don't uncage my heart

the editor is enthralled and mr. minnesota is practically mouthbreathing anticipating our next encounter. i'd decided for these next weeks just to cultivate these two, having successfully avoided the long-shot, albeit permanently local, guy. then it hit me. both guys are charming, witty, intelligent and sexually charged, (and both unbelievably receptive to my masochism -- yessss!!) but neither of them can demand much of my time, being here only part-time. i've no desire to churn through a million dates. besides, having done so well with my first forays, oddsmakers would agree i'm way overdue for a chump. so, for now, rather than clutter my calendar, i'll spend the holidays with friends, get projects done here, and begin my job search with the new year.

my heart definitely is not healed, so needs to remain safe. that's my responsibility and it's a big one. although initially i didn't see it, there can be no mistake my subconscious had a protectionist agenda. if either of them were more available, i might not mind, then again, who knows? i could run screaming into the night at the possibility of the big "r".

i'm still very conscious of avoiding being submissive, which is more of a struggle than i anticipated. far harder than the sexual readjustment -- although if i'd allowed myself much introspection, i'd likely have known that. i turn cartwheels to not be overly-accomodating. when the editor invited me to his apartment to dinner for tonight, i had to practically gag myself to avoid offering my services as cook. he's offering to do it, so clearly wants to... (but he's working all day, has a meeting afterwards, it'd be so nice if i...) so fucking let him do something for me. good lord, it shouldn't be that hard. yet still it is. i'll bring a nice bottle of wine, which is what a dinner guest does, lol. right? lol.

my mother would be pleased to know both men seem more smitten on their end. i'm just happy to have some company now and again. i didn't realize quite how deeply i'd missed being in the arms of a man. especially a man who is thrilled, not threatened, by my unbridled sexuality. i wonder if it's a pleasant factor of their age? i did deliberately skew older. could just be dumb luck. either way, i'll take it. sex while in like is quite fine for now.

speedy relief

when mired mentally, emotionally and spiritually one forgets so much of what life was like before.

for months, the burden of my sadness and stress, my absolute unmooring from anything sure, dogged me. it compromised and compressed me. there were days i felt physically constricted and had trouble getting enough oxygen. it took a conscious effort to sort of untwist, upwardly wind and breathe deeply. i wavered through each day, a hollow-eyed ghost dragging both a past and present of immeasurable weight. getting out of bed seemed a herculean effort, and often the most conflicted moment of my day. i felt little. not numb -- that implies a certain low-level buzzing. but empty. a papery husk easily blown apart or away, unlike my more perceived nature as a walking bundle of the sunday funnies. more than once, i had zero recollections of incidents and conversations in which i'd been supposedly involved. it was peculiar, (and no doubt very alarming to others) but i felt too detached to worry about it as much as i probably should have. in hindsight i may have been licking the edges of a fugue state.

beginning in the days right before sending the albatross out to the winds, i couldn't/wouldn't/didn't sleep. that i chalked up to simply wanting to avoid oversleeping and missing early obligations that required adherence to an unfriendly train schedule. after the final paper was signed and i was free, i felt inexplicably bound by gravity -- feet on the ground, yes, but more like i was sailing in the air, light, light, lighter than the finest kite.

down to bed at "normal people" hours, yet more or less i was simply impatient between the sheets, waiting to get up at "normal person" time. perfectly alert at 2:00 or 4:00 a.m., i'd still rest a bit more before rising.

thankfully, my energy level has down-shifted to less manic, but i'm still amazed at how little sleep i seem to need. without the one-two sledgehammer whack of too much after-work wine and the previous unbearable heaviness of my being, i'm a little dynamo, lol.

all those little things i didn't/couldn't do, or even see, are all getting resolved, one at a time.

my mind and my spirit feel so keen and clean. i know it's time, and i'm truly thankful i am at last able to put so much to right.

in a fickle pickle

in many (most?) ways, my brain doesn't seem to function like a woman's. in regards to matters of lust and love anyway. when looking for sex, i was always more mercenary than missionary. i'd spot him, circle him and get him. it wasn't often i'd need or want to see him again, and they frequently got a quick boot out the door after services had been rendered. dismissal combined with my refusal to pass out my number or make even the vaguest of future plans weren't balms to ego, but hey, that wasn't my responsibility now was it? so many of them got befuddled having long spent their mornings foisting off girls for whom they'd simply had a hard-on. more challenging was the guy who really didn't get laid all that much, so thought i "liked" him. eesh.

lust could nearly always trump the "need" to like. then again, i'm sufficiently intuitive to know a total asshole after a few verbal volleys. if the energy and reception were good, i assuredly was not picturing him painting my picket fences 5 years hence. mr. right now served a valuable immediate function, yet also one unknowable and intangible to him, because he allowed me to remain unhurt and keep the privacy i so fiercely need. and you know what? men are fun. the flirting, the sexual tension, the spark in his eyes when you both know you've got a live one? it's juicy and delicious.

parsing men and sex with my friends, i've long known i'm different. even in college, while they were once again waiting for last week's rugger or frat boy to call, i was already peeking around the corner. one-night stands never made me feel confused or guilty. i was using them, so placed no further expectations. quite simple.right now, my formerly predictable brain is doing a funny thing. a chick thing i think!

as mentioned yesterday, i've chosen two men as starters. both are attractive, wildly intelligent, witty and determinedly pursuant. lots of notes and texts and calls. remembering details and offering endearments. so what's wrong with me? one makes me grin every time his name pops up on some electronic i.d. while he was in japan, i crawled out of bed at all hours to communicate across 10 time zones. he's gotten me gifts from the london and tokyo trips that have delayed our meeting. i've gotten him a little token -- something that speaks much of my mind. dinner tomorrow cannot come soon enough. the other fellow? i feel like he's pestering me! when he calls i answer reluctantly and so not to seem rude. i postponed our today date, feigning exhaustion. truthfully? i'm choosing pristine presentation for the editor tomorrow.

since neither of them have pressed the flesh, shouldn't i have them both on equal footing? how does this work? it's not my usual backward dread of someone actually liking me. clearly both seem to, yet i'm firmly focused on the one. essentially, they've had equal opportunity to impress, yet i worry i'm judging through shallow criteria. however, in my real face-to-face daily life, i do know instantly when people are worth my time. my career has offered a sufficiently protracted and painful lab study of human behavior, so i feel no conflict about snap judgements.

for now we'll call him the long shot, since the editor has taken such an early and impressive lead. in one of our 1st conversations, he quickly dove into a lengthy pedantic lecture on organic farming. the rapid descent and failure to come up for air were truly off-putting. generously, i chalked it up to nerves. it happened again in another chat. i cut through the wind, explaining my experience with some men of a certain level of intelligence. they (i judiciously avoided using "arrogantly" here) assume they're smarter than most, so feel an overtly oppressive need to explain their ideas. being as sharp as i am, i find this immediately tiring, and moreso offensive. he was, lol, taken quite far aback. he admitted it was a weakness of his, (ok, impressive, that) and he was astounded i recognized it so easily.

eureka!!

ok, phew, i'm getting this i think. if we'd met the old-fashioned way, long shot wouldn't get a 2nd shot. i'd fuck him and forget him. i'd silence the windbagging, get him in bed and be done with it. yet he insists on courting me, so it feels already like it's gone on too long. looks like i have made up my mind about him after all!! BINGO! should i have sex with him anyway? when we meet and i'm racing in conversational circles, will he be able to play and ride the cyclone with me? i never was one to string men along, so feel a small pang of heartlessness if i drop this guy without even a cup of coffee. when i began this thing, i determined i would not be the notorious disappearing internet girl. i just don't know if i still want to play by my old rules, or am i writing a new playbook?

oh, i like living again. :)

the starting line

i had to start somewhere, right?

there aren't enough hours in the day to wend through all the notes, so clearly those who got in the gate early have an edge. coherence increases their odds. as does humor. unlike when i was younger i don't feel the need nor the desire to overcrowd the field and have a different date for each night of the week. (although it would be easily possible... maybe after the holidays, lol.) i've winnowed it to two. i'll meet them both this upcoming week. it's sweet and it's exciting. the calls, the notes, the new. that girlish flutter i haven't felt in so long.

seemed prudent to have a practice run. a man with whom i could flirt and fuck and not be committed further. but the truth was i needed something a bit more. that 16-year-old girl in my head was worrying, "will he like me?" i needed affirmation that i am attractive. that after all this time, other men might/could/do/will want me. not one for half measures, i took the deep plunge. it needed not to be overthought. it needed to be the modern equivalent of spotting a man across a crowded club and deciding he was mr. right now. he'd written several times. he travels here for business, so stays in a hotel. the picture of his chiseled abs was the clincher.

first i went to a hilarious performance with a good and very funny friend, thus was in great spirits. the "date" had a presentation for work anyway, so it was fine that neither of us was available till 10ish. in the cab over to our meeting place, i was grinning uncontrollably. there was a bit of worry, because i'd not seen his face, just the 6-pack. a speck of doubt, blown easily away.

clever fellow, and clearly not on his first hook-up, he'd hidden himself out of the way to spy me. but he walked right over, visibly pleased and smiling, and gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek. i can only imagine the relief on my face must have been obvious too. not my usual type being very fair, but undeniably and ruggedly handsome, with the astonishingly defined outline of his athletic body visible even under his loose-fitting turtleneck.

it turned out to be easy! he's funny and smart and i now know someone who knows yanni. more valuably, someone who appreciates the camp factor of knowing yanni.

conversation was brisk and amusing, with enough touching of arms and knees to know all was well. when at last i asked, "what time is it?" he deftly replied, "time to go."

it wasn't at all awkward or clumsy or strange. after so many years of being trained and used in a particular way, i definitely worried that my wiring had been irrevocably altered, that i was damaged or broken. my doubts have been allayed. i'm fine. he seemed to think so too. being with him again would be delicious, and both his morning demeanor and subsequent notes have said the same. having heard plenty of horror stories about these sorts of things, i can't believe my luck.

monday is dinner with the editor.

without jinxing myself, i'm almost beginning to believe the tides may have shifted and good things are coming my way.

fingers crossed, folks.

radio free, um, factory

iraq, iraq, iraq. baker, bush. obama. mitt and maccain. death tolls, dead spies and daniel shorr. ack. it was an unconscious flip of the dial. just like that, i powered up the i-tunes trove (one thing i have left from the g.c. anyway) and madness, michelle and melissa were bouncing off these old walls, and making my closet re-do seem like a breeze.

i was twang-a-langing along with "the grass is always greener", when i realized. it hit me like a piano on the head falling out of buster keaton's 12th floor window. it has been months since i've played anything but the saddest of songs here. and even those soundtracks remained mostly quiet.

declan will still have to wait, but seems like just about everybody else can croon in my ear now.

and once again... begin

spooky old town, and a watchful witch allowed the sun to crack the clouds yesterday just as my shark and i were concluding our business.

the removal of the detritus from that house, (stuff i'd never wanted anyway -- accruals from so many lifetimes ago -- but my mother insist i take and keep) was so cleansing. the acuity of my shark a joy to watch, and an astonishing relief to be on the protective shoreline, out of his reach. he said, "jump," and they just kept leaping higher and harder.

i grew lighter with each piece tossed into the rubbish truck, with each swirl of my initials on yet another document, till i nearly felt too excited to be confined by gravity and felt i might nearly crack apart with happiness. one forgets how one used to feel, and how easily joy used to come. smiles at strangers and warmth watching little kids stiffly bundled against the cold gamely playing tag despite the clumsiness of goretexed little sausage arms.

at last released from the slim tether that the g.c. had selfishly and duplicitously held all these months (and i in my weakness allowed to remain around my neck); liberated from another toxic chef; freed from the unbearable weight of the albatross; at last able to breathe unconcerned that even my very exhales would be collected to pay something off; lots of flirty e-mails and calls to brighten my days and bring intrigue to my nights all add up to truly a new beginning.

little that is here was with me before. i am not burdened by anyone's misperceptions about whom or what i want. i am elated at the openness and the challenge of whom i will become.

maybe there is a santa

so, i gave myself the emotional equivalent of a pbj on wonderbread. yes, it was indulgent and selfish that i hid from the world for a day, but all that slowed was my breathing. outside everything clipped along. it's been the strangest sensation of being on a hurtling train at the same time as treading water. everything that has happened has been so far out of my control, all i could do was worry and feel trapped. uncertain. transient. inadequate. defeated.

the call finally came and my shark has won. the waters around him are clean as a whistle and it's once again safe for me to go swimming. it will be over in days, which after nearly 14 months will be but a blink. i finally feel like this place is mine, and will stay that way. after 12 months here, i'll at last unfinish packing and paint. no snow-shovelling or grass-mowing in my future.

i've got an in-box full of suitors (most not worth a second thought, for sure) but it still makes me feel better. too much time in that neighborhood made me forget how many straight men are actually out in the rest of the world. my nights and weekends are free for now, so why not spend them with someone? or some-two or-three ;)

better. getting better...

black wednesday

it had to come. today was it. i couldn't wouldn't didn't get out of bed. i didn't answer the phone. i won't eat or have tea. i hid under the covers till well past dark. in 6 months of all this getting worse and worse, then worse again, i haven't done this. so the cat and i stayed under the duvet.

the reality of being at last cut loose is making me feel so empty.

tomorrow will be here soon enough. i'll face it, only because i must. nobody else will, lol ! i'm really running out of gas here. it all seems so insurmountable.

ack.

one down...

nobody will understand this.

even though we never spent a holiday together, i always felt like the g.c. was very much a part of my holiday cheer. i often saw him the day before, or the day after, and knew that i was in his thoughts, even if not in his arms.

with his recent "elvis has left the building" act, i spun pretty far out the night before thanksgiving. i had promised to cook some things for the dinner i was attending, but once those were out of the way, i found myself keening around the place, aimlessly back and forth. sobbing. it's the most i've cried in a long time. slave cone of silence. locked down. so nobody could hear me either.

other than the hideous puffy eyes and swollen face, i sailed through the feast. it was a low-key affair, and no need for any kind of pc shroud on the talk, so it was fun. i also now know i never need to bother with the cumbersome nonsense of brining a turkey. all year, i look forward to crispy skin! ack.

friday post found me feeling strangely empty and brittle. my spirits are better today. no blood-sucking holiday hordes nipping at my heels makes the day a brighter place, for sure!

i'll go back to them eventually. but no rush. i like resting my bones and my mind.

one to go. there will be no presents. not in a box, not in my heart. only coal in my stocking this year.

pursuit of happiness

"certain unalienable rights... life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." that last bit brings no end of trouble to the american psyche. parsed out, it doesn't offer entitlement to happiness, nobody owes it to you, and further, you can chase it all day, but you may not get it.

what makes people happy? should be simple, eh? family, friends, a place to live, a boss you don't hate, and a decent living so as not to end up in a maytag box under the el.

last year quite alot of decisions were made and choices encouraged to make my life "better". simpler. increase my net worth, upgrade my marketability, improve my access to a certain someone. it all looked so shiny! the job turned out to be wretched with measly wages; my turn as a real estate mogul bit the dust, the properties still yawing for money; my heart was soundly trounced -- access denied.

and yet...

as hard as it has been, (ack, still is...) as ugly are the warty spots that i now see, i don't feel "unhappy". uncertainty remains, but having not thrown down my gloves, i'm upright to fight for that which i can. some things are now out of my arena. painfully, the thing that mattered most is done. elvis indeed has left the building. (happily, the mental visual is good, because it was the sexy leather elvis, not the white jumpsuited puffy one.) but i no longer cry every day. eggs, beans and spaghetti taste just fine, cuz i'm not toiling away in a toxic waste dump of wage slavery. family, friends (even some i've never met) and colleagues all have reached out in some surprisingly touching ways. and i now have time to spend with them!

the gurus all preach happiness is a choice. they're right. i get up every morning, make the bed, and put on the game face. it's a start. bits of happy are ok too.

how the other half lives

so this is what regular people do. movies, museum exhibits, afternoon ambles in the park or evening strolls across the river, casual dinner at home with friends. i haven't had dinner guests on a saturday night in over a decade. possibly longer. it's been a freakishly prolonged indian summer, and i've greedily savored it these last days. no longer am i cooped up for 12 hours, never even seeing outside.

my budget is tight, but not terribly moreso than it's been these last months, and suddenly i have all this time! my head is no longer filled with dread about returning to my wretched job, nor is most of one free day squandered trying to recover from a long week filled with exhaustive hate.

yup. other than this nervous rash (all my life it attacks the same area. ack. take a wild testosterone-induced guess as to where, lol.) life is ok. i am definitely better off without them, and feel terrifically optimistic about what will turn up next. this lemonade is delicious!

14 months in career purgatory was plenty. how do people who hate their jobs do it for years on end? sheesh. no wonder so many folks watch "dancing with the stars" lol.

what, me worry?

i was hired under the premise that my job was a certain percentage of this and a certain bit of that -- allowing for the unpredictable nature of a day and night in a restaurant. time went on, and the reality of their blunderous hiring of an immature and incompetent child to complete our team became painfully clear. no matter how we tried, he was neither growing nor learning, instead just blindly and obstinately stumbling from one idiotic episode to the next. all the while responding with such a tone of condescension, i wanted to backhand him nearly everyday.

to compensate, they insisted i compress the aspects of my job i actually enjoyed, and stifle the expertise for which i was hired. i became a nanny and a cleaner, of the staff and of his messes. i also became the mouthpiece of the gm because, "you always say it better than i can." further, she was of the philosophy that "if you catch it, you own it." if i happened to take a call for something that really was in her job description, i was obliged to see it through, no matter how many days or weeks that took. this scatter-shot approach meant there could be no prioritizing, nor delegating, so there never was enough time in the day, no matter how extra early i arrived, or how late i stayed.

combine this frazzle of disorganization with my distrust and lack of respect for the owners, top it with my paltry income, and it was a sorry state indeed. at night, i would go to sleep thinking, "i can't wait to come home tomorrow." i also had no partner in crime. not once did i ever join anybody for a drink after work, or attend a holiday party.

but i've only got so much band-width. i could not find the rcg's or the take-the-world-by-the-horns-power-pumps. i'd hoped to get through this financial and legal tangle, and then blizzard the world with resumes. the thorny knot remains (he swears it's drawing to a close, although expeditious means something entirely else to bankers and lawyers than it does to me), but i'm already feeling a spiritual exhale.the hilarious irony is that my unemployment will be nearly as much as my most recent take-home. no longer burdened by late-night taxi fares, i think i'm actually a few dollars ahead! suddenly i've gotten an extra 65 hours a week to plot my future.

it's too soon to know if i'm not worried because i've gone completely round the bend. if bill gates or lee harvey oswald start conversing through my fillings, i'll reconsider. right now, i think i'll do some reading.

fiddle dee dee

i despise him.

it's impossible to hold respect for a boss whose hands are shaky from all the booze and whose nose is constantly runny from all the blow. to catch him walking out of the men's room or a storage area in mid-super-sniff. to see him at the bar on his days off, nearly incapable of speech. to see him the next day, eyes so glassy and face so blotched and puffy, i refuse to contemplate what and how much was ingested. to work for someone who takes it as a personal affront, and further as arrogant apathy, that i need an extra hour here or there to confront lawyers, bankers, irs agents or whichever snake of medusa's is slithering and hissing at me this month. (a few months back, he actually called me a drama queen. i happen to be in a period of shit storms, yes. but if i was at all royally pathetic, i'd be sobbing and under the covers more often than not, wouldn't i? not toiling away at slave wages, yet congenial to staff and guests, right?) to know he thinks i'm careless with his money, when frankly i'm more conscientious with his than mine most of the time. to constantly be eyed with suspicion, even though i behave scrupulously. (is he so paranoid that honesty actually confuses him?) to know he feels threatened by my experience working for chefs more talented and more famous than he ever will be. to know he feels secure only in the presence of toadies. to know he feels angry that the staff actually likes and respects me because, unlike him, i don't treat them like dogs, nor suffer from wild and unpredictable mood swings. to be told afterwards by salespeople that he chased them off and out with " get the fuck out if you don't have an appointment".

to be screwed time and again out of money owed.

recently i contacted our comptroller about my commission status, and he informed me i was owed several thousand. that certainly would come in handy right now. two days ago, i politely asked the gm to catch me up to date. like a compliant company gal, i volunteered that it could be paid in installments, since the chef has been on about cash flow. (even though he's just had his best month ever. EVER. is he just buying more blow with it then?)

although i'd made some half-assed forays, i had hoped to delay it until after the holidays. he decided no time like the present. he couldn't look me in the face, and immaturely refused to state a reason. he'd already packed my things, so i'm free.

it's sunny and warm outside, even though every forecast says clouds and showers all day. i'm going to lunch, and for today will do my best scarlett o'hara: "fiddle dee dee, i'll worry about it tomorrow."

rain

last time i went to the movies with my mother, it was december, and she started dressing seemingly hours before our departure. she pulled on enormously furry boots -- peary's wife would have swooned -- fur hat, fox-fur jacket, wooly scarf, gloves. she was extremely annoyed i hadn't brought home winter boots for my 2-day stay, and sniffed at my cowboy boots. (hey! they cost $250!) "those will be slippery on the ice," she snapped. dispensing entirely with a coat for the outing had been tempting, but i didn't want to listen to her nagging. we walked through the kitchen, into the mud-room, into the garage and got in her car. we drove to the mall. we parked indoors, got on an elevator and headed to the cinema. not a breath of wind or flurry of snow touched her. or me. but my feet didn't sweat during the show.

most americans live untouched by the elements. from hermetically sealed home to car to office or multiplex. such a normal daily pattern, i doubt most give it much thought. not owning a car, i actually walk from place to place, so as the days grow darker and colder gloves, scarves and layers, not to mention an extra pair of socks, must be part of my sartorial plan. leaving the house for the day requires forethought. weather here can go from briskly sunny to a whipping storm in moments, so i've got an umbrella in my bag more often than not, and mittens stuffed in the pockets of every coat.

sundays like today are a guilty pleasure. nothing is demanding my presence. banks are closed, numbers-crunchers have put down their pencils, and lawyers are watching the pats. it's rainy and harsh. everything is pooling puddles, and i see umbrellas blowing inside-out. nobody's churning gravel or hooting at soccer, so the park is quiet. an "upgrade" is being performed someplace unseen, so the train's not running. all i hear is the wet and the thunder.

"rain"
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

~~shel silverstein

i'll stay dry and try to let in some quiet today. there's plenty of monday tomorrow.

orange, red, green

my palate began to stir, and my body began to wonder.

it then became a desire. then a craving. and then the "i want's" began piling up, one on the other. crunchy-granola wisdom is that the body signals what it needs, right? after months of only restaurant food and toast, i finally wanted oranges. beets. carrots. spinach. cress. dates. figs. what most folks might consider peculiar cravings, and stuff even more folks never eat, i clearly was in the need for some "c", some "b", and some "a".off to the supermarket. previously, i've had moments of superiority watching the super-sized loaves of white bread and *juice* boxes roll by, in carts attached to wailing kids and michelin moms. i had visions of a rough healthy salad that would set my body back on track. i was patiently prepared to marinate and roast.

the california organic carrots have been ok... but..

apparently the beets are 100 years old because they took almost 3 hours to roast.

the oranges are stringy and sourly stingy.

there were no dates or figs to be had. none. neither fresh nor dried.

there was no spinach, presumably post e. coli. but also no watercress, escarole, rabe, fennel or arugula.

the greens area of the produce department has a grossly enthusiastic sprayer thingie. other than that, everything else is weak, wan and over-priced. i cannot be the only person to think this. can i?

only the worst xenophobic snob would assume they all had bad eating habits before they came to this country; my ex-fiancee's el salvadorian mother was a spectacular cook... did wic cards and the dearth of affordable produce make all my neighbors fat? what confuses me is that there is a nearby weekend greenmarket, rain or shine, very cheap. it's always crammed with ladies elbowing you out d'way for lemons 10 for $1, or apples 3# for $1. it's a hustling-bustling-hucksta kinda place; prices are so friendly, is it the language barrier that keeps my neighbors away? for me the difficulty is in buying enough just for one. but i'll be making the effort from now on. eventually i'll get better at the math of it.

for years, i've managed with the condiments in my fridge and the staples in my pantry. there also was the once a week binge for the g.c., and i worked with that. but clearly, my body is asking for more.

i'm trying to get better attuned to my inner voices. nobody else is telling me anything these days.

search for signs of intelligent life

for many years (little-known fun-fact that restaurant years are about the same as dog years) i worked in a cossetted environment with people who knew too much. they read widely and voraciously, saw all sorts of movies, theater and museum shows; they were curious, educated, well-traveled and sharp of wit. yes, we tend to surround ourselves with those most like ourselves, but our co-workers obviously are way more of a crap shoot.

my next job presented some viable sparring partners. and i still had the agile pillow talk of the g.c.

short trip, but next stop on the job pike offered slim mental pickings. crumbs, really. those my age were more concerned with golf or the style network. mostly the staff was young, and a truer representation of who winds up waiting tables and tending bar. nice and funny enough, but more concerned with after-work shooters than ballot initiatives. some of them even seem to be pursuing degrees, but they appear so utterly unconcerned with the general world, i'm too often dejected by their blithe obliviousness. lol, when i was their age, i worked summers going door-to-door for liberal political action committees, convinced i could make the water cleaner, or more people vote. i really truly thought *i* could make a difference. these kids don't even read the paper.

after asking just a few about their voter participation tuesday, i quickly grew disgusted by the apathy and lethargy. i stopped asking and shook off the anger. i guess.

the reservation was in her date's name, and we initially thought it would be his fairly powerful brother. she looked familiar. i circled once and then i was certain. anita hill. the madly coiffed hair was the key. not one other person recognized her face. worse still, nobody knew her name. i understand if somebody who was 9 or 10 at the time doesn't have total instant recall of current events from 1991. they were probably playing video games, and i hope their parents weren't discussing errant pubic hairs at the dinner table. but when i prodded those *old enough to know*, none of them did either. apparently i'm foolish for assuming people have an awareness of the world in which they live.

am i so old, or is she such a footnote? to me thomas remains such a figure of polarization, such the archetype of the politicization of the supreme court, (hellooooooooooooo #43!) i refuse to believe his judgeship remains the state of *normal*. or ... has it become so?

whatever it is, i'm sick to death of the brain-dead state in which most people seem to live.

(downtown the other day, a man was reading the plaque on the old state house, and i heard him say, "i always thought new england was a state.")

ack.

ch-ch-ch-changes

"turn and face the strain"...

today i realized how little i've integrated myself into my not-so-new-neighborhood, because it took me nearly 30 minutes to find my polling place. in my circling of streets with no names, (wtf is it with this city and the lack of corner signs??!!) twice i encountered the same giggly group of latinas handing out yellow flyers: "conseguir el voto!" but not one of them knew where i should go. were they really volunteering, lol, or just cutting school? but i perservered, and finally found the stinky gymnasium. the outcome was so foregone, the only campaign signs were stuck willy-nilly in a chain-link fence across the street. i was relieved diebold had made no inroads (i'm sure precincts like this are waaaaaaaaaay down the list) and circled away with my felt-tip pen.

the powdery polyestered volunteers (what was it like to be a suffragette, grammy?) kept remarking it was the busiest election day they'd ever seen. (did you vote for harding, nana?) they were out of the house and there were boxes of cookies and donuts on every table; maybe that's why their day seemed so lively. my checker offered that alot of people from my huge new building had already voted. civic-mindedness from so many recent residents was reassuring. none of us lived in this neighborhood last election.

admittedly, i can view the world too easily through blue goggles. my shock and disgust upon waking the morning after in 2000 is still quite tenable. in '04 nobody still felt anger about those shady shenanigans ? i thought surely enough people in the interior must be outraged and informed enough to get off their fat asses to effect change. was "survivor" that much more compelling? didn't they have tivo? ok, vcr's? how did they watch porn ?... their prescriptions became unaffordable, their pensions blew away, their jobs got outsourced and their sons and daughters shipped off to the middle east to be maimed and killed. still nobody could reconcile "what's the matter with kansas?" they fell in line behind the frat boys, lawyers and ceos who hoodwinked them with costumes and cliches, and chuckled all the way to the bank.

"mission accomplished"??????? i nearly threw my tv out the window.

this list is a only scratch:

• the pathological evasion of personal accountability (nice job, brownie.)
• the negligence and incompetence during and after katrina
• the hypocritical sliding scale on the value of human life -- terry schiavo, soldiers with no body armor, stem cell research and 10,000 juveniles in prison for life with no parole
  
• the erosion of our civil liberties
• the mexican fence
  
• the slashing of funding for things like public schools and battered women
  
• the faith-based disinformation mandated in sexual education
• the moral blockades tacked onto humanitarian packages for aids and female heath initiatives abroad
• the absolute disdain for the future of the natural world, evidenced by suppressing energy conservation, encouraging timbering and drilling, and the slaughter of iconic wild mustangs
• the utter disregard for joe 6-pack's welfare while mr. moneybags gets a bigger options package every year
• the stunning ballooning of the national debt
• the president's belief in his personal superiority over our system of checks and balances
• the reality of no wmds in iraq
• if an american lives to be 80, he stands an equal chance of being killed by a terrorist or a comet
  
• abu ghraib and guantanamo
• the hubris of waging an invasion and war with insufficient manpower, arms, no real plan, and zero justification
  
• the destabilization of the middle east in direct proportion to our actions there
• 30% of americans can't name what year 9/11 occurred
  
• our plummeting percentages of respect throughout the world
• "stay the course," but suddenly they "never" were staying the course. doesn't he know the daily show keeps video archives? lmao.
  

the commonwealth looks to make history tonight, with a black man winning the governorship by a landslide. he ran a clean fight and never let his opponent drag him into the gutter. "are you ready for a change?" apparently, yes. but has the collective rip van winkle woken up too?

if kerry had found the balls to tell the joke the way it had been written, i'd feel more optimistic. ffs, take a stand. the tide is turning, find a goddamn oar and help row. the democratic party to me still lacks message and focus, however they may well take the numbers tonight. let's hope they don't squander this and can get their act together soon.

Still don’t know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild,
a million dead end streets and
Every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet...

obama anybody?

saturday night's alright

it starts with the chef's palpable tension and coke-soaked nerves jangling the night's energy. then for 6 hours, i get my ass kicked.

grumpy guests who waited too long for a drink or a table. they don't feel their server was solicitously attentive. yes, yes, you, mrs. greenberg, are the irresistable sun around which everybody's planets orbit, now aren't you? i take orders, run food, bus tables and muck plates. i barback. i make cappuccinos. (quite well, i might add.) occasionally, i open wine. i fend off complaints that the flounder is too salty, the ribeye too tough, and my favorite, "my husband hated his salad (salmon, whatever) even though he's eaten the whole thing," -- the inference then quite clear and tacky, what am i giving them for free? (no matter how many years i do this, i'd like to trade lives just for one day to see how these people fend for themselves in what constitutes their real world.)

i listen to waiters bitch about the crappy quality of saturday night tippers. i wait for the last lipstick-smeared sloppy cougars to slither out, after not having scored with the hunky bartenders. why are they drinking in a gay mecca and trying to get laid? no wonder they never do.

i add up the tens of thousands deposited into the owner's bank account. i hate the stink money makes on my hands and can't wait to wash them. i double-check the locks and lights, and almost always smell vomit in the loo. the chef is well down into his bottle of dewars and watching tv alone, simultaneously suspiciously eyeing everything i do.

stealth hailing and a battle royale to find a cab as the drunks weave all over, having spilled out of the neighborhood's last calls. recently, a halter-clad slurring blonde (cellphone in hand, of course) literally tried to crawl through my taxi's window while we waited at a red light. i was so frazzled from the night i nearly hit the ceiling with fright.

i get home at what most folks my age consider the middle of the night. so wired, it takes at least 90 minutes to wind down enough to approach the sheets -- pushing the end of my day ever closer to dawn. forcing myself to wake up at a remotely decent hour, i feel ravaged and empty. too brain-dead and body-weary for much besides tea and the times.

but yesterday...

a good friend and a matinee (he braved the box office pandemonium -- "flushed away", what? -- before i arrived) with well-behaved adults in the seats. not a single cellphone rang! a warm spicy zinfandel in a cushy hotel bar. jammy muscular shiraz and some small plates at a new spot well before the weekend crush made the place unbearable. friendly chit-chat with the bartender and happy owner before they got weeded and miserable.

home well ahead of the evening news and up this morning with the roosters. well, ok, seagulls. i was a little confused at what people do in the still-dark hours of sunday morning, church not being on my schedule. but i was breakfasted and showered, my paper perused well before i'm normally vertical.

i could get used to this.

dominus, dominoes and dominance

over the years, we'd been out numerous times, for dinners, and post-dinner-near-to-under-the-table episodes with assorted winemakers from down-under. yes, the caricature of randy rowdy guys with hollow legs is most definitely true. one's vineyard is called "chookshed" which means "chicken shack" in local slang, and yeah, next day, i pretty much felt like i'd spent the night on the floor of one.

the invitation was casual. he's got a fat expense account and we both happened to be free for a late dinner. selfishly, i looked forward to talking about career options, because he'd taken the exact track i'd like to pursue. he's charming and attractive, and it was amusing to watch the high-strung flutterings of females around him. clearly i wasn't a *date* because he's married, so they felt free to indulge in the flirt. he deflected them deftly and kindly. he fielded a few phone calls from his attorney wife who lives nearly 600 miles away, with a vastly different and buttoned-down lifestyle. neither wants to change jobs, so after 2 years of involvement, and 6 months of marriage, they remain weekend visitors.

a mutual acquaintance happened by and asked if the g.c. was "still in germany". stuck awkwardly with the lie of being so badly cut loose, i replied simply, "yes". there'd already been a goodly amount of wine consumed so it seemed best just to change tack. but i was unmoored a bit, and didn't feel the shift.

as dorks like us do, we talked about wines we owned, yet were looking for an *excuse* to drink. oddly, we both had one the same. a legend. his apartment was around the corner. even tipsy, i still don't feel like other men belong here, so off we went to his tiny studio. he opened the 1996 dominus. really nowhere else to sit but very close to me on his small sofa. he wished he'd known sooner that i was on my own. a strange turn of phrase, i thought. but i could find no resistance. it had been so many months since i'd felt a man's touch, i folded and opened at exactly the same time. my intricate inner ladder of dominoes went down with a whisper. it was an astonishing relief after so many months of holding myself upright and apart.

time plays funny tricks between the sheets, but it seemed like only a few seconds before i was being brutalized. it's a rare man indeed who will take a new woman so roughly, and i'm always surprised by the daring. my control group is far larger than most, and i could count on one hand the few so bold. mustn't the usual response be one of shock, perhaps repugnance, possibly tears? but it goes deep to my core and it drove him further. i asked, "how did you know?"... "i knew." bravado, or am i exposed so easily?

morning was quieter, but filled with jbf'ed scheming. he posited the convenience of both of our mates being so far away, and the possibilities presented by discretion and similar proclivities. passions, both at table and at home, which his wife does not share. if i'd had it with me, i would have brained him with my crystal ball. i assured him this was a one-time thing, and not anything i would blab. i would appreciate the same.

it was reassuring to know i've not been completely killed inside. the soreness in long-neglected places and blooming bruises were throbbing, comforting reaffirmations. none of it extricated me from my emotional cage, but it was a soothing balm on my lonely self for a few hours, and a comfort to know i am human still. the need to be touched remains.

rolling, rolling, rolling

part of what he gets paid for is to assure me he'll succeed, right? if he expressed doubt or uncertainty, i'd never have signed up, right? i know his record is excellent. high and low-profile wins one after the other; plenty of ink spilled in his favor, and lots of little guys getting their money back from big baddies. he hasn't promised a pot of gold or any rainbows, just that he can and will help, and has previously proven himself an excellent negotiator. the irony of not having hired a lawyer last year for all this is not lost on me. the other side's haste and greed caused them to skip some very important steps. later on, yet another of their lawyers fumbled and flummoxed further paperwork.

it's an extraordinary relief to have it in the hands of a professional, because i felt like i was wandering through a kafka novel trying to resolve it alone. hours on hold for a different time zone, only to be disconnected or told it wasn't the right department, and THEN disconnected, never redirected. over and over told nothing could be done. this guy fell in my lap and put the brakes on everything within a day. the words "i'm attorney so-and-so" are like a hammer, eh?

i have to keep telling myself i'm paying him to win. cold hard truth, it's in his best interest to succeed on my behalf. still, i wish it was easier to ride on his coattails of confidence. instead, i feel as though i'm white-water log-rolling on the river styx. my balance has never been all that good, but i know the tide has to turn. i need for all this to finish, so i can start again. for real.

outside

one reason i wanted to return to city living was because i felt so isolated up there. for married folks with cars and kids, it was a nice neighborhood. ^^BUT^^ grocery shopping on foot was next to impossible; clothes, shoes and homewares were the far-away province of *the mall* -- i'd rather go naked on a ferris wheel than shop there. forget about a movie on the spur of the moment, and don't get me started on the local video outlet. a simple dinner date with friends involved such summary logistics of travel that it was usually easier just to stay home. but back then, at least one day off would be spent in the company, and in the service of, the g.c., so if there was another uncommitted day, it was in preparation for, or recovery from. the pattern was established, easy and comforting.as things have gotten more tryingly convoluted over these last months, i've found myself ferreted away in ever smaller warrens of this sunny sprawling space. ("all i need is this chair...") in fear of losing it, i haven't been able to face it or revel in it. worse, i haven't been in the world at large. some of the greatest art collections in history are moments away; movies, libraries, theatre, funky shops and food of the world at my fingertips. even simpler, an endearingly lovely city which can be walked for hours -- something cherished always renewed (on my first visit way back when, i sought out the samuel eliot morison statue and love it still...) ; something new always found.

yet i've denied myself everything. why? why am i so afraid of chance encounters or being seen? over the years, i've performed herculean feats of discretion, yet still feel so vulnerable. why is that? i *know* most everybody is self-involved. they don't look up, down or outward. (g'head and stand on a 10th-story ledge for a while; see how long it takes for anybody to notice you...) it's not self-importance. no. no. no. i feel like what i've been a party to is so egregious, so horrible, that i must look the monster. a coach bag and cole-haan loafers are no camouflage for this hideous whore...

turnstiles and tantalus

already it's that season where i'm in a constant work-whirl of shuttling between long enervating hours there and far too few hours here. frustration mounts when so much added effort begets no hope of increased reward.

in years past, there's been a surfeit of diversions in this season's few moments of down-time. now, i'm in the fight of my life, on too many fronts. it's an exhaustingly broad battlefield; i'm an army of one, with no allies, other than a hired gun specific to one prong of the siege. (additional worry of when THAT bill comes due brings small comfort from his parries.) too often i realize i'm forgetting to breathe. each time i feel close to water to refresh and push still onward, the pool around me drains fast away.

i know there must be resolution. when and how soon... ? will i collapse under defeat or finally exhale with victory? is it hubris to think the things for which i fight are *mine*? will that bring still more dire divine punishment ?

soundtracks bring no solace. the reminders are still too raw, so the speakers stay quiet. but with books and movies, i can easily suspend disbelief for camus or moody; caine, nicholson or mirren. i'll find snippets, not of profundity, but sometimes of perspective. recently, i left a little bookmark here. it was an especially and personally ironic quote, having been bookended earlier that day by clamence's remark that certainty is of no consequence, because so many imbeciles share it. as bess received frequent reassurance of rightness, she grew more confident -- heart of a king, etc., take THAT spanish armada! just 6 months ago, i was held safe and close and promised the choices being made for me were sound. it looked clear and felt true. in life's equivalent of seconds, i was proven a fool of astonishing dimensions.

at the same moment disapprobation in absentia was broadcast a few days back, i was awakened by the *real* sensation of his cheek under my fingertips, and his breath on my neck. still further confirmation my wires are all crossed. i should have been feeling a punch in the face. then again...

there's a frothy confection of 18th-century hoops and cake calling my name today, so i'll go lose myself in the folly of an indulgent bunch who came before me. for a few hours anyway, i'll balance the scale and burden of personal excess in light of others.

almost there

"what are you going to do with this?"
"you can have it."
"seriously, you should keep this."
"i don't want it. you can have it."
"but this is valuable!"
"i don't want it."

that back-and-forth repeated several times, over different objects, of varied values, til finally she realized i was serious. i'd only come for a few things, and wanted none of the rest. it all had been left behind nearly a year ago, and i'd only grown more disinterested. just "stuff"; no use nor space for it. divest. simplify. the van wound up full of far more boxes and bags for her than for me. (why the van smelled like the circus is a question likely to remain unanswered... lol.)

when we were finishing up, she remarked on my equanimity in the face of all this. i successfully fooled another into thinking i'm fine. composure is far more exhausting than it appears, but my mother would be proud of the sheer will i managed to find.

i'll boil the dust out and try to sleep. my shark awaits in the morning.

still

the water continued to deepen, and the tide grew stronger. i was going under -- fast. it seemed such a foregone conclusion, that i began to feel the peace said to overcome one drowning. mon dieu, enter the hired sharks! it's been an exhausting period of playing "my lawyer is better than your lawyer". shocking too, to see incompetency so clearly and quickly demonstrated, and watch the furious backstroke, when faced with even a glimpse of that fin.

with a few grand and some legalese, i've gotten a life preserver. the swimming leg of my personal ironman is not yet finished, but it's sunday. even piranhas take the day off.today i'll remain still and float in quiet. the whistle will blow again tomorrow.

quotable

"you have the grave wisdom of the clear-minded; you believe other people think like you."

~~earl of leicester to queen elizabeth I, in "elizabeth I"

as seen here

the steel and glass towers rise in hinterlands previously considered uninhabitable, so our city has way more swell and far less seedy. there remains a tiny quadrant in a weird no-man's land corridor where there are hustlers to be had. i see these boys, glazed eyes, dirty jeans and edged by a desperate aura. they make me incredibly sad. even worse, each only seems around a few weeks, and then *poof*.

recently i watched a surreal bit of street theatre. a man in his mid-50s, wearing astonishingly expensive loafers and a sportcoat likely woven by the still nimble fingers of a 6-year old tibetan, from the fur of fetal cashmir goats, was stamping his foot, pointing in the kid's face, and screaming, "YES, YOU WILL!!". hands in pockets, sneaker scuffing the sidewalk, the kid's head was hanging down, just shaking "no." "FIFTY BUCKS, I SAID!!! FIFTY BUCKS!!" the guy looked like he used those u. s. grants for toilet paper. i was down the block and across the street and i could hear him. i put on that handy-dandy cloak of urban invisibility and walked by fast. barely audible, i heard the kid say, "no."

my mind reeled as to the possible insidious demand. i also felt queasy having witnessed something that should have been so private. yet, i felt somehow the boy was safer because he still had limits. he remained human.

phew

for a few weeks i thought perhaps there'd been a shift in the cosmos. that my perceptions and foundations had been altered, but i hadn't been notified by the proper authorities. did i need to recalibrate my inner sextant? mais non!! ne t'inquiète pas !! it remains a cruel bit of black relief to *know* that when you see a light at the end of the tunnel, it's not peaceful angelic redemption, but the headlights of an 18-wheeler raging downhill with faulty brakes. i thought i'd been tossed a financial life raft; turns out, that puffy bit of comfort was stuffed full of used dailies. took a few days heading upriver for the old pulp to get soaked through, but, boy, i'm going down fast.

however, on the emotional side of things... (betting windows now closed on whether it's more often heads or tails -- and which is which) no doubt perverse to you, but comforting to me, i still take some solace that not everything should be taken at first glance. particularly when the eyes are too swollen and flooded to see past the heart.

proof

the condition of our relationship was that it was unconditional. (of course the subtext being its secrecy, but we both deftly held that disconnect behind our backs.) his own denial of his worth made it impossible to believe that mine really was *that*, even though i knew it with absolute certainty.

one part of our dynamic was random acts of profound cruelty from him. it was to break me and further increase my dependence. he was newly awed every time at both my ability and desire to crawl back, taking succor and final healing only in being his. the specifics of what was done no longer matter, and are not something likely perceived as anything other than shocking abuse. suffice to say, in context, perversely they bound us more than anything tender we ever shared.

now that context no longer exists.

he did something this weekend so inhumane, so merciless, so callous even i was shocked. he publicly repudiated the self that i knew, the one that owned me and had promised me *forever*. thus, in front of thousands of people who'd spent years reading his articulate words of devotion to me -- and mine to him -- he invalidated, denounced and denied everything.

i spent 2 solid days retching and crying. unable to do anything other than crawl from the couch to bathroom. i tried, but could not navigate the flights of stairs to go to the store. (in fact i just got sick now and had to pause writing...)

but now i know what *unconditional* really means. although my eyes still are swollen from the anguished sobbing of each night this week, and my stomach sick with horror, if he came here right now, i'd drop to my knees and welcome him like he'd never left.

there seems to be some twisted need for each of them to publicly humiliate him in a search for closure (?). have i become such a non-entity that the fall-out to me is unconsidered? she may not like it, but the ugly truth is there were 3 of us. yes, my feelings are mine and my responsibility. what gives either of them the right to publicly stomp on them? it has made them both look audaciously shameful. i took great pains these last months to maintain everyone's privacy and dignity. and here they both are shouting in the town square, pinning scarlet "a's" (p's?) on us both.

he's been on and on about karma. i hear it's a bitch.

the pillory and taking stock

uncomfortably often, the g.c. used a trained dog analogy to express my progress. the old-timey-days fable of the *gypsy dog* also pleased him then; that fur suit still fits and i'd heel to command, but it's apparently irrelevant. as far as my own dog, i always knew there had to be a difference between a walk with me and somebody else. angle, pace, pressure, give-and-take.

the g.c. had my collar, both around my neck and in my head. at this point it may make him incredulous but the internal collar still gets pulled. i felt it *hard* the day after my birthday. yet i knew the pull was different. yeah. fucking horribly different.

there she was, striding through the place she'd only observed ex post facto. the bile rose so fast i thought i would faint. in a heartbeat, i retched into the basket, and had to lie on the floor. (such immediate manifestation of my distress makes me know i have a very long way to go here...)

when the shit hit, one of the things he asked was i avoid posting on what had been our shared outlet, and was now the forum for her revulsion. it would never occur to me to air dirty laundry, but he seemed uncertain how i would behave since she was acting in ways he'd never foreseen. we also both knew she'd be watching and anything i might post she'd construe as relative to him, or to us. out of a sense of personal privacy and respect for both of their dignities, i wrote nothing and grieved alone.

now, all these months later, she has dragged him out into the virtual town square to shame him.
in the scarlet letter, hawthorne wrote, "this scaffold... the platform of the pillory; and above it rose the framework of that instrument of discipline, so fashioned as to confine the human head in its tight grasp, and thus hold it up to the public gaze. the very ideal of ignominy was embodied and made manifest in this contrivance of wood and iron. there can be no outrage, methinks -- against our common nature -- whatever be the delinquencies of the individual -- no outrage more flagrant than to forbid the culprit to hide his face for shame."

a sentence to the pillory was rarely more than 2 hours, for it was very dangerous. no physical harm could come, so she hung him out for not quite 3, then completely revised her post. he has been gone from the site for quite a few months, and she posted at a slow time of day, so it's questionable how many readers made the connection. however, she seemed satisfied through her redaction.

a virtual hanging certainly provides humiliation, but here is where i get lost. what he did was horribly wrong. the lying and deceit for those many years -- terrible. both before and with me. now forced to confront what her husband had been doing, every kind word and every tender moment they ever shared seem a lie. it's a dark, lonely, painful place. in her place, hell, in my place, i'd prefer privacy because of how this all reflects upon me. she still sees no personal culpability, so i guess doesn't own a mirror like mine. he was always adamant about being responsible for one's actions. but she apparently gets a free pass. he will carry her burden and his own.

she claims the discovery came as a complete surprise. she had no idea he had been unfaithful for 12 of the 15 years they'd been married. even when, in a very invasive letter to me, she expressed dire unhappiness and dismay at his lousy husbanding and bad parenting. how could she possibly have been so unaware? she couldn't sense his difference when he came home after a blissful day of utter indulgence with me? their oldest son *knew*, but she holds fast she did not.

she has a right to all the indignation she can muster. but by holding fast to unawares, she only looks disconnected and uninvolved. by painting him with the broad brush of oh-so-very-bad, she looks to be the martyr, and the robes are not very flattering. airing this in public makes her look small and mean. she included links to videos of betrayed wives going berserk, trashing their husbands' stuff. she thinks they're funny. courtesy of friends, i'd seen them before. to me, there is no humor. i find them scary and very sad. they make me feel profoundly uncomfortable and i honestly can't watch them. her anger is still so palpable even after all these months of headshrinkers and him crawling for forgiveness, when will she reach the next phase and let the fuck go of me?

all week at work, i've searched the eyes of every petite blonde for either suspicion or gloating. i spent far too much time barely holding on and tamping down panic attacks.

all week i grappled with this post, because i sensed *it* wasn't over. i was right. her outting was a walk in the park compared to what came next.

rant

our galloping mormon (oops, lol, at 1st i typed "moron") has reinstituted random bag searches on the mbta. a "suspicious" person will be pulled aside and his/her backpack/briefcase/overnighter swabbed for explosives residue. unlike nyc, where cops actually peek inside the bags, this will be a chemical test. u.s. currency samples anywhere from 30% to 75% positive for cocaine. atms and bank bill-counting machines come up totally high as well. if i sleep near a fertilized field in yamhill, will my tote tip the boston bomb meter?

the nyc policy has been upheld in higher courts. the local one was originated during the 2000 dnc and also judged legal. (i want-want-want to believe it was the same judge who deemed it best to literally cage protestors outside the fleet center, but i know that's my tinfoil hat talking.) however, this does explain my recent sightings of black-jumpsuits, jackboots and german shepherds. (exhale...) funny, huh? how they were actually looking and sniffing before an official announcement?

the egregiously blatant political posturing comes as no surprise. the man has visited iowa many times more than any other potential republican candidate. "look at me!! tough on terrorism!!!... no candy-assed-massa-commie here!" pre-caucus tv ads, anybody? unbeknownst in the land of all-that-corn, he's a carpet-bagger and most likely unfamiliar with our local history regarding the troubles caused by writs of assistance. our profiteering forefathers had a very definite problem with illegal search and seizure. as *reassurance*, t officials offered that trains would be held so that the searchee doesn't miss his connection. what about all the rest of us being herded while he gets needlessly hassled? if a guy with a bomb sees ray-bans on a 6-footer leashing an 80-pound dog, is he really gonna buy a charlie pass?

our maundering man in the white house last week smiled and squinted for the cameras, then signed a new home-land security manifesto. in a much quieter signing statement a few days later, he challenged, and basically pledged to ignore, 36 of the laws within it. during his term, he has *challenged* about 800 other "laws". ALL OTHER PRESIDENTS COMBINED HAVE CHALLENGED A TOTAL OF 600. since 1789, 42 other men have been commander-in-chief. that averages to 14.29 per president, or 2.8 per year. he has publicly stated that god told him to run for president, so really, should it surprise me that he does not feel bound by earthly laws? the historically valid procedure is to veto that with which the president disagrees, and chuck it back to congress. this provides a smooth loop in our constitutionally secure system of checks and balances. but if shrub is lulled to sleep by thoughts of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse galloping across the incinerating globe, why should a little frayed shred like the constitution be a mote in his eye?

lastly... foley and hastert.

foley is a notoriously closeted homosexual, who repressed himself for professional gain. his superior, hastert, came to power on an odd reverse. hapless and grossly fat, he proferred no danger when out went the newt, and the blue dress was being bagged. snow has called them "naughty e-mails", but i can only imagine them as every parent's internet nightmare writ large: an unacceptably older man, i-ming "r u horny?" while junior should be finishing his trig homework. yuk. in the daylight, he thumped his chest about electronic predators, then at night poured a drink and logged on to troll. but now he's cloistered behind the walls of rehab and tossing up alcohol abuse and prior priest abuse as excuse. how much does this cheapen those truly damaged by addiction or rape? what disservice done to 99% of the homosexuals who live normal functioning lives like everybody else?

ephobophilia is not to be confused with pedophilia. nor is either to be confused with homosexuality. yes, sometimes they tragically overlap. and yes, quite frankly, i'm ok without the image of 54 year old foley in his shorts i-ming pages late into the night. but i can't be the only one seeing the turn-a-blind-eye-parallel between the republicans and the catholic church. sick men were moved around like chess pieces, code of silence was honored. everybody else throws their hands up in the air to show they're clean. in the mean time, true conservatives (my mother swears she doesn't know a single gay person) then see sexual preference as pathology. suddenly, they're all in wrinkly trenchcoats outside the playground fence. simply put, if the lid is on too tight for too long everything boiling inside is gonna blow.

the eisenhower strike group and its load of tomahawk missiles has set sail for the persian gulf. significant numbers of other naval forces have received "prepare to deploy orders". anybody betting on a rove november surprise?

rant over. for now.

the little we can see

when my dog was still alive, one of our habits was long late-night walks. we lived in a beautiful federalist neighborhood, where by philosophy and design the houses were quite close to the sidewalk. residents in those days faced the world and their neighbors in it. in an an even older part of the town, homes dating back to the 1600s practically muscled themselves onto the street.

our pace was brisk, but one of my guilty pleasures was peeking in windows. mostly seen was the mundane of the end of the day: washing dishes, reading the paper, or watching tv. but some snippets stuck. the spouse who tenderly embraced his mate from behind, the woman kissing her man good night while he remained in his armchair, salon-type gatherings of studious looking so-and-so's sitting bolt upright, or raucous holiday parties, where the music and lights spilled out the window too. there was the also the horrible. seeing people fight. faces torn with rage and hands whirling in the air, trying to catch the despair. or just one, alone, crying.

blogs are like that. i meander through lots randomly, and most are accounts of meeting friends for pizza or a hike. shopping for school clothes and posting baby pictures. they bore me to no end and i have no idea why even the writer feels the need to preserve the oh-so-ordinary.

still imprisoned by my heart, i'm unable to stop reading the g.c.'s blog. i got trapped in the beginning of it because he was in such turmoil, and that electronic outlet was all he had. he was careful to correct me that internet outbursts aside, he was managing. we were still in contact then, so he helpfully moderated what i read. now i'm left to my own devices to translate, but it seems clear she cannot let go of me. she wanted it then and still bristles with rage at not having had a confrontation with me. apparently his prostration at the altar of their marriage, his confessions in therapy and his crawling penitence aren't enough. her once-removed knowledge of the difficulties of both my heart and my finances don't pay her pound of flesh.

only just recently do i not quiver with tears when asked about him. at last i went an entire day (yesterday) without crying. what would happen if she did actively seek me? she *joked* more than once to him about showing up at my work. would she have the audacity? it is a public place, but it is my JOB. a reservation one night, which matched her maiden name (she kept it), nearly made me faint. i'm certain she knows my home address, and could knock on my door any day. does she just want to see me, or must words be exchanged? she's won. that's clear. he will do everything possible to be taken back. i'm in solitary confinement with useless devotion and meaningless endless love.

i can't help but think there is a mean streak within her that aches for a fiery denouement. that she longs to see the whore bereft and vanquished. to wave her marital sword of victory in the air and crush my face in the mud of my past with her husband. a mountain of "i'm sorry", from him isn't enough.

he never spoke disparagingly of her. but i can't help think someone who wore an emotional coat of solid ice all those years has deep coldness in her heart. my wound remains so raw, my financial problems so profound, i don't know if i would collapse or strangle her if she dared invade my privacy in any way. and what says this of him? bound to a woman who holds a hard spiteful need to smote me personally...

the little tree that could

this is one of our country's oldest cities. it's densely populated and the buildings jostle for elbow room. its geography is such that it has been forced to remain *small* -- bound by a narrow but long river, perched on the atlantic's edge and not far from the area's highest mountains. closest to europe, the streets hold similar patterns and skyline retains a modest scale.

like many other eastern cities after the civil war, a great rush came on to develop and design greenways. the industrial revolution was in full gear, and cities were dirty sooty places. the streets were teeming, filthy and fraught with mucky peril for both ankle and boot. parklands were envisioned as egalitarian idylls where the tycoon and the mill worker could stroll and escape the urban press and din. frederick law olmstead gave us the "emerald necklace", a series of interconnecting parks and waterways, spanning 7 miles and 1000 acres. combined with other land, this is a very green city indeed, and considered first in the nation for its committment to open space.

over the centuries, parcels got gobbled up for projects of either benevolence or corruption, so a new park in this old city is rare indeed. my loft looks out onto just such a gem. the weekday cacophony of earthmoving equipment can be nerve-wracking, and of course the project is long past deadline. but at last, the demolished detritus of highway overpass and industrial storage has been carted away, and inch by inch i'm witnessing 40 acres brought back to life. no cows are grazing, but kids and dogs are afoot. the soccer stadium (please, no eye-rolls at the hard irony) is complete and in enthusiastic use. the playgrounds, gazebos and paths all in place. the baseball diamond sketched out and seeded. old-growth trees were worked around and make for a mature nerve-center winding throughout and off to the ocean.

last week mountains of topsoil were dumped and spread. this week, dozens of young trees have been planted. i'm cheered to see the designer didn't default to one urban-hardy species, like ginko or arborvitae. instead we've got much diversity in both the visual and the textural.

when i created gardens in my last home, i was always filled with satisfaction at the freshly turned earth and the promise of future growth and beauty. the little sycamores and willows are putting down roots and starting a new life here, just like me. the trees have been kid-gloved by a glorious indian summer these past weeks. i've had no such gentle treatment, but i'm digging down to dig in too.