Shut Up Already

Things I Won’t Do On My “Vacation” in Ohio

1. Talk about politics with friends and family members who plan to vote for Bush. I know I’m supposed to be evangelizing and all, and I obviously have all of the facts plus common sense on my side, but I will still refrain. My sister recently called me “strident” and my mom’s family already thinks I’m weird, so no politics. I mean it this time. No, really.

2. Walk the dog. Dogs in Ohio are not the pampered little kings and queens you see in urban centers in the East. No, they are a rough and hearty breed who pee in the backyard and LIKE it. Take that, Tsunami, you little dictator! (Kidding here. Dog gets to run around in the woods all the time when we’re home.)

3. Go to a bar. For the life of me I can’t figure out how people go out drinking in a land with no cabs. In theory, either Bree or I could remain sober and drive the other one home, but in practice sitting in a crap bar in central Ohio, your only hope of excitement a white trash bar fight, politely sipping Diet Coke is just about the most hellish way possible to spend an evening. Plus, coming out of the bar and seeing all of the other drunkards get behind the wheel is absolutely spine-chilling. Here at Shut Up Already, our one unbreakable rule is that drinking and driving is wrong and people who do it are bad.

4. Eat Thai food. (Or any other ethnic food. Unless Amish counts; they do make excellent chicken and noodles.)

5. Ply my aunt with drinks and get her to talk about the brewing family inheritance legal drama. Even though she wouldn’t be driving anywhere, and I deserve to know what she knows, this would be WRONG. Embroiling myself in affairs that have nothing to do with me because I think that I can fix them if I have all of the facts is not smart. Even though I really could fix it. But that’s not the point! Maintain proper boundaries! (Note to self: do I have therapist’s new number in cell phone?)

6. Attend a funeral. Hey, this is what I usually do in Ohio so the fact that none are planned seem significant.

A Vast, Winged Conspiracy

Ok, one thing I left out of my thoughtful and erudite post on Fahrenheit 9/11: I bought my tickets for the Friday night (11 p.m.) showing on Wednesday morning. It was the only show that wasn't sold out at the time, though it sold out shortly thereafter (I know because my personal design assistant, Kate, tried to score tix to accompany us). At the theater, many people were begging for tickets at the box office. And yet, during the actual movie, at least one-third of the seats were entirely empty.

What gives? Is it a vast right-wing conspiracy to keep people from hearing the truth? A vast left-wing conspiracy to inflate box office sales and make the Bushies scared and sad? A vast statement about a great party somewhere else that was too fun to leave (and that I wasn't invited to? Hello, Terry McAuliffe, don't make me tell you again.)

Did anyone else notice a suspicious number of empty seats in the theater when you saw the film?

Sing out, choir

Wearing its politics on its sleeve, the film runs the risk of preaching to the choir.

"I want to preach to the choir," counters Moore. "The choir in America are the people who don't vote. They're young, they're poor, they're black, they're single mothers and working-class people who have sunk into despair and cynicism. Look at the numbers. It's not the rich who don't vote.

As we sat down in our seats at the 11 p.m. screening of Fahrenheit 9/11, my friend E. commented that it was great to see a room full of "our people". And it was.

I've read Moore's books, and followed Craig Unger's reporting, so a lot of the information in the movie wasn't new to me. But I was shocked at how many details of the 2000 election debacle I'd forgotten: the Gore "victory in Florida" party, which caused the whol audience to groan in sympathy; the awful scene in the Congress when Gore presided over his nemesis' anointment, and nearly every Dem. House member of the Congressional Black Caucus got up to register an objection; the 10,000 protestors who forced Bush to forgo the traditional inaugural walk to the Capitol when he assumed office. And the point that cannot be stated enough these days; almost every independent investigation of what happened in Florida agrees that Gore really won. We're being governed by a usurper.

I was surprised at how viscerally this run-down affected me. I was, quite literally, flushed with rage. I wanted Gore to win, and I recall being angry at how things went down, but at the same time I thought that there wasn't much difference between the two parties. That seems comically ignorant now.

I still believe that two-party system is flawed, and that we need to develop viable third and fourth parties. But the difference between this band of Republicans and every band of Democrats is all too clear at this point.

Moore said today that the film is being embraced in Republican strongholds. I wonder if that's true? I don't know if seeing the film would change the minds of people who are planning to vote for the Chimp-in-Chief again. Probably not the ones who believe Bush is doing the Lord's work. But the ones, like my poor misguided family in Ohio, who vote Republican for fuzzy economic reasons (and don't care to grasp the finer details about Bush's economic policies, and how they betray his professed conservative ideals)? I don't think anything could change their minds, if living under this current administration, in a state that's lost 270,000 jobs, hasn't done the trick.

It's an emotional movie; from stirring up all of my left-over manger from 2000, I was slapped in the face by footage from September 11. I was working in a building across the street from the Capitol that day, and the terror I felt when we heard that a plane was headed for the Capitol dome has made most of the remaining day kind of hazy. Film of people screaming and running and crying, and the later images of all of those flyers for the missing seem horribly new to me every time I see them.

And then all of the stuff about Bush's Saudo connections. I think Moore could have hit his points a little harder here; yes, connecting all of the dots between the Bushies and the House of Saud is interesting, but what's the larger point? I feel like he was torn here between his real passion, which is class warfare and telling us all to be wary of the rich, and making Bush look frighteningly incompetent. For my money, the real horror of the Bush administration is how they've used 9/11 as an excuse to hijack civil rights and invade a sovereign nation, how they lied to Congress and to us to push us into war with Iraq, how they've cut taxes for all their rich friends at the expense of all of us, and how much we'll all be paying for these mistakes in the years to come. Yes, the Saudis are given special privileges and they have an alarming amount of money invested in the U.S. economy, and yes, 15 of the 17 hijackers on 9/11 were Saudi. But what are we supposed to do about that? Invade, and sully the site of Islam's holy cities (further than we already have by stationing out troops there)? That would go over well.

So, it was a good movie. It left me feeling wrung out emotionally and yet energized. There are lots of funny little bits, and many images that are almost too horrible to look at; dead Iraqis, Iraqis burned by incendiary agents, dead U.S. soldiers, wailing women on both sides. I wish it had been a little more focused. I wish it had spelled things out a little bit more for people who were hearing that information for the first time. I wish there wasn't enough material about the avarice, deception, meanness of spirit, incompetence, and stupidity of the POTUS to fill an entire movie. But if wishes were horses, I'd be out somewhere riding my pony right now.

Blah

I really want to write a blog entry, but my brain is a giant void. I can't think of a damn thing to write about except how excited I am to go see Fahrenheit 9/11, and --please. Is there a more played-out topic at the moment?

Pithy childhood anecdotes? None that seem particularly relevant.

Neighborhood drama? Yeah, but it's boring; we saw some kids get arrested for stealing a car and crashing it into someone's yard last night. It was actually a bit sad, because the cops were right up in one kid's face, screaming at him. On the one hand, the officer had a point: someone was killed in the District by a kid driving a stolen car last week. On the other hand, that poor kid's future likely just took a sharp turn in the wrong direction. He won't make a lot of nice new friends in the juvenile detention center.

Family scoop? Eh, I'm over them. I'm spending almost a week back in the homeland soon, and I'm just dreading it. For a long time, I felt at least a little homesick all the time, but that has changed in the last year. I still miss my family, but I prefer to see them elsewhere than my hometown. Being there just depresses me. I hope this is a passing phase. I was going to write a funny blog entry about escaping the midwest, but it was making me really bitter and I had to stop. Maybe later.

Ohio? I've been thinking a lot about how Michael Moore can't seem to avoid mentioning Flint, MI every. single. time he speaks in public. Yet I doubt that he would live there again; I'm sure he feels relieved every time his West Village neighborhood comes back into view after a trip to the heartland. I know the feeling, as I used to get misty-eyed every time I came across the Memorial Bridge from National Airport. And yet, reading back through this blog, I noticed that I mention Ohio constantly. I'm considering the reason why "home" has such a strong hold on some people, like me and Mike. Stay tuned for my torturous musings on this topic.

Smoking? Yes, it's time once again for the yearly torture ritual I like to call "No this time I swear to fucking God I am really going to quit". This time, the presure will be intense: I'll be thirty in less than a year, four of my relatives have died of smoking-related diseases in the last twelve months, and the social tide is against me. Plus, my parents all need to quit smoking as soon as possible and it's really hard to nag them about it effectively when I keep having to interrupt myself to borrow a lighter.

The last time I tried to quit, I became the kind of person who burst into tears at every provocation. And I don't just mean that I became weepy, I would actually erupt in tears at least once a day. My sister asking me to turn off the kitchen light on my way to bed once engendered a storm of weeping that lasted for two hours. This time, I'm planning to use the patch, so we'll see if that makes a difference. Quit smoking start date: July 12.

Books? I know you don't care (except maybe Melissa and Kelly). It's all on the book blog anyway.

Blogging? Why, thank you so much for asking. Since you did, I'll admit that it's much harder to come up with blog entries when no one comments or emails me for a few days. And as you can see, the humor level goes down appreciably when I think no one is paying attention. You guys better be a lot more supportive when I quit smoking, or I will fill this blog with reprints of poetry I wrote when I was thirteen (sample line: I love you, I hate you/ I listen, I ignore/I scream at you to stop/Why won't you talk to me more?). Don't think I won't do it.

A mini Fahrenheit 9/11

This is one British blogger's swan song. Excellent. It takes a minute to load, but it's well worth it.

I LOVE This Kid

from Salon article about people waiting in line at a book signing of Clinton's My Life:

...And then there was Matt Lloyd-Thomas, who said he was 13, though he was really 10, because the lady at the door had said that the age limit for kids to get signatures was 12. His younger sister, Sophia, who was really 7 and a half, was posing as 12. "We've just been passing the time, reading," said Lloyd-Thomas, whose skin was brown with suntan and a couple of freckles. "My sister's been bugging me the past few hours. Once the rain started there wasn't much we could do because it was really quite wet and you couldn't sit down." They'd had to wake up at 4, which Matt admitted was hard. But the whole trip had been his idea. "I was listening to NPR one afternoon and they said that President Clinton would be signing books in midtown Manhattan, so I said that's pretty close, why don't we go in?" So Matt, Sophia and their mother, Beth -- all from Westport, Conn. -- came to New York last night and stayed at an uncle's place. "I think it's pretty cool to have a book signed by a former president," said Matt of his reason for marshaling his family into action.

But then, Matt is also a kid who a year ago persuaded his whole third-grade class -- some of them Republicans -- to send letters to President Bush asking him not to send troops into Iraq. His mother said that lately he's taken to giving PowerPoint presentations on the benefits of voting for Kerry over Bush. "You know, his father and I are both Democrats but not that involved," she said, shaking her head slightly. "Matt is very much his own thinker.

What did he think of the president he was about to meet -- a man who was first elected before he was even born? "Well," began Matt thoughtfully, "not in his personal decisions but politically, I think Clinton was a very good president, especially since he was interested in what was going on in this country more than in foreign affairs." But what about those pesky personal decisions? "Well, I was only 6 at the time, and I didn't really enjoy politics," he said. "But I think that lying about a personal affair is one thing. Lying about weapons of mass destruction or lying about connections between Iraq and al-Qaida -- which affects a lot more people -- is a lot worse."

"My sister thinks I'm a news junkie," confided Matt, who said he skims the Times but mostly relies on NPR's "Morning Edition" for his news. Sophia, in a Nantucket lifeguarding sweatshirt and looking very, very, very bored, nodded silently.

"We're going to the American Girl Cafe after this," said their mother. "So that they both get something they like out of this trip."

Alms for the poor in spirit

Here are the things I need, in order of importance:

- a new job
- a new computer (which I think I need in order to get a new job, as I currently can't get online at home. It's really cutting into the amount of time I'm able to spend obsessively tracking job prospects and refining my cover letters.)
- more hours in the day to allow for housecleaning (badly neglected) and reading (currently, Rounding the Horn by Dallas Murphy; it's excellent)
- more money (though I'll settle for a new job at my current salary, if you're offering)
- more vacation time
- means to go somewhere besides Ohio for vacation. (Not that I don't love you, Buckeye State, but as a vacation destination your central region is very lackluster. Even my mom's pool doesn't look that good to me this year.)
- a super mosquito repellent that kills all mosquitoes within one mile of me yet doesn't cause lasting environmental damage and won't give me or the dog cancer. To enjoy my backyard, I currently coat myself with a solution that's 29% DEET, and I also spray the yard with some pesticide that smells like a chemical weaons plant. It really can't be good for anything.
- trust fund (never hurts to ask)

Me and the rest of the urban intelligentsia are going to see Fahrenheit 9/11 tomorrow. Should be good.

I can't wait for this week to be over.

I'll try to amuse you some later. In the mean time, try to amuse me, please.

Scenes from a Family Vacation

There really is something about West Virginia. 3 hours into the trip, I was all blissed out on pine-scented air and dramatic vistas. I could feel DC falling away from me, mile by mile, and I felt lighter and lighter with every minute that passed. Then we stopped for a bathroom break at this cute little country store place. We walked in to see slanted floors and people waiting in line for grilled hot dogs. How homey! How real! Turned left to go to the bathroom and walked into a room full of guns, ammunition, and all things camouflage. Mulleted men were there, drinking from thermoses, and they didn't even look at me, just stopped talking. I tried to play it casual, and forced myself to stroll through the racks of rifles like I did it every day. My two John Kerry for President bumper stickers flashed neon in my mind’s eye. Then I saw the sign: Shoplifters will be shot. Survivors will be prosecuted. My knees felt weak. I skedaddled on out of there. One of the mullets said something low, and they all chuckled. I was too scared to pee.

I know, I know! Most people with guns are sportsmen, and most of them will never go crazy and shoot you just because you're a pinko liberal with excellent grammar who's in a remote mountain wilderness with no working cell phone. But you know who will definitely never shoot you? People with no guns. I like people with no guns.

But I also like West Virginia. It reminds me of Ohio, the parts I like. It's green, it smells good, two lane roads go on forever, and people are almost always kind. When I travel out of the city, I'm always surprised at how long it takes me to remember to make eye contact and say hello to people. I guess you can take the Ohio out of the girl, after a while.

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I was a little worried about whitewater rafting. It seemed like a good idea to give my sister a rafting trip for her birthday, even though she'd always said she was too afraid to go, when I thought my mom was behind me. According to her, she had mentioned it as a possibility, not a definite. Whatev. Way to tell me after I'd made the reservations and paid.

So we went. It was my turn to be the Cheerful One (in my family, it's always one person's job to jabber on brightly to try and distract the Angry One Who Doesn't Want To Do This Shit and the One Who's Worried About The Angry One. We take turns.) As the Cheerful One, I read in an animated voice from the rafting brochure and issued constant reassurances that we were driving in the right direction. I called the rafting company, Blackwater Outfitters. "They are so nice there!" I chirped to my mom and sister. My mom brooded while my sister cast worried glances at her in the rearview mirror.

Of course, it was cloudy and cool. Of course, our guides were hippies who had probably just come back from a Phish concert and only had jobs so they could afford pot. Of course, they were only 21. Of course, the water was only 60 degrees. (My mother: "I hate being wet and cold more than anything.")

Fulfilling my duties as the Cheerful One became increasingly difficult as we neared the river. We drove alongside it to reach the drop-in point, and the water was foaming and leaping everywhere. In the seats in front of us, Moonflower and Sunshine were bouncing out of their seats with excitement. "Look at that riverwide hydraulic!" Sunbeam enthused. "We'll have our hands full on that one!" My stomach flipped. Mom and Bree glanced at me, grim. I tried to smile brightly.

And then...even my cynicism has its limits. The ride on the river was fabulous. Our guide, Adam, was amazing (Sunflower and Moonchild were awesome too. I'm just poking fun.) Our raft was full of women, so we called ourselves Team Powderpuff. We kicked ass. After about ten minutes out. we were whooping and yelling and begging to go through the craziest part of each rapids (though there was a collective gasp when we heard that the next set were called Concussion Rapids.)

We paused for lunch along the river bank. My sister was feeling expansive. "Next time, we'll grill out. We'll bring two cars, and drop the rafts down there, and have the second car bring the food and stuff up here. We can leave the coolers, don't you think?"

Me: "Where will we get the rafts? Who will guide?" This is, after all, our first time out and there are Class IV rapids on this stretch of river.

"Oh, I think we can handle it," she replied coolly. Oooo-kay then.

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Cold and happy, having navigated twelve miles of rain-swollen river, including two crazy rapids and several quite nutty ones, we drive back along the looping mountain road toward our lodgings. It's begun to drizzle, and we have the heat in the car on. My limbs feel heavy and full, like they did as a kid after a day at the pool, when I actually played there instead of lying out and watching boys. The mountains are green and misty. Every few feet, waterfalls gush down the steep rock faces that line the road. We point them out to each other, ohhing and aahing.

We fall quite for a few minutes, basking in the quite warmth of the car. "You know," my mom says, gazing out the rear window, her voice sleepy. "This would be a really great place to start a lumber company."

Ah, home.

West by God Virginia

I just watched a documentary about Amish Kids Gone Wild and I'm reading a book about pioneers. All of this is feeding my idea of my Fantasy Future Self (FFS) as a person who lives on a farm, has a garden and some anecdote-enriching livestock, and sits on her wraparound porch drinking lemonade for some portion of every day.

This is highly unrealistic. I need to live within ten minutes of a bookstore, coffee shop, and Thai restaurant at all times or I start to get panic attacks. I wake up screaming, thinking I accidentally moved back home. Yet I nurture this fantasy, embellishing it daily ("I'll name my little goat ‘Sunshine’! Get it? Sunshine Kid?") and never for one minute thinking about who is going to pick up the goatshit or curry the horses, let alone who's going to earn money while I perfect my lemonade recipe (tip: add vodka).

A not so very ordinary girl or name

(picture by Jerry Waese)

I can't forget a big birthday shout-out to my sister, my favorite person in the world. Happy birthday, kiddo, and you can just go ahead and count this public recognition as your present, 'kay?

Thank you for having so many hair products for me to sample, for driving, for always being patient with the dog, and for having the most perfect credit rating it's possible for a human being to have. Though I probably would have liked you even without all those things.