Friday, February 29, 2008

too right, buddy

Poor The Ass of Bill Clinton, getting all bit like that four years later. They always go straight for the ass, those words. They lie in wait and then YARRRGH! Chomp! Right in the ol' ham.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

red carpet feelings

We must hurry. There is much to discuss and darkness will fall soon. The cattle will have to be called home and the jam will have to be set for the winter. For the summer. Spring is next? Whatever, I'm not a farmer. Let us make haste and distribute compliments and ridicule.



Renee Zellweger! To start with you is a lesson in cognitive dissonance. You trouble me, Renee. Your face, which you can do nothing about, about which you are innocent, troubles me. Is it attractive or not? Which is it?! No one knows. As soon as we become certain one way, a photo surfaces that confirms the opposite. It's also important for you to know, Renee, that I saw a few minutes of Miss Potter. WHY? WHY SO...WHY WERE YOU LIKE THAT? But you can dress. I'll give you that. You always look great on the red carpet. This silver number is very the-name-on-everbody's-lips-is-gonna-be--ROXIE!...in a good way. Congratulations. Please go figure out if you're attractive and also whether you're a good actress or not. I will go and try to figure out the same thing for myself. Maybe we can be pen pals.



Keri Russell. I have no feelings about you. I only feel that it's important to wear colors that don't wash you out. You apparently feel differently.



Laura Linney, I like you. You're a fantastic actress. So I feel bad that I have to say bad things about your hair. Why so much volume at the crown? Why so much and also not enough? Why so neither here nor there regarding your volume at the crown? Also, it's time to not wear those sorts of necklaces on the red carpet any more for a few years. For a decade. In ten years it will be all right again. Much about this look is too stiff. But your face is purty and who can fault your dress? And the sides of your hair look very nice. When is your next movie? I'd like to see it.



Marion Cotillard! Vous etes completement la cutie patouttie! How adorable were you when you won, saying how Los Angeles really has angels in it?! Le super adorable. Your movie looks very good! And your dress is gorgeous and you look flawless. You are sans flaw! You are inflawABle!



I am happy for you, Nicole Kidman, that you are having a baby. I think that maybe I'm happy for you about how interesting your necklace is but I think I'm not happy about how it interacts with your dress, and I know I'm happy for you about the simple elegance of said dress but I'm also unhappy that your hem was not three inches longer. But I understand that it's very important you don't trip on it and smush the baby. Please continue inside to a comfortable seat. P.S. Little side bun = cute!



Penelope Cruz: Please see me after class. The drape in front of your dress is confusing and obscures your point. Also, I believe I had assigned no feathers at the top of your bodice. I want you and Laura Linney to get together and write a paper about the problems associated with looking too stiff on the red carpet. You're headed down a bad road. I want you to succeed.



Look, I don't want to talk smack about Sarah Larson. I imagine she's got to be a groovy person in the extreme to have caused love to erupt in the coolest motherfucker alive. And I want George Clooney to invite me to dinner with Barack Obama and Al Gore and Walter Cronkite at his house in Lake Como. So...I won't. I won't talk smack. Congratulations, lady. I mean it.



It's going to happen like this:

That industrial I just got cast in? Where I'm going to be playing a doctor? Someone is going to see that and see how good I am on film. This will lead to a significant role in a serious film where I play a doctor who does battle with internal and external forces of some sort, who succeeds or fails compellingly and Academy Award winningly or at least nominatedly. Then I will do a Jedi mind trick on everyone wherein they permanently forget that Helen Mirren wore this dress and then I will wear it.



And during the week leading up to MY Oscars, I will wake up at night in a tepid sweat after having dreamed I wore this dress that Hilary Swank is wearing, and that I wore my hair like that to the Oscars. Note that it's a tepid sweat. I realize that it's not THAT bad. It's not a cold sweat. But it's not what I want for myself in my moment of triumph. Uptight Grandma on the make. No!



Jennifer Garner, please talk to Laura Linney and Penelop Cruz about your assignment. And then go kiss your adorable baby and great husband! You know, your hair helps offset the stiffness. I'm not mad at you. I like you.



Katherine Heigl, please turn down the color on your set and then carry on. And don't let the turkeys get you down about how nervous you were presenting that one award! It was really sweet and sincere and made you very likeable! C'mere. Oh, my eyes. So bright. Yi yi. But so cute, this look.



In fact, Katherine Heigl, you could have just split the brightness difference with ol' Amy Adams here and you both would have looked like a million dollars. I like this look but the color is just a little bit dull, methinks. Amy Adams, your purse with nothing in it is weird and pretty.



Anne Hathaway, you look almost as good as Kate Winslet looked in her great red number from a few years back. All in all, you get an "A" because we're not grading on a curve that includes looks from previous years. Please continue inside to your seat and enjoy the show.



Cameron Diaz, why are you here at the Oscars? Oh, I don't know what to do with you. I generally like how you dress. This color is sort of lame. And you could have ironed your gown, I guess. I don't know. Go inside.



Hi, Cate. Love you, love everything all the time, etc. See Jessica Alba underneath you? She's got a bun in the oven, too. And she's not afraid of tripping on her dress. Just a few inches longer is all I needed from you. I guess your maternal instincts were just too strong. I can respect that. The scarf-ish feeling at the neckline makes this dress feel a little on the casual side for the Oscars. I'm telling you, the longer hem would have helped. Ah, well. On the whole, I dig it.



Hi, Jessica Alba. I like this better on tv than I do in this photo. But I think you look nice. I like your braid-y, milkmaid-y hairdo. I even don't mind the feathers atop your bodice. You weren't given the same no-feathers dictate I'd given Penelope Cruz. The color of your dress is yummy, flattering and unusual. You're like a big, cascading, boysenberry waterfall. Kudos, mommy!

That's it. I can't go on. More people were there, but I just cannot talk about them all. I'm just one woman! Tilda Swinton, you run free. That's right. Run! Run away in your weird, one-sleeved gown and no makeup, with all of your indie integrity and huge, weird talent. Run, with your heavy Oscar that looks like your agent! I loved you in Michael Clayton, so you just run, now. There's a hole in that fence. You can sneak through it.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

return of the night commuter



I'm thankful I didn't learn about this until the good news came in, and I'm sorry that I didn't learn about this beforehand, also.

Thousands and thousands of children in Uganda were leaving their beds at night to walk and walk and hide for fear of being abducted and forced to join a rebel army where they would be made to beat and kill civilians and abduct other children whom they would then have to beat or trample to death if they tried to escape. 30,000 children have been abducted since 1986.

40,000 empty beds any given night. 40,000 frightened, exhausted little wanderers.

Since 1986! For more than twenty years! How many nights is that? I was graduating from high school when it began. Barely more than a child myself.

How do you wrap your mind around these things?

I just learned about this tonight. I think of Finn sprawled on our bed with his beautiful toddler mouth hanging open, and then I picture him a few years older - or first I picture night, the absence of him, the bed and the sheets calling for him. Then I backtrack and see him at dusk, resigned, or not resigned, and getting ready to set out. What he'd be wearing for warmth. And then I make myself try and see him out on a road in the dark, away from me. I can't make myself see much. A bit of his imagined leg. The curve of his head next to the curve of some little unknown compatriot's head. I can't make myself look into his imagined heart out there, I can't make myself guess his feelings.

A permanent ceasefire has been called in Northern Uganda.

I don't know how to resolve all of the feelings I have. This is a sudden burst of grief and joy all at once. I wish I were there to get all of their beds ready.

Monday, February 25, 2008

oscar dress review delay



Because I tired. So tired. Hilary Swank, may I say you're lucky I'm not in the mood. And that's all I'll say about that. Except ARE YOU SEVENTY? Are you a seventy-year-old who feels she's looking spicy? I can't put my finger on it. It's just wrong.

Take comfort, Hilary Swank. I, too, have been given an unsolicited bad sartorial review. When I was working at a daycare back in my early 20's, I wore a big, baggy, purple ankle-length dress with a square neck to work one day. One of the Pre-K girls, Hannah, marched up to me and said, "You look ugly. That's a fat dress and I can see your neck." This from a girl wearing a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, a miniskirt and pants. Know, Hilary Swank, that I know that I'm the girl in the skirt and pants as I'm armchair-quarterbacking your look. I wouldn't benefit from a surprise visit from the paparazzi tonight or any night...

...but your hair! It's like uptight Grandma hair! You're like an uptight Grandma halfway on the loose on a singles cruise.

I'm wearing my very cutest sweatpants as I type this.

All right. I have a bunch of Oscar frock pictures saved on the computer but I just can't do it tonight. They're there, though, ready. Tomorrow I do it.

In the meantime, behold this charming bit of Oscar-ness!

This is from my dear old friend Kris's blog, Complain-O Peeps. Linus is Kris's three-year-old son and he is an extreme awesomehead:

The Oscars are a mystery

This is what watching the Oscars with Linus is like:

Linus: What's this?
Me: The Oscars, honey.
Linus: The what?
Me: The Oscars. The Academy Awards. It's an award show for movies.
Linus: For scary movies?!
Me: For all movies.
Linus: Who's that guy?
Me: That's John Stewart, he's the host.
Linus: The what?
Me: The host. Ummm. He's in charge of the show.
Linus: What's that?
Me: That's a clip from a movie. Uh, they're showing part of one of the movies.
Linus: A clip?
Me: Yeah.
Linus: What's that?
Me: That's a clip from another movie.
Linus: What's that?
Me: That's a cl - Honey, they're going to be showing clips from a lot of movies, so you don't need to ask every time, ok?
Linus: Is that a clip?
Me: Yes.
Linus: Who's that?
Me: That's the host.
Linus: Who's that?
Me: That's one of the people presenting an award.
Linus: Who's that?
Me: That's Javier Bardem, he just won an award.
Linus: Why are the people clapping?
Me: They're clapping for the guy who just won.
Linus: Who? Who just won?
Me: That guy, Javier Bardem.
Linus: Did he win a prize?
Me: Yes. An Oscar.
Linus: An Oscar?! Is that a good prize? Is it like a treat?
Me: Yes, I think he's happy he won this prize.
Linus: Who's that?
Me: Another presenter.
Linus: What's he talking about?
Me: About who might win the next prize.
Linus: What's that?
Me: More movie clips.
Linus: Is it a scary movie? Does it have bad parts I can't watch?
Me: No, not these clips. They're short.
Linus: Who's that?
Me: That's the host, honey, remember?
(I bleep bloop through some boring crap)
Linus: Why are you skipping?
Me: Because it's not interesting. Just a bunch more clips.
Linus: Is it bad stuff for me not to see??
Me: No, just not very interesting.
Linus: What are they doing?
Me: They're singing one of the songs that might get an award.
Linus: (Lifts up his hands mimicking the people on stage) Why are they doing that?
Me: I don't know. It's part of the performance.
Linus: Who's that?
Me: That's another presenter.
Linus: Is that another clip?
Me: Yep.
Linus: Is that another clip?
Me: Yes, please don't ask every time, ok?
Linus: Who's that guy?
Me: I think it's time for your bath.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

this just in: department of awesomeness

Finn just poured a box of books on to the floor. Then he looked at the books scattered everywhere, threw up his arms and said, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!

there will be ratatouille, or, george clooney for best actress



Oh, Oscars. Why do you keep happening while I have a tiny child and see no movies? I am forced to root exclusively for Michael Clayton and Ratatouille.

Damn it. But tomorrow I will be here with my Oscar Lady Outfit Review.

P.S. to Ralph Nader: Listen, you big doughnut. If you're so aflame with desire to make third parties viable in this country, you might consider popping up during some off years and helping Green party candidates get elected at local levels. Like, you know, build a foundation. Instead of trying to suddenly erect a giant skyscraper atop a small pile of cookie dough every four years. Also, I'd love to hear what you imagine you'd accomplish if you were magically deposited into the Oval Office next January, what with your pockets simply overflowing with political capital like they are. Hello, young chap! You look bright-eyed! Fetch me the biggest goose in yon shop there and I'll give you twenty-five shiny pieces of political capital!* Because I'm in a good mood and I can!

*I just like saying political capital. I think it makes me sound smart.**

**And this makes me sound self-aware!***

***That goes double for this!

Friday, February 22, 2008

self portrait: this graphic novel is inspiring


I just started reading the very stunning FUN HOME by Alison Bechdel. I heard about this book from Jocelyn over at O Mighty Crisis. In here you will find her review. Now read the book right now and then finish reading this post. She's right, right? She's right.

This is one of those books that makes me want to do something. Something like copy it. Something like do something just like it. But not, of course. Totally original. But exactly the same and just as good.

P.S. Happy What Would Be 80th Birthday to my Dad. I bet wherever you are you're not 80, but I hope you're celebrating.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

those crazy commenters are at it everywhere

The New York Times had to put up a notice:

A Reminder About Comments

By Kate Phillips

Dear Caucus Readers:

Passions are hot; tensions are high. We’re facing yet another series of extremely competitive contests in the Democratic presidential primary race, and many of you have chosen your candidate and ardently defend your choice on this site.

But if you choose to offer your comments here, please refrain (we ask again) from name-calling. None of you deserve to be called an idiot, a moron, a juvenile, racist or sexist.

Secondly, a few readers keep trying to post the same comments over and over, for weeks on end, on every item. They add nothing to the development of a conversation, and will not be published.

Third, we will continue to ask that you use a name as close to your own as possible. We discourage people from trying to post under several names or aliases or nicknames. It’s dishonest and unfair to others who assume they’re reading a thread with many voices, as opposed to repetitive chatter.

As always, thanks for reading.

Monday, February 18, 2008

i think i can safely speak for jude...

...when I say that Jude will herewith not make it bad and furthermore do anything you want, ever, forever.

a habit i have GOTS to kick

What a chowderhead. This is happening over and over! I'm staying up past my bedtime not just to read articles about the election on the web...which would be sort of all right...but then I'm staying up even later reading the comments sections.

Ai carramba.

It's a festival of hostility and childishness and really bad grammar. It's like...spicy, cranky Doritos for your mind to crunch on. (Honey, taste these...do these chips taste cranky to you? I thought so.) Arrnch, arrnch. Put a sock in it, "Texas Democrat"! Arrnch, arrnch. Stop calling me a zombie. I'm not a....arrnch, arrnch. So mad. I'm so mad. Arrrnch. And tired. Arrnch. Can't stop eating. The MSG is the hate. Arrnch.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

letter to the superdelegates, part two


It's a phenomenon, all right. Me, Tina Rowley, née Tina Kunz, The High Priestess of Sitting On One's Ass...I tried to sit down and watch the news this afternoon, but my conscience catapulted me out of my seat and I made some phone calls to Wisconsin and Hawaii. Thought I had done what I needed to do to shut my conscience up a minute and went back to try and watch some more news. Again, my ass rose magically off the chair as though the chair repelled it, and I went and composed another letter to the superdelegates. Damn it, I just had more to say.

I wish I could promise you that I wouldn't be writing another one. BUT I JUST DON'T KNOW. Whenever I hear an argument against Barack Obama that my mind leaps to refute, I'm compelled to take it outside, as it were. I'm a big proponent of having one-sided arguments in my shower - I do that all the time - but I'm...yeah. Takin' it to the streets. (At least to the streets of my blog and to Obama's website.)

I'm including the link for you in case you want to compose your own message for the superdelegates.

Here's what I said this time.

********************

Hello again, superdelegates:

My name is Tina Rowley, and I'm a 38-year-old writer, actor and [blah blah blah]. I wrote a letter to you recently explaining why I am supporting Barack Obama and asking that you cast your vote for him.

I needed to write to you again because as I sat with what I had written and sent to you, I realized that I had left out too much. I wrote about Barack Obama's eloquence and unmanufacturable authenticity; his longstanding, unassailable position on Iraq; how he has inspired me out of relative apathy not just to actively support his campaign but to figure out how I can permanently be of service to my community. Finally, I wrote about how positively I felt Barack Obama's presence in the White House would affect the perception of America and Americans on the world stage.

But I left out the most important thing.
I have a son, Finn. He's almost two years old, and as you can imagine, he's the light of my life. He's hilarious and generous and extremely excited to be here. My love and concern for him burn at the center of my chest, and I constantly think about the world he's so enthusiastically a part of.

On the Republican side, we have a candidate who wants us to stay in Iraq indefinitely. A hundred years? A thousand years? It's all right by him.

Well, it's not all right by me. I'm a mother. When I think of all of the American soldiers who have died, and their parents and loved ones and the overwhelming grief they have to be experiencing, my heart wants to run right out of my chest and hide under a rock. It rebels. It's hard to keep the pain of other people vivid in our minds. It's too...well, painful.

Then I think of all the Iraqis who have died, in even greater numbers, and the grieving Iraqi mothers and fathers and children. It's harder yet to stay with it, to stay with the image. These people didn't deserve any of this. They did nothing to us. It's horrible to contemplate, and it should be horrible to contemplate, and it must be contemplated.

Everyone who has died is as beloved by someone as your most beloved is loved by you, and their loss is as grievous as the worst one you have ever faced or ever will. But you know this already.

This - can you believe it? - brings me to the question of electability.

All the polling I've seen recently tells me that Barack Obama has a much greater chance of beating John McCain than Senator Clinton has. It's not only the polls that tell me that, it's my instinct. And it's not only my instinct that tells me that, it's all of the people I heard at my caucus a week ago. There were independents there speaking passionately for Barack Obama. There was a young Republican standing outside with an Obama sign, energetically calling on us to join him in his support as we filed inside. He couldn't caucus with us, as a Republican, but there he was anyway.

I probably don't need to tell you that there weren't any Republicans outside holding Clinton signs. And no independents spoke up on her behalf in our caucus room. Our precinct went to Barack Obama 64-20.

That Senator Clinton is a polarizing figure in our country isn't new information, I know. But I hope that piece of information never loses its power for you. As Democrats, we don't want to see the Republican base mobilized against a common enemy. And who can doubt that it would happen?

What happens, then, to all of the other seats in Congress that are up for grabs? Do we keep our hold in the House and Senate? It's not a vast majority we have in there to begin with. My fear is that we not only fail to make gains, but that we lose the balance of power...

...and have President McCain sworn in on January 20th, humming "Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran" all the way up the Capitol Steps. (Iran...where the people are just as real as the people in Iraq and just as real as the American soldiers and civilians who are currently targets of violence and will only become more so if McCain is running our foreign policy.)

I believe that if Hillary Clinton is the Democratic nominee, we stand a grave chance of this coming to pass. I do not believe she can beat John McCain.

I firmly believe that Barack Obama can.

There's too much at stake in this election. I haven't even touched on global warming. I envision a McCain administration that's dragged by the conservative interests to which it's beholden away from the decisive action we need to take to save our planet from impending crisis. The old joke "If you believe that, I've got some waterfront property in Arizona I'd like to sell you" suddenly becomes a lot less funny.

I want Finn to become aware of his surroundings in a world where people talk to each other reasonably despite their differences. I don't want conservatives and liberals demonizing each other anymore. We're too creative for that. I'm guilty, too. I'd like a way out. I want our world leaders to talk to each other, and not play ego-driven games with foreign policy where the stakes are life and death.

Barack Obama is brilliant, substantive, inspiring and he's setting people on fire. I'm seeing media coverage of his popularity that's spinning this as a bad thing, which is incredible to me. Don't we want a candidate that pulls people out of passivity? That seems like a no-brainer to me. If people are excited about Obama to the point where they're freaking other people out, I would suggest that it's a natural reaction to the despair they've felt under this disastrous Bush administration. Someone's come along who looks like he can start turning the ship of state around. That doesn't make him some kind of false Messiah. And it says worlds about where we are in our national consciousness that a candidate who can inspire and uplift and mobilize an electorate is spun as some kind of impossible unicorn, and his followers a bunch of starry-eyed fantasists. I can't speak for Senator Obama's other supporters, but I definitely find that notion insulting. The heart in my chest doesn't cancel out the head on my shoulders. That Obama supporters tend to be a well-educated bunch puts the lie to this notion of a typical supporter running purely on feeling. Educated people tend to to stay educated on the issues, and if they're leaning towards Barack Obama, it's worth noting.

But if someone wants to support Barack Obama because their heart tells them to, that is fine by me. This country has been seriously divided and wounded by the current administration and by the hopelessness and apathy it's generated. Obama is strong on policy, but he also doesn't ignore our deeper systemic problems. When he paints the picture of an empathy deficit, something unglues in my chest and I want to cheer. Somebody's finally talking about it.

There we go. I think I've finally gotten it all out. I suppose if I haven't, I'll come to you with more of my thoughts. I appreciate your taking the time to listen.

And I once again urge you to cast your crucial vote for Barack Obama.

Many thanks,
Tina Rowley
*********
You know what I forgot to do? I forgot to remind them that Finn isn't just an anecdote. He's a real little guy with a body and little heartbeat. I fuckin' mean what I said about him. Damn. Well, I'm not going back now with that piece of information. I can't gild the lily with that, however important it is to me. Hell's bells. Oh, well.

Friday, February 15, 2008

my letter to the superdelegates



Many people will have gotten an email today from Obama's campaign asking for personal stories from supporters that they would then compile and fold into their negotiations with the Almighty Superdelegates. This is what I wrote. (Forgive me if I'm repeating myself at all from earlier posts.)

****************
Hello, superdelegates:

My name is Tina Rowley, and I'm a 38-year-old writer, actor and mother from Seattle. I was raised in a family of Yellow Dog Democrats, and have embraced this party wholeheartedly for as long as I can remember. I deeply believe that this is the party of wisdom, compassion and real progress.

We've had such a stellar list of presidential candidates this year, a true embarrassment of riches. I'd like to tell you why my support has landed definitively for Barack Obama.

Back in January, I was leaning mostly towards John Edwards' populist message, but Clinton also impressed me with her debating facility and command of policy. I was comparatively far less familiar with Barack Obama and his campaign at that point, considering Clinton's history and Edwards' spot on the 2004 Democratic ticket.

And then Barack Obama won the Iowa caucuses and I heard his victory speech.

I want to say right now, before I go any farther, that I think it's criminal that Barack Obama's ability to deliver a stirring speech is somehow seen as mutually exclusive with substantive policies and the ability to make things happen. How did eloquence become a liability? The concept is amazing to me. Without the ability to persuade and inspire, a statesperson is nowhere. Words are not cheap, as Hillary Clinton has maintained on the campaign trail recently. Words may be just the beginning, but they create energy and motivation, which creates action and, yes, change.

Back to Barack Obama. I was moved to tears by his speech - no politician had ever spoken so deeply to my hopes and concerns. The fullness of emotion I experienced told me a lot about the level of numbness and despair I'd felt about the state of our country and the world, and the seemingly hopeless polarization and stagnation of our political processes.

I went out and bought "The Audacity of Hope" and "Dreams from My Father". Obama's writing showed me an elegant mind and an innate willingness to be transparent. You can't fake the sort of depth and authenticity I found in his writing. To be fair to Senator Clinton I also read her autobiography, "Living History", and I...couldn't find her in there. I didn't have the sense of being truly let in. It confirmed a sense I've had that Senator Clinton is too guarded and doesn't want look bad. That gives me a feeling of mistrust. We have a president in the White House right now who won't admit to mistakes. I would prefer not to have another one.

But again, back to Barack Obama. Reading his books was the spark that lit not only my fire to support his campaign, but the spark to find the most meaningful way that *I* can contribute to our society. For the first time in my political life, I don't feel like an innocent bystander. I feel compelled to meaningful action. I'm making calls and I'm donating money and I'm emailing and writing on behalf of Obama's campaign, but I'm also taking a look at my skill set and heart's inclination to see what I can give to my own community.

On most matters of policy, I find Barack Obama's and Hillary Clinton's positions to be close enough to be negligible on the issues that matter to me. I think that Senator Clinton's vote to give Bush war powers, however, was nearly unforgivable. I appreciate the early and unpopular stand Obama took against the war, and do not hold his subsequent funding votes against him. Once this unconscionable mess of a war was begun, our soldiers needed adequate protection. This makes sense to me. Trusting George Bush in the first place does not. That said, I think Senator Clinton is smart and hardworking and valuable, and were she running another year, I would consider giving her my support.

But this is the year in front of us, and we have a candidate running right now that I deeply believe is the best we've seen in generations. It would be a marvelous thing if America could ricochet from the worst president in history to one of the most inspiring and promising.

You know, I did some traveling during the Bush administration, and it was wearying to open my mouth and reveal my American accent to be met with a positively Seinfeldian "Hello, NEWman" sort of greeting in response. I think if we put Barack Obama in office, people are going to be quicker to shake off their old perceptions of America and Americans than if we put in another Clinton, or God forbid, John McCain. On another crucial level, putting a multicultural face on our highest office is an instantaneous, wordless bit of public relations in our fight against terrorism. If one teetering youth somewhere looks at Obama's face and has to double back and think twice about who America is, that is solid gold.

Last week I called voters in Louisiana and Virginia asking them to support Barack Obama. This weekend I'm going to be making calls to voters in Wisconsin and Hawaii asking the same thing. After that, it's on to Texas and Ohio. I've never picked up the phone or otherwise campaigned for a candidate in my entire life! "Yes, we can" isn't a platitude. I've come alive politically in a way I never thought I would, and I'm here to stay.

On that note, I ask you from the bottom of my heart to give your powerful vote to Barack Obama.

Sincerely yours,
Tina Rowley



Thursday, February 14, 2008

happy valentine's day from science




I hope you're all the focus of much good loving on a daily basis.

P.S. Here's a timely article on this feeling-centric holiday from The Daily Kos. Couldn't leave my candidate out today. I left him out yesterday for you, though. Can't dish him up every day, I know.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

sweet peacock



Damn, damn, double damn. Sweet Pea was eliminated from Project Runway tonight. In further boo, I thought that was actually fair. The challenge was to create a design inspired by a work of art at the Metropolitan Museum. She chose a painting called "Peacocks". The eleven-year-old aspiring fashion designer in me was all OOO OOO PEACOCKS THIS WILL BE GREAT. And as much as I liked her design just as regular old charming dresses go, it wasn't the showstopper of peacockery that I wanted to see. So I made my own to quiet down the perturbed eleven-year-old. Here's a peacock dress. Shhh. Calm down. There it is. Go to bed now.

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodnight, Sweet Pea.

Monday, February 11, 2008

the rally



Dave and I went to Key Arena for the Obama rally last Friday. It was the windup...the pitch...the baseball metaphor to the crazy exhilaration home run of the caucuses the next day. We're so glad we went, and we're so glad we didn't take Finn because the outing was long and it was cold and, weirdly enough, the rally was not geared for toddlers. W-e-i-r-d. He would have been out of his mind and we would have had to leave long before Barack Obama reached the stage. Probably during the "Fired Up, Ready To Go" video. Yeah. That would have been when.

But yes! We went, and we even experienced a little drama. Drama! Conflict! Man vs. Nature! Man vs. Man! Man vs. Too Many Men! Man vs. Door! Man vs. Personnel!

Man vs. Nature = I said it was cold out, already, right? It was. It was cold. Super cold. And windy. Wind chill. Cold, brrr, windy. (Everybody who's moving to St. Paul: Stop laughing.)

Man vs. Man = So we parked our car, and then we walked to the Seattle Center to find the line, and found that we might as well have just stood outside of our car and waited for the line to come to us. We had to weave around and chase the end of the line because, as Dave noted, it was getting longer so very fast that it was like dominoes falling. That quickly. Vwoooooooooozh. This section should actually be called Man vs. Line. But that wasn't going to sound good up there after Nature.

But here's a new category!

Man vs. Time = See, all of this was taking place at about 10:45. The door was going to open at 11:00. We should have been there at 8:00.

Man vs. Too Many Men = The line started moving and we got very close to the Key Arena and then an announcement came over a loudspeaker that the event was at capacity. No more us go in.

NO! NO!

Tears truly came to my eyes. You may have noticed that I'm an Obama supporter. But also Dave and I got out of the house without Finn and it took a lot of doing to do it and this was going to be kind of a great date for us. We'd be getting to enjoy the event in carefree style, out of toddler managment mode. A big deal. And Dave's very much in favor of Obama himself. So we were bummed out in the extreme.

Man vs. Door = We just couldn't leave yet. We hovered around one the doors to Key Arena with a largish group of people who also couldn't quite give up the dream. We had our noses to the glass. A disappointed lady from the King County Council was lurking around in our vicinity. She had Obama's astrological chart in her pocket. We had nothing in our pocket for Barack Obama but love*. Everyone near the door was trying to figure out some kind of angle to get in. Nobody had anything.

*Perhaps a banana. Perhaps we were happy to see him.

Man vs. Personnel: A put-upon looking older security fella from Key Arena cracked open the door and squashed our hopes. Go away, people. No dice. You can listen to the speech on a loudspeaker outside**. Hope squasher! You are anathema to the whole Obama campaign, don't you realize it?! You have worked at Key Arena so long that the hope has been boiled out of you. That's it, isn't it? That's it. You're a Key Arena insider, all inside it, while we're not.

**See Man vs. Nature.

You may notice that I'm all out of Man Versuses. This is because the tides were soon to turn! Dave and I wandered away from the Door of Futility and remembered that Obama often comes out and greets the people who couldn't make it in to his events. We tried to figure out where we thought that might be. There were some people bunched up on a line across from where we were, down and then up some stairs. We headed down the stairs EVEN THOUGH WE COULD SEE THAT THERE WAS A METAL BARRICADE BETWEEN US AND THE PEOPLE OVER THERE. It was as though somebody had suddenly set us on 'random'. Hey, there are some people over there! Let's, uh, go into this bush and then try to, uh, jump up on the roof from across the street. And then we'll...we'll...tie our shoes!

But do you know who set us on random? It was angels. Angels set us on random. Or our dead fathers. Dave's dad and my dad. We decided we wanted to give them credit for this. And I'm getting chills as I type this! All right. That's it. The dead fathers are totally getting all the credit for this. Everybody who's like, Tina, dead people are dead and they don't get you into Obama rallies can sit and spin for a minute.

Down at the bottom of the stairs there were a couple of young dudes trying to jimmy a door open. It wasn't working. Dave and I turned to each other to try and figure out our next move when we looked over at the guys again and, instead of them, we saw a girl inside the arena holding the door open for us and giving us the hurry-wave in. Come on, come on!

Woohoo!! We were in! Dave yelled, "Yes, we can!" and we ran inside laughing.

We were just mouths agape at the good fortune. And it was so much cooler than if we'd just strolled in in the first place because we were so exhilarated. Man, I felt like Marcia Brady sneaking into Davy Jones's hotel room in a room service outfit. We ran to the closest, least crowded-looking aisle and headed in. We found a great spot just to the side of the top of the stairs, where we could totally see the stage below us. The stage was facing away from us, but we knew we'd be fine because he always turns around and talks to everyone at these rallies.

Man vs. Nothing! Man vs. Motherflipping Nothing!

We had to be the happiest people at Key Arena. And then, for the sweet little cherry on top, a girl waved up to us and pointed out a couple of empty seats in front of her. Her sister and a couple of friends didn't make it in, so there was no point in saving their seats anymore.

Beneficiaries vs. Further Awesomeness!

Here is where we were.



This, I have determined, is us there in that red circle that doesn't have Obama in it. It just has to be, and is. Tall person next to short person in white shirts standing in the right aisle at the right level in the right area.

We settled into our seats and waited. It was Good Mood Central at Key Arena! Everybody looked so happy, everyone smiling at everyone else. People kept doing the Wave. I love humanity's commitment to the Wave, even when it's minimal. You have to do the Wave, we all seem to agree. You don't have to do it well. You just have to get your arms up there. You can bring it if you feel like it. You can phone it in. Whatever. But very few people reject an incoming Wave out of hand. It'd be like not calling 911 at the scene of an accident, or not doing CPR when you know how when someone needs it*.

*It's not like that at all.

We checked out the crowd. Down on the floor in front of the stage...I saw...a hat on a head. A fuzzy, colorful, familiar hat...on a familiar head...our friend Morgan was down there! With our friend Deb! We stood up and started waving, and she saw us and was as surprised as we were and we laughed and mouthed things to each other and waved and blew kisses and made surprised and happy faces and "call me" phone ear hand things.

Tina, for God's sake, how was Obama! Come on! Shut up! This whole mise-en-scene business is so vastly more interesting to you than it is to us! What else did you do? Take off your coats? Have a sip of water? Shut up! Go on! Tell the part we care about.

Once Obama came out, which was four million years and three trips to the bathroom after we came in, I have to say that I was already sort of sugar-crashing from the exhilaration. He was good. I was tired. I was happy to be there. It was loud. I couldn't hear everything he said over the cheering. There were a lot of flash bulbs going off all over the arena. It was a stump speech that I'd heard most of already, sort of word for word. But it was cool to see the man in person. And there was a girl sitting next to us who was 17 and who'd skipped school with her parents' permission to be there, and she was saying she was going to call in sick to work the next day so she could caucus, since she'd be 18 by November. She didn't seem like some kind of politically active student-body-president type. She just seemed like a regular cool kid who cared. There were young people like that everywhere, and it made me really happy.

The whole day, just being with 21,000 (18,000 inside, 3,000 outside) other people all united for the same thing, felt magical and historical and cool.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Saturday, February 09, 2008

the fighting 46-2341

Caucuses! Caucusing rules! It rooooolz. Not caucusing drools! Rraargh!

Here are some P.I. photos from the caucus at my location, Olympic Hills Elementary School. (I went to this school for one horrible year - 4th grade - after we moved out from New York. I wonder if the soul of Mrs. Ekins haunts the place, grabbing people's hair and yelling Great Scot and little fishes! I'll tell you more about my year at Olympic Hills another time. My first kiss was in the playground at Olympic Hills, too, five years later. Good old bad old good old Olympic Hills.) My brother and I headed down the hill to do our civic duty. God DAMN but it was a good experience!



My brother and I got there a little earlier than these bustling arrivers. (Had to re-register to vote in my new location.) That couple looks like they're having very dreamy feelings about democracy.



This dude was at the door when we arrived. When we were about twenty feet away he looked at me like, are you gonna do it? I gave him the thumbs up and he said, "All right! We need you!" which made me wonder if there were a lot of Hillary supporters in there already. And later it made me wonder if I'm looking old. You know. Older ladies for Clinton and whatnot. Oh, that stereotype bore out inside, let there be no doubt. Not all older ladies were for Hillary, but supporters for Hillary were older ladies. Uptight-lookin' ladies. Believe it. With a few stern square dudes thrown in there. I'm just reporting. Not all of the Obama supporters were all that and a bag of chips but the Hillary camp is not where the after hours party is taking place, let's be clear. Not that any of this matters. But. True. And while there were some Clinton supporters in there, I didn't need to worry. Obama was where it was at today.



The crowd was huge, spilling over on to the street. I didn't expect anything like this. It was such a beautiful thing. I was thrilled to be a part of it. My neighbors out in force for democracy! I felt such affection for everyone, including the Hillary supporters - for whom I admit I didn't sound like I was overflowing with affection up in the preceding paragraph. Them, too, I mean it. Even if I don't want to sneak behind the building and smoke a doobie with them. I still salute their commitment to democracy!



If this man weren't standing there pledging allegiance right next to the flag you would be able to see me. He's blocking my FAME. It was very weird pledging allegiance to the flag. I felt like I was six years old again.



This dog-lovin' lady was right next to me also, hogging my fame with her gimmick. I watched the photographer take this picture. I had props, too! I had my purse. And a bottle of water. My brother was with me; I could have ostentatiously cuddled him. But NO. Little Miss Candy was all oh, bark bark, I'm so adorable, I'm for Clinton. I could have barked. But I didn't because I was focused on democracy unlike some little furry fame-seeking missiles and their owners. All right, all right. Her owner looks focused on democracy, too. Shut up.

So...my precinct is totally bitchen, you guys. I love that these people live on the blocks right around me. There are about 85 Democrats/Independents/Undecideds in my precinct, at least who showed up to caucus. The discussion was lively and smart and inspiring. And it was stunning to see everyone so passionate and engaged, young and old. It's like...it's like Google maps but you get to go close up on these couple of blocks all the way into people's minds and hearts. Hello, people! I didn't quite realize that all of these houses are filled with PEOPLE! You and you and you and you and YOU. Oh! And for the most part you are smart and cool! I had no idea. 17th Avenue, 19th Avenue, 127th Street. I salute you.

Plus I spoke up! Man, speaking up at a caucus sure makes you feel like a citizen. I am a total citizen. In other citizen news, I got over myself and made some phone calls for Obama through his web site. Called some ladies in Louisiana. I've decided that this makes me a superdelegate.

Oh, and Obama totally creamed Clinton in my precinct. 64 to 20. 5 delegates for Obama, 2 for Clinton. I didn't stand up to be a delegate because I did that in 1992 for Paul Tsongas and I fucked it up! I didn't quite put it together that there was another meeting I needed to go to after the caucus. I was like, oh, they selected me to be a delegate. How nice. Thanks guys. It's an honor. I will tell my diary. Otherwise Obama would be running against Paul Tsongas' widow.

P.S. Next time I will tell you about our trip to the Obama rally on Friday. Very exciting!

Friday, February 08, 2008

nice try, yesterday's self portrait




Yesterday's self portrait preceded yesterday's meltdown by several hours. Oh, meltdown. My friend Kristen is producing a play of hers in New York right now called Hello Failure. Yesterday I was the star of my own production of that play. Hello, failure feelings. Stop punching me.

Sometimes a lifetime's worth of backed-up smallness and shame feeling just sneak up on you and explode everywhere. That can happen, for example, if you're feeling like you're not very good at parenting at the moment. Even if it's only that your son is not having a nap for the third day in a row. And when these feelings do explode, it can be very confusing for the people around you. And when they explode, you're like MAN I SHOULD HAVE BEEN ON TOP OF THIS. I SHOULD HAVE SAID LET THE HEALING BEGIN MANY YEARS AGO. I'VE GOT TO LET THE HEALING BEGIN. JESUS.

Time to figure out how to feel like a big adult again, or for the first time, whichever.

P.S. We're going to the Barack Obama rally today! That ought to perk me up.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

self portrait with dysfunctional mouse: pregnant with better self


My pictures keep coming out smaller than I want. C'mon, man.
Note: This is not an announcement of an actual pregnancy. I am just carrying a metaphor at the moment.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

ten minutes to midnight again

I have to work quickly because I've done it again - given myself only ten minutes to get my post in for the day. Stream of consciousness again. But with punctuation and stuff. Super Tuesday exhausted me, watching all of that coverage and poring over all the blogs and toggling back and forth between this web page and that for results and analysis. Hopes rising and falling and rising and flattening out and rising etcetera etcetera. Today I've been doing the same thing but on a much smaller scale - reading blogs and slogs and comment sections and you know what? I have got to stop. I'm just jerking myself around here. My head is spinning. Egg. Zausted.

I find the hostile back and forth between Obama and Hillary supporters to be really depressing. We should be delighted that we have two dynamic candidates like these cats. I don't want to dip into all that bickering any more. It's not illuminating, it's just confusing.

Reading more Dreams from My Father today. Goddamn, he's a good writer. Beyond that, there's something in him that I find seriously galvanizing, and not just politically galvanizing; I feel spurred on to make the most of myself, just as a person here on Earth. He makes me want to figure out what I'm doing here. He's a great writer - great writers do this to me. I don't mean to say that they all have the same precise effect but they all make me live differently while I'm under their spell. Tolstoy, he turns me into a magnifying glass. Nuances apppear everywhere in all their specific splendor. Who else, which other writers do what...ah, hell, it's late. I don't know. Other writers do other things. I forget everybody. But Barack Obama's writing - particularly this book - makes me want to turn myself inside out and find who the person of substance is in there. It makes me want to take myself seriously.

I read for a while this afternoon and then I leaped up and ran to the computer to work on this piece that's trying to come out of me. I could feel the essence of the question I'm wrestling with. I can't tell you what it is because it's not tellable. Even if I had the words, I think it's a case of to tell it is to kill it. It's just a lump of living clay in my gut, rumbling around, feeling significant. I did some writing and tried to burrow into it. I tried to run headfirst into the scariest part. It sort of worked. I got scared, at least. I mean in a good way. I wrote and what I wrote frightened me a bit, until I fell asleep again. Not asleep asleep. Just the regular awake asleep we all hang around in most days.

I will now do you all a favor and go to actual sleep. These rambler posts. Lordy.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

please make this tuesday so very very super



Note: I edited this baby to add a long response to a comment from a regular reader.
All right. Back to the post.

I want this so much. It's a joy to watch and listen to him speak. (And Michelle! Damn! She's unbelievable.) It's a joy to read his books. It's a joy to read about his policies. It's a joy to hear the phrase "Obama Republicans". It's a joy to hear about the 12-year-old precinct captain for Obama in Colorado. It's a joy to see the crowds who look like they're feeling what I'm feeling.

Watched Obama in Boston what when you read this will be last night on C-Span. Stirred as usual, but particularly gratified to hear him towards the end of his speech answer the charges about hope being a naive thing, about hope somehow being equatable with wishful thinking and passivity. He launched into some blazing description of some of the best and bloodiest fights for justice in history, from the abolition of slavery to World War II to the civil rights battles of the 60's, and how those bright, stark, painful, right images - those were hope. (I'm paraphrasing, naturally.)

He's no fool and he's no pushover.

I read Michael Chabon's article ("Obama vs. the Phobocracy") about him in the Washington Post, describing him as radiant and humane. I loved that. I loved seeing Bill Maher on (crazy purple-attired!) Larry (so purple) King (the purplest goddamn outfit I ever saw!) (whatever you're thinking? WAY PURPLER) speaking so respectfully and hopefully about Barack Obama. He's no starry-eyed kitten, and he appears to be feeling it, too.

I hope you vote/caucus/whatever's going on in your neighborhood. I really hope you support Obama.

P.S. My fine reader, B, asked in the comments why I support Obama over Hillary. My response ended up so long that I thought I might as well post it here, too, in case you're interested.

************

B - You're a good one. I like how you roll, mama. So let me answer your question! I do like Hillary, let me say that right off. And I find a lot of their policy differences to be fairly minor. In a perfect world, I prefer Hillary's health care plan. On the other hand, I'm more drawn to Obama's foreign policy approach - it seems smart to me to be open to talks with both allies and current "enemies".My biggest reasons for supporting Obama are twofold. Or threefold! We'll see:

1. The most important thing? He actually moves me. He moves me to think and participate. I feel the old apathy just burning right out of me. And the fact that this is happening all over the country tells me that Obama provides the country a chance to heal from these horrible last few years in a way that Hillary just can't do. Her policy and command of issues may be totally spot on - which isn't to say that Obama's aren't - but she doesn't persuade and inspire people to think differently in the sort of deep ways that can fundamentally change the direction the country is going. There's a real movement happpening with Obama, something gorgeous and positive. It'd be a shame to waste it!

2. I think he's more competitive in the general election. Nobody mobilizes the GOP base like Hillary, and no time is that more the case than this year. The Republicans don't have a positive rallying candidate this year, and I'd hate for Hillary to be that candidate for them in reverse. That, and there are a whole lot of Independents and Republicans who just really like the guy and would be happy to vote for him. Those same folks aren't Hillary's voters. I think Obama would be able to pick up any of Hillary's voters. I think the reverse is unfortunately not the case. I want to say also that most of the vitriol directed at Hillary is ridiculous. But the closer I look at her, the less inspired I am, I'm afraid to say. I've been reading their books - both HRC's Living History and Carl Bernstein's biography of her (A Woman in Charge), and Obama's The Audacity of Hope and Dreams from my Father. Finished The A of H, am juggling the rest concurrently. My impressions so far are that Obama really hangs it out there from the bottom of his soul. He's not afraid to reveal himself and be truthful. This makes me trust his promise for transparency in his administration. HRC, on the other hand, is more guarded and careful and choreographed, and it gives me a feeling of mistrust - especially when I compare what I'm reading in Living History to what I'm reading in Bernstein's book. There is a lot of information from Bill Clinton's administration regarding Hillary's participation that they won't release, and I don't like that. Makes me jumpy. Also, Obama's an elegant writer, which tells me he's an elegant thinker. Hillary's smart as a whip, to be sure, but doesn't strike me as an inspired thinker. She seems to be very left-brained, while I think Obama seems to be engaged on both sides. The right brain's gifts to politics shouldn't be diminished! Creativity is a giant factor in problem solving. Obama's also funnier, which goes back to the right brain thing, which goes again right to thinking outside of the proverbially worn-to-pieces box.

3. Phew! Finally, I think Obama, without lifting a finger, would send a powerful message to the rest of the world. He's less hawkish, more open, more flexible - but not remotely wimpy. He embodies that "walk softly and carry a big stick" thing beautifully. He's got the personal power to do it. And I love the idea that brown-skinned youths all over the globe who could be swayed by dangerous anti-American sentiment would be able to look at our White House and see someone who reminds them a little bit of themselves. It automatically encourages thinking twice about their assumptions about America. I'd love for people around the world to look at our president and not just feel like, "Okay, that's better than George Bush," but to be truly fascinated and excited about the person we put in office. I'm looking forward to traveling the world again and not being greeted with a Hello, NEWman kind of vibe the minute I open my mouth.

One final thing - I'm adding this to the comment I left in the comments section - and it's this: I think it's a real possibility that if Hillary does beat McCain, which doesn't seem like a foregone conclusion to me, then it's possible that a big turnout of GOP voters could either swing the balance of power in the Senate back to the Republicans or keep it hanging to the Dems with a small margin, making it difficult for her to get her legislation through. Also, there are a lot of folks in Washington that have a lot of grievances with Hillary, and I think she would have a built-in sort of uphill...swim...upstream swim...uphill climb that Obama wouldn't have.

Oh, man. That's more than you bargained for, maybe! I could go on, but I'll let it lie here for now. Thanks for asking, B. I really appreciate it.And hey, if they run together, I'll be delighted. I'll vote for Hillary if she's the nominee, but if it's Obama, I'm going to be jumping for joy. As you may have guessed!

Monday, February 04, 2008

anniversary



Three years ago today my dad died. We're not having a bad anniversary. We're doing fine over here, all of us. We're having a much better day today than we did on this day in 2005, and we're appreciating that.

They have these cheap Valentine's cakes in the stores these days, single-layer cakes in plastic heart-shaped trays. I bought one of them in a stupor on the day my dad died, and stabbed at it halfheartedly with a fork right out of its tray. You can buy and eat anything you like however you like on the day somebody dies, with no shame. It's a small perk. I saw one of those cakes today but I didn't need to buy one.

Going through my folder of stuff for my show, I found this. I want to post it today even if I still use it:

When my father died, right afterwards, like in the following two or three days, I was tearing my hair out at night trying to figure out where he was. Where is he? Where is he?

I was angry that I didn't know. I was angry that we hadn't been given this information. Just for two or three days I felt this caged rage, like I had to do something, see somebody about this - not here, like a therapist, but you know, Up There. The Management.

Like, some customer service here, motherfuckers.

And I felt at night,
those two or three nights, in bed,
like a child. Like a real child.
How you don't know how it works.
How amazing it is that your mother or father can drive a car.
How they know how to get somewhere that's half an hour away.
How they know where to go on the freeway, when I can't even see all the way out of the side window of the back seat. I'm too short.
How they can get the car all the way to the airport with me in the back seat lying down looking up at the perforations in the leather on the roof the car. The ceiling of the car.
They didn't need anything from me, I had nothing to give,
no knowledge was required of me.
Squired from point A to point B.

I felt that way when my father died, in my bed those nights,
like I had just been squired from point A to point B
but this time I didn't know who was driving
or what point B was other than backwards to where I didn't know anything at all.

I could see the ceiling of my room, and the red walls leading up to the ceiling, and the white moulding along the length of the ceiling, and then it was just ceiling and all I knew was that my father was somewhere on the other side of the ceiling.
But on which side? To the left or to the right?
When I address him, which way should I look?
Up, right? But up and over?
Straight up? Up and to the left?
How many feet? A hundred feet? Four feet?
Fifteen feet up and four feet to the left, but just out of this world?

And after those two or three days passed I was an adult again and I wasn't interested in where he was. Just how he was.

Sunday, February 03, 2008

self portrait: super tueszzzz



This, yes, does not look like my normal self portraits. My mouse is too sticky to draw properly with MS Paint. I had to borrow a sleeping Homer and adjust him. I slimmed him down and removed the five o'clock shadow and the yellowness and the drool. The drool is accurate, but my vanity only let me go so far.

I'm exhausted. I've been cramming so much primary coverage into my poor skull that my brain has seeped out my pores. I NEED A NOMINEE. Help me.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

so i can enjoy my final pastries in peace


I've written at some length in my other, nearly-abandoned blog about this solo show I've been trying and then not trying to write. I'd write about this over there but I want all my 365 posts to be on the same blog for some compulsive reason. A step-on-a-crack-break-your-mother's-back kind of feeling. I can't split them up, the posts. They're going to be threehundredsixtyfivetuplets.

I just found a green paper folder with a bunch of writing from this nearly-abandoned show in it, and a lot of it is SHUT UP ALREADY. DAMN. which won't be surprising given my writing style. But some of it I like and find attractive to explore in more depth. I think I want to keep making my show!

I'm happy to say that. This show...if it is a show and not just a piece of writing to be read, which would be okay, too...but I think it's a show....is like my deathbed thing. It's the thing on my deathbed where I imagine I might be like, HEY LOSER, WHY DIDN'T YOU? THAT WAS THE ONE THING....if I don't do it. Actually, when I think about it, I much prefer that my dying moments be focused on blasting love towards whomever I'm leaving behind and opening up my heart to wherever I'm going. That'll be lame if I'm all like, my solo show!

So let me reframe that. When I'm terribly ancient and getting ready to check out I think it's possible that I might, say, in the last few weeks of life, have some pangs about whatever I didn't risk artistically that I might have done. I would like to spare myself these pangs. I'd rather lie there all wizened thinking, man, that was one spastic solo show I did there. But good on me for giving it a go. And then I can get on with the business of eating the final croissants of my life and hanging around with my remaining people.

I think it's a show and not just a piece of writing to be read because that's riskier for me and I want ultimately to have been as ballsy as I can accomodate in this Tina suit. Writing is one kind of pleasure and acting is another. Acting is like the only sport I play, my favorite source of adrenaline. I think it will have to be a part of it, this piece. I think it can't just be for reading. I want this piece to be the Silly Putty, and me to be the thing on the newsprint that gets picked up and stretched out.

This post is so Bloomerang-y. Non-readers of that blog must be like, what gives with the switch in tone? Blog 365 gives. And so does writing in the middle of the night.

Friday, February 01, 2008

super tuesday bowl haircut 100


Tina, how are we doing with the stumping?




Barack, my statcounter tells me I have some Super-Tuesday-state-dwellin' lords and ladies in my giminiscule, tinormous readership. We sport:

New York
California
New Jersey
Illinois
Georgia
Connecticut
Massachusetts
Minnesota
Missouri
Utah
Alabama
Alaska
Arkansas
Colorado
Oklahoma


The Gallivanting Monkey has not gotten a toehold into Delaware or Idaho yet but I am working on it. I'm going to try to bust in over the weekend. Dover and Boise, you better throw open your doors or put some Nerf stuff on the floor for me for when I ram my way through with a log. There may be a couple of other Super Tuesday states that aren't completely under the thrall of this micronipotent mommy blog but I will sniff them out and eat them also for breakfast. Much has made of Oprah's support of you, Barack Obama. Little of the Gallivanting Monkey's. That's all right. I'm like the invisible wizard pulling all the strings.

*******glissando (magical escalating strings) sound effect*******

AP: Literally ones of disoriented blog readers found themselves on Tuesday staggering to their primary locations with their arms outstretched like zombies. Exit polls confirmed that 100% voted for Barack Obama. When asked to cite the most important factor in choosing a candidate, 100% cited a recent endorsement by The Gallivanting Monkey. Word had been circulating in the Super Tuesday states that one Finn Rowley, when asked by his mother whom he preferred between Senator Obama and Senator Clinton, gave the unprompted reply "Barack Obama" and made a beeline for the television set, where he stretched his arms out to hug a Tivo'd still of the charismatic senator from Illinois. Rowley's mother wished to reiterate to the waiting media that this reply was indeed truly unprompted, showing that Senator Obama is cutting a swath into the untapped 24-months-and-under demographic. Also, a glissando sound effect was reported in all of the Super Tuesday states just before the polls opened.