group, and its interests in the war in Iraq. I was one of about 70 people who were arrested without good reason across the street from their offices in April, 2003. Upon reflection I had moments of doubt, though. Moore makes a lot of assertions that he doesn't fully substantiate and one could argue that the facts as they exist on the surface are bad enough without digging for conspiracy theories. One of his critiques, that the evacuation of the Bin Laden family on September 13, 2001 indicates a cozy relationship between the Bushes and the Bin Laden's has been explained away by Richard Clarke, who said it was he and he alone that authorized the flights.

But he sets forth important footage that hasn't gotten any airtime elsewhere, including a keynote at a convention of corporations with potential economic interests in post-war Iraq in which the speaker says something along the lines of "just wait until all of that money gets flowing..." (I'll have to check on this exact quote) and interviews with blue haired ladies who might well be sitting at a church potluck who are just disgusted by the war and its consequences. Another really powerful bit was the footage of marine recruiters hanging out in the parking lot of a mall in poor neighborhoods and aggressively up chatting young men and women up for enlistment.

Clearly the high number of tickets sales is something of a phenomenon. Even the finest documentaries with great commercial appeal and relevance to diverse audiences didn't cultivate this type of response (think Hoop Dreams) The film taps into something that documentaries generally do not. When do people go out in droves on Saturday night to consider the consequences of American foreign policy? In Odessa, Texas, the audience, apparently a majority of them senior citizen, applauded the film at the end.

There's lots of interesting reviews popping up in the media and on the web. Christopher Hitchens pans the film, saying that "Fahrenheit 9/11 is a sinister exercise in moral frivolity, crudely disguised as an exercise in seriousness." Matt Taibi rebuts very eloquently on behalf of Moore, saying:

"Michael Moore may be an ass, and impossible to like as a public figure, and a little loose with the facts, and greedy, and a shameless panderer. But he wouldn't be necessary if even one percent of the rest of us had any balls at all.

If even one reporter had stood up during a pre-Iraq Bush press conference last year and shouted, "Bullshit!" it might have made a difference." (Via Unfogged)

Paul Krugman, makes a similar point in today's New York Times, albeit more gently, saying, "Mr. Moore's greatest strength is a real empathy with working-class Americans that most journalists lack. Having stripped away Mr. Bush's common-man mask, he uses his film to make the case, in a way statistics never could, that Mr. Bush's policies favor a narrow elite at the expense of less fortunate Americans — sometimes, indeed, at the cost of their lives."

My fascination is in the coverage of the films in local papers in small towns all over the United States. Stay tunes for updates.

Distracted

Yesterday was the first day in the the thirteen week plan that I had excercise scheduled and I failed to go. I decided it would be appropriate to forego it in order to make a trip to goodwill, but was waylaid by colleagues going for drinks at the 79th street boat basin. The weekend should yield some time to get back on track.

Doldrums

It's incredibly quiet in my office, half of my program's staff is out on vacation. It inspires a general listlessness and torpor in me. I'm fighting it vigilantely, making lists of summer projects, trying to enthusiastically plunge into each task with renewed vigor. I'm actually trying to avoid reading any blogs, because I find myself taken away by that for periods of time that are entirely too long.

So, back to the task at hand.

Oh, but before I go, an update on the housing front. I have occupied the apartment and gotten a full sense of just how much work has to be done on it. I have noted, as I failed to in three successive previous viewings, that there is no bathroom door, only a failing accordion-folding plastic barrier. This is something that I can deal with later though, unlike the floors. I have made tentative arrangement to get the floors sanded and have discovered that management companies are generally highway robbers and scoundrels. If you blow your nose and ask for a tissue they want to charge a processing fee. It's quite audacious. The sad thing is that I am going to end up paying it, like all New Yorkers I am a slave to the real estate rat race.

Handover

I have a post on Fahrenheit 9/11 in the works, but I was having trouble finishing it. In the meantime, here are some interesting perspectives that are available on the web from people in Iraq about the handover. Back to Iraq is a blog by a New York Daily News reporter, and he has posted the complete story he filed with them on his blog, describing much ambivalence among Iraqi's about the transfer of power.

Baghdad Burning describes the anxiety that the handover has inspired in lots of people in Iraq. She says:

"Beyond the unsure political situation, I have spent the last few days helping a relative sort things out to leave abroad. It is a depressing situation. My mother's cousin is renting out his house, selling his car and heading out to Amman with his three kids where, he hopes, he will be able to find work. He is a university professor who has had enough of the current situation. He claims that he's tired of worrying about his family and the varying political and security crises every minute of the day. It's a common story these days. It feels like anyone who can, is trying to find a way out before June 30. Last summer, people who hadn't been inside of Iraq for years were clamoring to visit the dear homeland that had been 'liberated' (after which they would clamor to leave the dear homeland). This summer, it is the other way around."

Also, via Baghdad Burning, it has come to my attention that we can read Salam Pax on the web again. The Iraqi Civilian War Casualties site documents the impact the war has had on civilians and includes a link to a log by Salam Pax describing the survey as it was conducted.

Grrr

A few updates on the housing front. As one might expect, nothing is going as planned:

I have still not occupied my apartment. The lady who sold me the apartment reported that she was unable to move last week. Hopefully tonight she will be out and I can do the final, final inspection.

I didn't sell much of anything at my yard sale. The little old ladies who go to yard sales came, but I didn't have much of what they were looking for. There was one man, who announced when he walked in the door that he had four cats and smelled like it, who accused me of false advertisng for having said I had books. In my defense, there were about 20 paperbacks that were for sale, which seems to me to qualify as "books," but he said it wasn't what he was looking for and he had gotten up early for nothing. To my great satisfaction, I did sell my boombox with the broken cd player, the serving plate with the strawberries on it, (although no one was interested in the matching dinner/dessert plates,) an Ikea bookshelf, which I bought from someone else two years ago, and most of the ugly jewelry given to me by a particular aunt over the years. I think the fact is that I mostly have junk, and most everyone else in my neighborhood has their own junk, which serves as a disincentive to acquiring more junk, no matter how cheap. All the stuff I am getting rid of is in a big tower in the middle of my living room.

So there is nothing particulary interesting to report except that I have verified that moving is one of the most dislocating activities in the world. It's exciting and all, but very, very trying.

I wish I were half this funny

I've read the last two posts and I realize that newyorquina is coming dangerously close to becoming a fitness/weightloss blog. Which is not what I had intended at all. So let's get back to politics. Here is The Poor Man on why he's decided he is happy that John Kerry is the (presumptive) Democractic nominee.

"He may not be quite as blinding intelligent as some failed candidates; nor have had quite as impressive a military career as others; nor have displayed quite the same winning combination of boyscout earnestness, down home regular guy attitude, and searing contempt for bullshit as other candidates; nor have been quite so much from the South as some; nor have single-handedly pulled Richard Holbrooke out of fucking ditch in Kosovo while taking enemy fire like some kind of insane real-life action movie to quite the extent that some people did; nor did he give one the uncanny impression that he had been cunningly constructed in a secret lab to turn every Republican attack back on itself like some kind of Matrix "you are The One" shit as much as certain other candidates did; but, still and all, he's pretty good."

Considerable

I did bench presses and leg presses in the free weight room last night. I'm just starting to feel the soreness in my chest and upper thighs. I usually find that the time of onset of achiness is a good indicator of how sore I am going to get, ie if I worked out harder, then I will start to hurt earlier in the day, so I have achiness to look forward to. It's really good.

I also feel I have mastered some of the moving-relocation-and-change-is scary-and-sad demons. For today at least. Everything feels moderately under control. This morning I went and posted flyers for the moving sale, tonight and tomorrow I will throw up a few more. The goal for tonight is to get ready for the sale, to put prices on everything, to put everything not for sale (like all my roommate's things) out of the reach of yard-sale goers.

I'm worried about turn-out but people assure me that I will be amazed at who comes and how little I have left at the end of the day. I do remember doing a yard sale with my girl scout troop in the basement of the congregational church on a very cold and rainy morning. I remember that about five minutes after we had finished setting up the fellowship hall people were suddenly there poking around. Even at eleven, it was clear to me that these people had made a special point of getting up to come to this, they wanted to be here. There are a lot of little old ladies in my neighborhood, so I am hoping that they will be the type that get up early in the rain for yard sales. (And it is my understanding that it will be raining on Saturday.) I'm hoping for lots of little old ladies who want to increase their collection of mismatched coffee mugs and who wear size 12-14 clothes.

Lessons from a Leader

3:40 pm The counting of points is proceeding well so far. I hate to do this to you all. Can anyone see where this is going? I promise to try to talk about other things besides weight watchers points, but it's a very readily available outlet for venting.

I'll try to keep it funny, how is that?

OK, so based on my weight, I am allowed 20 Weight Watchers points a day. That works out to 1000 calories. Which is, actually, not very much. I am allowed 1750 points as a sort of point "slush-fund" which can be spread out throughout the week evenly, or blown in an massive orgiastic festival of eating (or drinking) at one go. As of right now I have eaten 16 points, which leaves me with 4 for dinner. Which is, actually, not very much. The secret is that I go to the gym this evening which will give me latitude of 4 additional points for a total of eight. Eight is doable.

The thing is, I'm hungry now.

Chaotic

There's been a lot going on. I did close on the house. I had the first walk-through the night before, but it's hard to do a real walk through when there are clothes and furniture everywhere, so I have to do a more thorough check of things this weekend. Loyal newyorquina readers will know that although I have closed, I do not yet have occupancy, because the seller is not able to move out until Saturday. The whole situation makes me a bit nervous, because after all is said and done it's going to be me which has to deal with anything that has to be fixed or changed. Being as it's my house now.

Closing was a funny experience. It's lots of people sitting in a room signing papers, passing things back and forth, everyone is the tiniest bit on edge, but at the same time it's the most mundane set of tasks. People exchanging checks, signing papers, asking questions.

I started packing officially yesterday. I have scheduled a yard sale, although that is only as good as the publicity I do, so there are plans to paper the neighborhood in fluorescent flyers starting this evening.

I have to-do lists, and a schedule of deadlines. I have obtained recommendations for movers, floor sanders, and insurance brokers. I had a bad moment in the middle of the closing when I informed my lawyer that I had not yet gotten homeowners insurance, but I was able to get that into place pretty easily. As complicated as it all seems, I am reminded that actually it's cake compared to how buying a house, like a real house with a roof and a yard and a sewage system, would be.

It is all very exciting and yet anxiety-inducing. In the midst of this there is an deeply ideological and very personally-felt culture war raging between myself and the guy I go out with AND I am starting a job search. I spent Sunday writing the first cover letter.

In the midst of all this, I am managing the thirteen week excercise plan pretty handily. As of today's workout I will be in to the third week. I have a list of scheduled days for working out on my refrigerator at home and in my office. When I do something, I fill in the space provided. So far that is very helpful. Also, I signed up for Weight Watchers online. This is something I resisted all through the times I was going to WW meetings, but lately, I have been more conscious of large meals, eating to assuage stress, and the tiniest bit of softness where before I was more angular. So I feel the need to start monitoring myself a little bit more. In a time of great flux, it might be comforting to implement control over one thing I often feel like I can't control, which is eating.

The Liberal Media

Oddly enough, the first review that I read of Michael Moore's newest film, Fahrenheit 9/11 was in Fox News. And it's overwhelmingly positive. Moore's film takes aim at the Bush administration's handling of September 11 and rush to war in Iraq. Reviewer Roger Friedman says:

"It turns out to be a really brilliant piece of work, and a film that members of all political parties should see without fail. As much as some might try to marginalize this film as a screed against President George Bush, "F9/11" — as we saw last night — is a tribute to patriotism, to the American sense of duty — and at the same time a indictment of stupidity and avarice."

99 Rooms

For something a little creepy and at the same time beautiful visit the 99 Rooms. Just go look!

Via Tower of Hubris.

Summer Mornings

I love summer in June. By July or August, I'm sick of being hot and sweaty, sick of going out in and out of air conditioning, tired of the way you feel suffocated standing on the subway platform, or the rot of garbage on the curb, but the first few weeks of June are always wonderful for me.

I try to live without air conditioning because I love the feeling of waking up to a hot day when the windows are open. The way the floor feels on your feet when you step on it that first morning in June that you wake up to heat. It reminds me of visiting my grandmother in North Carolina and waking up in the front bedroom, that was filled with ancient cake tins, tupperware, afghans, and holiday decorations. The bed sagged in the middle and squeaked every time you moved, but the front window looked out onto her front porch and the porch swing, and the gigantic tree in the front yard.

Also, its lovely to be here in New York now that it's warm. Last night, I sat and ate dinner in Washington Square Park and walked across town to a literary reading, of all things. I was a great night to walk across town, to people watch, to watch the neighborhoods change. I have a friend who lives right next door to the Hell's Angels location, which is how I found her house. I was thinking, I know this is where a friend of mine lives, because I remember seeing the Hell's Angels the last time I was here. Then I did something almost unknown in New York, which was to call her home phone and announce I was in the neighborhood and could I come in and say hi? It's fitting because that's a very southern thing to do and she is my pal from South Carolina. She was ready with the bourbon. It was a perfect New York evening.

No Justice, No Peace

A nice round up of everything that is wrong with John Ashcroft on the New York Times Op-Ed page today by Paul Krugman.

Crunchie

I finished my Advanced III Spanish class last Wednesday, ending the eighth thirteen-week cycle in which I have haltingly and inexorably pursued my mastery of castellano. In the tortoise and the hare parable, I am definitely the tortoise, and I haven't finished the race yet. However, now having completed my course leaves me with the rest of the summer with no committed extracurricular activities. On Thursday I inaugurated a thirteen week commitment to physical activity, which seems to be a arc of activity that will be sustainable. My ventures into language have taught me the value of setting small goals. For example, if in 2001 when I started taking Spanish I had said to myself, by 2004 I would like to be able to argue in Spanish with an Argentinean boyfriend about the feminist critique of the marriage institution as it existed in medieval Europe, I would have thought, "I am setting myself an impossible task." Yet there I was in Borders last month, doing that very thing, in broken Spanish.

So, what this means in practice is that between now and September 2, I have committed myself to do something active every other day, or some reasonable approximation of that. Spreadsheets have been prepared for completion. Entries have been made in my Outlook calendar. Documentation will be kept contemporaneously. The idea is to alternate between swimming, weightlifting, walking and biking, with allowances made for vacations and travel days.

Anyhow, this was all meant as a lead-in to the workout I had in Crunch fitness on Thursday, when I and the said Argentinean fell victim to a slightly manipulative marketing strategy. I was going to explain why I thought Crunch fitness kind of sucked ass, and why I like my gym at the Y better, but I won't elaborate right now. Suffice it to say there is lots of red and purple and orange, loud techno music blasting, weird machines and lots of bulky men in the free weight room. I like the Y so much better. It has the feel of a real gym and not a fitness club. In fact it was a physical space built for physical activity, rather than the first floor of a cheesy apartment building built for various commercial uses. I think that was part of it.

Fat Camp

This New York Times article profiles one researcher that calls the obesity epidemic into question, suggesting that there are not necessarily more people who are obese. Rather the people who are obese are substantially heavier than they were in 1991, by 25 to 30 lbs. But the rest of the population remains pretty much the same.

Body weight, he says, is genetically determined, as tightly regulated as height. Genes control not only how much you eat but also the metabolic rate at which you burn food. When it comes to eating, free will is an illusion.

Anxiety Dreams

This morning, I dreamed that the lawyers, and the person selling me her apartment, and my staff person, and the real estate agent all came and got me out of the shower to tell me that something (I can't remember quite what it was) was going wrong with the house deal. And then I was in a deli, trying to order breakfast and on the subway, trying to get to work on time, running late, competing with overly verbose customers for attention.

As it happens, in real life, there is a little monkeywrench thrown into the works, relating to the vacating date versus the closing date. I'm trying to keep cool, but apparently my psyche is feeling some heat.

Wettie

So yesterday I went out and did the American Diabetes Association Tour de Cure in New York in the rain. I rode 33 miles, from Morningside Park in Harlem to somewhere beyond Englewood, NJ. I believe Demarest was the name of the town that I reached. Biking 33 miles is fun, because you get tired, especially when your socks are squelching, but you find that the knowledge that you are a little bit of a bad-ass, even for just a couple hours, carries you along. If anyone from NJ stumbles across this post, there is a really big hill on Knickerbocker Road (Route 505) in Englewood. I went up it, and it was on mile 20 or 21 too.

Eulogies

When I heard that President Reagan had died, I knew we were going to be hearing an awful lot about him this week. It does give us a lot to talk about, most of which won't be aired in the election-year eulogizing. This includes his unwillingness to mention AIDS until the epidemic had been building steam for several years, his foreign policies in Nicaragua, El Salvador, Guatemala and the rest of Central America, nuclear proliferation, and his slashing of domestic progrems. There is lots to say and I'm the least well-qualified. Unfogged has a wrap-up of blogger opinions on the issue. The one I liked best is Billmon. He concludes

"So, while Reagan - like the entire decade of the '80s - has faded into history, I certainly won't mourn his passing. And I suppose I'll just have to grit my teeth and do my best to ignore the glowing tributes and bipartisan praise we'll be subjected to over the next few days - just as I did when Nixon died. The ritual deification of Ronald Reagan has become one of the essential bonds that holds the modern Republican Party together - not to mention a lucrative fundraising vehicle for some of its leading lights. The rest of us will just have to make the best of it."

Spiffy

Yes, Newyorquina has a new look. I am open to feedback, on the color scheme for the blog, if nothing else.

How Things Change

Hendrik Hertzberg makes an interesting point in this week's New Yorker:

"It isn’t every day that the Presidential nominee of the Democratic Party is a junior senator from Massachusetts who was educated at an élite boarding school and an Ivy League college and whose political career was founded on his war heroism as a young Naval officer in command of a small boat and who has family money and a thick shock of hair and a slightly stiff manner and beautifully tailored suits and an aristocratic mien and whose initials are J.F.K. So rare is this phenomenon that the last time it happened was fortyfour years ago, way back in 1960. That was also the last time that the nominee of the Democratic Party—or of either major party, for that matter—was a Roman Catholic.

There are plenty of other similarities between now and then, each of which comes equipped with its own corresponding difference. Here’s one: in 2004 as in 1960, a large number of evangelical Protestant ministers have been alerting their followers to the danger posed by the man from Massachusetts. The difference is that last time they were against him because they were afraid he might be subservient to the Vatican. This time they’re against him because they’re pretty sure he won’t be."

Been Breaking Down

My musical obsession this weekend is Freedy Johnston's song "Bad Reputation." I bought a CD by him in a record store in San Francisco's Mission District when I was there a few weeks ago.

Before I get into this, can I interject that New York doesn't have any good used-alternative record stores? There is virgin, borders, tower, yawn... This record store, I can't remember the name, but it is on Valencia, near the 16th street BART stop, had the coolest little reviews written in ink on all the cd's that the owners thought were excellent, and it was the best buying guide to music I knew I should probably know but don't.

Anyhow, the Freedy Johnson album ("This Perfect World") was in the used section, and I thought, "I don't know this guy, but I think he is kind of folky-alternative or country and I probably would like it and hell its ten dollars." Actually for the more loyal readers among you, this was the same used disc section in which I found Achtung Baby. I said, "Hell it's ten dollars" on several occasions that day.

I had definitely heard this song before on the radio or some such. (I can't remember where, I think when I heard it I thought it was Weezer. That's probably sacrilige to someone.) It's a nice song, a little folky, a little poppy, but it has a little hook that gets under your skin. It's one of those songs that lends itself to being on the soundtrack to the movie of my life. The lyric that got to me was "Suddenly I'm down in Herald Square/ looking in the crowd your face is everywhere."

I think I am a sucker for New York City-based love songs. It relates to the soundtrack of your life thing.

Sunday School

There is no new news on the housing front. The closing date, and the move-in date are being negotiated. What a hassle.

On the subject of moving into an apartment in which the foundation is being monitored because some of the fill on which it was built has washed away, I am reminded of the song about the bible that we sang at Lutheran Church of the Resurrection in Greensboro, North Carolina. Flash back to 1985 and imagine 13 or 14 little children singing along with the piano at the top of their lungs and batting at the air with their little hands.

Oh the wise man built his house upon the sand
Oh the wise man built his house upon the sand
Oh the wise man built his house upon the sand
And the rains came a tumbling down.

Oh the rains came down and the floods came up (hand motions pushing air up and then down as appropriate)
Oh the rains came down and the floods came up (hand motions pushing air up and then down as appropriate)
Oh the rains came down and the floods came up (hand motions pushing air up and then down as appropriate)
And the house on the rock stood firm.

Well some of you know what happened in the next verse...

Oh the silly man built his house upon the sand
Oh the silly man built his house upon the sand
Oh the silly man built his house upon the sand
And the rains came a tumbling down.

Oh the rains came down and the floods came up (hand motions pushing air up and then down as appropriate)

...

And the house on the rock went whshwhshwhs (hand motions making a complete mess of everything)

So is this going to be me? Am I the silly girl buying the co-op?

This is Matthew 7:24, in case anyone was wondering

Approval

So, I had the famed co-op board interview Monday night. It was just with two people and I had to smother a laugh because the chief interviewer reminded me so much of a John Goodman character. He sort of drew out his words and pontificated on the renovation guidelines and the restrictions on using the garden for parties. Also, there is an issue with the foundation. The building is built on a cliff and the end of the building that sits over the lower elevated land was built of fill. Like landfill, except not like trash, as he explained to me, but large rocks and boulders and sand. And perhaps some of the sand has been washed away. But they have been monitoring it. An engineer that will be working on one of the stadiums they are building down on the West Side has been looking into it and they feel confident that it hasn't moved any in the past year.
Other than the foundation, everything seemed like a go and they pretty much told me that they were going to approve me, so that was exciting. Now it's the nerve wracking business of waiting for a closing date.

A Bad Track Record

For those of you trying to figure out what the hell is going on with Chalabi, I direct you to Kevin Drum for a thorough overview of Chalabi's previous involvement. I'm still trying to figure it all out, but I'll keeping posting any resources I can find that seem useful.

Biennial Madness

I did the morning commute by bicycle this morning. I need to do a loop around Central Park on the way home to make it worth my while. I have traded in the Huffy bike for something a little bit zippier. Being able to change gears without problems apparently makes your ride a bit easier.

I went and saw the Whitney Biennial yesterday. This was the second time I saw it and I got more out of it this time. This might have been for reasons that are pretty mundane like the fact that it was less crowded and I had better walking shoes on. I generally feel like I know pretty close to nothing about contemporary art. I would recognize the work of maybe eight contemporary artists, and might be able to identify thematic issues that I like, or that I think I understand, but I can't really speak with any understanding about technique or sensibility. (Sensibility. Is that the word I want to use there?) I still like going to art museums, but I generally feel like I get about 60% of what my friends who actually make or have studied art get.

Away with the Fairies

I don't have much to report this morning. My friend Jessica, who is travelling around the world, just announced that she will be staying for an extra month in South Africa and work in a bar. I'm jealous and admiring. My little two week stints that I can squeeze in on vacation to not-so-far corners of the world never do anywhere I visit justice.

She says of Hogsback, which is in the Transkei, I think:

"This is supposedly the place where Tolkien was inspired to write the Hobbit. I went to a backpackers called “away with the fairies”.... While much of the area has been logged and replaced with pine forest, there are still indigenous forests around the area that are stunning – tall green leafy and mossy canopies, white trunks and dark trunks – streams and rivers trickling through the undergrowth, meandering around rocks and suddenly fallin g over the edge of a cliff or rock face. There are so many waterfalls. The rocks that underlay the waterfalls look like a cubist’s rendition of a rock – very sharp and sheer edges stacked on top of each other. On a walk through the forest, I was swept away by the fairies and have decided to work there for the month of June. So I will not be home by june 1 as I told some of you."

Some Fine Earned Media for the Blogger Community

Also, I found a feature story on bloggers on the local Fox affiliate in Chicago. They interviewed Wendy McClure of Pound fame and she has posted an overview of the story. It's quite funny.

Salam Pax in View

Salam Pax, who was one of my inspirations to start writing newyorquina, has a movie deal has come out of the blogger "closet." Thanks to ogged for posting this. Via Unfogged.

You Like Me!

I have discovered that I have readers, which inspires me to do a bit better with posting. How many readers do I have you might ask? Why I have a multitude of readers, two that I know of to be precise. One of them is someone with whom I am in a romantic relationship, the other is my friend, but they still count. They do!

***

Last night I dreamed that I there was some dire conflict with the property management company in the apartment I am trying to purchase, and I ended up saying well I don't want to apartment anyway. To which the girl in the property management office, (which did not look anything like the property management office does in really life) said fine give us back the keys, and I stormed out. And then I realized, not only had a just lost an extraordinary amount of money, but I had to start all over with looking for an apartment, which was a horrible, horrible position to be in. I love that feeling you get when you wake up and realize that you didn't actually make the dire error that you dreamed you did.

I got a little choked up watching gay people get married on Dan Rather last night. I'm down with the marriage is a mechanism of social control and we shouldn't be allocating all these resources to it. But god, can something that makes people so happy really be that bad for the gay movement?

OK, so perhaps it's time for a change in the topic. For today, I would like to share with you my latest musical obsession. U2. I've had Achtung Baby in my work computer for about a week non-stop, except for a short, guilty Ryan Adams-Rock and Roll break. All these songs I heard on the radio for years and years, with out really developing any attachment to, except out of a mild nostalgia for being in high school and college. And now, it's like I am hearing for the first time. I was arguably a lame-o musically in 1991 when Achtung Baby came out. I was obsessed with Bob Dylan and the Indigo Girls, which you know, each have their place in the American folk music cannon, but Jesus, why didn't I branch out a little then? I do have a vague memory of sitting in the dorm room with a boy that I dated my freshman year, while the wierd guy from across the hall, played the intro to Zoo Station over and over again and expounded on how it was lifted from a KMFDM song, but it was all lost on me, both Achtung Baby, and, clearly, the KMFDM references.

I had a brief brush with becoming a serious fan in 1997, when someone offered me a free ticket to the Popmart tour. You remember, the one with the big stage and screen display, that briefly garnered them all this attention. The Raleigh, NC show was canceled because the screen malfunctioned which soured me on them a little bit. (I didn't care much about the screen or the special effects, but I thought it would be cool to see them.) Then in the spring of 2002, when I was living in New York, still feeling the effect of 9-11, dealing with a death in my family, feeling a bit buffeted by inter-office politics, I took a personal day and happened to pick "All That You Can't Leave Behind" up from my roommate's stereo. That was it, I was devout.

The Washington Post's lead editorial today lays out the third and fourh Geneva convention and shows how we have clearly been in violation of them. It also gives an analysis of the undersecretary of defense for intelligence, Stephen A. Cambone's testimony yesterday, stating:

if President Bush and his senior officials would acknowledge their complicity in playing fast and loose with international law and would pledge to change course, they might begin to find a way out of the mess. Instead, they hope to escape from this scandal without altering or even admitting the improper and illegal policies that lie at its core. It is a vain hope, and Congress should insist on a different response.

I got some comments on my last post, suggesting that maybe I was making a stretch between American homophobia and what happened in Iraq. It may be true that it is not possible at this time for us to figure out what were the sociological underpinnings of such abhorent behavior. Also, there is still a lot to be sorted out in public view as to whether this was bad behavior of a few low ranking soldiers, or whether there was some systematic request for the guards to engage in these practices. The reason, however, that I attribute this to homophobia, that is to say a derision and hatred of gay sexuality, is that, in my mind, employing techniques to humiliate that include making a man masturbate in front of other men, making someone pretend to engage in sexual practices with and in front of other men, purposely capitalizing on Iraqi cultural norms relating to homosexuality as a way of making torture MORE humiliating and MORE brutal, to me seems to be the most extreme manifestation of fear and hatred of homosexuality. Potentially, these activities point to a side of these young people, be it their American culture or their human nature that is particuarly ugly. There are lots of ways to intimidate or brutalize people, and these young people chose these methods. Clearly these ideas came from somewhere, and I can't help but identify them with other instances brutality in the United States in which sexuality was an issue.

A heartening editorial in the Army Times.

Wait. So I want to amend my earlier post. The abuse at Abu Ghraib isn't homoerotic. It's not erotic. It's abuse and not erotic and therefore can't be homoerotic. What is so damaging about sexual abuse, harassment, and assault, all things that American soldiers did at the prison in Iraq, is that it uses sex as a means of violating and as a means of control. In addition to completing destroying the United States's credibility as a champion of human rights, it exports a particularly American brand of disregard for same-sex sexuality and violence where gay sexuality is concerned. You all know what falls into this category: frat-boys drunken gay bashing and the Matthew Shephard and Boys Don't Cry-scale atrocities that are part of the fabric of living in the United States. I can't help wondering whether the outcome would have been different if Clinton had forced the Pentagon to really deal with the presence of gays in the military. If the armed forces had done training to encourage service men and women to deal with the legitimate presence of gay and lesbian service people, would we be seeing this kind of sexual intimidation and abuse?

Josh Marshall says what I have been thinking, how the homoerotic nature of the torture at Abu Ghraib is a manifestation of the deep rooted fear and disgust at homosexuality that's part of American culture.

OK, I really am lame. If I wasn't lame before (I mean I know I was) I am definitely without any excuses now. Biking, the March for Women's Lives in DC on Sunday, rocky emotional turmoil, and work have inhibited my ability to post even the most mundane comments about my life. I am off to San Francisco on Friday for a meeting, (not a bad business trip as they go).

I keep having grant plans for this. Setting up a blog roll, posting comments on people's sites, people linking to funny things I said about the WMD's or Grammy nominations or something. But I haven't even figured out to post my email. See beginning of entry.

I raised $190.00 for the American Diabetes Association. It's funny, I grew up in a household that discouraged such things on the grounds that people would feel inappropriately compelled to donate. I think one time some bright-eyed youngster put my Mom on the spot and she never recovered. Turns out, its kind of fun to raise money for something, even if it is a well-funded, non-controversial, mainline health consumer group. Someone in my family got diagnosed with diabetes this year, and has done really well since diagnosis. Which is good, because diabetes sucks. It's a horrible, horrible illness to have. So it seems like a good way to give back.

Plus, it gives me an excuse to get out and ride 30 miles, which apparently, I am not going to do on my own....

So I think last week I successfully got myself back into the biking mode. I rode in to work one time and rode to, well towards, Nyack on Saturday. Then I pried myself out of bed again this morning. Also I did a long walk through Central Park on Thursday, on the way home from school. I ride a bicycle that belonged to my last roommate, which collected dust and animal hair in our living room for almost a year and a half before I haltingly asked if I might borrow it sometime to you know, like, ride. She was more than glad to have someone to use it and she offered me the bike on the spot, and then it was my bike collecting dust in the living room. This bike is a Huffy. Remember Huffy's? Huffy's is the company that made the pink banana seat bike with the tassels dangling from the handles that the girl next door had. This is entirely fictional, as their was never, ever a girl living next door to me when I was growing up, much to my dismay. But my point is that my bike is made by the people that design banana bicycles. It's not so high level, which is mostly evidenced by the fact that shifting up on the left side doesn't really take me into a higher gear so much as it initiates a series of clicking noises.

Last summer I did the 25 mile version of the New York Century Ride on my Huffy, which was actually fine. At the end of the ride, as I watched all the riders come in I scoured the crowd for someone else riding a Huffy I told myself I stuck with the biking thing, I could by another bike, a decent bike, on that has more than 6 gears that work. I am doing another bike ride now, this time a fundraiser, the American Diabetes Association Tour de Cure and somehow I feel the need to complete that before I start thinking about buying a bicycle. Plus there are the financial considerations. I am buying an apartment in June. So for now I am laboring on my little Huffy, down through Fort Washington and Hudson River parks. Its quite lovely down there in the morning. I saw what I believe were cherry blossoms.

The thing about biking is, it appears to be a very gear-oriented sport. There is a very specific biker look to the outfits, and the paraphenalia. I rode to Nyack yesterday and I felt distinctly ill-equipped, partly because Nyack is a destination for people who do this frequently. My sweat pants and my orange pullover were billowing in the wind, my sun glasses were distinctly different from the orange and blue creatures that were speeding by me on the George Washington Bridge. Plus there was the speed issue. I was consistently being passed by everyone. If you go to Central Park you feel a little more at home, because you see other people in normal looking clothes, on their bicycles. But Nyack is a little intimidating. Plus its far. I only got as far a Tenafly, before I headed back.