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"Truth is not only violated by falsehood; it may be equally outraged by silence." -Henri Frederic Amiel

This quote -- which, as most of the quotes I use do, came to me in my daily Wordsmith email -- goes to the heart of the underlying theme in "Brokeback Mountain."

But I don't have time to expound on that thought. And it's not really important, anyway.

Joy unbridled.

A.I. used to call her "The Torpedo."

Broad Beach Bitch

Lulu, celebrating in Steven Spielberg's front yard this afternoon.

(For some reason, you have to click on the tiny image in the corner to enlarge these beach pix from my cellphone. Sometimes little things need extra encouragement.)

Birthdaydog.

Today we commemmorate Miss Lulu's 8th year. We have already had our scrambled egg whites and oatmeal...now, it's off to the Sunday Silverlake meeting. After which, I've promised landlocked Lulu a trip to the beach. Not sure which one, yet...wherever the winds blow me and The Best Dog Ever Made.

"Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship." -Oscar Wilde

I have a generous handful of wonderful, trusted male brother-type friends: TB, KN, DW, BL, JK, DL, PM. We have intimate relationships of the intellectual sort, but none of us ever...well, we just never have and never will.

But if there has been intimacy of another form (is my delicacy of expression Puritanically overwrought?) -- and especially if that intimacy has gotten inextricably lodged in the heart after a good amount of time -- how does one disprove Wilde's assertion?

(I'm feeling very Carrie Bradshaw right now. It's Saturday night, I had coffee with one guy this afternoon and dinner with another guy tonight, and I've ended up at home alone with my precious pooch at 9pm, typing rhetorical questions into my laptop.)

These ruminations come after Banana and I went to a Screen Actors Guild screening of "Brokeback Mountain" last night. I'm not of a mind to post my review right now...I'm just thinking of the line Jake Gyllenhaal's character speaks to Heath Ledger's character when they're at loggerheads over their star-crossed love, a heartbreaking line that anyone who's ever been in a hard love has thought, or felt, or uttered: "I wish I knew how to quit you."

And they were two GUYS, Oscar.

And you can't slit your wrists with it.

Wikipedia sez: Occam's Razor is a principle attributed to the 14th-century English logician and Franciscan friar, William of Ockham. It forms the basis of thodological reductionism, also called the principle of parsimony or law of economy.

In its simplest form, Occam's Razor states that one should make no more assumptions than needed. Put into everyday language, it says, Numquam ponendo est pluritas sine necessitate, [Latin] which translates to:

Multiples should never be used if not necessary
or
"Shave off" (omit) unnecessary entities in explanations

But the more commonly used translations are:

Given two equally predictive theories, choose the simpler, and the simplest answer is usually the correct answer.

For example, after a storm you notice that a tree has fallen. Based on the evidence of the storm and the fallen tree, a reasonable hypothesis would be that the storm blew down the tree — a hypothesis that requires you to suspend your disbelief very little, as there exist strong logical connections binding what you already know to this solution (seeing and hearing storms does indeed tend to indicate the existence of storms; storms are more than capable of felling trees). A rival hypothesis claiming that the tree was knocked over by marauding 200-metre tall space aliens requires several additional assumptions, with various logical weaknesses resulting from inconsistencies with what is already known (concerning the very existence of aliens, their ability and desire to travel interstellar distances, their ability and desire to (un-)intentionally knock down trees and the alien biology that allows them to be 200 metres tall in terrestrial gravity), and is therefore less preferred.

The principle of Occam's Razor has inspired numerous expressions including: "parsimony of postulates", the "principle of simplicity", the "KISS principle" (Keep It Simple, Stupid), and in some medical schools, "When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras".

I have recently been reminded of this principle by dear friend Linda, who appreciates the intricacies of my creative mind when it comes to storytelling, but thinks I will find blessed sanity if I apply this maxim more often in my daily affairs.

It's just that, sometimes I know it's aliens and zebras.

What's a heaven for?

My expectations outreach my grasp, and I keep reaching. But none of this is real.

It's a free fall, it's nothing at all, it's an untethered space walk, it's blah blah blah blah blah.
It's one body missing another on its way to nowhere, it's sleeping and waking and sleeping and doing and not doing, being and not being, having and not having.

Where is that God of whom they speak when I need the answer?
Right here, right in front of me, with no answer.
Right here, in the triple venti latte.
Right here, in the burning heart.
Right here, in the eyes of a dog.
Right here, in the dictionary.
Right here, in the room that is a womb that is where I begin and end each day.

Wake up and try again.
Reach, just in case it is real.
Don't be surprised if it is not.

Writing is making a connection.
Or writing is writing.

Building fences is a metaphor.
Or building fences is building fences.

Love is the bottom line everything.
Or love is no fucking thing at all.

Shhhhhhhh.
Quiet. Breathe. Listen.

See? You don't know anything.

It changes everyday.

"You say it's your birthday. Well, it's my birthday, too, yeah." -Lennon/McCartney

I was married to a man who enjoyed traditions, and with whom I created many in our marriage. A favorite comes to mind in these first minutes of my personal new year.

One early January 17th morning, my husband crept out of bed before I’d awakened and quietly slipped into the living room of the apartment we shared in a cool 1920’s Hancock Park building. He slid a record onto the turntable and cranked it up – waking me, and probably the rest of our neighbors, though no one ever complained. “Birthday” from the White Album. He came back into our bedroom, pulled me out of bed, and danced me around the apartment in nothing but my skin, singing at the top of his lungs. The first of many birthday dances we shared on as many January 17ths and October 4ths as we were together.

We got to the point where we had actual choreography. I’ll bet he and I could do it right now, and remember every move we’d designed. It didn’t matter if we’d been arguing the night before. We danced. If we were on vacation, we brought a tape. If one of us was out of town, the other would call to play it. It was a tradition we looked forward to, always finishing in laughter and hugs at the end.

The last “Birthday” dance was 7 years ago today.

But there are other birthday traditions for me to look forward to. Banana takes me to a cool restaurant, leaves the hubby and the babies behind. Just us girls getting dressed up, going out and eating great food. X calls after midnight. And I'm sure Mom and I will have the same exchange we have every year:
"Hi, dear, Happy Birthday."
"Hi, Mom, thanks for having me."

Really. Thanks. I mean it.

I do.

Insomniacal thoughts.

Is it that I can't sleep, or that I won't?

I saw an orangutan kissing the hand of a young woman; her hand, and all the way up her arm. I saw a man and a woman in a sensual underwater dance, surrounded by bubbles and sperm whales. I saw a meerkat gently nestled in the arms of a girl. I stood in the Church of the Nomads on Sunday, and worshipped the images and the words that surely came from a source higher than I. I wept quietly in front of strangers, standing at the altar of pure, true art.

Just as he asked, I sprinkled ashes on the snow. A baptism. A light that won't dim.

There is nothing so free and clear as the truth.

ashes and snow

I cannot do this transcendent exhibit justice with mere words; not yet. I'm sure it will seep into my writing here and there, it would be impossible not to be touched by the magic. Go to http://www.ashesandsnow.org and read what others have said.

No; go to the Nomadic Museum in Santa Monica and be transported.

You will fly with elephants. You will dance with whales.

Your soul will be inspired. Your heart will be healed.

At least, for awhile.

"Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?" -Thomas Wolfe

I drove through the 2nd Street tunnel on my way to a birthday party at the bar in the Hotel Figueroa. Boyfriend of a fellow Capricorn invited 80 of her closest friends to fete her. 40 or more of us showed. I only knew the host and the guest of honor, but I know how to meet strangers. I know how to introduce myself first, how to shake hands and smile, look them in the eye, ask the opening questions. I know how to make it comfortable, I know how to let it flow.

Some friends call me a “people person.” Others, a “social butterfly.” I’m amused that it appears effortless. Apparently, I am the only one who knows what it takes for me to walk into a room full of people I’ve never met and engage in conversation.

Perhaps I should rethink my 1992 decision to give up the acting career.

I observed the partiers tonight, all armed with beers and wines and martinis, loosening the tongue, reloading when empty. I remembered how important it once was for me to smooth the way with such lubricants, hiding the discomfort I felt when alone in a crowd. Inebriation quells inhibition.

I enjoy hanging in bars; it’s familiar fun. That is, until I’m the last woman standing, and all around me are speaking another language. I’m glad I’ve figured out how to operate the heavy machinery of my mind without being under the influence. I get home earlier, I have more time to curl up with Lulu, the Best Dog Ever Made…which is really where I wanted to be all along.

I was the first to leave, around 11:30p. 3 hours is a long time to be alone with strangers.

"If you want to work on your art, work on your life." -Anton Chekhov

I'm very busy doing both these days...what else is there to do?

Here's a San Francisco self-portrait from last Sunday...perhaps not "Ashes and Snow" (wish I could have gone to the opening today -- I can't wait to be in that space), but part of my art. And my life.

2006 Confessions Part One

I am addicted to Trader Joe's Tamari Roasted Almonds.

This season's "ER" is boring me to bloody tears, but I can't stop tuning in. It's on right now, and I'm more entertained by the guys painting the walls in one of the lofts in the building across the street.

I don't care if Judge Alito becomes Justice Alito.

Alcohol holds absolutely no allure for me, but there are times I wish I could smoke a little pipeful of pot. I won't; but I wish.

The real reason I want to make lots of money -- other than making my mother comfortable and doing wonderful things for my close friends and making generous contributions to the charities of my choice -- is to invest as needed in various cosmetic self-improvements. Vanity, thy name is -- me.

I send anonymous notes to fellow bloggers complaining about their spelling and syntax.

It's hard for me to watch erotic scenes in films when I'm not having sex. Which is probably why I haven't yet watched my friend's copy of "Y Tu Mama Tambien."

I play with my hair incessantly. I think that's why I have half as much as I did 10 years ago.

If it wouldn't make me pizza-faced and 60 pounds heavier, I'd eat chocolate souffle every damn day.

That oughta do it for now.

If I annoy you, please let me know *before* pressing charges.

Perspective: Create an e-annoyance, go to jail
By Declan McCullagh

CNET News/Published: January 9, 2006, 4:00 AM PST

Annoying someone via the Internet is now a federal crime.

It's no joke. Last Thursday, President Bush signed into law a prohibition on posting annoying Web messages or sending annoying e-mail messages without disclosing your true identity.

In other words, it's OK to flame someone on a mailing list or in a blog as long as you do it under your real name. Thank Congress for small favors, I guess.

This ridiculous prohibition, which would likely imperil much of Usenet, is buried in the so-called Violence Against Women and Department of Justice Reauthorization Act. Criminal penalties include stiff fines and two years in prison.

"The use of the word 'annoy' is particularly problematic," says Marv Johnson, legislative counsel for the American Civil Liberties Union. "What's annoying to one person may not be annoying to someone else."

It's illegal to annoyA new federal law states that when you annoy someone on the Internet, you must disclose your identity. Here's the relevant language:

"Whoever...utilizes any device or software that can be used to originate telecommunications or other types of communications that are transmitted, in whole or in part, by the Internet... without disclosing his identity and with intent to annoy, abuse, threaten, or harass any person...who receives the communications...shall be fined under title 18 or imprisoned not more than two years, or both."

Buried deep in the new law is Sec. 113, an innocuously titled bit called "Preventing Cyberstalking." It rewrites existing telephone harassment law to prohibit anyone from using the Internet "without disclosing his identity and with intent to annoy."

To grease the rails for this idea, Sen. Arlen Specter, a Pennsylvania Republican, and the section's other sponsors slipped it into an unrelated, must-pass bill to fund the Department of Justice. The plan: to make it politically infeasible for politicians to oppose the measure.

The tactic worked. The bill cleared the House of Representatives by voice vote, and the Senate unanimously approved it Dec. 16.

There's an interesting side note. An earlier version that the House approved in September had radically different wording. It was reasonable by comparison, and criminalized only using an "interactive computer service" to cause someone "substantial emotional harm."

That kind of prohibition might make sense. But why should merely annoying someone be illegal?

There are perfectly legitimate reasons to set up a Web site or write something incendiary without telling everyone exactly who you are.

Think about it: A woman fired by a manager who demanded sexual favors wants to blog about it without divulging her full name. An aspiring pundit hopes to set up the next Suck.com. A frustrated citizen wants to send e-mail describing corruption in local government without worrying about reprisals.

In each of those three cases, someone's probably going to be annoyed. That's enough to make the action a crime. (The Justice Department won't file charges in every case, of course, but trusting prosecutorial discretion is hardly reassuring.)

Clinton Fein, a San Francisco resident who runs the Annoy.com site, says a feature permitting visitors to send obnoxious and profane postcards through e-mail could be imperiled.

"Who decides what's annoying? That's the ultimate question," Fein said. He added: "If you send an annoying message via the United States Post Office, do you have to reveal your identity?"

Fein once sued to overturn part of the Communications Decency Act that outlawed transmitting indecent material "with intent to annoy." But the courts ruled the law applied only to obscene material, so Annoy.com didn't have to worry.

"I'm certainly not going to close the site down," Fein said on Friday. "I would fight it on First Amendment grounds."

He's right. Our esteemed politicians can't seem to grasp this simple point, but the First Amendment protects our right to write something that annoys someone else.

It even shields our right to do it anonymously. U.S. Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas defended this principle magnificently in a 1995 case involving an Ohio woman who was punished for distributing anonymous political pamphlets.

If President Bush truly believed in the principle of limited government (it is in his official bio), he'd realize that the law he signed cannot be squared with the Constitution he swore to uphold.

And then he'd repeat what President Clinton did a decade ago when he felt compelled to sign a massive telecommunications law. Clinton realized that the section of the law punishing abortion-related material on the Internet was unconstitutional, and he directed the Justice Department not to enforce it.

Bush has the chance to show his respect for what he calls Americans' personal freedoms. Now we'll see if the president rises to the occasion.

Biography
Declan McCullagh is CNET News.com's Washington, D.C., correspondent. He chronicles the busy intersection between technology and politics. Before that, he worked for several years as Washington bureau chief for Wired News. He has also worked as a reporter for The Netly News, Time magazine and HotWired.

Something's gotta give.

Erica Barry: If I were writing this, this is where I would write "an awkward moment."
Harry Sanborn: Honey, if you were writing this, I'd be DEAD!

;)