After watching the VP presidential debate, I have one BIG question... How did Palin get to where she is? I mean, the US is supposed to be the "leader of the world" and the Republican party pick her!!! So tell me again. How did she manage, out of all the possibilities, to get picked? I am aghast!!!
My brief observations from the debate:
Lazy vernacular -- darn, six pack
Childishness -- winking, making reference to her brother (or was it brother-in-law's) school
Lack of knowledge -- side stepping questions, getting facts wrong, hard to make sense of her
Lack of compassion -- robotic ignoring of Biden's emotions, flat lined delivery of 90% of her speech, rehearsed speech, little passion
Lack of control -- It's "O'Biden", slurring of words or is that slinging words?
I have a shiny ball theory. The Republican Party are very good at finding things, such as shiny balls, to distract people from what is really going on. I think that McCain thought that Palin was a great shiny ball. It worked in the beginning i am sad to say. I hope that the American people put on their sunglasses or avert their eyes in order to see what is going on. The shiny ball is only shiny on the surface. Scratch it and it is just ordinary, poke through the ball and it is hollow.
Palin's words were hollow, as was her heart.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Icelandic Impressions
As I fly into Iceland I am reminded of landscapes in sci-fi movies. The time is 6:30 in the morning. There is a fog and the landscape is black. At first I think that it is because the sun has not yet shone its spotlight on the green but it is truly black; the result of violent excessive eruptions of lava flows all younger than 700,000 years old. Little vegetation covers the lava rock. It looks bleak as the craggy lines of the lava formations are covered in lichen and moss. It is beautiful. You can view pictures @: http://www.new.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1152587225&ref=profile
I compare Perth, Western Australia to Iceland. Both countries are islands and both places have a feeling of something alien about them. Perth is like going to Mars. The landscape captures the imagination as scrub bush dots the flat red dirt. Iceland is like heading out into the blackness of the solar system where the jagged lunaresque landscape is barren of scrub. I love both types of landscapes. The alienation of this type of world appeals to me. The lushness of North Carolina is cloying. I prefer the starkness and rawness of landscapes like Australia and Iceland. The openess is refreshing. There is a loneliness that is both a strength and a weakness. The strength is in the wonder that anything can survive in such a harsh place and the weakness is that only a few do. In addition, there is a psychological effect that is apparent. People are icy. And I say this, pun intended. That is until you know them. And as the saying goes, "What goes on in Iceland, stays in Iceland." :o)
I compare Perth, Western Australia to Iceland. Both countries are islands and both places have a feeling of something alien about them. Perth is like going to Mars. The landscape captures the imagination as scrub bush dots the flat red dirt. Iceland is like heading out into the blackness of the solar system where the jagged lunaresque landscape is barren of scrub. I love both types of landscapes. The alienation of this type of world appeals to me. The lushness of North Carolina is cloying. I prefer the starkness and rawness of landscapes like Australia and Iceland. The openess is refreshing. There is a loneliness that is both a strength and a weakness. The strength is in the wonder that anything can survive in such a harsh place and the weakness is that only a few do. In addition, there is a psychological effect that is apparent. People are icy. And I say this, pun intended. That is until you know them. And as the saying goes, "What goes on in Iceland, stays in Iceland." :o)
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Leaving for Iceland
Raleigh Airport -- Unlike the start of my trip to Australia, the start of my trip to Iceland started off without a hitch. That is, until I was standing at the gate, waiting to board, people watching and day dreaming. Did they call my name? I knew they were boarding passengers but they usually board sections and my section hadn't been called. So I returned to my reverie. OK, that definitely was my name over the loud speaker. The gate keeper to access the plane looked at me in total non-amusement and said, "What are you waiting for?". I thought to myself, "A bigger plane." I sheepishly, moved quickly down the runway. I hate being the last one to board!!
It's my entire friend's fault. When she dropped me off at the airport, she said to me, "Have a wonderful time, no, have a bizarre time." And then proceeded to laugh at herself. I agreed with the notion, yet not an hour later I was cursing her. My brain was fuzzy, I nearly missed my flight out of Raleigh which was beginning to feel like Kansas and I like Dorothy. I have the red shoes, but the heel kick is not returning me to OZ.
I arrived at JFK, where I had a 6 hour layover. I caught the AirTrain to Terminal 7 thinking that I could get my boarding pass, go through security and hang out in the departure lounge. But that would have been way to easy on a girl with a bizarre curse hanging over her head. Icelandic Air does not have early check-in. Apparently I needed to go to Terminal 4 which is the main terminal that has bars, food, and off course duty free shopping. Harrumph.
This would not be so bad if it wasn't for dealing with the AirTrain. The AirTrain relies on powers of deduction which I don't have. Bewildered I stand once again at the train station. I wonder if the approaching train goes to Terminal 4. I overheared that it goes to such and such station. OK, not mine. But how did they know? I am panicked. What am I missing? Once again I looked over the information map. Nope, that still didn't help. I wished for my GPS. I have travelled the London Underground, I have used the Toronto subway, I have navigated the world and yet the AirTrain is beyond me. Another AirTrain squealed up and I prayed (and I am not religious) for a hint from the God of Trains. Scarily, the voice of the God boomed around me and said that it was going to Terminal 1. Well that helps. Not. This mere mortal needs more information. How about a map with twinkling lights showing the train's trail? Treat me like a child, please, please.
I look around in embarrassment, feeling as though I am the only one that is just not getting it. I notice other frustrated passengers. First they get on the train, ask other passengers if the train is going to the destination that they want, and then they get off the train; always with an embarrassed laugh as though they are at fault. Finally, I just decide to jump on the metallic beast and leave destiny to the God. I stand at the front of the beast, hand gripping the rail, as it lurches forward. Where I go, I don't know. I am an expert traveler, but at that moment I am a novice. Somehow, the God of Trains has heard my plea and the beast reaches my destination.
And much, much later, after a Cosmopolitan or two I am on my way to a destination that was never on my "kick the bucket" list -- Iceland.
It's my entire friend's fault. When she dropped me off at the airport, she said to me, "Have a wonderful time, no, have a bizarre time." And then proceeded to laugh at herself. I agreed with the notion, yet not an hour later I was cursing her. My brain was fuzzy, I nearly missed my flight out of Raleigh which was beginning to feel like Kansas and I like Dorothy. I have the red shoes, but the heel kick is not returning me to OZ.
I arrived at JFK, where I had a 6 hour layover. I caught the AirTrain to Terminal 7 thinking that I could get my boarding pass, go through security and hang out in the departure lounge. But that would have been way to easy on a girl with a bizarre curse hanging over her head. Icelandic Air does not have early check-in. Apparently I needed to go to Terminal 4 which is the main terminal that has bars, food, and off course duty free shopping. Harrumph.
This would not be so bad if it wasn't for dealing with the AirTrain. The AirTrain relies on powers of deduction which I don't have. Bewildered I stand once again at the train station. I wonder if the approaching train goes to Terminal 4. I overheared that it goes to such and such station. OK, not mine. But how did they know? I am panicked. What am I missing? Once again I looked over the information map. Nope, that still didn't help. I wished for my GPS. I have travelled the London Underground, I have used the Toronto subway, I have navigated the world and yet the AirTrain is beyond me. Another AirTrain squealed up and I prayed (and I am not religious) for a hint from the God of Trains. Scarily, the voice of the God boomed around me and said that it was going to Terminal 1. Well that helps. Not. This mere mortal needs more information. How about a map with twinkling lights showing the train's trail? Treat me like a child, please, please.
I look around in embarrassment, feeling as though I am the only one that is just not getting it. I notice other frustrated passengers. First they get on the train, ask other passengers if the train is going to the destination that they want, and then they get off the train; always with an embarrassed laugh as though they are at fault. Finally, I just decide to jump on the metallic beast and leave destiny to the God. I stand at the front of the beast, hand gripping the rail, as it lurches forward. Where I go, I don't know. I am an expert traveler, but at that moment I am a novice. Somehow, the God of Trains has heard my plea and the beast reaches my destination.
And much, much later, after a Cosmopolitan or two I am on my way to a destination that was never on my "kick the bucket" list -- Iceland.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Nightclubbing & Flirting
I haven't been out dancing in a nightclub in, ummmmm, 20 odd years. A group of friends decided to try the new nightclub in Raleigh, Solas. We decided to have dinner there. Now I love food and consider myself a bit of a food snob. So when I ordered "foie gras" I knew what I was doing. And phooey to those of you who think that it should be banned. Move on and order something else.
Apparently the kitchen didn't know what they were doing. Or, maybe they did. When my trendy large dish arrived I could barely see the trendy sized foie gras. Now I get nouveau cuisine. But this was over the top. Almost as overtop as Solas charging $13 for a glass of ordinary red wine. Now don't give me, these are New York prices. $13 for a glass of wine is not NY price. This is Raleigh trying to be NY by thinking that way. NY charges that price if the bottle is expensive; not cheap. I digress. I need to get back and rant about my foie gras.
Imagine 2 pieces of toast, a little smaller than the old shaped iPods. On one end of each cold piece of toast were two incy, wincy little pieces of foie gras. My friends took one look and started to laugh. If I was that foie gras I would have turned from brown to red. I tried to spread the foie gras but it kind of bounced a little, bringing more laughter to the table. Hmmmmm. In my experience, foie gras is supposed to spread like soft butter. In this experience, it jerked like overcooked tofu. I took a bite and too my surprise all that was left was the other half of a dry piece of toast. My friends now had tears rolling down their faces because my expression was, well, it must have been funny. In two bites, I had eaten all the unspreadable foie gras and what was left were the end pieces of toast. It was then that I noticed some white stuff underneath the toast. I took a tentative bite and could not believe it. It tasted like potatoes but I wasn’t sure. I took another bite. OK, I figured it was mashed potatoes, but it was lumpy!! UGG. I think it reasonable to say that I will be eating elsewhere in the future. The dancing made up for it though.
In addition to checking out Solas for the dancing, my therapist had given me some homework. Now don’t get all wigged out that I casually mention that I have a therapist. I have this philosophy that if you don’t share information about yourself then others will have this notion of you that is not true. So I am free with lots of information about myself. However, there are some subjects that I will never blog about – personal relationships for example. Not because of me, but out of respect of the other person. So my therapist’s homework for me was to flirt. Now don’t get me wrong I can flirt when I feel safe. It is when I stop feeling safe that I can’t flirt and I get defensive. This happens at work, it even happens when I go out. I get cold and panicked. I don’t know how to act so I put up lots of barriers and boundaries. I get all logical and non-flirty.
So I decided to flirt on this particular night. To see whether of not I could do it. Keep the warm, natural me going. I was doing it fine with my dance partner who was gay. We were flirting really well because I felt safe with him. So I looked around the room wondering who I could practice on. After a while a couple of guys caught my attention. I kept dancing and keeping an eye on them. Yip they looked like good candidates for my homework. I nervously walked up to them and asked them if there was a bet going on. They said yes. What it was about I have no clue. I forget things when I get nervous. I felt that I was doing well flirting with the two guys. I was patting myself on the back, until the guy who I not paying as much attention to, mentioned that his friend was married. Huh!!? Crap, I had forgotten to ask that question. Hell, I hadn’t even flirted that long to get to that question. I mean, at what point does one ask that question? This single stuff is complicated.
I turned to the supposedly married man and asked him if he was married. He said that he had an open marriage. I gulped hard. I felt the flirting motor shutdown fast. Homework was over. “What do you mean by ‘open’”? I asked casually, getting ready to bolt. He explained that he couldn’t come back to my place but I could go back to his. This was too much for me. Then he said that he was kidding. I said it was not funny, which I knew was not flirting. He said I did not know his sense humor. Well duh, I had just met him and this topic was a bit too much too soon. Then I remembered that I felt way better on the dance floor with my gay friend. He knew how to flirt without being stupid. So I said “Bye bye.”
And my flirting motor started up again as my body gyrated with my new friend.
Apparently the kitchen didn't know what they were doing. Or, maybe they did. When my trendy large dish arrived I could barely see the trendy sized foie gras. Now I get nouveau cuisine. But this was over the top. Almost as overtop as Solas charging $13 for a glass of ordinary red wine. Now don't give me, these are New York prices. $13 for a glass of wine is not NY price. This is Raleigh trying to be NY by thinking that way. NY charges that price if the bottle is expensive; not cheap. I digress. I need to get back and rant about my foie gras.
Imagine 2 pieces of toast, a little smaller than the old shaped iPods. On one end of each cold piece of toast were two incy, wincy little pieces of foie gras. My friends took one look and started to laugh. If I was that foie gras I would have turned from brown to red. I tried to spread the foie gras but it kind of bounced a little, bringing more laughter to the table. Hmmmmm. In my experience, foie gras is supposed to spread like soft butter. In this experience, it jerked like overcooked tofu. I took a bite and too my surprise all that was left was the other half of a dry piece of toast. My friends now had tears rolling down their faces because my expression was, well, it must have been funny. In two bites, I had eaten all the unspreadable foie gras and what was left were the end pieces of toast. It was then that I noticed some white stuff underneath the toast. I took a tentative bite and could not believe it. It tasted like potatoes but I wasn’t sure. I took another bite. OK, I figured it was mashed potatoes, but it was lumpy!! UGG. I think it reasonable to say that I will be eating elsewhere in the future. The dancing made up for it though.
In addition to checking out Solas for the dancing, my therapist had given me some homework. Now don’t get all wigged out that I casually mention that I have a therapist. I have this philosophy that if you don’t share information about yourself then others will have this notion of you that is not true. So I am free with lots of information about myself. However, there are some subjects that I will never blog about – personal relationships for example. Not because of me, but out of respect of the other person. So my therapist’s homework for me was to flirt. Now don’t get me wrong I can flirt when I feel safe. It is when I stop feeling safe that I can’t flirt and I get defensive. This happens at work, it even happens when I go out. I get cold and panicked. I don’t know how to act so I put up lots of barriers and boundaries. I get all logical and non-flirty.
So I decided to flirt on this particular night. To see whether of not I could do it. Keep the warm, natural me going. I was doing it fine with my dance partner who was gay. We were flirting really well because I felt safe with him. So I looked around the room wondering who I could practice on. After a while a couple of guys caught my attention. I kept dancing and keeping an eye on them. Yip they looked like good candidates for my homework. I nervously walked up to them and asked them if there was a bet going on. They said yes. What it was about I have no clue. I forget things when I get nervous. I felt that I was doing well flirting with the two guys. I was patting myself on the back, until the guy who I not paying as much attention to, mentioned that his friend was married. Huh!!? Crap, I had forgotten to ask that question. Hell, I hadn’t even flirted that long to get to that question. I mean, at what point does one ask that question? This single stuff is complicated.
I turned to the supposedly married man and asked him if he was married. He said that he had an open marriage. I gulped hard. I felt the flirting motor shutdown fast. Homework was over. “What do you mean by ‘open’”? I asked casually, getting ready to bolt. He explained that he couldn’t come back to my place but I could go back to his. This was too much for me. Then he said that he was kidding. I said it was not funny, which I knew was not flirting. He said I did not know his sense humor. Well duh, I had just met him and this topic was a bit too much too soon. Then I remembered that I felt way better on the dance floor with my gay friend. He knew how to flirt without being stupid. So I said “Bye bye.”
And my flirting motor started up again as my body gyrated with my new friend.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
A "Birfday" Wish
A few weeks ago I asked my very good friend Cindy what she would like for her birthday. She rendered me speechless when she requested that I write her a poem. I can't tell you what that meant to me. I could have written about how inspirational she is, how beautiful she is (both inside and out), how funny and smart she is, how she is so many things to so many people. But I think of her and I think of wine. We both love to indulge and both have the same belief that life is meant to be lived. That means we drink even if we have to workout the next day!!! Maybe our running group should be named "Cab on the Run" or something like that. And so I came up with this "Ode to Wine".
An Ode to Red Wine
Inky, red passion swirls before her eyes
Her complex companion numbs her from background laughter
In this world there are no lies
She is heady as the chocolate, leather notes linger in her nose
Her eyes droop as the silky liquid passes over her lips
Spicy edge lingers long on her tongue
It's a complete, less manipulated courtship
Not changed into something it was not meant to be
Flirting with perfection imparts a groan from her throat
Happy 40th, Cindy.
An Ode to Red Wine
Inky, red passion swirls before her eyes
Her complex companion numbs her from background laughter
In this world there are no lies
She is heady as the chocolate, leather notes linger in her nose
Her eyes droop as the silky liquid passes over her lips
Spicy edge lingers long on her tongue
It's a complete, less manipulated courtship
Not changed into something it was not meant to be
Flirting with perfection imparts a groan from her throat
Happy 40th, Cindy.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Ripley
Ripley is the purest of friends
there are no lies between us
Her love is total but she gets pissed off at me;
the little furrow of the brow,
forgiven I get the little grin
Liquid brown eyes talk to me so loudly;
Her nose twitches with pleasure
at a world I can't smell
Her ears perk up at special words
She knows how to spell "treat"
Her eyes so pure, so much purer than mine
She gazes around in delight
For life, for me, for everything
She is always near me; being, doing or dreaming
Sometimes asking
I have followed Her golden tail
swishing as She explores
rotted crabs, the swirling waves:
when she rushes to introduce Herself to birds and squirrels
and then looks confused when they don't stop to say "Hi"
Yes, I believe in a "being" heaven
I have been preparing for a long time
when She will no longer share my bed
when She will no longer roll over
to expose that white, soft belly for rubbing
I will never say goodbye
and that's all there is to it.
there are no lies between us
Her love is total but she gets pissed off at me;
the little furrow of the brow,
forgiven I get the little grin
Liquid brown eyes talk to me so loudly;
Her nose twitches with pleasure
at a world I can't smell
Her ears perk up at special words
She knows how to spell "treat"
Her eyes so pure, so much purer than mine
She gazes around in delight
For life, for me, for everything
She is always near me; being, doing or dreaming
Sometimes asking
I have followed Her golden tail
swishing as She explores
rotted crabs, the swirling waves:
when she rushes to introduce Herself to birds and squirrels
and then looks confused when they don't stop to say "Hi"
Yes, I believe in a "being" heaven
I have been preparing for a long time
when She will no longer share my bed
when She will no longer roll over
to expose that white, soft belly for rubbing
I will never say goodbye
and that's all there is to it.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Friendship -- Not a Casual Investment
A friend is someone who takes your hand and leads you back to yourself. To me, being a true friend means that I bring a gamut of things to the relationship: giving, laughter, amazement, challenges, disappointment, sadness, hurt. As I am not perfect I expect friends to tell me when I do fuck up, and believe me they have. And I learn. We are all learning about ourselves and each other and sharing that learning. But on the whole I believe I bring friends laughter and joy.
Can true friends tell friends that they are pissed with each other? I bloody well hope so.
I believe that the closer the friendship, the more you can reveal. I could not get pissed off or celebrate with a person that is an acquaintance or a casual friend. Why expend the energy? But a close friend I can get pissed off at, cry with, share joy with, because the barriers are lowered. I can be vulnerable with a close friend because I know that when I get pissed off they won't judge me, or dump me, or abandon me. And if they do, it is short lived because they get to see the deeper me. They see the kaleidoscope of wonders (dark and light). I know that I can cry and they will be there. I can feel joy and a friend can share that with me. Yes friends have the potential to hurt more, because they get to see more. That is the trade-off.
Would I get pissed off at a casual friend? Would I be vulnerable with a casual friend? Absolutely not! They will just experience the fun, bubbly me at distant intervals. With a casual friend I would never get pissed off with or share many feelings with because the investment and expectations are not there. And yes, I do have expectations or rather guidelines for friends otherwise I would have no boundaries. Casual friends will never see the wonderful dimensions that I have to offer. And I will never the experience the wonders of them.
I spent a large part of my life living the philosophy that others are responsible for their feelings and what they think. That is so easy when I don't want to think about others. It takes energy and empathy to think about others. I am responsible in part for my actions on others. I cannot go around being angry or sad or happy at people and then saying "Well I am just being me, it is their responsibility how they take it." I managed to stay married way past the due date because I had been taught that I was responsible for my feelings and thoughts. No matter what the case, I always ended up rationalizing that I was the one who was responsible for my feelings. My ex-husband was therefore free from responsibility. He could act like he wanted but it was up to me to change how I felt because "Goddamn it I was responsible for how I felt". To a degree I agree about being self-responsible, but I also ended up hiding my feelings.
Now I realize that I have three choices if I don't like the way something is said or some behavior is incongruent with how I think.... 1. Decide that this behavior does not mesh with the way I think and it is critical to my well being and leave. 2. Decide that it is my thinking and deal with it on my own. 3. Have a mature conversation with the other person and see whether or not a compromise can be met. These steps are so much better than being passive-aggressive (which comes out as cold and distant and silent punishment).
A friendship to me is an investment. As with any investment you take the highs with the lows.
Can true friends tell friends that they are pissed with each other? I bloody well hope so.
I believe that the closer the friendship, the more you can reveal. I could not get pissed off or celebrate with a person that is an acquaintance or a casual friend. Why expend the energy? But a close friend I can get pissed off at, cry with, share joy with, because the barriers are lowered. I can be vulnerable with a close friend because I know that when I get pissed off they won't judge me, or dump me, or abandon me. And if they do, it is short lived because they get to see the deeper me. They see the kaleidoscope of wonders (dark and light). I know that I can cry and they will be there. I can feel joy and a friend can share that with me. Yes friends have the potential to hurt more, because they get to see more. That is the trade-off.
Would I get pissed off at a casual friend? Would I be vulnerable with a casual friend? Absolutely not! They will just experience the fun, bubbly me at distant intervals. With a casual friend I would never get pissed off with or share many feelings with because the investment and expectations are not there. And yes, I do have expectations or rather guidelines for friends otherwise I would have no boundaries. Casual friends will never see the wonderful dimensions that I have to offer. And I will never the experience the wonders of them.
I spent a large part of my life living the philosophy that others are responsible for their feelings and what they think. That is so easy when I don't want to think about others. It takes energy and empathy to think about others. I am responsible in part for my actions on others. I cannot go around being angry or sad or happy at people and then saying "Well I am just being me, it is their responsibility how they take it." I managed to stay married way past the due date because I had been taught that I was responsible for my feelings and thoughts. No matter what the case, I always ended up rationalizing that I was the one who was responsible for my feelings. My ex-husband was therefore free from responsibility. He could act like he wanted but it was up to me to change how I felt because "Goddamn it I was responsible for how I felt". To a degree I agree about being self-responsible, but I also ended up hiding my feelings.
Now I realize that I have three choices if I don't like the way something is said or some behavior is incongruent with how I think.... 1. Decide that this behavior does not mesh with the way I think and it is critical to my well being and leave. 2. Decide that it is my thinking and deal with it on my own. 3. Have a mature conversation with the other person and see whether or not a compromise can be met. These steps are so much better than being passive-aggressive (which comes out as cold and distant and silent punishment).
A friendship to me is an investment. As with any investment you take the highs with the lows.
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