I have a complicated relationship with my family. The kind of relationship that might one day transcribe well to an allegorical fictional novel filled with universal references to the hardships all families face, but which doesn’t translate well to a blog post. It is especially and even less well-able to be translated to an ongoing feud on Facebook that ended with a couple of family members terminating their relationship with me.
It could have ended differently, I suppose. I should have probably reached out privately at some point in the year-long argument about social justice…to get a temperature check and attempt to communicate in a less-charged context. I am, after all, the adult in the situation. I don’t really have an excuse for not doing so, aside from the aforementioned complicated family dynamic – which isn’t much of an excuse, but I allowed it to be, until it was too late.
Other than that, I’m satisfied with my behavior, if not the outcome. And who knows what the outcome is/will be anyway? And I can say that in the midst of discovering myself at odds with some members of my family, I strengthened my appreciation for others. And, in a way, some of the complications of the distant past were healed in the process.
And, so I find myself nearing another change of seasons. I feel like the summer is always a wasted season. I feel like I accomplished very little, and am quickly becoming charged with creative energy at the prospect of the end of summer…even though in Austin, summer won’t really be over until nearly the end of October.
Dancing
Funny how I started writing about my family and I suddenly am feeling a wave of creative ideas about the garden. We’ve been thinking about the perfect centerpiece for the succulent garden. Considering a bird bath, which is still a possibility. And I’ve been going to thrift stores trying to find the perfect bowl for the bird bath…and it struck me that what really belongs there is the toilet that has been sitting back in the yard for years because I couldn’t part with that much of a functional porcelain bowl. I mean, really – it’s a giant, lovely, flowerpot. Sparkly and everything. So. That’s that.
Lulu in the twilight.
And my artichokes are sprouting. I’ve decided I’m going to dedicate myself to planting artichoke plants all over the property. I want several of them. I want them lining the walkway and bounding the seating area. Because I can. Ha. In fact, I have four little sprouts coming up right now, and a couple of packets of seeds due in the mail.
In the meantime, my brussels sprouts sprouts aren’t doing so well. I completely lost interest in them when the artichokes started sprouting. The artichokes seem to be such hearty little seedlings, and the brussels sprouts so delicate.
I’m really excited about making an artichoke kingdom here. Hahaha.
And I have ideas for the zine, which I have really not worked on much except in theory. I’m thinking about backgrounds consisting of the same collaged pages I used to make, only the collage will be flyers from Chicago bands. And I’m thinking about rather than making a full color zine, I might make color postcards of some of the drawings. And I feel like I’m going to be writing the zine in a day…which isn’t necessarily a bad prospect. Just spending a day going from beginning to middle to end. Sounds like a lovely plan.
His shirt says “I got out of bed for this?” and so does his general attitude.
First day of school. My kids hate being photographed, so I don’t have one of those adorable “Back to school” shots year after year for comparison. So I will just post a bunch of random stuff I have in my backlogged camera roll. “Back to school” doesn’t really exist when you are homeschooled, once you get over the urge to fly kites in the schoolyard or blow bubbles in front of the library as a means of obnoxiously expressing your relative freedom*, and the annual homeschool “not back to school” swim party is both overcrowded and underparticipated by kids your kids actually want to hang out with.
Tofu Spring Rolls with peanut sauce at Kim Phung
But being that this is the Tao of Bird’s second year of public school, and now that Buddha the Grouch is taking classes at the community college pretty much every day of the week, as well as participating in some of the usual homeschool activities…today was markedly different from the rest of the summer, if only for that brief few minutes after BTG went to school and before TOB came home from school when the house was oddly empty.
Tofu with Garlic, Hot Pepper, and Lemongrass at Kim Phung
I’m pleased to say that I wasn’t climbing the walls waiting for the boys to start school again. Maybe a little for their own sakes to get them out of the house, but truthfully I love those guys. I’ve grown used to sharing my space with them. It’s nice to have my own space once in awhile, but it’s going from being with them constantly to, too soon…too close to now…having one child move off to school, and yeah…I like having them around.
Key Lime Pie
But I’m also excited that they are out and learning and excited about what they are doing – at least to some extent. I’m pleased with the fact that TOB was placed in AP classes in spite of asking not to be (and secretly hoping it was his father who arranged that, as I finally had to give up trying to convince him to take them and just make an agreement that if he took it easy this year, he would really have to kick it into gear when he gets to high school…even though his father was the one who originally disagreed with putting him in pre-AP classes to begin with & yeah if that was difficult for you to understand, basically welcome to it. But even though it’s maddening inconsistency, I’m pleased that TOB is in those classes and I didn’t have to betray him to ensure it.
There wasn’t much to my day. It’s been too too hot lately to sit outside at all. Yesterday, I took Lulu out for a walk around 10 AM, and after an hour she had to flop down in the grass for 15 minutes – not due to thirst, because she refused water – just out of sheer exhaustion. She did it several times for about 5 minutes at a time…and wanted to flop down again, but then saw a squirrel and decided she wasn’t all that tired after all, as she attempted to drag me up the tree to reach the taunting bushytail. So, yeah…hot. Exhaustingly hot. Oppressively hot. SQUIRREL!
I did wake up early this morning. Early enough to make eggs for TOB before driving him to his first day of school and get a bit of gardening and housework done before dropping BTG off for his class in the afternoon. Then to the pet store and grocery.
And several episodes of Upstairs/Downstairs because I’m FREAKING addicted.
Man Bites Dog – Veggie Abe Frohman and Cheese Fries
It’s more overtime for me this week. And possibly more again next week if it’s available. Time to save back up after all of the school expenses and activities.
Artichoke sprouts
And you know what? I do alright. I really do. And I feel alright. I feel as though I have done a pretty damn respectable job as a parent. And they have as children. So far.
Oyster Lexicon, #2
I started working on the next issue of the zine today. I mean, I have a lot of the artwork done, but none of the writing, really. Beyond conceptual. Some of the writing will be original from my time in Chicago. I’ve been considering publishing some of the sweet little love letters I have from that era. I don’t THINK the other party involved will mind. I am in touch with him, so I will ask him…but I have to find them first. I know I saved them, but there was a large box of letters in the house that my ex got into and maude knows what he did to the contents. I haven’t delved beyond the nasty things he wrote on the surface of the container. I tucked it away in the attic. It’s time to take it down and look at my “keep forever” things. Plus they are super sweet, and I think they would make people feel squishy.
Chicago Theater
Love is awesome like that. Regardless of whether it’s forever love or not – which is wisdom that would have allowed me to enjoy myself more when I was younger, but no matter. At least I can still smile at the me that was in love with that boy who broke my heart (or whose heart I broke, because – really – who can tell which came first) especially since I still know that boy and love him in a different, but not lesser way…which is something I think I always HAVE understood about love.
Marching Cicada
And I’ve decided not to make “D” in my alphabet about divorce. In the nick of time, I’m reminded that the dogs in my life have been far more significant. One of them allegedly caused the divorce. Another two once stood on the chest of a man who woke in my bed, and then rightly attempted to escape from them and my life after a regrettable night on the eve of forever.
Lulu hug
There are some stories that can’t ever be fully told. And some that have been overtold. And some that are best told
through other means. There are some stories you tell to others so convincingly that you start to believe them yourself. I think telling stories through the eyes of the dogs I have had in my life will make things slightly easier. I’m just not sure if I can adequately draw a dog…hahaha.
Hoping it will be out in time for our yardwarming around the equinox. That’s what I’m aiming for. I have about a month.
I’m having difficulty motivating myself to write blog posts. I come here sometimes, and start writing…and I end up writing about some political topic or other that has me feeling frustrated or angry or hopeless. But this is my selfish place. This is not for politics. This is where I talk about me. Me. Me.
And though I know the internet has limitless real estate, and anyone not wanting to hear about me. me. me. is totally free. free. free to go elsewhere…I still feel guilty for claiming this space. Or, perhaps, that’s just an excuse to externalize everything and avoid self-examination.
There is a lot going on right now. Most of it is awesome. I’m tempted to quantify the awesome. I’ll just stick with “most of it.” That works. I feel pretty damn content, albeit somewhat lazy in contentment.
So, perhaps it’s more that I don’t have a lot to write about. Life is pretty dang boring. Most days follow a similar, predictable pattern…
I wake up & have breakfast (usually just coffee) and read in the back yard.
On workdays, I pretty much spend all of my breaks in the same chair in the back yard. Reading, or chatting with my housemates, or just staring at the yard and sky. Watching the birds. There’s a flock of Monk Parakeets that live in the neighborhood. I love their cranky cackle. Tao of Bird and I always say it reminds us of Buddha the Grouch. “You’re wrong!” They yell in their gravelly sqauwk.
Sometimes I cook on my lunch breaks. Sometimes I eat leftovers. Sometimes I run errands.
After work, I decompress in that same chair. Usually it’s dark or getting there. I watch the moon begin its journey across the sky. Sometimes there’s a fire in the firepit.
Usually I take a walk. Sometimes with a friend. Sometimes alone. Always with my dog.
On my days off, I visit. I hike. I cook. I clean. I plan. I scheme. I create. I observe. Sometimes I gather. Sometimes I remain in solitude.
And I rest so I can begin it all again the next week.
I think a lot in those times. My life takes on themes. Lately, my theme is “reclaiming.” I’ve been reclaiming space – in my back yard. Reclaiming time lost to a job that usurped too much of it and left me with too little energy to enjoy myself off the clock. Reclaiming creativity in the zine, in artwork, in areas I allowed other people to negatively influence my opinion of myself…including myself. Reclaiming dog ownership, even, as I recall the last dog I adopted was brought into my life under stress and duress of pregnancy, grief, and separation. I’m processing a lot, without much to say about it, other than it’s nice.
And I’ve been thinking about my future; the time with my children living in my home with me is drawing to a close. One son will be off next year, the other a short 5 years from now. I am so proud of them both, and so pleased with them as people. I know they will do good things in life. And while I will be sad to not have them in my daily life anymore, I’m already thinking about who I will be when I am not day-to-day “mom.” There’s lots of good material there. Lots to consider. Lots of things I haven’t considered in a very long time.
And of course I’ve been thinking about relationships. Mostly about how happy I am, currently, about not being in one. I was telling a friend the other day that I’ve frequently wanted someone to lean on during the difficult times. And sometimes I’ve had someone. But lately – I’m content to the point of feeling protective of my solitude. Protective – not defensive. My borders are permeable, but it’s a long journey to the center of me.
And the center of me is where I’m living right now. ❤
This song seemed an appropriately celebratory little number for my end of weekend celebrations. Not that I WANT the weekend to end, necessarily…but it’s been a nice weekend, as weekends go. Also, surprising. The biggest surprise, by far…is Lulu.
Pensive Lulu
Sweet Lulu
But I also had some fun adventures with a surprisingly…familiar…new friend. You know? One of those kinds of people who just makes sense, and to whom you just feel like you also just make sense. Buddha the Grouch, when he learned of my platonic hangout, said “Oh, so you went on one of those faux Lainie dates where you go out and look at birds.”
birds…spiders…same diff.
I laughed so hard, because he’s pretty much right. And it feels good to have someone in my life with whom I can just go out and look at birds. Or at milkweed floating in the wind. Or armadillos. Or the way the pond scum rejoins itself after a rock passes through the film. Someone with whom I don’t have to rush through the getting to know to get to “the good stuff” because the good stuff is the getting to know. I’m really enjoying the getting to know. This weekend was also a little cooking (more cooking to come) a little cleaning (more cleaning to come) some walks and talks…and lots of chilling in the backyard. My friends who are staying with me (who I need to think of a clever name for, as I’ll doubtless be referring to them a lot) have kicked so much ass at getting the yard in shape for planting. They’ve cleared and tilled three huge beds, we’ve all schemed a less-conventional succulent / hummingbird / butterfly bed, and they’ve made good with my neighbor, whose little garden was being overshadowed by some weeds in my back yard. There’s talk of chickens. There’s talk of greenhouses. There’s endless talk of gardens and gardening. I’m still slowly rearranging my time to begin to accommodate, but it’s difficult to begin! We’ve created a sitting area outside that has been encouraging me to just sit and watch the sun (or moon) move across the sky. The dog only adds to this notion of sit and stay. Especially since, being new here and nervous, any move I make is shadowed by her. The more I sit and relax, the more relaxed she becomes. And, thankfully, the energy level of a Great Dane, as Lulu is, is much much lower than that of a boxer, which my last nervous dog was…so there’s plenty of sloth and relaxation.
Slothful, and relaxing!
I feel like Lulu is going to have the sweet temperament of Twyla (the boxer) with the gentle lazy hound-dog attitude of Cash (the pitbull). Once we get her acclimated…and everyone gets acclimated to her. This weekend also included a meditation/remembrance of the passage of Texas HB 2 – the bill that has been responsible for the closure of over 61% of Texas clinics that provide abortions and other healthcare services, leaving many people – particularly those who are already poor and marginalized – without access to safe abortions. We sat in mediation, did a walking meditation – I walked in circles around the middle of the rotunda floor, did another sitting meditation and then had discussion. It was a beautiful memorial. It was very healing…and it got me thinking about reclaiming spaces. I’m still thinking about reclaiming spaces. I need more time to think about it, I think. And journal about it. Before I write about it. Publicly. But I am thinking about it. Reclaiming. I’m also thinking about how hard some people have to seem to work to get the rewards that so many people take for granted. And I’m not even referring to the least among us. I’m talking about everyday people you might see and think “Hey – that person does alright.” and really they are pinching pennies to buy gas, or riding the bus not to be a hipster but because they had their car impounded because they couldn’t afford to renew the registration. And I just feel like if people that I know who are employed, employable, hard-working, able-bodied, intelligent, and genuinely good and decent people are struggling, then I can’t say anything in negative judgment of anyone else who is struggling. I imagine most of them are equally all of the above and equally just totally screwed by circumstance. And that’s all I got to say.
“Granted, the justices are behind the times. Twenty-first century technology has come to the Court, but the Court hasn’t come to the twenty-first century. Justices still communicate by handwritten notes instead of email. The courthouse got its first photocopying machine in 1969, six decades after the machine was invented. Oral arguments were first tape-recorded in 1955, nearly a hundred years after the first sound recording. At those arguments, blog reporters are denied press passes, tweeting is verboten, and justices thumb through hard copies of court documents. At the Supreme Court, every day is Throwback Thursday.
This might explain why the majority of Americans oppose life tenure for Supreme Court justices. Life tenure shields judicial independence and pays homage to the Founding Fathers’ vision. At the time the Constitution was written, however, the average life expectancy was about 40 years. (Or 60 years if controlled for infant mortality.) Today, it’s nearly twice as long. Clearly, life tenure meant something different for the founding generation.”
One woman I interviewed at a Mexican restaurant in Brownsville told me her good friend nearly died after taking pills that her husband bought in Mexico. Instead of ingesting four of the 12 pills every three hours, as is recommended by the World Health Organization, she took two pills under her tongue, then four pills vaginally, then two more under her tongue, then four more vaginally. She began to bleed profusely, doubled over in pain. But because she was undocumented, she was afraid to seek medical help at a nearby hospital or clinic. Instead, she crossed the border to Mexico with her five children—all the while hemorrhaging—in search of medical assistance. She has since recovered but is still in Mexico with her children because she can’t cross the border back into the United States.
Carreon says she sees many patients who have taken improper dosages. “A lot of patients said that they would take the whole bottle and they would tell me they took 28 pills,” she said. “They’re taking maybe four vaginally, two orally. Then an hour later, four more. I hear different ways of using these pills. It’s shocking each time.”
But strict internal clinic protocol bars Carreon and other employees at Whole Women’s Health from answering questions about miso and abortion. And the drug’s other distribution channels are similarly mum. Mexican pharmacists can’t provide information about the drug and abortion, since it’s only sold there as an ulcer medication, and many of the vendors selling miso at flea markets know very little about correct dosage.
Requests by the American Civil Liberties Union for open records on Massachusetts SWAT teams begat refusals to comply based on the premise that the forces are private corporations rather than government entities.
People are allowed to make their own decisions regarding their own bodies, but we need to start treating people of all sizes with respect. We can start by providing some actual information about being fat.
Lately, I’ve been watching The Wire, and I’m having to lean on episode guides to make sense of everything.
“We are not saying that the services of running water should be free, we are saying it should be affordable and accessible by all, and we have put forth the Water Affordability Plan to that end, which was approved by our city council,” says Priscilla Dziubek, of the Peoples Water Board. This plan is self-funding and graduated much like the tax system where no one pays over a certain percentage of their income on water.
“If there are no regrets for the failed assumptions that have so grievously wounded this nation, or politics and media accountability,” vanden Huevel continued.” We need it Bill, because this country should not go back to war. We don’t need armchair warriors. And if you feel so strongly, you should, with all due respect, enlist in the Iraqi army.”
When the Tao of Bird comes home from his dad’s, we’re totally going to do this Texas Pie-Eating roadtrip
Trying to find words tonight. I’ve literally been staring at the screen for 15 minutes or more. Straining. There is so much, and yet…no words to express.
I’m not feeling the clever words about what happened this time last year at the Texas State Capitol, where for a moment there, everyone saw the ridiculous lengths those in power will go to to remain in power. It was just a moment, but everything was exposed. And yet…amnesia.
May My Consciousness & (My)
I don’t want to write about political frustrations on these pages. Though I have considered returning to a format where I post links to current events after several paragraphs of solopsistic esoterica…but I feel like I’m constantly feeding links about news into the void. On these pages…and in my journal…I focus on process. My process. A lifelong project. A lifelong process.
(Beh)avior Bee ov service to all Beeingz in
My intention with these pages. With this blog. Is to explore words without consequences. It’s my escape from thinking things through. Even this post, with its over-awareness of itself, is violating several of the preceding principles. I need to make this space my space for unthinking.
Wait awhile, close your eyes, let your breathing stop three seconds or so, listen to the inside silence in the womb of the world, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, re-recognize the bliss you forgot, the emptiness and essence and ecstasy of ever having been and ever to be the golden eternity. This is the lesson you forgot. -Jack Kerouac
I nervously paste those words into an email and send them…but neglect to add an address to send to.
all worldz, Liberating all…
He asked me if I’ve ever stopped (writing.) It felt good to honestly say that I haven’t. I haven’t ever stopped. I haven’t ever stopped writing. The writing changes. My language. My inflection. My intention. But, reading back, and filtering out the crap, I’d say there’s a lot of stuff that’s better than I’m willing to admit. A good editor might be able to make something of it. Maybe someday I will find a good editor.
into the suchness of this
Until then, I’m just re-recognizing the bliss I forgot. Calling forth the lesson I forgot.
My problem is that I find myself in a situation I never dreamed I would be in. A single parent. A professional. With a career. And kids. How did I end up here? And single. As in totally alone. As in no one with me. No support. No help. Or, at least, not an adequate enough amount to ease the burden. That’s where I find myself. And making a modest income. More than I ever have before. And yet, somehow, still struggling. Still working hard to catch up & stay caught up. Still – perhaps more now than ever – worried. Because once you’ve achieved a certain level of success, you are expected to perpetuate that success. And THAT is what frightens me. I was EXPECTED to be ambitious and to continue to accept advances in my career…and now I’m EXPECTED to continue to advance. If I don’t, I’m viewed as unambitious. If I don’t, I’m somehow flawed. But where are these expectations coming from? Are they internal or external expectations? Do I want to move up & am I just scared of the responsibility? Or is it true that I am doing exactly what I want to be doing? If anything, I would like to be able to move DOWN. And not out of laziness or fear. I don’t think. But while I’m doing what I love to do for a living & I truly love my job, if I’m honest there are aspects of my job that I don’t enjoy & that prevent me, I think, from achieving what I want to achieve.
***
…excerpt from an unwritten novel…
Last night, goofing, he says something. she says “Oh shut up” he says “I will not shut up. You always get your way and this time you will not get your way I will not shut up.” She says “If I always get my way you would have shut up a long time ago.”
In the restaurant, everyone was talking about weird stuff. Somewhere, someone was discussing a tapeworm – behind them, another person mentioned a medical condition…..they said they were lactose intolerant. She said “is this a restaurant or a gastroenterologist’s office.”
They proceeded to get buzzed on $3 margaritas which were unusually strong, paired with (intentionally) overly-salty Mexican food. They talked…meandered. Tried to say weird and interesting random things at a slightly higher volume, just to entertain their fellow eavesdroppers. There was a party breaking up in the party room of the restaurant. So many conversations. A guy caught his eye. Flirted with him. He looked away. Was not interested, but kept checking back to see if maybe it was his imagination, but he kept catching his eye & flirting, no matter how fleeting the glance.
They ate a lot of food, then stumbled home in the dark. The long way. Both of them needing to pee. She proposed stopping in at a bar along the way, but his usual anxious pessimism kicked in and after warding off 5-6 worst-case scenarios of the imagined ambiance of the place, after they had already walked past the bar, he said he would go if she would buy him a drink. She said “Nah – we’ve already passed the bar.
Back home, in bed. He’s having a hard time staying hard. Is it the alcohol or the fact that she has obviously been visibly exasperated with him since they initially discussed getting together. First, it was the argument about walking (too hot, too tired, too far) then, the give in. The argument about who would pay (a.k.a. the argument about who was more broke, which often ended in me pointing out that though she makes more money, she is raising two pre-teen girls, aka the human plague of locusts.
Then in the restaurant, amid the pleasant conversation…the argument about what denoted sucky taste, with the inevitable sighing and eyerolling on both sides of the table as one party was deemed overly critical and the other party overly emotional. Again.
So, he was having trouble keeping it hard, although clearly enjoying himself. She was battling mixed feelings & not wanting to be touched & STRUGGLING to stay present, but feeling somehow belittled by her inability to turn him on enough to keep him hard while he fucked her.
Eventually, he gave up & rolled off. She felt tired. Snuggled up to him. He reached over & touched her breast, but she was sensitive, asked him not to touch. A familiar boundary that had been violated by many men before him. And then the invalidating happened. Once something is deemed off-limits, even temporarily, at random intervals, the child fixates on That Thing and will not be deterred. So, “Please, don’t touch those right now” (while giggling & trying to deflect) becomes “Seriously, don’t touch them.” And then the conversation becomes entirely about how horrible and mean she is for limiting access to her body. His insecurity turns on her, tells her she needs to just “get over” whatever is making her fel like she doesn’t want to be touched. And she gets smaller and smaller, shrinking inside her skin until all that was her is now a smooth, hard, dense pellet inside the carapace of her skin.
***
OH in Clute, TX: “I need a wife.” (4 year old)
“You got something better – you got a mother.”
Outside of Clute, there was a street named This Way. Other than that, I saw not much of interest.
There’s a big family in here, having breakfast. Grandparents, parents, and 3 children.
There’s a heat warning in New Orleans. More reason to get there late in the day.
Lots of weird weather going on.
Leisurely morning. There’s no point in rushing. My amended amended plan includes visiting some nature preserves & rolling into New Orleans after dark. Then spending a few hours on Sunday walking around New Orleans before heading back to Austin.
Apple and banana and coffee. There is a rhythm of the road that I missed. And I drive and I drive and I drive.
***
That veggie chorizo gave me gas!
***
Goals for Chicago Trip:
Walk Daily
Swim regularly
Write frequently
Learn to draw
Watch Lost
Minimal scheduling
FREE CHILDREN!!!
***
Space is Love
The space between the leaves
Let me remind myself of the ways in which I am human. Besieged. You are impart. In full or in part.
angry, soul-throated. Off
Loaded.
***
Rain delays my morning swim. I am looking around my room and admiring my sloppiness. My computer desk cluttered with precariously leaning piles of ripped CDs (I finally got my entire collection on my computer) dirty clothes litter the floor. My bed disheveled – sheets need to be changed and I am sleeping with books & journals that are scattered all over – my own & the ones I have been reading to the children. Incense dust covers almost every surface. My laptop is on the floor, covered with clean clothes that I folded, sorted, then totally pushed off my bed while sleeping one night. Dirtbombs playing on the computer as a perfect complement to the grungy state of affairs & the thunder & lightning add ambiance. I roll up my shades so I could look out at the dripping grey world, cracking a window to catch a breeze.
There is an assortment of rhinestoned barrettes and hair pins on the window sill, left there before make out sessions and naps.
***
I pronounce you – unpronounceable. Confounded by your intrigue & intrigued by your con-foundation – alacrity – you lack, gritty. Seething yet gleaming – you spit into the hole you have created. It is sad, isn’t it, that freedom can leave you so imprisoned. Trapped in this prism. White light enters & only strands of colors escape. Leaving you – half in/half out. Drowned in drought. Twisting about & consumed by doubt while I sit and pout.
***
My tired heart and your bitter hands. Float dreamily – a lazed interpretation, crazed regurgitation of faith like a lizard, caught sleeping in the sun. A rock of consequence. Drear dread apparent. Negotiation – frittered forever an ever love lost lorn warn. I send a warning. You. Dopamine. Mine own Clementine. Clementine.
Sorrow is a gracious hostess. She invites us in and we lay back, relieved of our joyous burdens. She feeds us so we don’t realize she is feasting on us. We dream in soporific haze. A daze, glazed, amazed at the lack of feeling.
Sorrow is a row of sows. Incredible how quickly my house catches fire. Burns to the ground. How quickly I am reduced to ashes.
***
What Do I Want? There are many categories, and it’s a long list:
Here’s what I have in my life currently that is consistent with my desires:
-An excellent community
-lots of love
-opportunities for intellectual enrichment
-creative outlet
-time to play
-a nice place to live that is safe
-relative harmony in my immediate family
-food food & people to share it with
-a good job doing something fulfilling and where I am appreciated for my strengths
-strong, wise women in abundance
-a few good men.
***
The Tao of Bird, age 2.5, who is prone to bursting out into song, busted out today with “A-O – Let’s go!”
So – at least one of my kids has apparent good taste in music.
***
Excerpts from an unwritten novel, part 2
He’s having another of his extended retreats to adolescence. He’s storming about the house with that disgusted look on his face, and exclaiming dissatisfaction with everything. She is trying to ignore it and proceed with her own life, but he frequently goes out of his way to clash with her. She realizes that much of the bullshit he throws her way is projection, but she doesn’t think he realizes this.
So he can continue to live the life of a failed rockstar who gets drunk and stoned every night and comes to life during the day as wonderdad to protect his children from their conniving slut of a mother. He can continue to sit around on his ass & do nothing & then blame her for all of the negative shit he feels about himself. He’s going to do it whether she argues with him or not. He might stay in this mode for a day or a week or a year, until she decides that she has better things to do than worry about his fragile little imaginary world where she (and possibly all women) is some sort of weird, evil villain who seeks to destroy him by paying all of his bills, buying his cigarettes, feeding his children & living her life.
That is to say that the post itself doesn’t have an obscure title, not that the documentaries don’t have obscure titles.
I recently posted a request for documentary-viewing suggestions, and the following list emerged in the comments. I haven’t vetted all of these personally, but I feel like I can vouch for the intelligence and integrity of all who responded, so I’m kind of psyched about making this my official “Must-see Documentary” list. I’ve added a couple of my own for good measure. These aren’t in any particular order…
The Woman Who Wasn’t There: The Woman Who Wasn’t There is a psychological thriller that goes inside the mind of history’s most infamous 9/11 survivor.
Cropsey: Realizing the urban legend of their youth has actually come true; two filmmakers delve into the mystery surrounding five missing children and the real-life boogeyman linked to their disappearances.
From the Back of the Room: A documentary chronicling the past 30 years of female involvement in DIY punk/hardcore.
Bastards of the Party: Surrounded by death and the brutal lifestyle that feeds it, a Los Angeles gangbanger explores the history of Southern California street gangs from the 1950s through the 1990s in an attempt to fully understand his existence.
The Wobblies: THE WOBBLIES boldly investigates a nation torn by naked corporate greed and the red-hot rift between the industrial masters and the rabble-rousing workers in the field and factory.
My Friend Mott-ly: Born in the face of obstacles that would bring a normal person to the point of giving up, Lee Tisdale, known affectionately as Mott-ly to friends, was not one to go peacefully to his grave without a fight. As an artist and activist afflicted by hemophilia, HIV and also living as an amputee, Mott-ly was somehow able to survive with a vigor that would put the most people to shame.
Afro-Punk: Afro-Punk explores race identity within the punk scene. More than your everyday “Behind the Music” or typical “black history month” documentary, this film tackles hard questions, covering issues such as exile, loneliness, inter-racial dating and black power. We follow the lives of four people who have dedicated themselves to the punk rock lifestyle. They find themselves in conflicting situations, living the dual life of a person of color in a mostly white community.
Beautiful Losers: This documentary follows the lives and careers of a collective group of Do-it-yourself artists and designers who inadvertently affected the art world.
American Masters – Alexander Calder: Alexander Calder’s prolific and passionate output brought with it a humor and sense of play unlike any before, redefining what art could be.
We the Tiny House People: TV producer and Internet-video personality Kirsten Dirksen invites us on her journey into the tiny homes of people searching for simplicity, self-sufficiency, minimalism and happiness by creating shelter in caves, converted garages, trailers, tool sheds, river boats and former pigeon coops.
Helvetica: A documentary about typography, graphic design, and global visual culture.
Marwencol: After a vicious attacks leaves him brain-damaged and broke, Mark Hogancamp seeks recovery in “Marwencol”, a 1/6th scale World War II-era town he creates in his backyard.
A Man Named Pearl: A Man Named Pearl tells the inspiring story of self-taught topiary artist Pearl Fryar. It offers a message that speaks to respect for both self and others, and shows what one person can achieve when he allows himself to share the full expression of his humanity.
Bill Moyers and Wendell Berry: In a rare television interview, environmental legend and writer Wendell Berry leaves his Kentucky farm for an inspiring conversation.
The House I Live In: From the dealer to the narcotics officer, the inmate to the federal judge, a penetrating look inside America’s criminal justice system, revealing the profound human rights implications of U.S. drug policy.
The Act of Killing: A documentary which challenges former Indonesian death-squad leaders to reenact their mass-killings in whichever cinematic genres they wish, including classic Hollywood crime scenarios and lavish musical numbers.
Dirty Wars: Investigative journalist Jeremy Scahill is pulled into an unexpected journey as he chases down the hidden truth behind America’s expanding covert wars.
The Square: A group of Egyptian revolutionaries battle leaders and regimes, risking their lives to build a new society of conscience.
All Power To The People: All Power to the People! examines problems of race, poverty, dissent, and the universal conflict of the haves versus the have nots. U.S. government documents, rare news clips, and interviews with both ex-activists and former FBI/CIA officers, provide deep insight into the bloody conflict between political dissent and governmental authority in the U.S. of the 60s and 70s.
Let the Fire Burn: On May 13, 1985, Philadelphia police dropped two pounds of military explosives onto a city row house occupied by the radical group MOVE. The resulting fire was not fought for over an hour although firefighters were on the scene with water cannons in place. Five children and six adults were killed and sixty-one homes were destroyed by the six-alarm blaze, one of the largest in the city’s history. This dramatic tragedy unfolds through an extraordinary visual record previously withheld from the public. It is a graphic illustration of how prejudice, intolerance and fear can lead to unthinkable acts of violence.
Pickaxe: This excellent documentary takes us into another world; the world of rogue loggers and firefighters turned eco-warriors. The story begins as an arsonist burns 9000 acres of protected old-growth public forest in Oregon that can not be logged unless it burns. To stop the proposed “salvage” logging of this incredible ancient forest, citizens are moved to blockade a road and keep the government out. After facing down a bulldozer and the State Police, the fort now known as the gateway to the Cascadia Free State becomes the focus for a developing community dedicated to protecting ancient forests throughout the mountains of Oregon.
Buck: An examination of the life of acclaimed ‘horse whisperer’Buck Brannaman, who recovered from years of child abuse to become a well-known expert in the interactions between horses and people.
The People Vs. George Lucas: The passion the original Star Wars trilogy inspires in its fans is unparalleled; but when it comes to George Lucas himself, many have found their ardor has cooled into a complicated love-hate relationship. This hilarious, heartfelt documentary delves deep into Lucas’s cultural legacy, asking all the tough questions. Has Lucas betrayed his masterwork? Should he just have left the original trilogy alone? Is The Phantom Menace so bad it should carry a health warning? Utilizing interviews taken from over 600 hours of footage, and peppered with extraordinary Star Warsand Indiana Jones recreations lovingly immortalized in song, needlepoint, Lego, claymation, puppets and paper-mâché, above all this film asks the question: who truly owns that galaxy far, far away—the man who created it, or the fans who worship it?
Man On Wire: A look at tightrope walker Philippe Petit’s daring, but illegal, high-wire routine performed between New York City’s World Trade Center’s twin towers in 1974, what some consider, “the artistic crime of the century.”
In the spring of 2005, Jim Miller, a Native spiritual leader and Vietnam veteran, found himself in a dream riding on horseback across the great plains of South Dakota. Just before he awoke, he arrived at a riverbank in Minnesota and saw 38 of his Dakota ancestors hanged. At the time, Jim knew nothing of the largest mass execution in United States history, ordered by Abraham Lincoln on December 26, 1862. “When you have dreams, you know when they come from the creator… As any recovered alcoholic, I made believe that I didn’t get it. I tried to put it out of my mind, yet it’s one of those dreams that bothers you night and day.”
Now, four years later, embracing the message of the dream, Jim and a group of riders retrace the 330-mile route of his dream on horseback from Lower Brule, South Dakota to Mankato, Minnesota to arrive at the hanging site on the anniversary of the execution. “We can’t blame the wasichus anymore. We’re doing it to ourselves. We’re selling drugs. We’re killing our own people. That’s what this ride is about, is healing.” This is the story of their journey- the blizzards they endure, the Native and Non-Native communities that house and feed them along the way, and the dark history they are beginning to wipe away.
The Corporation: Documentary that looks at the concept of the corporation throughout recent history up to its present-day dominance.
From Chechnya to Chernobyl: The tiny, little-known country of Belarus suffered more than any other in the aftermath of the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear disaster. Winds scattered the heaviest radioactive deposits across the country, where even after a decade, 25% of the land is judged uninhabitable. Thousands of villages and towns were abandoned or evacuated, and their populations resettled to safer areas. The government of Belarus, meanwhile, wants people back in its irradiated areas, to till the rich farmland that has lain fallow for a decade. The ads inviting people, however, don’t mention that this quilt of pastures, grain and vegetable fields is laden with plutonium isotopes and strontium 90. The memory of war is still vivid for many, and living amid the radiation and poverty of Chernobyl’s contaminated zones seems the least of many evils. In an attempt to lure new workers to the area, the state farm offered free housing and work for anyone willing to resettle. It is here in Raduga that I meet the Tsiplaevs, a family of ethnic Russians who had been living in Chechnya.
Wiebo’s War: Tells the story of a Christian community, at war with the oil and gas industry. Wiebo Ludwig is a suspect in a series of pipeline bombings near his farm. The bombings echo a campaign of sabotage he waged 10 years ago: barricading roads, blowing up wells, culminating in the unsolved death of a teen aged girl. The Ludwigs live according to their religious values. They are self-sufficient in food and energy, but isolated, with seven unmarried adult children, and 38 grandchildren. They believe that those who don’t share their beliefs, like filmmaker David York, are living in terrible darkness.
We Are Legion: A documentary on the workings and beliefs of the self-described “hacktivist” collective, Anonymous.
Paper Clips: As a part of their study of the Holocaust, the children of the Whitwell, TN Middle School try to collect 6 million paper clips representing the 6 million Jews killed by the Nazis.
Between the Folds: Depicts a cast of fine artists and eccentric scientists (from MIT and NASA) who have devoted their lives to the unlikely medium of modern origami. Through their determination to reinterpret the world in paper, they arouse a fascinating mix of sensibilities towards art, form, expressiveness, creativity and meaning.
Inequality For All: A documentary that follows former U.S. Labor Secretary Robert Reich as he looks to raise awareness of the country’s widening economic gap.
Flow: For Love Of Water: Water is the very essence of life, sustaining every being on the planet. ‘Flow’ confronts the disturbing reality that our crucial resource is dwindling and greed just may be the cause.
A Band Called Death: A documentary on the 1970s punk trio Death, and their new-found popularity decades after they disbanded.
After Tiller: fter the assassination of Dr. George Tiller in Kansas in 2009, there are a limited number of doctors left in the country who provide third-trimester abortions for women. AFTER TILLER moves between the rapidly unfolding stories of these doctors, all of whom were close colleagues of Dr. Tiller, and are fighting to keep this service available in the wake of his death. These four people have become the new number-one targets of the pro-life movement, yet continue to risk their lives every day to do work that many believe is murder, but which they believe is profoundly important for their patients’ lives. AFTER TILLER shows them confronting harassment from protesters, challenges in their personal lives, and a series of tough ethical decisions.
The Devil and Daniel Johnston: Daniel Johnston, manic-depressive genius singer/songwriter/artist is revealed in this portrait of madness, creativity and love.
American: The Bill Hicks Story: Photo-animated feature documentary, uniquely narrated by the 10 people who knew Bill best.
12 O’Clock Boys: Pug, a young boy growing up on a combative West Baltimore block, finds solace in a group of illegal dirt bike riders known as The 12 O’Clock Boys.
The Garden: From the ashes of the L.A. riots arose a lush, 14-acre community garden, the largest of its kind in the United States. Now bulldozers threaten its future.
The Cruise: Affectionate portrait of Tim “Speed” Levitch, a tour guide for Manhattan’s Gray Line double-decker buses. He talks fast, is in love with the city, and dispenses historical facts, architectural analysis, and philosophical musings in equal measures. He’s reflective and funny about cruising: he loves it, got in it to meet women, and he’d quit work if he could. His personal life is disclosed in small doses: he takes home $200 a week for 20 hours work, home is his suitcase and wherever he can flop, he’s been arrested for going out on the roof tops of skyscrapers to see his city; he stands between the towers of the World Trade Center, spins until he’s dizzy, then looks up.
The Kids are Alright: From the early black and white days to their colourful hedonistic era, you will Rock! See them at their most creative, and destructive, and experience The Who: Here!
Don’t Need You: “don’t need you” is a documentary film that tells the story of the origins of Riot Grrrl in the American independent music scene of the 1990s, and how this feminist movement evolved into a revolutionary underground network of education and self-awareness through music, writing, activism, and women-friendly community. The film gives audiences a chance to meet key figures in the development of Riot Grrrl and see for themselves how these women have changed the history of music and feminism forever. The film features one-on-one interviews interspersed with rare, archival materials, including original Riot Grrrl fanzines, flyers, and photographs, as well as seldom seen footage from pioneering Riot Grrrl bands like Bikini Kill, Heavens to Betsy, and Bratmobile.
Queen of the Sun: UEEN OF THE SUN: What Are the Bees Telling Us? is a profound, alternative look at the global bee crisis from Taggart Siegel, director of THE REAL DIRT ON FARMER JOHN. Taking us on a journey through the catastrophic disappearance of bees and the mysterious world of the beehive, this engaging and ultimately uplifting film weaves an unusual and dramatic story of the heartfelt struggles of beekeepers, scientists and philosophers from around the world including Michael Pollan, Gunther Hauk and Vandana Shiva. Together they reveal both the problems and the solutions in renewing a culture in balance with nature.
Blackfish: A documentary following the controversial captivity of killer whales, and its dangers for both humans and whales.
Hot Coffee: How the infamous McDonald’s hot coffee lawsuit and similar cases were exploited as part of a right wing crusade to weaken civil justice.
Terms and Conditions May Apply: A documentary that exposes what corporations and governments learn about people through Internet and cell phone usage, and what can be done about it … if anything.
The Act of Killing: A documentary which challenges former Indonesian death-squad leaders to reenact their mass-killings in whichever cinematic genres they wish, including classic Hollywood crime scenarios and lavish musical numbers.
Exit Through The Gift Shop: The story of how an eccentric French shop keeper and amateur film maker attempted to locate and befriend Banksy, only to have the artist turn the camera back on its owner. The film contains footage of Banksy, Shephard Fairey, Invader and many of the world’s most infamous graffiti artists at work.
Jesus Camp: A documentary on kids who attend a summer camp hoping to become the next Billy Graham.
Restrepo: A year with one platoon in the deadliest valley in Afghanistan.
740 Park Avenue, Manhattan, is one of the most exclusive addresses in the world, home to some of the richest Americans, the 1% of the 1%. Ten minutes to the north, across the Harlem River, is the other Park Avenue, in the South Bronx. Here, unemployment runs at 19% and half the population need food stamps.
The American Dream of equal opportunities and hard work says you can be born in the Bronx and end up at 740. But is that dream still true? The film argues the super-rich haven’t just bought the exclusive addresses – they’ve bought the whole system and the’’re running it for themselves.
You’re Gonna Miss me: ocumentary about rock pioneer Roky Erickson, detailing his rise as a psychedelic hero, his lengthy institutionalization, his descent into poverty and filth, and his brother’s struggle with their religious mother to improve Roky’s care.
The Clash: Westway to the World: A career retrospective of British punk band The Clash, featuring exclusive interviews with the entire band.
Ghengis Blues: San Francisco bluesman and composer, Paul Peña makes a musical pilgrimage to the land of Tuva.
Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten: As the front man of the Clash from 1977 onwards, Joe Strummer changed people’s lives forever. Four years after his death, his influence reaches out around the world, more strongly now than ever before. In “The Future Is Unwritten”, from British film director Julien Temple, Joe Strummer is revealed not just as a legend or musician, but as a true communicator of our times. Drawing on both a shared punk history and the close personal friendship which developed over the last years of Joe’s life, Julien Temple’s film is a celebration of Joe Strummer – before, during and after the Clash.
An Idiot Abroad: Brit Karl Pilkington has led a sheltered life. Not having done any traveling, he enjoys living within the comforts of what he knows, basically that being what is purely British. As such, his friends, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, decide to send Karl to various parts of the world to experience unfamiliar cultures. Stephen believes that travel is a life broadening venture, and hopes that Karl will indeed feel like his life is enriched by these travels. Ricky, however, hopes that Karl will hate every minute of his travels. For Ricky, this experiment is the most expensive gag for his own pleasure that he could have conceived.
Joy Division: A chronological account of the influential late 1970s English rock band.
Deceptive Practice: The Mysteries and Mentors of Ricky Jay: Ricky Jay is a world-renowned magician, author, historian and actor (often a mischievous presence in the films of David Mamet and Paul Thomas Anderson) — and a performer who regularly provokes astonishment from even the most jaded audiences. Deceptive Practice traces Jay’s achievements and influences, from his apprenticeship at age 4 with his grandfather, to such now-forgotten legends as Al Flosso, Slydini, Cardini and his primary mentors, Dai Vernon and Charlie Miller. Featuring rare footage from his 1970s TV appearances (doing 3-card Monte with Steve Martin on The Dinah Shore Show) and told in Jay’s inimitable voice, this is a remarkable journey inside the secretive world of magic and the small circle of eccentrics who are its perpetual devotees.
Born Into Brothels: Two documentary filmmakers chronicle their time in Sonagchi, Calcutta and the relationships they developed with children of prostitutes who work the city’s notorious red light district.
George Harrison: Living in the Material World: Inter-cut with archive material, friends, family and associates of the musician tell the story of his life and how spirituality became such a major part of it.
Paradise Found: A brilliant NASA scientist visits his dying father in a hospice. The old man is filled with hatred, a veteran of World War II and the CIA, representing the old world of, ‘take no prisoners and give no mercy.’ He has destroyed himself and his family, and now his only joy is in tormenting a beautiful young nurse. His estranged son visits him one last time, and they recount their last visit, when his son told the father of a new theory of mind, combining quantum physics with all modern psychologies, and Eastern and Western concepts. Comic relief is given by the satiric barbs that fly between the old man and his nurse, and a young resident. The film introduces Quantum Field Psychology.
Who is Harry Nilsson (and Why is Everybody Talkin’ about Him?):The documentary explores the enigmatic life and music of Harry Nilsson in an attempt to answer the question, “Who is Harry Nilsson?” The film includes new and archive audio and film including interviews with Robin Williams, Yoko Ono, Van Dyke Parks, Randy Newman, Ray Cooper, the Smothers Brothers, and Micky Dolenz. “Who is Harry Nilsson?” uses promotional films, music videos, and home movies; segments from the unreleased documentary made during the recording of Son of Schmilsson (Did Somebody Drop His Mouse?); and excerpts from Nilsson’s rare TV appearances in his BBC specials, the “Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour”, “Playboy After Dark”, and in an episode of “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir”.
Stripped: The Comics Documentary: STRIPPED is the ultimate love-letter to comic strips. It brings together the world’s best cartoonists to talk about the art form they love, and what happens to it as newspapers die.
Dear Mr. Watterson: A documentary film about the impact of the newspaper comic strip Calvin & Hobbes, created by Bill Watterson.
The Thin Blue Line: A film that successfully argued that a man was wrongly convicted for murder by a corrupt justice system in Dallas County, Texas.
The Unknown Known: Former United States Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, discusses his career in Washington D.C. from his days as a congressman in the early 1960s to planning the invasion of Iraq in 2003.
Tabloid: A documentary on a former Miss Wyoming who is charged with abducting and imprisoning a young Mormon Missionary.
Standard Operating Procedure: Errol Morris examines the incidents of abuse and torture of suspected terrorists at the hands of U.S. forces at the Abu Ghraib prison.
Spent: Looking for Change: Spent: Looking for Change is a film about everyday Americans without the financial options most of us take for granted and the movement giving them renewed hope.
Menstrual Man: Only 1 in 10 menstruating women in India use sanitary pads. The rest use rags, husk, sand, and even ash. One man is out to change that.
…
And that’s it! If you have any documentaries you recommend, feel free to post them in the comments! I will likely add to this list over time, and republish.
(Thanks to all of the people who contributed their documentary selections to this list!)
I’ve been working. A lot. And thinking. A lot. Mostly about the whole “kids getting older” and “decisions I have made” and some setting of intentions. Preparing for another change of seasons.
I finished the journal I started in March – right before my journey to Colorado. Seems like a good point to reflect on things I wrote in that journal…
***
@Bottomless Lake State Park
As it turns out
Happiness is ALL of Texas
In my rearview mirror
Sitting still, listening
to the sounds of
No sounds
Until
the wildlife
forgets I’m here
& resumes its chatter.
***
Attentive. Tender. Inhale ——> Ex
Hale.
Breathing In & out.
(An) interesting
Proposition.
Never mind-
It’s only a small
Incision.
Tender
Ills
Hook me
Sucker
Punch.
***
1000 miles later – I’m oddly not tired.
Relying on the light that comes from shadows.
***
I was raised in a road trip family. Some of my earliest/most vivid memories involved listening to that reassuring sound of tires grasping pavement in revolutionary inertia. The feeling of hurtling through space while sleeping in the back seat. The smell of gasoline, dead skunk, and endless cattle pastures of the Midwest to West passage… (This might actually become its own blog post…)
***
Me: What’s the weather been like?
Tao of Bird: The weather
Me: Yeah.
Tao of Bird: Hot.
Tao of Bird: Also, cold.
***
It’s as if at any point, I could be dying, die-ing, died
it only makes sense to
shrug
and go on living
***
SLOW MOTION
APOCALYPSE
at the
GROCERY STORE
***
Breathe in – I can still feel that hurtling feeling.
Singing – Dancing – Scribing – Eating. Enjoying the last day of my vacation, for tomorrow is back to work. Tonight – I clean and cook. For now, I dance. And write. And eat. With windows open to the breeze and my slightly scattered room full of all of the implements of my creativity. I am holed up here. Holding forth a festive atmosphere. Coming undone to reintegrate.
enjoying the getting to know. This weekend was also a little cooking (more cooking to come) a little cleaning (more cleaning to come) some walks and talks…and lots of chilling in the backyard. My friends who are staying with me (who I need to think of a clever name for, as I’ll doubtless be referring to them a lot) have kicked so much ass at getting the yard in shape for planting. They’ve cleared and tilled three huge beds, we’ve all schemed a less-conventional succulent / hummingbird / butterfly bed, and they’ve made good with my neighbor, whose little garden was being overshadowed by some weeds in my back yard. There’s talk of chickens. There’s talk of greenhouses. There’s endless talk of gardens and gardening. I’m still slowly rearranging my time to begin to accommodate, but it’s difficult to begin! We’ve created a sitting area outside that has been encouraging me to just sit and watch the sun (or moon) move across the sky. The dog only adds to this notion of sit and stay. Especially since, being new here and nervous, any move I make is shadowed by her. The more I sit and relax, the more relaxed she becomes. And, thankfully, the energy level of a Great Dane, as Lulu is, is much much lower than that of a boxer, which my last nervous dog was…so there’s plenty of sloth and relaxation.
This weekend also included a meditation/remembrance of the passage of Texas HB 2 – the bill that has been responsible for the closure of over 61% of Texas clinics that provide abortions and other healthcare services, leaving many people – particularly those who are already poor and marginalized – without access to safe abortions. We sat in mediation, did a walking meditation – I walked in circles around the middle of the rotunda floor, did another sitting meditation and then had discussion. It was a beautiful memorial. It was very healing…and it got me thinking about reclaiming spaces. I’m still thinking about reclaiming spaces. I need more time to think about it, I think. And journal about it. Before I write about it. Publicly. But I am thinking about it. Reclaiming. I’m also thinking about how hard some people have to seem to work to get the rewards that so many people take for granted. And I’m not even referring to the least among us. I’m talking about everyday people you might see and think “Hey – that person does alright.” and really they are pinching pennies to buy gas, or riding the bus not to be a hipster but because they had their car impounded because they couldn’t afford to renew the registration. And I just feel like if people that I know who are employed, employable, hard-working, able-bodied, intelligent, and genuinely good and decent people are struggling, then I can’t say anything in negative judgment of anyone else who is struggling. I imagine most of them are equally all of the above and equally just totally screwed by circumstance. And that’s all I got to say.
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