Oh Dear

Several public moments of stupidity in the media today:

Poor Caitlin Upton. I have no idea how she managed to say something so incomprehensible, but there you have it. I am sure that she's not THAT dumb, but somehow she managed to string a whole bunch of words together in a way that made absolutely no sense. It didn't help that she had a vapid look on her face and a blank tone of voice. I know that I was incredibly self-conscious when I was her age, I can't imagine how I would have felt if my most embarrassing moment had been broadcast on You Tube for millions to watch. People are saying that her answer shows how dumb Americans are or somehow makes a broader statement about our culture. I don't believe that's the case. I think she just got scared and nervous, but wow is it funny! Hang in there Caitlin - definitely a classy move to go on the Today Show this morning - way to go.

And for fun. here's a transcript of her answer to why a fifth of Americans could not locate the United States on a world map (yikes): “I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, uhmmm, some people out there in our nation don't have maps and uh, I believe that our, I, education like such as, uh, South Africa, and uh, the Iraq, everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uhhh, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., uh, should help South Africa, it should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future, for us.”

I have a bit less sympathy for Idaho Senator Larry Craig who pleaded guilty to lewd conduct in June when he was caught soliciting another man in an airport bathroom and didn't bother telling his wife about it until it broke in the news yesterday. He is a conservative Republican who wants to pass an amendment defining marriage as a union between one man and one woman, but many gay man say they have had sex with him, he has been accused of lewd conduct in the past, and should I repeat the fact that he plead guilty in June and didn't tell his wife??? Today he held a press release during which he repeated "I'm not gay" multiple times in an angry tone and all I could think while watching him was, "Wow, he must really hate himself." And there I am, back to feeling sorry for him. I know it's hard, especially for men of his generation, to be open about sexual preference. But isn't it simpler when we're ourselves? And shouldn't people elected to public positions be as honest and open as possible? Doesn't it all eventually come out anyways? Yes, I am an idealist, but senator or no senator, Larry Craig has some work to do because he's not going to be happy until he is comfortable with who he is.

Things

Thing 1: I saw a great documentary last night called Can Mr. Smith Get to Washington Anymore? I recommend it to anyone who's even slightly politically-minded. Not only does it detail an inspirational, though failed, campaign, but it also points out one of the major problems inherent in our political system - legacy candidates who win on name recognition and familyreputation alone. A side note: watching the poor guy make all the painful phone calls and have the door slammed in his face definitely served as a reminder about why I do not want to run for office.

Thing 2: I have been meaning, for some time, to blog about my neighborhood Street Sense vendor, Ivory Wilson. I met Ivory last winter. It was shortly after I'd attended one of the seminars my work puts on for teenagers and I'd heard some speakers from the National Coalition for the Homeless. What resonated with me most that the homeless speakers said was all they want is some friendly human interaction - to be treated like people. I certainly didn't make a practice of being mean to homeless people I passed on the street, but I also didn't often smile at them or even say hello. Armed with my new awareness, I decided to make a concerted effort to be friendly to homeless people I pass each day. It was right around then that I noticed a new Street Sense vendor on the corner between Starbucks and the metro. I walk past his spot each morning and each morning I would smile at him and say good morning. I also began to buy the newspaper from him. He was always very friendly and appreciative and started to call me his friend.

"Good morning, my friend," he'd say.

I looked forward to walking past him. His would be at least one friendly face on my morning commute and often the only friendly face. On days when he wasn't there, I began to miss him.

Then, one day, I bought the paper from him and he told me his profile was in it. The first paragraph of the profile began with an accurate description and ended with a surprise: "He speaks with swagger. He smiles, but always a sideways grin making you doubt everything he says. But if he didn't smile you wouldn't believe him. If he didn't smile you wouldn't see the detail that remains from his former life: four diamonds set in gold in a front tooth. You see, Ivory Wilson III was a pimp."

After the initial shock of reading the intro, I noticed the pull-quote on the page in 24-point font: "I know that some day I am going to meet somebody that is going to give me that opportunity to talk to them and realize that I am very talented at something else besides turning women into hookers. That I am a writer."

As a woman and a feminist, I really wasn't sure how to proceed. Should I talk to Ivory in the morning? Could I still smile at him knowing what he'd done? At the same time, he's reformed and he's trying to become a writer - an aspiration I can certainly identify with. I discussed the dilemma with Neil, I mulled it over for a few days, meanwhile, Ivory was missing from his corner - as if to give me the space to process the new information I had obtained. Later he said that he was very busy because of the profile - the media had done an interview, he had to sell some of his books "How to be a Pimp", etc.

Ultimately, even after reading some of Ivory's disturbingly graphic book about being a pimp (I bought a photocopy for $5), I decided to continue my friendship. Now, Ivory brings printed word documents with new stories and poems he's written each week. I give him a dollar or two for each poem and I buy the paper when it comes out. Sometimes I stop and talk to him for a couple of minutes, but I always smile. I've noticed that I'm not the only young woman who stops and talks to Ivory. In fact, I've never seen a man talking to him on his corner. It's funny, because he's not particularly charming - but there must be something about him?

During a recent conversation, Ivory told me that living in DC doesn't tempt him to go back to his life as a pimp. Living in California, however, does, so he's staying here. I appreciated the courage it took for him to open up to me like that (I don't even think he knows my name) and it made me trust him just a little bit - enough to keep letting him call me his friend.

A couple issues of Street Sense ago, Ivory published a poem called "The Salesman at 7th and E" that chronicled his time selling the newspapers on his corner. He wrote of being cold and sad in the winter and the difference that was made by the people who said hello to him. I like to think I helped make that difference and seeing that poem in the paper felt rewarding.

There is some humor that comes with my "friendship" with Ivory. For instance, I can say things to Neil like, "Oh, sorry, I gave my last dollar to my pimp" after buying the paper from Ivory on the way home from work. I like the novelty of being friends with a reformed pimp. But really, I'm glad I took the chance and opened myself up to befriending someone to whom I previously wouldn't have given the time of day. It sounds a little made-for-tv-movie, but being friends with Ivory, regardless of his past crimes and current homelessness isn't just favor to Ivory, it makes me feel good about myself.

Ugh

This makes me sad.

It's raining today and I think I inhaled too much dust while cleaning the office for new employees yesterday so now I feel sick. I realize it's bizarre that the Marketing and PR director cleans for new employees, but nobody else was going to do it and I think that having a nice space on your first day of work is important. Note to self: Next time, let somebody else clean the office.

Neil is in South Padre Island on hurricane watch. Fortunatley, so far, the hurricane seems to be hitting mostly uninhabited parts of Mexico. Also fortunate, it didn't hit where Neil was. Maybe he will come home soon?

Still Thinking About Liam and Suicide

...and so I present this poem by Galway Kinnell...

Wait

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total
exhaustion.

Liam Rector 1949-2007

I was a student in the Bennington Writing Seminars for two years, a program that was started and directed by the poet Liam Rector. I learned this morning that after a long illness, Liam killed himself yesterday morning. To me, a student of his who didn't know him well, but was completely inspired by him, the news of his death is like a star going out. He was brilliant, eccentric, completely devoted to language and literature and his exuberance for life was infectious. Liam described the Bennington Writing Seminars as a vortex or radiant node. We gathered in Vermont twice a year to gain the energy and synergy found in the vortex and then we traveled home for the necessary isolation in which art is created. He was a great man and the world is a little bit less wise, less rich and less bright without him.

A quote from Liam: "I've been a student of music and film, and I think of life as that tragic and embarrassing thing that takes place between the poems, films, and the songs I inhabit."

And a poem he wrote that strikes a chord:

The Remarkable Objectivity
of Your Old Friends

by Liam Rector

We did right by your death and went out,
Right away, to a public place to drink,
To be with each other, to face it.

We called other friends - the ones
Your mother hadn't called - and told them
What you had decided, and some said

What you did was right; it was the thing
You wanted and we'd just have to live
With that, that your life had been one

Long misery and they could see why you
Had chosen that, no matter what any of us
Thought about it, and anyway, one said,

Most of us abandoned each other a long
Time ago and we'd have to face that
If we had any hope of getting it right.



To Liam: Thank you for sharing your joy of life with me. I will endeavor to Always Be Closing. You will be missed.

Slight Panic About Getting Older

Do we become infinitely less interesting as we age? Do we lose our capacity for adventure with each passing year? I have a fear that my days of adventure and intrigue are numbered. If they are, why am I not doing something amazing every day? There is a line in Bright Eyes' Travelin' Song that, for some reason, captures what I am talking about, the could-care-less bad-ass adventure. It is something about parking in an ally and hoping that their shit is safe.

I am such a contradiction. In a way, I wish I could limit my belongings to what would fit in a car and just wander. At the same time, I need to have a home, a community and a sense of place.

I am afraid. I am afraid of growing older, of having regrets, of not seeing everything, of not living up to my potential, of being lost, of losing too much, of missing the people that mean the most to me. I need to harness the fear and use it. I need to stop thinking and act. I need to go skydiving, travel to Thailand, learn Spanish (for real this time), scuba dive with sharks, perform in a dance recital, complete a triathlon, publish a book. I need to get it done.

Hip Hop

I have a confession. Since sometime
in early spring, I have been going to hip hop classes. Each week, Lia
and I leave work right on time, head downtown and spend an hour dancing
to loud hip hop music in an historic library building. We don't have a
ton of rhythm and while we're getting better, I still usually only get
all the steps once in a class even though we repeat the routine at
least 25 times each class. Two weeks ago, the instructor told us we
don't suck (not exactly in those words, but that was the message) and
we were so excited.

But, in spite of a slight lack of natural hip hop talent and my strong instinct to point my toes and dance like a ballerina
instead (damn childhood ballet lessons) the highlight of my week is
dance class. We have so much fun that when we get to work on Friday,
we're still smiling. I love it. I love dancing. It is one of the most
life-affirming joy-filled activities I can do.

So there it is. Now you know. Whew, it's nice to have that off my chest.

Shame by Hello Kitty

Check out this article! This is so completely bizarre that it's hilarious. The Thai police definitly get the award for "most interesting use of Hello Kitty."

My favorite pull quote: "(Hello) Kitty is a cute icon for young girls. It's not something macho police officers want covering their biceps," Pongpat said.

Amazing.

New Mexico

There's a fantastic article on Santa Fe in the New York Times and Neil saw a billboard in Minneapolis that sends you to a website suggesting New Mexico is the best place in the universe. I always tell people I meet that I am from Santa Fe. Then they say, "Santa Fe?" and I say, "Yep, it's the best place on earth." Maybe I will upgrade that to "It's the best place in the universe."

Anyway, all of this New Mexico talk has me longing to be back there instead of the swampy inferno that is D.C.

Next time on j.g.s. "Why I love living in D.C."

Really?
So, apparently, I hate the world?

(Thanks to Britty and Amy for capturing this Seattle poster on film and sending it my way.)

You can check this band out here. They are actually kind of good...