Thursday, January 29, 2004

"Now that I can see you, I don't think you're worth a second glance." - Chris Carrabba/Dashboard Confessional, Rapid Hope Loss

I liked Dean there for awhile. Dubya notwithstanding, I prefer presidential candidates who have actually governed, and I appreciated Dean's record in Vermont. But I've heard a 'bite here and there, and he has recently shown a rather unattractive arrogance. While I think the US presidency requires an inhuman quantity of extremely informed chutzpah, I'm not sure I cotton to the way Howard has conducted his campaign of late.

I am a citizen with very simple needs; perhaps they'd be met with Kerry for President, and Edwards as his VP...give Kerry 8, let Edwards take the next 8, and we might just make it to 2020 alive.

My mother, a staunch Democrat whose only voting blip was a vote for Nixon in 1960 (What can I say? She was a young woman concerned that Kennedy was too young to go up against Khruschev), watched Bill Maher on Larry King tonight. If I'd remembered, I'd have done the same, but I had a West Wing rerun keep me company while I made notes on the book assignment. Maher has gotten Mom quite fired up about the campaign. She's a North Carolina girl, and likes Edwards...she (facetiously, I promise you) thinks it's high time we had a hot guy in the Oval Office.

My personal and professional activities have prevented my acute attention to the race 'til now; with the California primary looming, I guess it's time for me to plug my nose and jump in. I'm sure those of you who have paid closer attention than I will be happy to edumacate (sic) me...Tommy. You, too, Heij.

Sunday, January 25, 2004

Friday, January 16, 2004

"The great thing about a computer notebook is that no matter how much you stuff into it, it doesn't get bigger or heavier." -Bill Gates

I suppose I have Bill G to thank for the fact that I am typing on the keyboard of my very own laptop at this very moment. (Actually, I mostly have Linda the Dragon to thank, but that's true for many crucial and enjoyable things in my life.) It's a Hewlett-Packard Pavilion zt3020, with Harman/Kardon speakers, several bells, whistles and That New Computer Smell. And a 15.4" screen, the better to view DVDs with, I guess. I fell for the extended warranty, and Comp USA threw in a pretty cool carrying case, which I will heretofore refer to as the "gig bag" (you guitarists out there will appreciate the reference).

This is the laptop on which I will ghostwrite my first book, a process that begins as soon as I load her up with MS Word -- thanks to new friend and associate Alec S, I will be cheating Microsoft Boy out of $150, which the salesman at Comp USA quietly recommended. "Gates has plenty of money without yours," said Don the Computer Guy. Perhaps when my own book does well, I'll send Bill a check. Oh yeah, that's what I'm gonna do.

I am not given to affection for inanimate objects, but I have the feeling this is the beginning of a long and fruitful love affair...and, if it's the only one I have for awhile, well...I could do worse.

Monday, January 12, 2004

"I'm tired of the future." -Agatha the Pre-Cog, Minority Report

I have a birthday coming up. For those of you who don't have it recorded in your snappy Palm Pilots or scribbled on your quaint little calendars, it's Saturday the 17th. Capricorn (grounded), Aries rising (fiery), Cancer moon (loving). Born at Maimonides Hospital in Brooklyn on a snowy Sunday morning, I'm the only shiksa I know to have the Star of David embossed on her birth certificate (that's right, BSW, I'm honorary). The OB's name was Dr. Gergely, which is probably why he got into the baby delivery business. It was that or product development for Listerine. I was 8 pounds even, 21 inches long. The umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck as I emerged, and I had hiccups. When Mom saw me for the first time, she said my eyes looked like bluebirds.

When I was 8 years old, my godmother Yuriko advised me never to tell anyone how old I was, because that's how people would then view me. She assured me no one ever gets past that information. Such advice at such a tender age had little resonance for me. Now, of course, I see her wisdom. Most people need frames of reference, and age is usually the first question they ask about another human being. That's fine, I guess...but most people also allow the frame to upstage, even obscure, the actual work of art. When beautiful, lithe yoga instructor Yuriko turned 50, those who knew her actual age couldn't quite believe she'd been on the earth for half a century. In response to the phrase, "Wow (or Damn), you don't look 50," she borrowed a line from Coco Chanel: "This is what 50 looks like."

You who really know me know I am not my age, and don't look it (whatever "it" is!). For that, I credit the blessing of good genes, possessing the body, mind, heart and soul of an artist, quitting smoking, drinking and drugs, not consuming megacarbs, lots of sunscreen...and making the choice of right attitude. After all, the body is merely a vehicle for the soul and the mind and the heart. All of which are in fine tune these days...and I couldn't ask for a better present than that.

OK, a DVD/VCR combo, a digital camera and a new sound system would be very nice.

Thursday, January 08, 2004

To Cool - 19 August 1993

Appreciating the common ground
this friend of mine and I tread;
our lives so much and so little the same.
So long have we known each other,
and only now have we reached
the bottom line.
Beyond financial status,
generational distinction,
intellectual affinity,
community standing, belief system,
astrological sign, career path.
Just this experience,
this knowing,
this love.