Four Eyes.

When did Tina Fey get a new pair of glasses?

Bush, Clinton, Bush...

In 1990, along with the rest of the members of my fourth grade class, I memorized the last names of all of the US Presidents. Beginning with "Washington, Adams, Jefferson", each morning we would add one or two surnames to our lexicon. And with each name, a few facts of their presidency was taught by Mrs. Kuzinierz. By year's end we could recite all 41 names from memory. But beyond being a testament to the quality of teacher that was Mrs. Kuzinierz, the ability to recall this list of names has proved to be useful in only two scenarios: boring college parties and Trivial Pursuit.  

I have only a few times even tried to put into words what the past year of campaigning for Barack Obama has meant to me; to attempt to verbalize what I have seen happen to my generation of Americans and what I have seen happen in my country. I have espoused hope and change, accessibility and honesty, intelligence and admiration. But I always felt that my true feelings of what this election and this moment really mean to me cannot be described by words.  

Then tonight, while listening to a report on Barack's past week in Washington, D.C., I found myself lost in thought when I heard the reporter effortlessly refer to him as 'Mr. Obama'. In my thoughts of him as President (which have occurred with regularity since late 2007), I rarely think of him as anything other than how he signs the emails or text messages he sends from his campaign: 'Barack'. This is in no way a sign of disrespect. What this represents is how he and this campaign have changed how I see my relevance to that list of names I learned back in Mrs. Kuzinierz's class.  

To me, the inauguration of Barack Obama is another step in welcoming the American people into his inner circle -- to be on a first name basis with him and the rest of our government. I am proud, motivated, excited and inspired to henceforth end my party trick as follows: "Bush, Clinton, Bush, Barack."

babeville

Everyone in Babeville is there to see the same little folksinger. And everyone in Babeville has the same sneer of disgust on their face.

I look around at all of the sneering faces, and each was searching the room. And like a well troupe: heads slowly lower as arms reach to the sky and the masse sound of seven hunderd people smelling their arm pits fills the room that once hosted Sunday mass. When I finally make eye contact with one of the sneering sniffers, the silent conversation goes something like this:

My Eyes: uh...I know it deodorized. I swear it's not me.
Sneering Eyes: I've already asked everyone that I came with, we're all odor neutral.
M.E.: Okay, let me do a 'turn-in-my-spot' maneuver and see if I can get a general direction d'odour.
S.E.: I'll do the same. Meet you here in thirty seconds.

I am ninety degrees into my scheduled 360 degree turn when Ifind myself face to face with the worst smelling hippie I've ever laid eyes on.

I gasped audibly. Spin and wait for my sneering partner-in-crime to return to our agreed upon meeting point. When her eyes meet mine, I realize I cannot, with my eyes alone, inform her of my findings. So I make a fist with my left hand, extended the thumb and inplicate the hippie couple behind me.

Her smile: grateful.

She winks, turns and relays the information to the other Ani fans in her posse.

And the information spreads.
I see other members of the crowd begin to make bets with their friends regarding the culprit of the scent.

And one by one the winners were villified. Gays and lesbians in a church betting on the smelly straight couple. Gays and Lesbians in a church, winning a bet.

Not exactly groundbreaking.

It's a goood thing Ani was there.

Exploits.

Don't talk to me about creatures of habit.

In fact, there is no need to talk of habit at all.

Habit implies rote action. A doing empty of any knowledge. My actions are the product of choice.

It's a simple case of exploitation.

look right.

2002: the height of *NSYNC's POPularity, my gal pal and I forked over $75 for tickets and $50 for hot new outfits to wear the night of the show.

Since that night, I have had to listen to her tell everyone the story of me scooping her off of the floor as Lance sang directly to her.

I am revelling in the realizationgthat he was in fact singing to the person on her immediate right: me.

Thanks Lance.

four-thirty a.m.

That is the time that I wake up.

Sans alarm.

Sans reason.

Sleep seems to be finding me in four hour incriments these days.

The good news : I'm remembering my dreams. That means more fodder for writing.

Well... the dreams and Project Runway 3. Can you believe they bought Robert's excuse for an outfit!?

i love my people.

As seen at Bufflalo Pride 'o6:

(thanks for the pic timmy!)

a nod to independence.

Independence Day (A. DiFranco)

we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp
on the 4th of july
we sat out on the hood with a couple of warm beers and watched the fireworks
explode in the sky
and there was an exodus of birds from the trees
but they didnt know, we were only pretending
and the people all looked up and looked pleased
and the birds flew around like the whole world was ending
and i don't think war is noble
and i don't like to think that love is like war
but i got a big hot cherry bomb, and i want to slip it through the mail slot
of your front door

you can't leave me here
i've got your back now
you'd better have mine
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time

so many sheep i quit counting
sleepless and embarrassed about the way that i feel
trying to make mole hills out of mountains
building base camp at the bottom of a really big deal
and did i tell you how i stopped eating?
when you stopped calling me
and i was cramped up shitting rivers for weeks
and pretending that i was finally free

and you can't leave me here
now that your back
you'd better stay this time
cause you say the coast is clear
but you say that all the time

we drove the car to the top of the parking ramp,
on the 4th of july
and i planted my dusty boots on the bumper and sat out on the hood,
and looked up at the sky

Nothing really to do with the fourth, Ani is just a master of metaphor.