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2000
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2001
December 14, 2000
The Battle of Gates Bridge
by Alexei Gerulaitis
As the dust
settles on the sidewalks of Dade County…amidst all the frustration I guess
most Americans feel, well, relieved.
While this very loud battle was raging another more reserved yet no less
powerful storm has been erupting over the DC skyline.
So, what would the most powerful government in the world be afraid of?
Here’s your choices for a million dollars, is it A) George W B) George
W C) George Senior or D) Someone/thing much more powerful.
Yes, it is in fact, D) Someone/thing much more powerful… The fight of
the century is not Gore vs. Bush vs. Florida Supreme Court vs. US Supreme Court
but the US Government vs. Microsoft. Much
Scarier! If I were the
government, I would be scared by now – imagine a seriously pissed off Bill
Gates on your back? Playing with
your girl/boyfriend’s intimate emails?
Yes, a number of Gates’ competitors are quite distraught to be driven out of
business, but it’s not all of them is it?
Quite a few people and organizations that are supposed to be bitter
enemies of the software Godzilla, actually came forward to defend Microsoft.
A consensus in the IT and software community is that Bill & Co. are
neither saints nor criminals.
So why did our government launch a large scale legal attack on the software
maker, dead on intent to eliminate it as it exists today?
Taking away the OS and browser market from innocent defenseless
IBM, Novell, Netscape and Apple?
Nine out of ten computer users in the world click on their mouse buttons and hit
on their keyboards because someone wrote the software.
No more innocent word processors and spreadsheets, we are talking about
primary often only means for communication and accessing information.
Let’s say it again: Communication.
Information access. Isn’t
that what 99% of civilians do? Buying,
selling, talking, creating, entertaining. All
that – through the interface designed by one company in 9 out of 10 cases.
That’s how many Windows machines are out there compared to Macs, Unix
and other computers – they say.
Transportation and communication and power delivery infrastructures were
historically state controlled in many nations - still are.
Governments can’t afford not to have control over key functions of the
country.
You and I are witnesses to gold, weapons, railroads, land, losing value and
power to imaginative wizards designing how we access computers and the window to
the world. The real power of
designing one’s window-to-the-world, one’s means to communicate, create,
deliver and consume buy and sell. Forget
railways, telephones and oil fields. This is nothing compared to the power that we call the
Internet Browser.
We know what happened to the railways , telephones and oil fields, thanks
largely to our government and nobody is really sure it was all that good for the
consumer. Anyone saw any conclusive
“before and after” slide shows to demonstrate that consumers largely won?
The
government is threatened. There is a colossal power in the hands of one company, one
man spreading well beyond anything history ever known. Not that it can actually happen.
All over the world eyes can be tuned to one broadcast, ears to one radio
station. No one ever had that much
power and our Justice Dept. is freaking out.
Aren’t consumers after all are the real intended beneficiaries in the
“monopoly power abuse” lawsuit of the century?
The purpose of the government is the same as that of the Elders Council in a
remote Madagascar village - keep the villagers reasonably covered, fed and protected
against the elements and other rogue villages.
The US government would sustain the average “citizens strike” to
pressure the average citizen’s right to a car, a house, daily latte and a
daily soap opera keeping him and her working hard so that the country remains
competitive and healthy. Albeit, an
honorable purpose. The government
has to exist and function for the good of the nation and the country.
And while at it, it can’t allow anyone to take too much control or it
may find itself facing an offer it can’t refuse.
Dear US Government, per our agreement, please
dissolve the Congress. Mr. Gates
will take over starting January 1. He
will be needing a couple of F-111 Stealth Bombers for his rendezvous with Mr.
Bin Laden. No need to brief you.
We’re in charge now.
Hey – scary but not impossible and quite exciting.
A solution? Break the giant.
Take away the power. Not that it did anything or will – think what it can do.
While it’s a pleasure seeing our undefeatable government so freaked
out, the question of the day remains, will the break-up do any good if it
happens?
Keep watching…there’s sure to be more toy soldiers for the boys in Congress
to amuse themselves with tomorrow.
index
December
5, 2000
And Why Was I
Reflecting Again?
by Kristen Herbert
I sit here with a goal. This is going to be the first year EVER that all of my
Christmas cards are sent out on time. Last year I actually had them all done but
never got around to putting stamps on them. Pretty sad, huh? I look through my
address book with a look of nostalgia and confusion on my face. Mike. What
a nice guy, maybe I should have called him back. Doug, also another nice guy,
maybe I shouldn't have tortured him ( I wonder how therapy is working out for
him). My address book serves as a gentle reminder of all of the significant, and
not so significant men that have been in my life over the years. I wonder, what
is proper etiquette when it comes to Ex-boyfriends
and Christmas?
I suppose that there are a few that would be happy to know what is going on in
my life and know that I am doing well. I imagine that there are more than a few
that would prefer to hear that I am miserable and my life has been horrible
since we broke up. Then there are those who I'm sure would rather not hear at
all. Should I tailor the cards according to the Ex? In certain cases I think it
would be a nice Christmas gift to tell them that my life has lost all meaning
since we ended our relationship and I sit alone in front of the shrine that I
have built to them every night and cry. I could be that nice, but I don't think
that I will.
Since I am one of those woman who always seems to have a boyfriend, my list of
Ex's seems to be getting absurdly long. I realize that I could separate them
into categories. They could be things such as "Meaningful",
"Good, but there just wasn't a spark", "Ok relationship,
basically passed the time" and "Big nightmare-remind me to have my
number changed." What is odd is that on the list there are only two or
three that actually meant something to me. I think that each one did serve a
purpose at the time. Each one filled some void that I was feeling. I hate to
admit it, but I am also one of those woman who can convince a man that he is my
world when I barely consider them a
friend. This is usually the result of trying to convince myself that I have
feelings for the person. This happens with the guys that look great on paper, so
there must be something wrong with me if I don't love them. I then make a futile
attempt at making myself feel something that is not there. Never works. Should I
just send cards to the gentlemen that really fell into the first two categories
and not the ones who just thought that's where they were?
Why is it that Christmas makes us think
of the past and of our mistakes? We look back a lot of the time with regret and
get a horrible case of the "If only's…" If only I had stayed
with him, then I would be married by now. If only I had stayed at that job, then
I would be a Vice President by now. Why can't we think, "This year is
ending and now I have a wonderful opportunity to start over in a brand new
year"! Instead we look back with Rose-colored glasses. We forget that we
were not in love with that man and knew that it was the best thing to end the
relationship. We forget that we hated that job and woke up every morning
dreading the day. I don't know what it is, but something about this time of year
makes so many people question their decisions. Decisions that we knew were the
right ones are now the reasons that we are alone and miserable.
I think back to past Christmas' and how I have spent them. I don't even want to
admit this, but if you promise not to tell anyone, I will. I have this horrible
habit of "Guilt gift-giving". It is a trait that usually only affects
men, but I seemed to have picked it up over the years. When I am buying gifts
for the current man in my life there is a direct relationship to how good of a
girlfriend I have been and the amount of money I spend on them. The
perfect example of this is four years ago. I had been dating someone for about
four months and had not been the most faithful of girlfriends. I looked back at
my past indiscretions and realized that I had to do something wonderful. To make
a long story short, even though Bill and I had only been dating for a few
months, he got a trip to the Bahamas that year. I'm still paying that trip
off.
I don't know about anyone else, but I think that I reflect back on lost
opportunities mostly when I realize that I will spending Christmas alone. In
August I am fine with not having a man in my life, why not in December? There is
that horrible pressure that is on in December. You start thinking about the fact
that you will sit at the "Adults table" with no mate. You wonder when
you will finally be able to enjoy these family occasions with your own family,
one that you created. Aside from Christmas, you have the nightmare of
finding a New Year's date. Would walls really crumble for you if you didn't have
someone to kiss at midnight? In our minds yes, in reality no. This is the
time of year for getting together with loved ones and celebrating, yet so many
people feel alone. I have a very large family. Christmas Eve I see at
least forty family members. How is it possible that if
I don't have a boyfriend I can feel alone with all of these nagging relatives
around? Despite the fact that I have such a wonderful family and a bunch of
friends that I celebrate the holidays with, if there isn't a man at my side I
will feel lonely and bitter.
The logical thing to do here would be to enjoy this special time with my loved
ones. Instead I also use that address book in early December as a sort of dating
service. I call up that guy that I found to be painfully dull. Three
months ago I would rather have had my eyebrows waxed than go on a date with him,
but now he doesn't look so bad. Before you know it, you are having dinner that
weekend and trying to convince yourself that maybe you were wrong a few months
back. I keep trying to remind myself of that saying about dating Ex's.
"Dating an Ex is like shopping at your own garage sale." At one point
you realize that you didn't want this particular item and want to get rid of
it. Why would you "purchase" it again? This makes no sense, but around
the Holidays you lose your ability to think rationally. Maybe it's the
Eggnog?
Well, I have decided to do something different this year. I am not going to send
those cards to the Ex's. When those negative, regretful thought pop into my head
I am going to get rid of them by eating a Candy Cane. This year I am going to
let go of my past and enjoy the holidays. I'm off to the mall with my list to do
my shopping. I think about my current boyfriend and try to decide what to get
for him. Since I know that Santa probably has naughty next to my name on his
list, I know that once again I have to do something great for my "Shmoopie".
I wonder if a car will suffice.
index
November
28, 2000
And My Creed Came Crashing
Down
by
Sarah Mason
I
had something truly brilliant to tell everyone. No really, I did.
Last night I had such a hard time with my muse. Probably because, I don't
have one. I wasn't particularly inspired by anything. But then
suddenly, I knew what I wanted to say. And it was dazzling, and
witty. I spent hours weaving the fine lines. And at about quarter to
four in the morning, I finished. But somehow, I must have pissed off the
Gods. My computer screen froze. I couldn't figure it out.
Not that I'm a computer guru but it didn't make any sense. No problem all
night. Then crash! I lost everything. No hard copy
saved. I had been writing live on the site which I'd never had a problem
with before. I would save as I went along. But I didn't this
time. I was duped into trusting my machine. What was I
thinking? Had I learned nothing from anything? Or was I just
tempting fate. I don't know. All I could think of was, what would my
therapist say???
I didn't know what to do. It was really gone. Normally in a
situation like this I would drop kick the laptop across the room and start
swearing like a truck driver. Or maybe I'd go to the gym (despite the
hour) and sweat out my fury on the stairmaster. Something, anything loud
to get my frustrations out. But all I could do was cry! And God
dammit, I'm not a crier!
So, I just sat there for awhile crying and eventually dragging Alex out
of bed to try to save my sorry ass. He fought valiantly but
lost. So my first instinct was to frantically try to piece together what I
had written. After all, it was brilliant! And of course the only
brilliant thing I would ever write. Then while scratching out
phrases on a left over cocktail napkin I stopped. And I sat back on my
couch and just stared into nothing. I knew I wasn't gonna piece this all
together. I glanced over at the Romany Spell Book a friend had given me as
a joke and seriously thought for a moment if I could conjure up the lost
words. But I didn't have the right mix of candles and
horseshoes. Then I realized something, no epiphany, just a thought, I can
write something else! Yeah, I am a writer, right? I mean, was I so
lacking in confidence about my talent that I believed I would never turn out
anything worthy again? Yeah, I guess in some ways I was.
What was the article about? I had been watching VH1 Behind the
Music tell the story of Scott Stapp lead singer of Creed, a rock band rooted in
spirituality that recently hit it big with their second Album, Human Clay.
Scott's father was deeply religious. He blamed the bible for the
restrictions he imposed on his children. He once banished Scott to his
room for a week for failing to brush his teeth the correct way. I tuned
into the program while channel surfing because a phrase caught my ear.
"We can't have any mavericks doing things their own way." That just pissed me off. Who the hell was this fool
saying that? And when I discovered the show was about Creed I was
instantly attracted because I love their music. If you close your eyes,
you'd swear Scott was the reincarnation of Jim Morrison. But with a higher
spiritual light streaming from his poetry.
So, I talked about the plight of the wayward Maverick and compared
Scott's journey to mine. Both of us suffered restrictions imposed on
our desire for creative expression. As
many of us do. It wasn't particularly
profound - what I had to say. I just liked it.
When I was in college, David Mamet came to speak at one of my screenwriting
classes. He was honestly a bit of an ass. Not very
encouraging. He speaks in abrupt sound bites like his dialogue and spoke
very dismissively at us. But he said something that I've never
forgotten. He said, if there's anything stopping you from being a writer,
let it.
I took that very seriously. And there's never been anything stopping me
so I don't know why it should now. Because the truth is, there's always
something to say. And say it well. The hardest thing to do as a
writer is to let go. You become protective of every word and phrase like
it's your newborn child. The real skill lies in the faith you have in
yourself. And the knowledge that there will always be another brilliantly
flowing aphorism.
I think we all struggle with this one. Especially those of us with an
eating disorder. We've lost our faith in ourselves. We hide behind
food and fear. The trick is learning how to take that leap of faith.
Not to be too attached to what we put out remembering we can always put out
more. In this cyber world we now live in, nothing is tangible,
really. And everything is expendable. I think my father less the
fool now with his old Smith Corona and pad of paper.
If I was feeling Freudian I guess I would have to cop to the fact that I brought
this on myself. And perhaps I wanted to lose the article. For what
reason, I don't know. Maybe for nothing else but to remind myself that I
am a writer. So sorry, Scott Stapp. But I think you're gonna have to
declare your Creed without me. Somehow, I don't think that's a problem.
index
November
17, 2000
Can
We Just Let Martin Sheen Do It For Christ's Sake! - Sarah Mason
Let's be honest, at this point, do we really want either one of these idiots
for President? He's got the suit and most of the country already
refers to him as Mr. President. Everyone likes
him, he looks much more presidential than either Gore or W. And it's all about the presentation. Hell Reagan won on that basis and
he's got nothing on Martin Sheen. It's about time we started filling the
White House with more actors. And at least this one actually has a
political conscience, and a brain. Plus, The West Wing beat out the Election
coverage in the Nielsen Ratings, so you see, clearly the will of the American
People has spoken!
I'm really sick of the whole thing. I'm gonna tune back in in
another week when the networks sync stories. Do you think
they'll let us squeeze in a few minutes watching the crisis in the Middle East
unfold? Nah, not crucial. We'd best stay focused on the
Supreme Court Judges. One of them is liable to get off their fat ass and
say something.
Here's a conversation between the two
candidates that may never end. It's amended daily due to the constant changes in events.
Will
the Bigger Idiot Please Report to the Presidency
by
Ed Bishop
The
beauty of living in a free society – not as free as we’d like to believe but
at least free enough so that we can say it’s not as free as we’d like to
believe without fear of imprisonment and physical torture – is that every once
in a while the system shakes itself up quite unexpectedly.
This extremely entertaining election fiasco that ushers in our new
millennium may very well counter the apathy and malaise wrought by the aftermath
of Watergate, proving beyond a doubt that every vote does count. Sometimes more
than once. It may not be the dose
of Ex Lax that cures the irregularities in our electoral system, but at least it
will bring them to light.
But
that’s got nothing to do with this article.
In
the wee hours of Nov 8, a phone call occurred between Al Gore and George W.
Bush. The exact content of that call has been kept private, but my cousin the
hacker managed to crack a Russian spy satellite and intercept some interesting
dope. The following is a transcript of that tape:
Script
written by Ed Bishop and Sarah Mason
INT.
- TENNESSEE GOREHOUSE – WAY LATE AT NIGHT
The
PHONE rings. Then again.
TIPPER
(bellowing)
AL!!!
Answer the !@#$% phone!!!
AL
It’s
probably a telemarketer.
TIPPER
Three
O’$^#@!Clock in the morning, it’s not a &^%$# Telemarketer!!!!
AL
But
I’m watching South Park.
TV
Timmy!!!
TIPPER
All
right, !@#$*%^! I’ll get it. Hello?
INT.
- TEXAS BUSH LICKING ROOM - SIMULTANEOUS
W
Heeeeey,
Tipperipperoonie! Dubya here. Is the big guy home?
TIPPER
(sneering)
Hold
on I’ll get the !@#@!
W
Excuse
me Tipper, did you just say an explacate word to me?
TIPPER
What? (muttering) You little
%^%*^*&^*&%. Hold on. (bellowing) Al!!! It’s that %$#*&^ Bush!
AL
Hillary?
TIPPER
No
you *&^*%% idiot, CAPITAL B! It’s W!
AL
!@$#!$%!
Al
takes the phone.
Hello
George, what can I do for you?
W
Well, Al I thought by now you’d be callin’ me to consent.
AL
You mean concede?
W
Yeah that’s what I said.
AL
Uh
well, George, don't forget, I, Al Gore, won the majority of the popular vote.
Even Saturday Night Live suggested that Al Gore, is the clear winner, of
the popular vote.
W
Well, Al, now, I hate to deflatuate your ego and all that but, hell, that
Electrical College thing is mine, and my father told me that if I beat you in
the Electrical College then I would be the President of the United States of
America. And I did. I won.
AL
Well George I beg to differ with you. We've yet to finish the manual
recount in Florida. And The Electoral College, which I helped to
develop, thus has not been settled. I think it would be best for us to hold off on any speeches
until justice has been served.
W
Al, we gotta settle this thing. I mean, the Supreme Court of Florida doesn't
have time for this shit. They need to get back to the business of Florida,
executions. Wait, hold on a minute there Al Mr. Chaney wants to say something.
DICK CHANEY picks up an
extension.
DICK
Hello Al, Dick here. Let's just see if we can clear this up. The American people need a President Al and we're all
just getting a bit tired of these antics. American tax dollars paying for
this nonsense down in Florida.
W
(snickering)
Heh heh… you said “dick”.
DICK
George, simmer down lad. Anyways –
W
Heh heh… your name is “dick.”
DICK
Right. Anyways, Al, what can we really need to clear this situation up quickly
and efficiently. My wife is anxious to start work on destroying the NEA and I've
got at least a a thousand social programs to nuke.
W
That's right, and me and my cabinet are gonna work as hard and as fast as we can
to make sure the American people don't have to worry about anybody else anymore
but themselves. If they
ain’t in a Texas Electric Chair, they ain’t my concern!
AL
snidely remarks.
AL
Dick,
W snickers
I think that the American people have the right to see the process of
justice played out. And clearly, I did receive the majority of the popular
vote. Plus, if I lose the Presidency, I'll have nothing to do but stay
home with Tipper all day and eat her jello molds while listening to gangster rap
and Marilyn Manson CDs.
DICK
Al, I think we all know how this thing is gonna play out son and it's not in
your favor. Now do the country a favor and move on.
W
I love Marilyn Manson!
DICK
Dammit George! Lucky for you your father saved my life in...uhh, ohhh, ahhh...
SOUND OF THUD AND PHONE DROPPING
LAURA picks up the receiver.
LAURA
George, are you on the line?
W
Where's Dick? Hee Hee.
LAURA
Oh, I think he just suffered a mild heart attack. Hang on. Let me just
roll him aside.
W
Well, what is it Laura?
LAURA
Well,
your mother just called me on the other line and she wants you to make a guest appearance
on the West Wing. Aaron Sorkin agreed to let you play a
White House Security Guard. You've got one line. It's not much but it will
give you a SAG card and you know you look so good in a uniform! I think it
might help dear. They are winning in the polls.
AL
Hello? George, can we get back to our conversation?
(matter-of-factly in his syrupy monotone Southern drawl)
Tipper's making some Jell-O for the Florida Supreme Court Justices. I should
really help her.
LAURA
Oh, hi Al, sorry! Carry on boys. And by the way Al, I'm sure you could
make an appearance as well, maybe you could be an intern.
W
Laura, can't you see we're trying to construct business?
LAURA
Oh, sorry, carry on boys!
SOUND OF RECEIVER HANGING UP
W
By
the way there Al, how is Tipper in the sack? She sounds hotter than a Texas
barbeque! Hee Hee Hee. (clears his throat) Now about your
confession speech…
AL
Well
George, if it were clear you won I’d concede in a heartbeat. And now
since the Florida judges ruled in my favor, well, George, it's anybody's game
now.
I mean
now that we can conduct a thorough manual recount who knows how many dimpled
votes the Gore camp will receive. Especially in Dade. Oops, hold on
a minute George, there's something coming on CNN.
INT. - TV SCREEN AT GORE HOUSE - CNN NEWS DESK
REPORTER
Miami-Dade County election officials said they called off the hand recount of
700,000 votes because none of the Dade county poll workers wanted to miss their
Thanksgiving Dinner for, "a couple of Turkeys". And so the
county will stick with its result from an earlier machine recount.
GORE
Damn!
W
What, whad'they say Al?
AL
Well, George, they said, that the election is still too close to call.
Al
crosses his fingers behind his back.
W
God Dammit! I can't take this anymore. And tomorrow's Thanksgiving! Now what am
I supposed to give thanks to now. Half the damn country are liberal
idiots. And I don't even care about the other half.
AL
Now
George, I think we all have a lot to give thanks about. This election is the
first of its kind in history. And we have the American people to thank George.
At least I do because I won the popular vote.
W
Oh shhhissh. I'm takin this thing to the Supreme Court of the United
States!
AL
What
about the dimpled ballots George? You haven't even mentioned them. The
Florida Supreme Court made a clear ruling on the dimpled ballots. There
could be hundreds of elderly voters that intended to vote for Al Gore but
couldn't get the pin in my slot.
W
Al, that's just disgusting. That, that is. If those elderly people
want to put their pin in somebody's slot, why don't they go look Bill up.
AL
Well,
George, it wouldn't be prudent for us to push
forward with any announcements. The decision of the Florida Supreme Court unanimously
ruled
in favor of the manual recounts.
W
(dropping the phone)
Aaaahhhhh!!!
AL
George, are you okay?
W
Sorry, usually when I hear
“wouldn’t be prudent” its followed by a backhand upside my ass. Those damn
judges, Jeb said he was taking care of them.
AL
What
did you say George?
W
(nervously)
Nothing, nothing.
AL
George, we're just gonna have to wait it out.
W
Wait!
I can't wait! I got victory parties happenin. I mean, Andy and Carl, they're
already printing out their new business cards. Believe me, Keg brew and
barbecue shrimp don’t keep for weeks.
What say we meet tomorrow noon in the lounge at Reagan Interactional Airport?
We’ll do tequila shots and arm wrestle for it.
AL
Arm wrestle for the presidency?!
W
What,
you chicken?!
AL
I
just prefer to let the wheels of democracy have their turn.
W
Like
THAT ever works.
There’s
a beep on the line.
AL
(to
W) Hang on, I’ve got another call.
SOUND
OF CLICK
Hello?
INT.
- LIEBERMAN SUKKOH
JOE
Al,
wazzaaaaaap?
AL
Oh,
hello Joe. Just a minute I'm talking to George W.
JOE
W???
That little weasel. Listen, I got a call from my nephew in the Mossad. There's
definitely something fishy in Dade County and it ain't Gefilta. Did
you here the latest reports that they're not redoing the count?
AL
What
are you saying Joe? You have factual proof that the ballots were tampered
with? Is it a cover up?
JOE
Is
Mr. Peanut a legume? We should just keep filing law suit after law suit till the
gentiles give up - they will, trust me.
AL
Well
Joe, we already got the Florida Supreme Court involved. I think we should let
justice find it's way. And I'm getting a lot of pressure by the Democrats
to concede if this latest count doesn't prove to be in my favor.
JOE
Concede!
Are you kidding. Forget that. I’ve
got seventeen cousins who are lawyers, plus my cousin Murray who passed the bar
but became a MIME. And Al, any more oranges and you'll be able to squeeze juice
out of my fingers.
AL
Look
Joe, I’ve got W on the line so we’ll talk about this later.
JOE
All
right, but don’t let me say I told you so.
CLICK
Al
hears distant voices from the phone. It's W and his brother JEB.
INT. BUSH LIVING ROOM
Jeb has W in a headlock and is administering nuggies.
W
Ow!
Ow! Oooowwwwww!!!!!
JEB
Say
it!
W
No. Ow!!!
AL
George!
You there?!
W
(back
on the phone)
Oh,
yeah. Me and Jeb were just discussing some family issues.
AL
Look,
I’ve got to go. Tipper’s bringing out the Jell-O, and I don’t think she’s planning on putting it in a bowl. I’ll call you in
the morning if anything changes.
W
OK,
be that way ya big Wus!
W
slams the phone down.
AL
Mmmm, what flavor you have there Tip?
TIPPER
%^%#!! Cherry. But first let me hear your acceptance speech again.
AL
Aw
come on, I’ve been over it 32.7 million times.
TIPPER
I
have whipped cream.
AL
OK,
here goes…You hate me less than him. You REALLY hate me less than him!
Meanwhile
back in Texas, Jeb has W in a headlock.
SOUND
OF PUNCHES BEING THROWN
JEB
Say
“Jeb should be President first”.
W
No.
Oowwww!! OK! Jeb should be President first. Now let go!
JEB
All
right, just so we’re straight.
W
You said you'd make sure those judges voted against the manual recount!
JEB
How was I supposed to know that judge was a man?
Jeb throws his arms up and leaves the room.
W
And gimmee back my pie!
Laura
enters.
LAURA
George, there's been reports on CNN, you best take a look.
W
and LAURA tune into the TV SCREEN
CNN NEWS DESK
REPORTER
This breaking news just in, Martin Sheen has been confirmed the 43rd President
of the United States. The Supreme Court of the United States has
unanimously decided in favor of Mr. Sheen citing intent from the American
people. Sheen's weekly series The West Wing soared to number one in
the ratings receiving more actual viewers than voters for either Al Gore or
George W. Bush.
There is no word from Sheen yet on whether he will continue the series while in
office. But sources close to West Wing Producer Aaron Sorkin say
there is talk of a merger between the show and the White House. Sorkin was
quoted to say, "We could put a substantial dent in the deficit as the show
is much more cost effective and reaches larger numbers of Americans."
W
Laura,
call my mother back and tell her to tell Sorkin I'll do it!
end
scene
*DISCLAIMERS:
1)
Parts of this conversation may have been adapted for dramatic effect or
made up entirely.
2)
Certain grammatarical errors concurrent in this transcript are
intentional and should be conscrewed as such. Thank you.
index
November 9, 2000
Florida or Bust
by Sarah Mason
I'm a registered voter. Every election I try to do my best to take the
time to read the booklets they hand out describing in detail the initiatives
proposed by the state. I watch Meet the Press, listen to NPR,
read the newspaper. And I've always thought that I was in the minority
with these rituals. Well, at least in Los Angeles. And in fact, I probably
am. But somehow the last couple days has given the country a political
conscience and awareness the likes we've rarely seen.
Would you have ever believed that the fate of the country lay in the hands of a
state that's governed by Mickey Mouse, has the largest number of inmates put to
death, a population largely made up of retirees and is the number one pick of
thousands of college students to embark on a week of beer and wet t-shirt
contests?
Shame on you Jeb! What are you doing to your brother? Weren't you
supposed to hand Florida over on a silver platter?
The Bush Brothers remind me of the Miser Brothers - aka Heat Miser and
Snow Miser. If you remember the Christmas special, The Year Without a Santa
Claus. One brother, Snow Miser presided over the North Pole and he was
mean and scary and froze people when they tried to pass by or spread a little
sunshine. And the other brother, Heat Miser ruled the South Pole and made
sure that it was green and sunny everywhere and zapped people with balls of heat
when they tried to spread a little snow (guess the producers didn't watch too
much National Geographic). But sooner or later they piss everyone off so
much that their mother, Mother Nature, has to step in.
Well, they both may rule Sunny states and Barbara Bush ain't no Mother Nature
but nevertheless, it's a frightening similarity. They both rose to fame on
their families coat tails and dance around screaming ineptitudes and zapping
people smaller than them. And one of those little characters may just be
the next President of the United States.
Frankly, I'm not surprised by the quirks in the Florida voting procedures.
In fact, I think this is probably standard fair. If it weren't for the
closeness in the vote nationwide, we'd never have known! It's probably
happened every election. Inefficiency doesn't just rise up on the eve of
an election. It's birthed and nurtured. It festers for years before
arriving at its place of bureaucratic mildew.
What I don't understand is the bewilderment of the two parties. They're
shaking their heads, crying out, The will of the people is not being adhered
to! And saying things like, the country is telling us that they want
less government, they're something wrong here! It's injustice! Let
the people speak!
First of all, 50% of the population of this country voted in this
election. That's hardly the will of the people. And what will? That
50% is divided essentially right down the middle. And its not because we
want less government, its because we want a different government.
The two candidates spent $3 billion a piece to reach only a quarter of the
population each. Yes, something is wrong here, we don't like either one of
them!
Why were no third party candidates included in the debates? Yes, I know
what the statutes say - must have a certain ridiculous percentage of voter
support as determined by idiots. But you can't deny
the message that's being asserted by this historic election. And not just
now. It's been brewing. In 1992 Ross Perot got 33% of the
vote. That's certainly nothing to sneeze at even if you do want to sneeze directly in
his face.
I have to ask myself what's wrong with this picture
when I'm listening to Jesse Ventura and thinking to myself, wow, he makes
sense. On a recent Larry King Live the illustrious Governor of
Minnesota affirmed that the reason the third parties have no chance is because
of the lack of campaign reform. If $3 billion dollars is the price of
attention of 25% of the American people, then how can any real viable
challengers step forward? Ventura's explanation for the lack of effort to
bring about real campaign reform is because the Democrats and the Republicans
don't want a third party. They want to keep it as it is. Just the
two of them. And you know what? He's right. That's exactly the
truth.
Of course the old fart Republicans and the old fart Democrats argue this point
saying that the reason there's no infusion of a third party is because
government works the way it is. Yeah it works. It works for
them. They're living in a big white house in DC and in their respective
states chugging martini's and caviar while we slugs work 10 hour days just to
pay our taxes. Okay, okay. But you get the point.
Even Mario Cuomo, who I've always secretly wished would run for President,
agreed with Ventura's statements. Okay, see how scary this picture really
is?
You gotta hand it to Ralph Nader for what he's accomplished regardless of what
you think of him or the platform of the Green party. And hell, Pat
Buchanan, at least stays the course and sticks to his message however to the
right of Attila the Hun it may be.
I think the American people do want a change but are given no real opportunity to
execute it. And right now we're all caught up in a whirlwind of
constitutional ego.
If it weren't for the great state of Florida we'd all be back at our jobs,
searching the web for Christmas gifts and planning our Turkey dinners.
Some would care. But not many. It would all blow over in a matter of
days. For the reality is, half the country, (or should I say, a quarter)
of the country voted for the lesser of their evil, and the other half for the
lesser of theirs.
What incredible power has been bestowed upon Florida as a result of
incompetence. That my friends, is the story of America today.
So here's a song going out to our good friends
in the Sunshine state who've made it all possible for us to tune out our every
day lives and tune into the governing of our country. And since we're
rounding Thanksgiving time, we'll sing it to the tune of Arlo Guthrie's
Alice's Restaurant.
You can get anything you want in the great
state of Florida - septa President
You can get anything you want, in the great state of Florida
Come on down we'll make the sunshine
Can't count your ballot cause we're sippin moonshine
But you can get anything you want, in the great state of Florida
That's all folks! I'm on my way to Palm Beach with a big bag of Turkeys.
index
October 30, 2000
The
Aftermath of a Broken Apple
by Kristen Herbert
I
was right. The train ride home from Shea Stadium last Thursday night was
brutal. I had just watched the Yankees win their third straight World
Series and was not in the positive mood that I had been in earlier that day.
I wasn't so happy with my father, who was wearing his Yankee hat, but the look
of irritation on my face was also the result of the thousands and
thousands
of Yankee fans that were chanting. My father wasn't as bad as I expected,
but he wasn't exactly a prince either. He agreed with me during the game
that we might not be speaking on the way home. He said on the train ride
home that eventually I will wake up and support a "real" team-the
Yankees. I think that is very doubtful.
During the game I sat there on the edge of my seat and cheered for the Mets.
I listened to all of the things being yelled around me and did laugh frequently.
Well, at least through the eighth inning. My father acted like a little
kid when the Yankees scored, as did many of the people around me. I admit
it, I was the same way with the Mets. I acted like a five-year-old when
Agbayani hit that ball down the third base line and Payton scored. I sat
there through the game with my fingers crossed and right until the end thought
the Mets could do it.
I woke up on Friday dreading the day. I went into work and was not looking
forward to checking my email and seeing the nasty notes from all my friends that
are Yankee fans. In some situations I was pleasantly surprised. Many
people offered their condolences on my team's loss. It wasn't talked about
the way that I had thought it would be. I do have one friend who was
actually cruel enough to email me a picture of what game 6 would have been
like.
t was a picture of Mike Piazza with a broken bat through his head. Thank
you Lauren, that made me feel horrible. A lot of what I got from other
people was "Well, what did you expect?" It's not even worth
arguing about, is it? It doesn't matter that the Yankees only won the
series by a total of 5 runs. As my boyfriend said a few weeks back
"A win is a win." I'm not sure what he is saying now since we
aren't speaking.
The weekend was no better. I went out to a Halloween party in Manhattan on
Saturday night and had to listen to the newest version of "Who let
the Dogs out?". It has now transitioned into "Who shut the Mets
up?" I listened to those Yankee fans singing and laughing and felt
horrible. If I hear that song one more time, I am going to scream.
It made me think and wonder to myself "Why am I a Mets fan? It's so
hard…" Well, I guess I like to do things the hard way. It's not
easy to be a Mets fan right now, but I still think that eventually it will be
worth it.
I received many responses to my question of why it is that some men think a
woman is smarter if she can talk about sports. Oh, do feel free to email
me should you want an explanation on what the in-field fly rule is.
Anyway-many women agreed with me about how men see you differently if you have a
knowledge of sports. It was also brought to my attention that there is
another way that many men will look at a woman if she is a big sports fan.
It basically comes down to one of two things. The first is that they will
see you as more intelligent. I still question this one.
The second opinion that a man will have is one that I have always known, and
still think is absurd. Certain men will see you as being less feminine if
you are a sports fan. Can someone please explain this to me? How can
a man's opinion of you be changed so much because you enjoy the same thing that
they do? Just because a woman enjoys the excitement of a sporting event,
how does that make her less lady like? I still have my nails manicured
when I am at a
game.
I am still wearing the pearls, they are just hidden under my jersey. I
think that I am pretty feminine yet for some reason once I brush my hair back
and put on a baseball hat, I am not seen the same way. The guy that
referred to me as a "high-maintenance chick" earlier in the day (I
hate to admit it, but I have been called that on more than one occasion) will
now
see
me differently. I have always heard guys say things about how it is a
turn-off when a woman is too into sports? Why? I think that a man
should be happy if his significant other enjoys the same sport that he does and
be grateful she doesn't want you to turn off the game. Not all men are as
lucky, count your blessings.
Today was pretty bad for me with the parade going on for the Yankees in New York
City. "The Parade of Champions". All I heard about the entire
day was the Yankees…so depressing. I was watching the news before and the
parade was the top story. They were showing the thousands of children who
avoided school today so that they could attend the parade. Each and every
one of them was screaming with pride for their Yankees.
I am finally starting to get over last week's events. The tears have dried and
my Piazza jersey is folded at the top of my closet. It will stay there
until opening day next season when once I again I will "believe" in
the Mets. Now if I can only get this Mets logo off of my arm, I'll be ok.
index
October 26, 2000
How to Divide a City with a
Subway, Series
by Kristen Herbert
My boyfriend and I are not
speaking. I can’t remember the last time there was this much tension in
our relationship. The sound of his voice right now can make my skin crawl.
No, we’re not fighting about an ex-boyfriend or an ex-girlfriend. We’re
not fighting about lying to each other. This is much, much
worse. This is much, much more personal. He’s a Yankee fan and I
am a Mets fan.
Come to think of it, most people I know are fighting with someone about the same
thing. Instead of people talking about the upcoming presidential
elections, most people are fighting about whether or not Roger Clemens should
have been ejected for throwing the broken bat in Mike Piazza’s
direction. It is amazing what is going on here right now. You may be
wondering how all of this excitement and tension is over a sporting event.
What people outside of this area may not realize is that this is about much more
than just a sporting event. I don’t care what anyone says, you can not be a
“New York” fan. You can’t be happy for both teams. This Subway
Series is about having pride in your team and continuing to believe, even when
all seems lost. This series is about things being settled for once and for
all. For New Yorkers, this series is about bragging rights.
Prior to this series there was all of this talk about how this series will cause
wars in families. Fathers and sons will be cruel and insulting to each
other. However, there is half of the population that is not being
considered with all this talk of the Subway Series. What about mothers and
daughters? There are just as
many women at these games cheering just as loud. There are just as many
women that sit up every night with their fingers crossed, not able to take their
eyes from the screen.
I actually got into an hour long fight with a Yankee fan on Tuesday night.
Somehow I got him to see my point of view after being able to spit out all of
the useless baseball knowledge that I have. One thing that I realized during
this pointless conversation was that men seem to think a woman is more
intelligent if she knows about sports and can have a decent conversation about a
game. I can’t really understand this. I certainly don’t think a man is more intelligent if he knows a lot about sports. Ladies, do
you? Why is it that it doesn’t matter what else I know that will shape a
man’s opinion of me? Why is it that if I can tell you who was in the ’83
world series a man will think I am a genius? Hmmmm…makes you wonder…
What else surprised me is that many men can’t believe it when a woman they
consider to be attractive can explain the infield fly rule. What is that
about? Baseball is a game that almost anyone can enjoy, and that is the
great thing about it. Ask anyone in your office if they know what the
score of last night’s game was and 90% of people will get it right this week. Ask them what went on in the Middle East this week and the
percentage would be much less. Well, at least in NY. I’m pretty
sure there isn’t as much craziness anywhere else. We’ve all heard that
famous line from A League of Their Own, “There’s no crying in baseball”. Well, I disagree. At the end of this week, one team and
half of the City New York will be crying.
I am going to the game tonight and the Mets are down in the series 3-1. I am
going with my dad who is a HUGE Yankee fan. I have a massive fear of seeing the
Yanks win the World Series at Shea this evening, but I still believe in my team
and will continue to. Tonight I will put on my Piazza jersey with pride
and root for my team. I will get into screaming brawls with the Yankee fans around me and they will be surprised that such words can come out of such a
small girl. Regardless of the outcome of this series, this has been such an
amazing week full of emotions, pride and ulcers for baseball fans and
New York in general. I wonder if my father and I will be speaking to each other
on the way home. I have a funny feeling that we won’t be.
index
October 12, 2000
Dear
Dell…(on the subject of PC outrage)
By Nina Smith Lindqvist
It
has come to me recently that there is a term lacking in the English vocabulary
or at least my personal knowledge of it, or if it does exist – it has not
reached my English-speaking ears (not that my ears are equipped with tongues) in
this foreign speaking land of which I am an inhabitant. Perhaps the word exists
in many tongues in many countries, this just not happening to be one of them.
The
word I seek is something to justify the feeling of outrage one experiences at
lost words, sentences, poems and dreams. Fleeting trains of thought desperately
pounded out on a keyboard faster than the fingertip-brain connection can dizzily
keep up with that once put down “on screen” ever so brilliantly can simply
be completely erased, yes, eradicated with the simple unthinking push of a
button. This action causing a devastating reaction of flushing small exquisite
pieces of prose or tiny facets of the soul hardly long or large enough to even
catch the attention of the most avid reader of cyber-clutter, but that are as
life and breath itself to their author, determinedly trying to put a permanent
indelible mark in this un-permanent ever fluctuating liquid-crystal 2-D world
that one HAS in fact existed on this planet – yes, flushing it all out into
the massive cyber-abyss of other words and images long lost.
And
there you are, alone – spent - brain-drained, staring at the empty screen that
moments ago you were absolutely loving, was your best friend, holding the most
brilliant thought you’ve ever had. And the horrifying creeping-up-on-you
realization that everything you’ve just written is completely…gone.
Shock,
disbelief…denial - a desperate quick search, switching from window to window
ensues although you know all the while that no window will ever hold this
perfectly formulated thought again. Gone…
You
let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in one long
shoulder-sinking sigh.
And
THERE it is – that all pervasive slam-the-keyboard hatred that hits you right
in the gut. PC-Outrage. Where is the perfect word to justify this feeling, and
why has it not become a part of society’s everyday vocabulary? I am 100%
certain that my co-inhabitants in this cyber world also experience this outrage
at least on a weekly basis if not at times daily (for those of us unlucky enough
to be enslaved under the tyranny of a particularly lousy server with even worse
administrators). Who can blame them though – they have their own battles to
wager out on the frontlines of the ever-ongoing cyber wars. And there they find
themselves day after day on yet another battlefield, or within yet another
labyrinth, just as lost as we are.
One
lousy button. Oh, there are others that are just as damaging, since you seldom
travel alone. I see you around all the time with your buddies CONT and ALT, in
secure packs of two’s or three’s. And Enter is your equal, if not stronger.
But it all began with you.
One
lousy button. Dear DELL, you make my life a hell…
index
October
2, 2000
Turbulent
Waters
by Janet Campbell
I’m
a good person. I think.
Most of the time. Some of
the time? Okay, so I try like hell
to be a caring and altruistic human being.
I’m a vegetarian, on a personal mission to save the life of each and
every helpless creature upon this earth. I
volunteer. Okay, so maybe I don’t
get around to it nearly enough, but I remember how good it felt to bang nails
with Habitat for Humanity months and months…and months ago.
I vow at this moment to give them a call real soon! I
adopted a couple of three-year-old cats in lieu of the seductive frolicking of
the cute kittens in the next cage. Most
importantly, I endeavor to show my family and friends how much I respect and
love and need them every day.
Where
I am certainly no Mother Theresa, my heart and soul do give it a shot.
But I am as guilty as the next person for so often becoming ensnared in
the net of my own boat as it sails across this vast sea of life.
Sure, I see all of you on those other boats; I wave at you with a big
smile and a wave as I glide past. Sometimes
I even take a leap into the murky water and swim on over to climb aboard someone
else’s vessel. It may be the
recluse of a writer in me, but soon I am surpassing even Ian Thorpe in my quest
to return to the solitude of my own ship. To
once again become embroiled in the piloting of my own boat.
Could
this be how I completely missed the fact that one of my girlfriends was bobbing
in the turbulence of her own rough seas, waging fierce battles against bulimia,
fear, and the enticement of suicide? A
woman I knew and cared for deeply had endured an inordinate amount of pain, and
I hadn’t had a clue.
Sarah
e-mailed news of this project of hers, a website dedicated to helping people
suffering from eating disorders. Good for her, I thought.
That girl is so talented, always occupied with some exciting, new
undertaking. I wonder how she got
involved in that, I considered briefly.
And then I went about my own life. It
was another couple of weeks before I actually had the time to really read Payson
Road.
And
read it I did. Every word.
Every story. And I was
floored. I was also sitting at my
desk at work. Co-workers puzzled at
my silence, my sudden preoccupation with my computer, but mostly at my tears.
I couldn’t think of a word to explain the turmoil raging through my
heart and soul so I just kept my mouth shut.
They wisely left me alone.
Needless
to say, my reaction was pretty jumbled up.
First in foremost, I was in awe of Sarah’s bravery in telling her
story. I’ve always revered Sarah
for her diversity of talent and praised her for following her dreams across the
country, far away from family and friends.
But here she was divulging her secrets on a global medium in an attempt
to reach out and help others.
I
was also sad. Sad for her pain. I’m really quite ignorant about eating disorders.
Sure, I stuck my finger down my throat a time or two in college.
It just didn’t take. I’ll
never know quite why, but I’ll always be infinitely thankful for whatever
power intervened on my behalf.
I
felt sad for another, maybe more selfish, reason.
How had I missed this? In
this age of technology, where we work and live and shop with the click of a
mouse, are we so oblivious to those around us?
Have we forgotten how to just be
with one another? How to listen? Do we exist so deeply in our own private oceans?
In truth, I was feeling my own guilt for not being accessible to a
friend.
My
easiest cop-out was that Sarah and I had never had the time to fashion a certain
depth in our friendship. Our ships
first passed when we worked together, and our friendship grew for a brief time
before she moved away. That was it, I told myself! We
just weren’t close enough for her to trust me.
But there was no relief in this. I
knew in my heart that she had brilliantly managed to keep this secret from even
the closest of her acquaintances. I
knew this because I happen to possess my own demons, and I still keep them
locked up safely in my very own cargo hold (but that’s an entirely different
website).
I
found myself wondering about her family, her boyfriends and her best friends. Was I off the hook here?
Surely there had been someone to whom she had been able to talk.
Hadn’t she? Sharing is a
truly personal decision, but everyone should have at least one trusted confidant
with whom to unburden the weight of anguished secrets.
But what if fear or pride or embarrassment had stopped her from borrowing
the ear of those closest to her heart? Were
they to blame for missing the signs or symptoms of her illness?
And I immediately knew the answer. Absolutely
not!
I’m
no authority on eating disorders; in fact, I know only what I’ve read on
Payson Road. But I have a lay
person’s message I’d like to share.
To
those suffering with the secrets and anguish of this or any disorder…
It might not be readily apparent, but love does exist on this vast ocean.
Even if it is beyond a distant horizon.
Seek it out and wrap your arms tightly around it.
Find just one person to unburden yourself to, to trust enough to ask for
help. We want to help. We just may not know how.
Teach us and together we will seek out the compass that will guide us
through this oftentimes-lonely world.
To
those like me, with a loved one who suffers…If you’re a parent, a sibling,
or a best friend who feels guilty because you didn’t see or couldn’t help,
just ask yourself one question. Did I love with an open heart and mind? In this day of e-mails and cell phones and cold, hard
technology, it is easy to become entrenched in our own lives and thoughts,
forgetting what real human contact and communication is all about.
We all try to be good people,
but there are limitations.
All
I can really do is love the people around me.
I will keep an ear to their heart so they know I will listen.
I will hold their hand so they know I will sit beside them in their pain.
I will keep reading this website and other literature, learning and
trying to understand.
Most
importantly, I will make sure to swim away from my own boat on occasion to share
in the turbulence of someone else’s journey.
index
September 18, 2000
SHORT NOTICE
by Ed Bishop
As I merged onto
Route 10 last night (“The 10” if you live in LA, and if you live in Santa
Monica west of Lincoln: “The Christopher Columbus
Intercontinental Highway”), the thought crossed my mind, “I wonder if I’ll
die tonight.” Actually,
that’s not so unusual. Not that I have a desire to die, or even
that I’m abnormally afraid to die (although I am apparently one of the
minority of Americans who would rather speak in public than die).
I just need to remind myself every once in a while that I COULD die.
BAM, just like that. No two minute warning, no Oscar nominatable
farewell speech. I mean, it happens often enough. That classic cartoon of
a safe falling out of the sky onto some poor guy’s head had to have occurred
some time to some body.
Of course, just as I was thinking this, I caught a glimpse in my rear view of
some maniac (there are only two kinds of drivers – the “maniacs” going
faster than you and the “idiots” going slower than you) flying towards my
ass at close to the speed of light, or at least 90.
Since I’d already kicked it up to 75 behind a bumper-to-bumper fast
pack, I pulled out of his way just in time to see him slam on his brakes just
short of the car formerly in front of me. If
I hadn’t been paying attention, I might very well have cashed in right
then. Thank you RitalinTM.
I have this vision of dieing – not a specific premonition or anything, I’m
just suddenly worm fodder. So there I am facing St. Pete at the Pearly
Gates, and it’s like talking to my Mom after grade school.
SAINT PETER
So what’d you do in life today?
ME
(tossing down my bookbag and grabbing a cookie)
Nuthin’.
SAINT PETER
Nothing?! With that whole huge beautiful world at your fingertips,
you did nothing? An infinite abundance of art and literature yours to
explore,
or better yet create, and you didn’t accomplish anything?!
ME
Um… I ate some paste.
SAINT PETER
(with disapproval)
Mmmm Hmmmm.
So I try to make the most of each moment and every opportunity. Not that I live
like there’s no tomorrow. I hope there IS a tomorrow and I certainly don’t
want to screw it up by being an asshole. But
so often we waste so much time bitching and moaning about all the things we
don’t have and all the petty injustices committed against us, that we don’t
have time left to actually DO anything, or even enjoy all the minute pleasures
that surround us. Yes I plead guilty to that as well. But I do my best to
experience something new every day, or to accomplish something, however
insignificant it seems, for the benefit of myself or someone else. Much
better to be standing at the gates with a little something to show for myself.
SAINT PETER
So, what’d you do in life today?
ME
(tossing down my bookbag and grabbing a cookie)
Well, I wrote a short article for a web site that maybe someone will enjoy
reading.
SAINT PETER
Very good. Did you win any Nobel or Pulitzer prizes for this article?
ME
JeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
index
September 12, 2000
Jennifer Campbell lives in the Boston area and is a massage therapist
specializing in working with eating disorders. She's also a dancer, and
very talented writer. She has graciously agreed to share some of her
stories with Payson Road. Here are Dancers
and Growing Up Irish.
Dancers
by Jennifer Campbell
I
watched her in awe.
The quick beating of her feet, the graceful leap, the soft angelic
movements of her arms.
She was the music.
Each instrument, each beat flowed through her body. I was, however, soon
distracted by the ever-visible shadow of her bones, the ins and outs, the
crevice and points.
As she danced under the lights her bones jutted, her muscles flexed, her
translucent skin stretched and twisted.
This woman of beauty and grace had, so quickly changed to a very visible
display of self-mutilation.
It shocked me to the core, this realization that this delicate ballerina
was not a muse or an angel, a princess, or a delicate creature. She was a shadow
of herself.
Growing
Up Irish
What
is it to grow-up Irish Catholic?
It is parochial school.
Little girls who are dressed in their jumpers and knees socks and little
boys, with their shirts untucked and the shoelaces untied.
Nuns, some with a heart of gold and a sparkle in there eye, others with a
taste for children’s blood and the ability to cause young lips to quiver just
with a glance.
It is silent lunches and no running at recess. It is wanting to wear your
First Communion dress all day long.
It is giggling at mass, and writing the meaning of silence one hundred
times. It
is not understanding how talking during Morning Prayer puts you in the same
category as a murder; both of you are sinners.
It is the ability to have your whole family take up one side of a church
and have your grandmother be the one to read the Gospel.
It is holiday parties, full of laughter and food and more laughter and
more food. It
is the ability to be fourteen and have a beer and not have it be a big deal.
It is the assurance that you will have a priest as a cousin and he will
be the one to say grace at Thanksgiving dinner, drunk as a doornail.
It is a grandmother who can cook like no one else, and whose mission is
to make you eat as much as possible.
It is not knowing what everyone is saying during mass, and just mumbling
under your breath.
It is forgetting to NOT say Amen after the “Our Father.”
It is doing some weird cross thing with your thumb on your face, and
shaking hand with strangers, and wondering why communion has to taste so bad.
It
is taking Irish step dancing lessons.
It is knowing first hand what an Irish temper is and what the term
“Irish guilt” is all about.
It is having the pope on your wall and getting your first pair of
rosaries and wearing them around your neck.
It is not having anything to confess at confession, so making something
up then confessing about you lying at confession.
It is hearing the phrases “Jesus, Mary and Holy Saint Joseph…” and
“Mary, Mother of God…” on a regular basis.
It is growing up in a family where the word dysfunctional seems the most
appropriate. It
is being able to mimic an Irish brogue at a very young age and knowing what the
word brogue means in the first place.
It is running around to clean the house from top to bottom before company
arrives and then when people get there, acting as if it always looks this way.
It is any Grandparent slipping you a large heap of money and saying…
“Here is just a little something.”
It is endless hugs and love and more hugs.
It is an experience like no other and in my opinion the most interesting
way to grow up.
index
September 6, 2000
Karmic
Comeuppance
by Rachel Peller
Recently, a
mysterious stranger hit my car. I
call him mysterious not because he was tall, aloof and handsome and spoke in
cryptic one-liners, but rather because he didn't actually show himself to me.
Instead, he chose to hightail it out of dodge before providing me with
the applicable I.D., insurance card OR GROVELING APOLOGY.
That's right, perched atop the world in his obscenely large Sport Ute-and
no doubt in a heated conversation with his tax attorney-he just (Whoops!)
misjudged that tough turn into the parking spot and clipped the left, rear panel
of my 1995 Honda Civic. I'm not talking a teeny indentation or scrape.
No, this gash is a good two feet long and it pains me to look at it each
day.
I'm sure he (and I know it's a "he" because balls like his most
definitely DO NOT grow on girls!) did the deed, screamed some sort of minor
expletive, told his lawyer to hang on, and then quickly cased the joint for any
witnesses. Seeing that the coast
was clear, he simply backed out of the spot and found another equally good one
in the next row. Done. Handled.
Moving on. Checked his
watch. Phew, thank god he hadn't
missed the 7:00 kickboxing class (yes, this happened in the parking structure at
my gym-providing yet another perfectly good excuse for not working out!).
Yes, I know hit-and-runs happen every day.
And I know that I should consider myself lucky because the damage was
(relatively) minor and no one was hurt and blah, blah, blah... F*&%K that!
This really pissed me off. Let me
tell you why and I'll try not to sound like a didactic schoolteacher.
My initial upset came from the fact that I had been planning to the sell
the car the next month and this would certainly lower the price tag.
Sure, I could fix it but it would cost $500 and, wouldn't ya' know it,
that's the exact amount of my deductible.
Ain't life a laugh riot! But
then I calmed down about that. I
mean it's only money and I work for a not-for-profit arts organization so you
know I'm making bank. In the end,
that is not what sickens me. What
does keep me up at night-and I know this will sound downright cliché-ish --
man's inhumanity to man. That
this person, this vacuous, bloodsucking coward, didn't even have the moral fiber
to leave a terse note of explanation is not only confounding but very sad.
I suppose he just assumed that I would be amoral and corrupt (duh, isn't
everyone?) and therefore he wasn't taking any chances.
He had his bottom line to think about (and his abs, cardio, biceps and
triceps) and this would really be inconvenient.
What's more, he may even have to feign empathy, caring, repentance, and
that would be far too taxing on any empty stomach (Oh sh*t!
9:00 dinner reservations at Chaya Venice; can't be late for Lolita
Legsalot!)
Okay, maybe I'm being a bit fanciful and overly dramatic in my depiction of Mr.
Smash Smash See Ya' Later but the fact that I never actually met him gives me
the license to go a bit overboard in my dramatization.
I mean, he was an ass who did a bad thing, on that we can all agree.
But the fact that when I tell people about it, no one is surprised is the
most disquieting of all. We good
people, the ones who say sorry and mean it, the ones who actually do help little
old ladies across the street (there I go again with the hyperbole) really get
the wind knocked out of our sails when we get smacked in the face by people and
situations that exhibit callous disregard for the basic rules and morals that
make our society viable.
No, I am not a saint and I do plenty of things wrong and I know I have said
hurtful things to people I care about. But
I acknowledge my mistakes and try to correct them.
I strongly believe in being a good person.
Not that it's something I consciously strive for like crossing the finish
line of a marathon (like that will ever happen), I just have to believe that
taking the high road will eventually make not only my life better but also my
children's life and their children's life, etc...
There it is, yes, Karma. That
great boomerang in the heavens that swings around ones misdeeds full circle to
smack you in the ass. Your acts
must account for something in the great scheme of life or why are we here?
How else can we account for Sisqo's "Thong Song" or Spam?
Which brings me back to my car and its cosmetically challenged left rear area.
I have decided not to fix it because the damage won't lessen the value of
the car enough to make it worth the $500 outlay.
Instead, I get to view the offensive dent everyday and it serves as a
reminder that sometimes people just do bad things and there isn't a darn thing I
can do about it. And then, I start
concocting stories again. Let me
set the scene:
Our bad boy is walking into Chaya Venice, flashing his pearly whites at the
maitre d' and speaking once again on his cell phone with his tax attorney.
DAKOTA DAKOTA
Oh sure. No worries.
What were you calling me about anyway?
Dakota now giving Lolita Legsalot a quick peck on the cheek and sitting down.
LAWYER
Well, I just received a letter from the IRS.
You're being audited for the tax years 1990-97.
Vindication at last!!!
index
August 30, 2000
You Are What You Eat - So am I a Pizza?
by Sarah Mason
Los Angeles is not famous for its Italian food. This is largely due to the
fact that there are very few Italians inhabiting Southern California. On a
recent visit home to my native town of Boston I relived the magic - pizza!
North End Italian pizza. Ain't nothin like it on earth. Except maybe
Sally or Pepe's in New Haven, Connecticut. As a recovering bulimic,
I've always had a fear about over-indulging on my favorite food. So even
when I go home to the land of edible pizza, I temper the intake.
But I got an idea. Inspired by a friend who always tells me to write down
my goals. What if there's a way to indulge on one thing in life - no
matter what it is, by exchanging something in return. Kinda a
sell-your-soul-to-the-devil pact. Although, I like to promote the idea
that indulgence is good and necessary at times. But let's face it, if all
I did was to eat pizza, well, I'd probably have a hard time leaving the house
eventually. So, I'd like to negotiate. Forget God, he vetoed the
wings idea because man foolishly relied on Alan Dershowitz as his rep. I'm
going straight down to a more fiery power - Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, and now I
guess Elizabeth Hurley ala her new film Bedazzled.
So here it is. My bargain with the devil to eat nothing but pizza every day, any
moment I choose with absolutely no repercussions. This is a challenge that will
take much more than some fancy lawyer talk and a powerful spiritual
leader. I've gotta pull out the big guns of persuasion and
motivation. I'm goin with Tony-my-man-Robbins. I did pause for a
moment on that decision with the thought that Tony could in fact be the
devil himself but rejected the idea remembering God's the practical
joker.
Let's go with Liz Hurley as the devil. It may be the only way to
find out which team Tony's pitching for.
Tony decides to go alone. His thoughts were that I hadn't been to a
seminar and the tapes, well, I only got halfway through. Basically, he didn't
feel I was ready. So he goes it alone. Dressed in a $5
million dollar suite financed by his last seminar and Larry King who has a guest
appearance via satellite.
Tony presents himself at the Gates of Hell. And by the way, Rodin knew
what he was talking about. He's lead down a long corridor by the Devil's
aids who are also wearing expensive suits (Tony's cost more). They
chat about the fabric a bit and Tony asks for a mineral water but unfortunately
all they can offer him is a bottle of LA tap water - it is hell.
Finally they reach a room. Its walls are decorated in green velvet.
There's a large pool table with a few "members" taking turns.
They all lose and are forced to drink a bud after each missed shot.
Sam Kinnison is sitting on a velvet couch talking to Ted Bundy. Sam went
to heaven but got so bored he asked for a transfer.
The members acknowledge Tony. In fact many of them bought his book.
Tony finds his way to Liz who sits regally on top of a golden carriage held up
by a team of Hugh Grants.
Tony smiles at Liz and points at her.
TONY
How are you?
LIZ
to the Grants
Down boys.
The Grants lower the carriage onto the Persian carpet provided by the Shah in
exchange for a better room. And Liz walks over to Tony. She's
wearing a snake and a g-string.
She pets Tony's cheek and he smiles and gives her his best motivational
hug. Liz walks over and lies on one of the velvet couches.
Tony, join me. What's your favorite color?
TONY
Color can be a powerful motivator. If I say purple, which is a majestic
color, that power can fuel me.
LIZ
So, it's purple than?
Liz twinkles her nose like Samantha on Bewitched and the couch and room
instantly turn purple.
We do want you to feel at home.
Tony nods and smiles.
TONY
So Liz,
Liz shows her dismay as he sits across instead of next to her on one of the
velvet couches. His enormous knees practically touch the
ceiling. He clasps his giant hands together constantly using them to
talk. Somehow in hell, he's even larger than life.
As you probably know from my tapes, and book, and seminars, action is power.
Something I don't have to lecture you on. But let's take this concept for
a second.
I've got a client. We've been working together for some time
now. And when we first started she was floundering, floundering in life
and just not setting goals or accomplishing what she really wanted to
accomplish. We set her up with the tapes and the book and she's starting
to write down her goals and get with the program. Action is power.
She's got some goals Liz. But we both felt that I'd been doing this a
bit longer and maybe I was the best spokes person for her at this time. So
let's talk about the goals and how Personal Power works.
A Grant walks behind Liz and feeds her grapes and caviar. Liz eyes Tony as
she provocatively devours the food.
If you will, I've got a couple guests via satellite who've come to give you
an idea of how Personal Power has worked for them.
LIZ
Tony darling, want a little nibble?
Liz gets up and walks over to Tony and feeds him some grapes trying desperately
to seduce him.
TONY
Why don't we go to the guests?
LIZ
I don't need a reference darling. Just give me the terms.
She leans in and wraps the snake around his neck. Tony takes the snake
off and sets it down without a flinch never noticing Liz's bare breasts staring
him in the face. He continues with his presentation.
TONY
One of the things I try to teach is goal setting and taking
action.
Liz tries different tricks to distract him with her body.
Action is power.
LIZ
So I thought! And you've told me that about a half a dozen times do you
have anything else to contribute or should I ring for a taxi?
TONY
My seminars are proven success stories. So if you just take a look and
listen to Larry King on the satellite.
Liz drops her leg from around Tony's neck abruptly and huffs off to the couch
annoyed.
LIZ
Oh God, not Larry King. I can't stand that fool. He begged me to
take his soul in exchange for a new a sex drive but I didn't want his silly
little soul. So I gave him the drive and sold his soul to a collection
agency. Just, get on with the terms really.
TONY
Why don't we all stand up and wave our hands in the air.
Tony stands up along with a few of the members and continues to ramble on
about his motivational successes.
LIZ
Oh can you get to the point please???
TONY
I've found that getting to the point only makes sense if you've got a point
to get to.
Liz can't take it any more. All the members of hell are dancing around and
chanting with Tony - including the Grants. The only one abstaining is Sam
Kinnison who decides to go back to heaven.
Liz lifts her arms and twinkles her nose, blinks her head and Tony and the other
members disappear in a cloud of smoke.
She sits back down on the velvet couch which she has changed to pink and yells
out.
LIZ
Next!"
End Scene
Boy did I pick the wrong rep! He didn't even mention the damn
pizza once! But I guess it was worth it just to see him disappear
in a puff of smoke.
index
August 21, 2000
If Man Had Wings
by Sarah Mason
If we had wings, we wouldn't have to sit in an airport terminal
for four hours squashed between large women
with leopard luggage and three-year-olds
toting sticky food and aggressive Barbie
dolls. If we had wings, we could rise
above it -- literally. Our sights would
be limitless. No city unreachable, no
airport tax applicable. Think of the
time we would save. And that is
the whole point these days isn't it - to save
time?
Of course we'd have to create an elaborate air
traffic control system that would require
billions of dollars in spending and hours of
political ass kissing, rubbing, finagling and
maneuvering. But wouldn't it be worth
it? Don't we all want to fly?
The recent problems with the airlines have
prompted me to examine this question.
God gave bird wings, why not man?
I've decided to hold man in judgment for his
missing appendage. We will embark on a
trial, a petition presenting the facts and
determining a resolution. Here is my
version of the hearing of man's petition to
God for wings.
God appears at the Gates of Heaven and
grants temporary entrance to two mortals, Alan
Dershowitz representing man and the Dalai Lama
representing nature.
Dershowitz' entourage is stopped at the gate
and forced to wait in purgatory alongside
Richard Gere who is accompanying the Dalai
Lama.
God appears to the court of heaven in a form
that the two mortals can accept, Elmer Fudd.
The court cloud is filled with angels who look
like mortal men and women with the exception
of the high angels who cannot be viewed by
mortals. They must appear, as forms man will
accept. They are, Sylvester as the
Bailiff, Foghorn Leghorn as the court guard,
Tweety Bird as the court reporter, Bugs Bunny
as every member of the jury except for Michael
Jordan as the Foreman.
Bailiff
All rise for the honorable God.
Case number 000-000-000-1, Man vs. the Law of Nature
Alan Dershowitz representing man. The Dalai Lama representing Nature.
GOD
Mr. Dershowitz, do you have an opening statement?
Dershowitz
Yes I do God.
Dershowitz rises to address the court. He walks over to the Bugs
jury and gives them a nod. Then quickly asks Jordan for his autograph
before proceeding to address God.
With all do respect God; you put man on this earth. Yet you restricted his
potential by refusing him the ability to fly. I stand before you, a
wingless being pleading the legitimacy of man's right to bear wings - a right
that all men should and must have, a right that you yourself have the power to
grant.
Let's look at the facts, birds fly but what can they really do with that gift?
Not much. Gather a few bugs, worms maybe, some crumbs off the street.
But do they add to the economy? Do they better the world God? I
don't think so.
What we're asking is simple. Give man wings, on a trial basis. One
man/woman will be elected recipient.
Reading from a sheet of paper
Some nominees for the job suggested are, Arnold Swarzenegger sorry, I meant
Sylvester Stallone, oops no, I meant....eh, let me see here. He was in
that film with the jumping and the wires. You know, the red pill or the blue
pill, Matress, Matlock.
Fumbles through the papers. God interrupts.
GOD
It's The Matrix you idiot. Keanu Reeves.
Dershowitz
Oh yes, Keanu Reeves. Also, Christopher Reeve, Madonna... but we
understand that she might cause some controversy for you given her moral
behavior and the excommunication.
GOD
From the Catholic church? Oh please! Those damn Catholics think I'm gonna
let them in if they sit in a little box and ask me to forgive them for all the
times they said F*CK.
The jury breaks out laughing. Dershowitz continues.
Dershowitz
Okay, well moving on to...Oprah Winfrey, Alan Greenspan and either Hillary or
Bill Clinton. But that's been a hot debate. Oh and of course Tom
Hanks.
The trial period will last for an estimated six months of earth time. At
which time, you can determine whether or not we've proven our worthiness to
receive wings. If you feel we're up to the task, the wings will be
distributed by lottery to those existing humans and automatically to newborns.
The terms are negotiable, however we would like you to consider our input
on which human gets the trial pair of wings.
Thank you.
GOD
Dalai Lama, please proceed.
The Dalai Lama slowly rises and walks to the center of the court cloud.
He takes from his robe some white feathers. Placing them in his hand he
let's them fly into the atmosphere of heaven. They float upward into a
funnel shape then disperse amongst the crowd.
LAMA
Man cannot accept the gift of wings until his soul becomes one with peace.
Feathers are gentle and fragile. Man is fragile but not gentile.
He nods his head and returns to his seat.
God/Elmer shakes his head, and then addresses Dershowitz.
GOD
Frankly Dershowitz, I think you’re an ass. I can't believe I had
anything to do with you. One of those little mysteries of heaven I guess.
This whole argument is crass, insubordinate and stupid. Man has trouble
reaching his potential to raise a smile on his face let alone a pair of wings.
Are you kidding me? Grant man flight??? So he can do what?
Cause pain and destruction in the skies by faster and multiple methods? No
way. My reasons for "denying" man wings have been proven over
and over again throughout man's history. And what a pompous little twerp
are you to assume the position of presumption with me. Man's
potential is not measured by his appendage or lack of. It's measured by
the purity of his soul that has yet to be exhibited.
Dershowitz abruptly stands up.
DERSHOWITZ
Your God, this is outrageous!!!
GOD
Back off Dershowitz or I'll lock you in a room with Claus Von Bulow and Leona
Hemsley for eternity.
DALAI LAMA
Thank you God.
GOD
Hold on there Lama. Am I even your God? What are you doing here?
I'm moved by your convictions, courage and spirituality. But you also
frustrate the hell outta me! Lighten up a little for my sake, geese.
Man's petition for wings denied. And one more thing Dershowitz.
DERSHOWITZ
Yes God.
GOD
You slap a set a wings on either one of the Clinton's backs and they'll be
heading down south faster than you can say Beelzebub.
Next Case!
Slams gavel on desk
end scene
And there it is. If we had only hired Johnny Cochran.
index
August 14, 2000
The Long and Winding Road
by Jodi Beuder
Recently I was asked
to contribute to a friend’s special wedding scrapbook.
The idea was that all of the bride’s friends would write a passage and
send along marriage advice or memories or pictures or all of the above.
I thought it was a fantastic idea and I jumped on the chance to be a part
of it. The bride, a friend of mine
from high school and college, is still someone I consider myself to be very
close to, even though I basically haven’t seen her or had a meaningful
conversation with her in years. Why
is that?
We used to cry together, and party together, and share all kinds of ‘firsts’
together. But lately all we share
is update information, like where we work or where we live or how our parents
are. We used to be able to bear our
souls over a pint of ice cream or a ton of beer.
Now I feel uncomfortable because I wonder what we’re supposed to talk
about as adults? What is worth
sharing without crossing the line? How
did we get to the point where sharing would be crossing any lines in the first
place? I guess, the less we talked about, the less we knew about
each other. And now we’re at a
crossroads – where do we go from here?
Needless to say, with all the
overanalyzing I did, this project became a challenge – how can I say anything
meaningful to my friend when maybe I don’t know her anymore?
And from that thought spun a million more.
So when I sat down to write my beloved friend, I was stumped.
Do I talk about marriage and give her my marriage advice?
Do I talk about our past and share my favorite, memorable laughs?
Do I tell her how great it is to be her friend, even though I’m not
sure of the capacity of our friendship anymore?
I knew I loved her and I knew I still wanted to be close to her, but I
just felt lost. And another battle
was waging in my mind – what are the more important years in our lives – the
ones we had growing up as teenagers where we were lost and confused together, or
the ones where we finally start seeing ourselves as individuals but lose each
other along the way?
What it came down to was this – what would I want to read from a ‘long
lost’ friend? I wouldn’t want
to read about marriage advice, unless it was from someone who had been married
over 10 years. And I wouldn’t
want to hear about making plans, like we should be getting together more often.
What I would want to read is personal thoughts from each person on where
they are in their lives and where they fit into my life at the time.
And thus my passage flowed.
I bless all times in my life – past and present.
I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I didn’t cherish good and bad.
And I did laugh while remembering the many moments the bride-to-be and me
shared. But I cried at the fact
that we don’t have those kinds of laughs anymore, and I cried at the fact that
we probably never would. But
instead of being sad and crying over loss, I decided to be proud that I was a
part of her life for those moments, and I was proud she was there while I was
learning who I was.
I believe that it’s because of the other people in our lives that
we’re able to see who we are and who we want to be.
We can look at other people’s characteristics and shape ourselves
around them, saying, that is who I want to be, or that is who I don’t want to
be. I am lucky to have had a friend
that inspired me to want to be a better person.
She may not be around like I’d want her to be now, but she’ll always
be a part of who I am today.
index
August 7, 2000
Tie Another
Ribbon...
by Michelle Plakas-Kaiser
Ribbon campaigns were a stroke of
advertising genius. Wearing a ribbon showed that we cared. If you were a
Democrat it said, "Look at me. I want everyone to know I have compassion
for those that suffer." If you were a Republican, it screamed "I'm not
an oppressive, indolent, merciless, homophobic bastard!" -- oh, pardon me!
Did I say that? It must be that Political Tourette's Syndrome kicking in. All
said, the pink and red awareness ribbons had a purpose. Around the late 80's
things started to go a little haywire. The environmentalists had a green ribbon
campaign. teens against premarital sex wore white ribbons. Even the S&M
community had their kink-friendly black leather ribbons.
Enter the Internet. Ribbons started
popping up everywhere. Flashing, spinning, flipping ribbons à la John Woo. We
had a whole set of ribbons from which to choose. Now we not only have the
ubiquitous health issue and "Free Speech On-Line" ribbons, but we've
graduated to buttons, banners and bulbs telling us "Do this,"
"Don't eat that," "Legalize this," "Don't carry
that," "Save this," "Stop that." Banners that pixelate
in front of your eyes. Fuzzy blobs come into focus to remind us that "Jesus
Saves." Lollipops and little Rockette Ribbons dance across our screens.
Seventies flashbacks abound as bouncing yellow happy faces remind me to
"Have a nice day!" Wow! Thanks. I needed that. My day was pretty
shitty until I came onto your website to research the effects of fertilizer flow
and hydrogen sulphor buildup on ocean life. Seeing that Adopted Fish begging me
to enjoy the rest of my afternoon and inviting me to sign your guest roster made
all my troubles slip away.
One quarter of my Internet bill goes to
scrolling through whole sections of ribbons, candies, and adopted virtual pets.
I couldn't even count the number of "cool links" I've clicked on only
to find "Peggy's Wooden Cooking Spoon Collection" page contains no
information on the collection, the history of wooden cooking spoons or Peggy.
All I know is in addition to collecting wooden spoons, Peggy loves to collect
Virtual Gargoyles as is evident from her page. I scroll down to the bottom
looking for an "enter" button, but alas! All I have found is that
Peggy belongs to the Wooden Utensils Webring. I click on that smiling yellow
happy face, sign her guestbook, and hit the "next 5" button.
Of course, I'm guilty. I've wasted my
creative talents designing campaign buttons. Like many of the banners out there,
they don't serve any purpose. My "Screw the Whales, Save the Sharks"
button doesn't show the brutality of slicing the dorsal fin off one of God's
most beautiful creatures and tossing it's thrashing body back for the
"lucky ones" to cannibalize. It doesn't raise money for environmental
groups any more than my Anti-Big Brother graphics will stop people from watching
mindless reality-based TV shows.
Why do we create them? Is it simply
because we like to see our work displayed in public? Do we hope that long after
we've exited this life someone will come across one of our ribbons (or banners
or bulbs or buttons) archived in an electronic library? Will people of the
future see it as War-holist mass-produced art? Will future scholars be
able to piece together our biographies based on the trail we leave across the
Internet? Is this our mark in the world?
I think I'll rip down all my ribbons
and design one ribbon. Not an Anti-Ribbon ribbon, but a Multi-purpose ribbon.
One that changes colors every three seconds with no titles and no link page. Let
everyone else figure out which of the 350 colors and patterns are actually for
the causes I support. I'll send it out in bulk mail and place it on shareware
CDs. I'll send it out to 'Net Ribbon collectors and Ribbon Campaign haters
alike. Maybe I'll learn how to program a virus that will replace all existing
ribbons with my Multi-purpose Ribbon. Of course I'll need a catchy name for the
media hounds...
How does "Ribbon-Wyrm" sound?
index
July 30, 2000
A Foolish Nobility
by Sarah Mason
Celibacy is not
something I'm willing to bargain with. Don't get me wrong, I want eternal
salvation but if that means I have to give up my vibrator, forget it.
The members of the Russian sect, Fyodorovtsy are willing to give it up and
much more. The LA Times*
featured the sect members the Shestopalov sisters in a feature story about
the Fyodorovtsy sect. Three young sisters bonded not only by blood but through a
lifetime oath of celibacy which they must suffer for their faith. No
make-up, no movies, no SURVIVOR, not even George Clooney can come between them and
their faith.
The Fyodorovtsy believe that Christ returned to Earth early in the 20th century
as a Russian peasant named Fyodor Rybalkin. They've sworn their eternal
allegiance to Christ (or Rybalkin) and prove it by a life of abstinence.
Which will supposedly purify their souls. Christ must have really pissed
off God to be sent back to Earth as a Russian on the eve of the Revolution.
The Second Coming produced another Fyodorovtsy belief that marriage is prohibited by God.
Which sounds like a law Elizabeth Taylor or Joan Collins would have concocted,
save the celibacy part. Or maybe this guy Rybalkin had a particularly
rough divorce.
The accounts of Rybalkin's origins are somewhat fuddled. The Fyordorovtsy
insist he was Christ who walked on water and performed miracles.
They live with the certainty that he will return to resume his Second Coming and
conduct the Day of Judgment. Their greatest fear is that they will not
sustain their faith and be judged.
The Russian Orthodox church view Rybalkin as a false god whose followers were led
astray. The Soviet authorities list him as a counterrevolutionary from the
village of Novy Lima near Voronezh who faked miracles and caused
trouble.
The Soviet government jailed Rybalkin for his
beliefs. And thus the Fyordorovtsy view the Soviet power as the embodiment of the antichrist
and the Russian Orthodox church (who cooperated with the Soviets) as Satan
worshippers.
Whatever the reality, the Fyodorovtsy have suffered. They have suffered
not only by commitment to their way of life but by the hand of persecution.
As you may suspect, the former Soviet government was not supportive
. Many followers were jailed and in 1929 sixteen sect
members were
shot. Today they continue to live a life of ridicule and discrimination.
The Fyodorovtsy of Tishanka, a village 325 miles southeast of Moscow are only 60
strong. And with the oath of celibacy, it appears that only an outbreak of
sin or possibly miracles can increase their population. The Shakers who
arrived in America in the 1770s also practiced celibacy but unlike the Fyodorovtsy, they were more savvy in the ways of PR, taking in orphans and
recruiting followers.
Reading about the Shestopalov sisters in the LA Times made me ponder the
question, is it worth it? Is suffering noble or foolish?
I began to think about my own beliefs. I was raised a Catholic despite
the fact that both my parents were reared protestants. I could never
figure this one out. Who would actually choose to become a Catholic?
Besides my father of course. He converted in his early twenties and continues to
be a believer today. And like all good Catholics he's made allowances on a
couple of those commandments, thou shalt not get divorced but if thou
shall recite 100 Hail Mary's thou shall be forgiven..
The Catholics taught me the meaning of the word guilt. And suffering
was definitely close behind. I attribute much of my lack of selfishness to
the damn Catholics. If it wasn't for CCD I'd be happy today.
I was so mixed up with guilt I would fear any lapse in propriety as a
one-way ticket downtown. They literally taught suffering as the way to
salvation. Much like the Fyodorovtsy sect and many other
religions.
Despite my quarrels with the philosophies of the Catholic church, I do have a
strong faith. It's kept me going through many a tough time. What I don't understand is the relationship between suffering and the pathway to salvation. How does living without pleasure equal heaven?
I always viewed it the other way around, Heaven equals pleasure. And
why is it we have to put up with a whole bunch a crap to prove our faith?
I'm not sure that I would want to be saved if that's what it really
takes. What kind of God would want us to suffer? Or is he sittin up
there laughing saying, I'm gonna screw around with these idiots. Watch me
mess with their minds. And son, while you're at it, go back down their and
help your old man out.
My first instinct when I heard about the Fyodorovtsy sect, especially the women
was, how sad. What a terrible life to live in constant punishment fearing
anything self-indulgent would strip away your virtue and mock your entire
existence.
But then I thought, is it so terrible to them? Or are they at peace with their suffering?
Unlike myself at confession, the Shestopalov sisters don't appear to be miserable. They
claim that their happiness lies in the belief that what they
are doing will save them. And this knowledge protects them from focusing
on what they are missing in life.
And what are they missing really? The fashion channel and orgasms.
Hmm, let me think about this, eternal salvation, orgasm, purity of soul,
orgasm...I'm going straight to hell.
It's amazing to me that people can believe so strongly in
something that they would forego pleasure and happiness. And that's when I
started to wonder, does the
foregoing of pleasure equal happiness or is it just a silly misguided
pursuit? What does it take to believe in something so deeply that nothing else matters
but that belief? Perhaps it isn't foolish but noble. Measured not by
what is abstained but by the strength of the faith.
Who of us can say that about anything? Do I believe so much and so deeply
in something that I'd be willing to give up everything and anything for
it? I could easily say, yes and come up with a list but would I have
the conviction if it came down to it? I only have the courage to admit, I
don't know.
So is faith at any cost really noble or simply the product of simplicity? Perhaps Emerson would sum it up by saying, a foolish nobility is the hobgoblin
of little minds. I'll just leave it at that.
*The
Los Angeles Times, Sunday, July 30, Cover
index
July 19, 2000
To Breath or to SUV? That is the question.
by Sarah Mason
What does clean air mean to you? That question woke me up this
morning. I kept hitting the snooze button but the damn radio wouldn't shut
up. So I went with it. And despite the fact that I was groggy and
generally, unpleasant as morning dictates for me, I was compelled. Clean
air means something to me. I live in Los Angeles.
It took me three roll-overs and a couple of full body stretches to realize that
I was not listening to NPR but crazy Bob's Toyota dealer telling me to buy one
of their smog-free Sports Utility Vehicles. An SUV smog free? I was
tired. But not stupid.
Why use the prospect of clean air as a sales pitch at all, regardless of the
fantasy. If anyone in Southern California gave a damn about clean
air they wouldn't buy so many SUV's in a climate with only one weather
pattern. This is what gets me. What do they need them for? Is
working mom studio exec or ex-dad agent really gonna go 4 by 4ing on their lunch
break? It's not like they've gotta make it down the icy tundra all the way
to their Beverly Hills office on Rodeo Drive over looking Harry Winston's palm
trees.
The biggest irony of it all is that the state of California passed a law banning
cigarette smoke in public places, including bars and restaurants.
Which I applaud. I hate smoke when I'm trying to eat a steak. So, someone
must care about the air. Or maybe the anti-tobacco lobbyists have less
asses to kiss than the environmental lobbyists.
Can you imagine any politician saying, we need to cut production of Sports
Utility Vehicles to make way for clean air? Well, they may say that on the
back of their campaign train but they ain't gonna tell the lobbyists for GM. And
they ain't gonna do it.
There's just way too many dollar signs attached to those constituents.
Maybe it's easier to justify getting rid of smoking cause it's easier to see the
bad air. Although, in LA all you gotta do is drive into
the valley and you'll see more smoke than a French cafe. But for some
reason, people "block" out that view. It's easy to do with the
tinted windows. And with the advent of the cell phone, who has time to
watch the road?
What I don't understand is why SUVs have become such status symbols.
What's so cool? Is it because they're big? I'd say yes if what as a guy thing
but more women buy them then men. And in LA, nobody carpools. So
it's not like they're thinking buy big pack em in. It's purely a
status symbol. But why?
When I went searching for a new car I test drove an SUV. I hated it.
Yes it would be nice for those occasional runs to Costco but I'll settle for a
hatch back. And I can see the value if I lived in Alaska or even the
Berkshires. My Dad had an explorer and it was great because he lived smack
in the middle of nowhere on a giant cold snowy mountain that he had to climb
down every day to drive into the city.
But why in LA? Where did this start? It's like all fads that start
in LA. They serve no purpose and they're self-indulgent. Like the
Hummer. Not as trendy mind you as the Land Rover but you do see people
other than Arnold Swarzenegger driving them. And they're ridiculous - the
cars and the people. But this is the status capital of the
world. And you gotta drive what the A list drives.
So what's the answer? Do we just continue to lay a giant fart over the
city and hope the Santa Ana's blow it out to sea? Most Angelenos would
never agree to give up their favorite toy worthy cause or not. It would
take something much bigger than pollution to force them into compacts.
Probably a new fad.
I think I'll move to Maine.
index
July 10, 2000
Humility
and the Lack of
by Sarah Mason
Recently I saw the film, The Perfect Storm. It had all the fixings of a good ol disaster flick which somehow the movie-going
public seem to be fascinated by. It was based on a true story,
one I remember, about a fishing vessel lost in an incredible tripling of storms that hit off the coast of Gloucester, Massachusetts.
I grew up not far from Gloucester and I remember batting down the
hatchings for this "perfect storm" as Boston weather man Todd
Gross coined it.
There were many instances of batting down the hatches in the New England fall which was also hurricane season.
This story does not have a happy ending. For those of you who saw the film, read the
book or lived in New England you know this.
What affected me more than the sad look on the faces
of the family
members who lost their loved ones on the Andrea Gail was the awesome power of nature. And how man,
despite years of warnings,
destruction, loss and pain never learns. We can not win.
Man has such an incredible lack of humility before nature. And this is
evident in so many ways in this world. And I'm not talking about
our crimes against ecology. I'm talking purely about our egos.
And the belief that we can beat nature if we keep trying.
Maybe we don't believe it but we simply choose to ignore the truth.
Malibu, California is the perfect example of our complete disregard for
our place on the food chain. One of the first things I noticed about California when I migrated out here
from the East Coast was that nobody cared about land. They build their
houses as large as they can right up to the end of the property zone so that
you can literally spit at your neighbor while he eats dinner. And this is
not
poor neighborhoods or apartment buildings, condos or two-family houses. These are the homes of the rich and want-to-be famous, and famous.
Malibu is set over the ocean on a cliff. It is truly one of nature's precious
places. Or it was until man got his hands on it. The houses are built high up,
large
and close together in the most c
places. They ignore all sense of reason because their architect told them
the supports are strong
enough to withstand a 6.6. But it's not the quake they're concerned
about or the fires, or the mudslides (both of which nearly destroyed Malibu).
It's the size of their home that matters. And of course, the view.
One day, I'm convinced, Malibu will disappear. It will slide down into
the ocean and be swallowed up by the sea. Penance for man's ego.
But we shouldn't leave the rest of the world out. There are countless
examples, search the Globe, wherever you go there's always an
example of man's lack of humility before nature. Man has always got to
believe that he can beat anything. And not just American man.
Look at the devastating earthquakes in Turkey and Armenia and Japan. We build we build we build. And we don't bother to make it all safe because man is will always survive.
Sadly this is not
true. Of course I don't believe all those innocent people should have lost their lives
and I grieve for the families who've lost
their loved ones to nature. But if we don't wise up one of these days,
we're not going to have anyone left to grieve for.
I'm not an alarmist or extremist. But I really do believe
this.
In America, the only peoples that were humble before nature were the Native
Americans. They became one with the land and blessed it. And, we
killed
them and took it away.
One could argue that the Tibetans also have a humility before nature.
Look what happened to them.
Most cultures that have displayed a unity with nature have been destroyed,
the South American Indians, some African tribes and cultures.
There are some exceptions, the Australian Aborigine's in some cases, the
goat farmers in the mountains of Southern Russia. I guess in this country
you could stake a claim for the Amish and the Mennonites. But
none of
these cultures make up the vast majority of society in this world.
The theme over time has definitely been to wipe out, destroy and/or
ostracize the technology free cultures.
But I shouldn't use the term technology. Surely we can form a bond
with nature and still live in a technological world.
What concerns me is not our progression in technology but our digression
from nature. If the two are paired so be it. But I think not.
Long before we had a laptop we were taking on the storm.
And that storm, we can't beat. This is what the men of the Andrea Gail
discover. The film suggests that the boat was lost because they
attempted
to brave the storm so they would not lose their catch vs. waiting it out and
losing their livelihood. Instead they lost their lives.
My apologies to anyone who sees my rantings as insensitive. I'm very sorry
for the loss of these men. But this illustrates my point precisely.
They believed they could beat the storm. They were driven by this.
And I believe that it is this desire that drives man. Not the money or the
catch but the
belief that man is entitled to life no matter what. And that nature can
not
take it away because of that entitlement.
As Pete Seeger once said. When will they ever learn. When will they
ever learn.
index
June 26, 2000
The Lady or the Courtesan
by Sarah Mason
Why is it that so many women feel guilty for taking care of their needs? We're all supposed to be good little girls. Take the lesser job, don't ask for too much, and don't think too much of ourselves and our capabilities.
Certainly if you search history you'll find this trend. In the old days, you were either a lady or a courtesan - nothing in between. You either hated sex but did it to be dutiful, or were a lustful harlot. You didn't read or seek out intellectual stimulation unless you planned on selling your knowledge along with your body. Life was not to be enjoyed but endured. And if you sought pleasure, you could not be part of the real world, the decent, safe world.
Not much has changed if you think about it. We're still punished for seeking pleasure or for embracing our sexuality. And as a result many of us have to hide these desires. But they always manifest in some form or another.
The lady was the picture of propriety and
purity. She was bustled and banished - if she spoke her mind. She
left her fate to men. Her father chose her husband and her husband
chose her disposition. Always refine and never boisterous, she never spoke
out of turn or made a fuss. She was maternal not adventurous. Her
desires were restricted and her clothes were tight. She asked for nothing
and wanted less. And her greatest achievement would be to bear a
son. She lived in torment. And died in haste. Her mind
consumed by the fear of mistakes.
The courtesan was daring. She
slept in strange beds and studied the art of seduction. She wore silk and
satin and bright colored shoes. She spent her Sundays in the library
filling herself with wisdom. She drank wine and sang songs. She
recited poetry and played music. She embraced life with a lustful grip and
shared her secrets with a hundred men. She lived in shame and feared her
fate. She died alone and lived with hate.
What kind of choices are
those? At least the courtesans got to go to the library and wear
red. Today, we have more choices,
there's no question there. But do we really have the freedom to express
ourselves, openly without fear of ridicule or punishment? I'm not
sure.
Take for example the recent events
in Central Park, New York City. A parade celebrating Puerto Rican pride was held
peacefully, cheerfully without disturbance. But that changed. After
the parade finished a group of parade watchers gathered in Central Park.
They drank, they yelled. It all seemed pretty innocent at first. But
what began innocently as a bunch of guys drinking and having fun turned out to be
one of the biggest incidents of sexual abuse of women in history.
The men quickly went from squirting
water on unsuspecting passerby's to chasing down, mauling and ripping off
women's clothes - over 50 women reported thus far. If you watched Dateline NBC last
week you saw the horrible pictures of the
brawling scene of chaos and violence.
One of the points of discussion flying around the news media was "the women's
role" in this incident. Did they go too far with their
revealing clothing and flirting?
This is exactly what I'm talking
about. Men express their sensuality and it's art, it's poetry, it's
genius. Women do it, it's dangerous, it's slutty, it's flirty, it's asking
for it.
Now, I'm not suggesting that we all put on a G string and go romping
through Central Park. And I understand the fine line here. But let's
look at what happened. First of all, not all of those women were scantily
dressed.
The image I can't forget is that of the innocent French woman crouched down on
the pavement surrounded by a crowd of men trying to touch her. She
was on her honeymoon and happened to stroll through Central Park with her
husband. She wasn't flirting with anyone or showing off her body.
She was walking hand in had with her husband when she was attacked by a mob of
drunk screaming men. They stripped her completely naked and left her
crying on the ground. As her husband scrambled to reach her and cover her
up with his shirt the herd kept coming and followed them to the police van
waiting to escort her to safety.
The fact that New York city's finest were too little too late is a subject for
another column. The image of that poor woman is haunting. And it
proves that it has nothing to do with women provoking the scene.
Okay, sure, a bunch of rowdy men,
drinking, lots of testosterone flying about - it's bound to create a
"situation". But surely we've made some steps up the
evolutionary chain since the day of the caveman. Or have we? In
fact, I don't think that would have happened in the day of the caveman.
Women were too important to survival. Today, not only are we second
class citizens, we're disposable second class citizens.
And what about the Lady and the
Courtesan? What would have happened in those days? Well, I suppose
only the courtesans would have been attacked since ladies would never be clad in
sexy clothing and would never dare to walk near a mob of rowdy men.
Had I seen a crowd in the
park of men that were screaming, throwing things and squirting water on women,
yeah, I may have decided to walk somewhere else. And that's where the fine line
is. But the issue here is not how to avoid getting hurt when these
eruptions occur but how to stop them from occurring.
Putting a band-aid on
potential eruptions from either side is not my idea of resolution to the larger
issue. We need to get to the core by changing women's status in the
world. Not just by measures of material achievements but by changing how
woman are regarded.
Nothing is more tolerated in this world than violence against women. Just
look at the stats on domestic abuse. If that isn't a blaring example
of how low our position on the food chain is than I don't know what else
to say.
So what do we do? Well, I ain't no prophet. And I ain't no angry
bitch. I'm just a woman who wants to be counted. Who wants to
express herself without persecution or consequences.
There's an often used civil rights slogan, "Your silence won't save
you." Women need to find their voice and empower not divide or diminish.
We need to develop our own model of how to mentor each other. After all men have been doing it for years, helping
each other up the corporate ladder. If
we can first help ourselves and raise our own perceptions of our status we can change the other
half's view.
Things have changed somewhat. Red
is an acceptable color to wear, in some states and I'm sure I've got a library card
somewhere. But in so many ways we're still defined by those two black or
white categories - the Lady or the Courtesan. And it's too bad, there's a world of
colors in between.
Personally, I like lavender. It's sexy yet you can still decorate your
bathroom with it.
index
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sarah @ paysonroad.com. Website Logo
and Graphics Designed by Tahara
Hasan. Payson Road was created
Copyright © June 2, 2000. All rights
reserved. Copyright © 2000-5 [Payson Road].
All rights reserved. Revised:
January 10,
2006.
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