5-7-5

Who has time to sit around filling ashtrays and channeling thoughts into typewritten words when there is so much else to be done? Actual things that need actual doing! Tomatoes to transplant, stamps to buy, ...blood to wash off the vinyl siding. There's a quick story about that last one. Lulu, our great Dane, had the bad luck to be wagging her tail in too close proximity to a slamming car door. She lost about three inches in all- I know this because about a month later I found her laying in the driveway, licking the amputated bit of tail which had escaped us. She's healed up nicely though, and doesn't seem to have been put off tail wagging. Thoughts about my three and a half months working in Massachussetts were recorded (in haiku form) in an illustrated journal and I've been keeping up with friends (in haiku form) with text messages. The once all important blog has been pushed aside to make time for [mouthing syllables as I count on my fingers]. Once constructed they are dashed onto a tiny keypad with the corner of my right thumb and sent, sometimes for annoying or harrassing purposes, to select contacts. I am proud to report that a good percentage of the replys are also haiku. This is not to suggest that I have abandoned the blog (or the illustrated journal) as creative outlets. Surely moments still come when I can't be brief. But if I am slow to post as I have been, please understand:
I've run on some time, in sentences that dizzy. Let's all get some sun.

delegation

I pin my every last hope for this nation on Senator Obama.

he Is Risen

I'm enjoying an extended working stay in Boston, removed from the assault of screaming children and political analysis that would otherwise consume me, and hoping to add my name to the whirling list of nobodys (amidst those who are somebodys to the nobodys) at the end of an Oscar winning motion picture. My hopes are usually pinned to shakier prospects than this, so it's a big deal. My holiday has lasted only long enough to lay flooring for my parents and mediate a battle over who's spitting on who's chocolate bunny. I'll have to miss the heavily salted ham and gray bean casserole for an overpriced chicken sandwich at the Vince Lombardi rest stop on the New Jersey turnpike en route to my lonely hotel room [decorated by someone who deserves to be smacked around {that from a Quaker}]. I'm working on affording the technology [and discipline] that would allow me to more regularly post. Upcoming for sure is a diatribe on the MA driver (Masshole; since when is the shoulder a lane?). I'm having a taste of power as a 'gang boss' over a crew of furniture restorers though the job title suggests we're picking up litter on the highway. My travel day commences in about fifteen minutes so here's my loftiest introspection. Even an atheist would have to revisit the idea of an afterlife if one has managed to survive a 6:30 am merge onto I-95 at exit 15B. Peace.

today in washington

It's not always all about politics. But this month, between loading laundry, I'm getting more than my fill and just can't seem to shut up. One of the very few differences between last night's State of the Union speech and any other is that his usual "The state of the Union is strong!" [delusional] assertion came not up front but rather, snuck in the back door at the end of the speech with 'blah blah blah"...to keep the state of our Union strong". This President, with more than his share of unintended laugh lines has finally developed , if nothing else in the past seven years, a sense of comedic timing- although he did seem to be taken off guard by a bit of spirited mid-sentence applause for an [otherwise hollow] invocation of the Constitution. Timing aside, he may never 'get' irony. The Democratic spokesperson's rebuttal was so stumpy that it came as no surprise to me in the following forty minute news cycle whom she was expected to endorse today. The "join us, Mr. President" chorus left me with the impression that 1. A Democratic Governor of a formerly red state might as well be a Sudanese warlord before getting the attention of this President; and 2. Competent political speech writers must be honoring the strike. It was an interesting news day. Twixt this coverage and the 'Liberal Lion's endorsement of Barrack was the story of a man apparently standing outside of the north fence around the White House shouting 'threats'. I imagine these might have included "If you don't get us out of this damn war, no one will be safe anywhere" and "If you manage to finish out your term I'm gonna be a pauper!". This development was important enough to secure the area against the unknown contents of his duffel bag but apparently not important enough for a follow-up report- even by end of the next day. I'm confused. In the main-stream media the absence of bombs, or bombs thwarted by the administration's vigilance is usually big news. I'm guessing the bag contained instead pictures of Laura, since they have to be somewhere. Remember, they fell in love when he was still a party animal. I have to say, I was most impressed by how Senator Ted was able to balance himself on a spindly Ikea bar stool for fifteen minutes of accolades without toppling off into the young A.U. student's laps. Noting the invariable fate of inflatable front lawn snowmen, it was something of an inevitability. Later at the SOTU, he displayed a palpable relief at having no reason under the sun to stand up again for the rest of the day. He delivered a rather withered expression to something Senator Obama whispered in his ear- which I lip-read to have been, "There's Hillary, pretend we're making out." Sour-faced Hillary, sitting between Senators Carper and Biden must have hoped she was invisible- (no one would ever think of looking for a primary candidate in Delaware). I won't even comment on the Florida Republican primary other than to marvel at the alacrity with which they've gone from too much paper trail to none at all. And did I hear Mitt Romney use the phrase "...in countries like Asia and India."?? But I'll shut up now.

mlk

Couldn't we have at least one day out of the year not spent evoking the legacy of Dr. King? I kind of knew where we were headed when clues to the long answers in this mornings crossword puzzle were; King of Hollywood, King of the Wild Frontier, King of Swing, and King of the links (kind of an extension of Saturday's puzzle where the answers were; Dr. Kildare, Dr. Feelgood, Dr. Zhivago, and Dr. Who[ever]- and VBIRHZ CSRWOI FHZM, KI. made the cryptogram no challenge at all). But the capper was listening to Wolf Blitzer hypothetically dragging him from the grave for one of the Democratic candidates to claim his endorsement (and I thought that the Frederick Douglass quote used earlier by Ms. Clinton to define her battle to fulfill Dr. King's legacy was going to be the gallsiest moment of my day). But why not dig up Thurgood Marshall, and for that matter Malcolm X, to beg their endorsement? Perhaps American history searches only among the pacifistic bids for black empowerment to define the civil rights movement; hoping that the memory of black militancy will just go away and skipping over Justice Marshall's legacy, who as Chief Council for the NAACP won 29 of the 32 cases which he argued in front of his predecessors on the Supreme Court. (Look up "Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka", then tell me your best lawyer joke.) I'll save my most savory question to the long-dead to ask Justice Marshall for his musings on Clarence Thomas. Not to take anything away from the dreamers; the Republicans have had a free hand at making theirs come true for some time now. Lest my wandering commentary not point clearly enough to the idiotic Blitzer as the cynosure of my sarcasm, be assured that even were he not an on-air personality with an abundance of facial hair AND despite his unfortunate given name, AND the combination of the two, I could not let such a question enter the public dialog uncommented on. (Luckily, only Edwards took the bait). If Dr. King were to come back to weigh in on anything at all, I would expect he would have surfaced years ago to protest the right-wing takeover of Southern Baptist theological seminaries, an issue perhaps closer to home than even the secular brand of hypocrisy- though I'm not convinced that the one isn't inextricably tied to the other. As long as 'folks' are trying on the idea of a [non-white male] President, couldn't we adopt an idea promoted this past month in the funny papers? Let's install a "Shut Up Zone" around the poor Doctor, and let our candidates march the last couple of miles on their own.

change

There we have it. Republicans, Democrats, and Close-mouthed-On-The-Cut-Of-Their-Political-Jibs alike- Iowans went with 'change'. For the Democrats- job well done; not only for pulling record numbers away from Ugly Betty and out into the cold, but for distilling the mind-boogling array of substantive issues into a cogent snipe-fest worthy of year-long MSM coverage. How many news cycles did we spend hashing through the "Hussein" quandary (would he be able to shake the nefarious implication in a general)? Will our next Commander-In-Chief be sporting pearls or diamonds? Myrtle Gooch, the retired key punch operator from Fleasburg, South Dakota-with an un-insured bi-polar boyfriend sharing her 'double-wide' trailer and an arsonist son carrying out the remainder of his house arrest in Iraq, has QVC on the line: she needs to know NOW. And wasn't that $400. invoice for a 'haircut' just bookkeeper code for 'Botox'? Some could argue that our greatest hope for the future is that there will be one (asking for anything greater would be audacious), but in the end Mo got Eeny and Meeny good! Miney never stood a chance. For the Republicans- likewise; running a low budget campaign in the Bible Basket against the seductive influence of a handsome corporate millionaire from New England who is rumoured to believe that Jesus was Satan's brother couldn't have been easy. Spelling Huckabee is in itself a feat (it's 'hucka...' without the '...alzabub'). I'll bet there was a whole lot of "kneeling before God" going on it those living rooms. This message of change has lifted us all. As a Democrat I am happy that we are all spared the many decades of experience my own state's candidate might have muddled the debate with (droning on the way he does about this warring faction and that belligerent government agency- save it for Larry King), and relieved that my vote for substance over buzz words has been pre-empted by a process that to this outsider sounds for all the world like a politically charged quilting bee. Thank you, Iowa. Now, if I'm lucky, I won't have to wait for the convention to find out which sparkling speechifyer we go into battle with. Which vision will America embrace?; change with experience, change with hope, change with not a whole lot of change, change of wives, or change without evolutionary change.

epiphany

I've already leaked how much resolve my great ambition has left me with ('smoker'), and I can't say my expectations are any higher than they were when I gave Santa my list ('dear santa,'), but insomuch as I've learned from the events of 2007 (and I feel a pressing need to waste my five millionth parenthetical comment to praise the economy of words like 'insomuch') , so now do I 'resolve' to learn at least as much from what awaits [to confound] me in 2008. Maybe a pithy recap of the year will help raise the red flags for me;

• January- I garner a bit of media attention from local news sources for decorating Benjamin Franklin's 300th birthday cake at the Constitution Center in Philadelphia. Though piping tile adhesive through a pastry bag to hide the construction seams on a ten foot high plywood 'cake', I wear a chef's hat. (the year seems to start out on a high note)


• February- I design the set for a dinner theater production of 'Grease', a musical I can't say less about. What I learned; just because the director is passing a snotty comment over his shoulder as he storms out of the final production meeting is no reason to believe that the consequence of calling him a "shitty director" to his receding back will not be revisited on me.


• March- I spend most of this month recovering from and regretting the last one.


• April- I remount a production of 'Don Giovanni' which I designed for Opera Delaware to Temple University. In the new production, my surreal set steps closer to surrealism with the introduction of a predominantly Korean cast, in ludicrous wigs, singing the Italian book to a Viennese opera set in Spain.


• May- With dozens of on-line inquiries netting nothing close to a job offer, I throw myself into designing the T-shirt for an upcoming family reunion. As though I've learned nothing at all from my dinner theater experience, I make this project more expensive and complex than it need have been. I faff around on the Internet; googling myself, exposing the mysteries of my clan (finding out how horrifyingly easy it is to summon some one's mother's maiden name), and launching arms-length emails to everyone I know, bitching about my pitiful circumstance. I discover the irony lurking within my ennui and- Smack Dab is born.


• June- Most importantly, my blog brings me closer to my parents (I'm {at the time}48). They hear my voice- which is meant for everyone- and they 'get' me. What I can't convey in cards and letters, even during holiday visits with my brothers and with all those little nose-pickers around, is that as alien as I might have always seemed to them, there is no one I've wanted more to be understood by. Our almost daily email dialog begins.


• July- I'm in family therapy discussing how impotent I feel when I'm out of work when THE call comes offering work (a lot of it)- which would keep me away from an exercise we might not have been entirely through with but which would keep me heavily and happily employed through...


• August


• September


• October


• November


• December-I am again a 'housfrau' with again no expectation of meaningful employment for quite a while. The good news (for my blistered ego) is that that dinner theater has decided ('insomuch' eventually loses what it may have bought in brevity by sentences which include '...that that...')- however tactlessly my assessment offered back there in February was, it was entirely on the money; I am asked to design "Gypsy" for them this Spring. I learn that there is an extremely fine line between designing sets and drinking bourbon all day long- and to take a polite pass on designing musicals which turn my stomach. (...but I love "Gypsy"). I have a few months to put in place a more carefully measured approach for winning the new director's confidence. I 'resolve' to [as they say] "stay in my own lane", to respect a director's vision (however dull), and to resist trying to have the last word when an actor is making his grand exit. [Yeah, right].

We limp into the new year with a Matterhorn of laundry (we're in trouble, it obscures the door to the front-loading washing machine), an even more pressing need for uninterrupted trash service (that bill zooms to the top of the heap), and bad news from the outdoors for an old furnace. But I am thankful for the modicum of perspective that has succeeded in piercing this shell of self-absorption. The people I complain about the most, my family, are the ones who suffer me the best, and...anything worth having is worth the acres of confusion and turmoil associated with having it. To paraphrase a quote from somewhere- who wouldn't give their right arm to be miserable in such a lovely pink house? Maybe I've been happy all along and just didn't know it.