midway mermaid: day 2

that's awkward.

i'm leaving work early to get a cavity filled and then trekking to brooklyn for violin class before schlepping home to the heights. since it would be really awkward to carry today's trash through all of that with me, i was planning to collect it before leaving and then store the bag under my desk until tomorrow.

however, it's time to do it and i can't bring myself to collect it. people are still at their desks. going through my co-workers' garbage after they've left for the day feels kind of awkward and a little invasive...but doing it while they're still sitting right there? that's maybe too weird. i don't need to go being quite *that* eccentric in the workplace.

the goal is a month's worth of garbage. that's 20 working days. no one said they have to be consecutive. heck, i'm the one making all the rules here anyway. i'll just collect one more day on the tail end and skip today.

but just two days into the project, this shit's already interesting...in more interpersonal and intrapersonal ways than i expected. i'm seeing that this experience is going to be about more in the end -- at least for me -- than just having a quantifiable amount of garbage on stage.

midway mermaid: day 1

can i have your garbage?

that was the subject of the email i sent to co-workers asking them to let me take their workday waste home with me to use in the midway mermaid project. definitely not an email one expects to receive from a co-worker (um, or anyone?), but they were good sports about it.

carrying a white kitchen garbage bag filled with to-go containers home with me on the subway elicited some interesting looks and an unusually large buffer around me.

today's lesson: if you don't want people all up in your personal space on the subway, carry a bag of garbage with you.

dearest tea baggers...

first of all, you must be so far removed from popular culture. given it's slang meaning, i just can't help but visualize...well, i'll spare your sheltered ears the details of the imagery...whenever i read anything about the "tea bag" protests, "tea baggers," etc.

to all you "tea bag" frosties and boomers who are or will soon be enjoying any benefits through medicare, i'm the one who's taxes will be paying for your healthcare. if your heathcare is government-provided through medicare, you are in NO position to complain about *my* money (since *you* are no longer contributing to the workforce) potentially subsidizing healthcare for other people, too. end of story; shut your mouth.

to all you "tea bag" frosties and boomers who are or will soon be enjoying income from social security, i'm the one who's taxes will be paying for your food, shelter, vacations, gifts to grandkids, co-pays and whatever you're using that check for with no guarantee that a cent of my taxes will still be around to fund my own retirement. put in your dentures and chew on that.

to all of you "tea baggers" who are stupid people, got yourself injured and are collecting disability or social security or other government help, i am the one who's taxes are, at this moment, funding your solvency in the face of your stupidity or bad luck or whatever it was. you are cashing checks because our government cares about your *welfare*. yes, you are collecting welfare, and "welfare" is about all of us taking care of each other. isn't that what your god wants, for us not to judge but instead to care for one another? as you're choking on your own hypocrisy, remember that the universal sign for choking is to point at your throat -- hopefully someone who actually cares about the welfare of others will be around to perform the heimlich.

to all of you "tea baggers" who didn't work hard enough or prove yourself valuable enough to be the one who wasn't laid off (because it's all self-determination that makes for personal success, right?), if you have collected unemployment or food stamps or any kind of government aid during this time of hardship, again, you were receiving a form of government welfare. the taxes you and i paid when you were employed -- and those that *i* am paying during your unemployment -- are funding your safety net. um, are you needing to point at your throat yet?

look people, no one likes paying taxes. it hurts to see a chunk of the money you made go off to the government. it’s the fruit of your labor and you want to be able to control where it goes. however, do you enjoy having roads to drive on? do you enjoy having emergency services like police and fire available to keep you and your property a little safer? are you or your children the recipients of a public school education for which you didn’t have to pay tuition? did you or your children attend a public university or community college? do you enjoy having safe, clean drinking water? would you prefer to pay significantly more for energy, food, medicine or a plethora of other services and products the government subsidizes for all of us?

let's face it, we’ve got a freaking sweet deal. i guarantee that most of us would be paying WAY MORE out of our paycheck if we had to pay individually for the many, many services and benefits that our government funds or subsidizes with our tax money. it's a tacit agreement, and i know we all want to be the consumer in control, but we’re getting a great group rate and a better deal by letting the govement manage the group discount program.

i believe that willingly paying taxes is perhaps the most patriotic act there is...after enlisting and giving your body, mind and life into the service of our country. those of you who complain about taxes and want to “take your country back” (which is usually code for take your money back or reassert your white privilege), are ultimately a bunch of selfish hypocrites who need to take a time-out, actually turn on that brilliant brain of yours, and think before you speak.

ponderings

why do i find it intensely sad to watch people eat meals alone in public? i guess i must have learned to associate dining out as a social event and only a social event. intersting. but seriously, the guy eating the cheese and fruit plate next to me was making a painfully deep pit of sorrow grow in my belly. until he took a notepad out and started writing. now it's not just him and his food and his loneliness (my projection), so all the sudden things are okay again.

you call that "cutting taxes"?

i'm already concerned about the exorbitant price of private medical insurance. this article scares me! http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/16/opinion/16herbert.html?em

mccain's health plan would a) RAISE TAXES (quelle suprise) on the masses who are lucky enough to have employer sponsored medical insurance (and are already paying a pretty penny towards it), b) increase the number of americans (including children) who are without medical insurance and c) line the pockets of people who are already making crazy money off of an industry whose mission should be to keep people alive and healthy first (make money second).

for real? you’re going tax my employer’s contribution to my medical coverage premiums as income? and you’re going to stand up there and tell america that you’re going to cut taxes?

oh, i’m sure you’re going to cut some sort of taxes, camp mc/pain. what corporate welfare will be funding by raising taxes on me and my fellow americans? tell us that.

palin conundrum

from the ny times, about palin's announcement about her daughter's pregnancy:

"The announcement came after a swirl of rumors by liberal bloggers that the governor’s fifth child, who was born in April, was in fact her daughter’s."

really? have politics devolved such that anyone would start rumors that palin faked a pregnancy to cover the pregnancy of her teenage daughter? this is the stuff of national inquirer. and how sad for palin that her camp has to issue a public statement that her daughter is 5 months pregnant specifically to prove that her youngest child couldn't be her daughter's and therefore really is her own. wacko.

yes, i'm insulted that mccain made a vp pick that stinks of tokenism, of an attempt to get the votes of the female clinton supporters who don't want to switch to supporting obama.

but that's not the real issue. the real issue is why we're talking about palin.

1) it detracts our attention from the real issue of who mccain really is and how his actions are totally incongruous with who he's claiming to be. he's really a rich old futz that goes the way the wind blows but he's learned to play the 'maverick' on tv and we're letting him and some people are buying it. we're all talking about palin's flaws instead of focusing on mccain's flaws (which are ample) and obama's merits.

2) sexism is alive and we're seeing one of its most insidious faces: cattiness. what does her having so many kids have to do with her ability to do her job? she's been an effective governor and that is a question that would NEVER be put to a male candidate. what do palin's hair and glasses and clothes have to do with anything? the media and the citizens of this country are devolving into the same catty bullshit with palin that we did with clinton. (and are still doing...the media says, omg, is she going to sabatoge the convention? i say, omg, did the idiots in the media really think she might? the media have been watching too many hollywood flicks and nancy grace -- the people running the media and all the people who believe the media need a freaking reality check.)

change! hope! it starts with you! start to challenge the bullshit you've learned (explicitly and implicitly). challenge yourselves, for real. before you say anything about any female politician, businesswoman, celebrity, neighbor (i.e., any woman), please ask yourself: would i be thinking this if she were a man? would i feel this strongly about (insert topic here) if she were a man? would i say this petty stupid catty stuff about her if she were a man? can you think of any example when you applied that same judgement to a man? this is where the real equality of the sexes has to happen -- in our own brains.

biogenic amine

i ended my hiatus from singing...and i just nearly puked in the sink.

my eyes have been pretty itchy, but a daily dose of patanol has been keeping the rub-my-eyes-till-they-bleed-instinct at bay. i haven't noticed too much post-nasal drip, so i went off the loratadine about two months ago.

it seems a falling tree does make a sound if you're there, but just not listening to it.

yesterday, i did some light warming up, pulled out a new art song and started getting the notes in my ear. today, i attempted more demanding warm ups. a couple high c's later, i was rushing to the bathroom trying not to puke. it seems that the vibrations shook loose some post-nasal drip, and my gag reflex was not prepared to bump into an unexpected acquaintance.

so i'm back to singing and back to loratadine (and maybe some salt water gargles before practicing for a couple days, just to be safe?).

refraction

having put myself in closer physical proximity to the people and places of my past, i find myself making mental plans to visit as many as possible. many aren't necessarily people with whom i was incredibly close, but i want to see them nonetheless. it's fascinating to see how people grow and change. it's also a humbling experience to visit the self you used to be through these people you used to know...and to see who you were and who you are through the lens of who they were and who they are.

however, i have not made plans to visit two of the people with whom i was closest in college. i don't know if i want to visit these women. i don't know if they'd have me. and i don't know how to answer all those don't knows.

one is the roommate. i was never her closest friend, nor she mine, but we spent nearly all of college living together. i think we made good roommates. really good roommates, actually. she was so simultaneously silly spunky and yet somehow conservative. i still do her little leprechaun dance when i'm feeling free and silly. i've sent several emails over the years -- some as innocuous as asking her advice on grad schools for my sister who was going into the same program she had been in -- but with no response.

the other was the best friend. one of the most interesting and talented people i've ever met. and so honest. when i remember the substance in college life outside the theater or the classroom, i remember talking with her, trips to chicago with her, and more talking.

the best friend and the roommate actually *were* best friends, so i was kind of the odd girl out in the trio. that's always been my place -- in but out. i suppose that's the space i've created for myself, or perhaps the only space i knew how to occupy after a childhood of moving every year or two. all the cool people have already bonded with their best friends, so when i show up late, i take what i can get.

after several years of an occasional email sent but never responded to, and rejected friend requests, i am in casual contact with the best friend again. in fact, i think she might have sent me the friend request this time, and we've exchanged a couple cordial comments.

our senior year was tumultuous, as i think it always is. for kids who've never been "on their own," there is an anxiety simmering under the surface. the only routines and responsibilities we've know are about to change forever.

i went through my first breakup. i had no clue what i was going to do upon graduation. i got really freaking depressed and put myself in counseling. i flirted with alcoholism. i found physical affection where i could, and not always in the best places. and my so-called best friends said "i don't like the choices you're making" and "i don't know who you are anymore" and they washed their hands of me. i spent most of my time out of the apartment so i could avoid their freeze. i quit singing because choir necessitated placing myself in proximity of their freeze. five months to graduation, i had to find a new social circle.

i may have crossed some boundaries in trying to be a helpful friend. i confused and possibly hurt a mutual friend with whom i had a fling. but I WAS 20 YEARS OLD!! am i exempt from ever being allowed to fuck up? am i exempt from one little semester of being young and scared and stupid? if i were my friend (and i try to be), i'd say: yes, you are allowed to be imperfect. you are allowed to make mistakes. and i still love you.

is there something i'm missing? was there something i did that i have no clue i did? is there some justification for their actions other than a) they didn't really care about me or b) they were too self-absorbed to be a good friend to me? they made the time to be friends for each other...why weren't they a friend to me?

my one call for help, my one moment of need, and the people i thought were my true friends failed me. part of me is making excuses for them ("they were probably dealing with their own shit"). my sense of justice is inflamed suspecting that their memories may have erased the good and replaced it with some skewed image that doesn't resemble me...and likewise suppressed their failure to be there for me the one time it counted. perhaps i'm mostly just trying to avoid feeling how hurt i was, and still am, by it.

best friend, i thought you were possibly the awesomest person ever. you are so beautiful and so funny and so talented. i've missed your penchant for goats and your silver tongued words. tell me, when you write it, do we become friends again?

homesteader

i've made my migration back eastward. being back in the mid-south, i'm finding that things are simultaneously familiar and new, which is actually quite a nice experience. we've been busy trying to build this apartment (with amazing potential but not devoid of some rough patches) into a home. i dare say we've made good progress. the next step is to get out of the house and make this city a home, too.

i had a lovely adventure driving out here with bf zerd. on day 1, we enjoyed all of the stimulating conversation we hadn't had time for in months before being accosted by a near-biblical downpour of mosquitoes against the windshield. on day 2, we were the accidental patriots, celebrating independence day at mt. rushmore by belting out the "ultimate american sing-along" with the 43rd army band from nebraska. on day 3, we tried to wrap our brains around what life must have been like for a homesteader as we visited wall drug, the badlands and a homestead with its original sod house (and believe me, the coughing mannequin with his pants down in the out-house was even creepier than the guy sitting out front). on day 4, i dropped zerd at what was once the place she called home, and i finally made it to the place i would make into my new home.

coat hangers

kudos to waldo l. fielding, m.d., for writing this essay for the ny times (click here to read).

i believe that women, as humans, have the right to control what goes into and comes out of our own bodies. please let us keep the right to have safe medical care among our options as we make our choices about what goes on inside the boundaries of our own flesh.