Brave New Weasel

I had this life goal: to make it to 30 without ever owning a car. And I did it! I am American, born and raised, and I have never owned an automobile--in your face Ford motor company! I have a license and enjoy driving every now and then, but since I left home 12 years ago, I haven't had regular access to wheels. However, I am moving back to Boston and all that is all about to change...I am going to buy a car.

If I could, I would buy a Prius, but I don't have $30k. So I am going looking for something with high gas mileage. That's really all I care about, both for the environment and my (soon to be empty) pocketbook. Ok, you all know I carry a wallet, but I feel really Boston using the phrase pocketbook. However, I am scared. Cars are so expensive, they cost money all the time, I won't have an income, and you can kill people driving them! I am trying to be brave and tell myself that people much less responsible than myself own cars and drive everyday but somehow that doesn't make me feel better.

If anyone has suggestions about types of cars let me know, right now I am leaning towards Volkswagons because my friends who own them love them.

Oh yeah, I also have a dream to be a crazy cat lady when I grow up, and I want my house to look like this ladys. She is an activist against the use of cat and dog fur pelts in Europe. Three of her cats disappeared last hunting season!

Ruining It For Everyone?

Or just myself?

I was recently invited to Yuri's night (like the Russian name, not the Toyota car). It's this fancy event at the NASA Ames Research Center which is all about space and science and art. A few of my friend's are really into it, and when I was drunk the other night, I thought I might like to go too.

But then I read their web site:

Yuri’s Night is a celebration of space exploration—and mankind’s curiosity, scientific ingenuity, technical achievements, and spirit of collaboration that have made it all possible. This year, NASA’s 50th anniversary, the Bay Area will be home to the largest Yuri’s Night celebration ever, with 8,000 people joining astronauts, artists, scientists, engineers, and musicians to pay tribute to our global space heritage and to celebrate how much more is out there to be discovered!

...and thought about it more...I hate NASA. They pollute the environment and their projects are a waste of money. Sure, they take cool pictures but why don't we focus on saving the Earth, rather than blasting off into space where we know we can't breathe?

It would be fun to hang out in a bunker with my friends drinking expensive wine for one night, but I would probably feel really guilty for indirectly supporting the military industrial complex and condoning environmental degradation. So I can't go.

As a non-wheat eating vegetarian, I vetoed many restaurant suggestions in Vegas, leaving my hungry family to angrily inform me that I "always have to be difficult" and "ruin everything." I disagree that I ruined anything by preventing them from eating Italian food for a few nights, but still, their words haunt me.

California Top 10

I have made a list of things I want to do before I leave California. I probably won't be able to do them all in the next 3 months but I am going to try to do as many as reasonably possible. Please let me know if you have suggestions for things I should not miss:

1. Tahoe: Julie and I are going next month! Hopefully there will still be snow so we can cross-country ski.
   
2. Yosemite: I went 17 years ago (old) with my family but have not been in all the time that I've lived out here. Hopefully I won't get as car sick or suffer from elevation induced nosebleeds as last time.
   
3. Monterey Bay Aquarium: I hate zoos but apparently this place is all about preserving the ocean creatures and they are free to swim around. That's why I heard at least.
   
4. Humboldt: I want to go say hi to Fairley's fam and the beautiful red woods.
   
5. The Lost Coast: Foolie hiked this once by herself--she is brave!
   
6. Point Reyes: Corey, you know that our annual trip is long overdue.
   
7. Angel Island: Supposed to have awesome views of the city.
   
8. Chabot Space & Science Center: Angie loves this place and I have been meaning to go forever.
   
9. Salvation Mountain/Slab City: I want to meet that sweet old man so much!
10. Many many hot springs: I'm going to try to work them in as much as possible.
    

Restaurants

1. Chez Panisse: If any rich ladies want to take me there, I'm game!
2. Millennium (again and again and again)
3. farmer brown's: love the local farmers
   

Love that Dirty Water

While I Was Busy Gambling and Hiking...

My government was killing innocent people!










Some rad folks in D.C. stormed the White House, V for Vendetta style, wearing names of Iraqis and Americans who have been killed in the war.















That's my friend Megan, on the right in the big green hat, legal observing for the Guild at the 5 year anniversary of the war protests in SF. She's bad ass and made the NYTimes! For more photos of the war protests visit:

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2008/03/19/us/0319-PROTEST_7.html

Deliver Me From Misogyny

Las Vegas is my feminist nightmare from hell. Tonight my brothers checked in to the Monte Carlo, then we all had dinner at Cantina Diablo, a "Mexican" restaurant that didn't have corn tortillas, only white flour--boo. Instead, they spent their money on installing TVs in every corner, much to the delight of my little bros. However, with the amount of collective screaming that was going on at the bar, I felt like March Madness was trying to kill me.

My mom and I walked down to the Bellagio to watch the fountain which shoots every 15 minutes. We had passed it many times in the car and my mom and aunt described the dancing water as "erotic". Nothing says sexy to me like water ejaculating to the tune of "Viva Las Vegas!"

The strip is like Times Square meets L.A. and by that I mean, it's a sensory overloading consumeristic playland with West Coast sensibility (more rock-a-billy tattoos and a little blonder). Every 20 feet there are men wearing t-shirts that read "GIRLS! Delivered to you in 20 min!" passing out tiny cards. The cards have pictures of naked women on them with stars strategically placed over their nipples and lower region orfices. No one offered me a card, but they were littered all over the ground and hard to miss.

I challenged myself to consider the 12 step motto, "No better and no worse than anyone else" my mantra for the night. I don't think I am better than the men who pass out the cards, they all seemed to be Latino immigrants and I'm sure they are not getting health insurance working those jobs, but it was really hard for me not to go on rants in my head about the trafficking of women, emotionally stunted men, the intersections of capitalism and sexism and many other topics I could potentially write my Women's Studies PhD dissertation on.

The most disturbing part was that my little brother, Matty, loves Vegas. He thinks it's the absolute best. I would be seriously concerned if I didn't feel like my crazy girl power ways had rubbed off on him and he has somewhat of an analysis as a result. As it is, I think he maybe just likes to gamble a wee bit too much.

I am so thankful we are leaving tomorrow for Zion National Park in Utah. I feel like I never need to come back to Vegas again.

Craig Campagna: Local Hero

My brother was born with the mark of God upon him. He has a birthmark in the shape of a fish on the left side of his stomach, next to his belly button. When he was baptised, the priest told my parents that this was a holy sign and that Craig would become a priest.

He's 27 now, and works as a firefighter in Brookline. On Saturday, he was in a fire where he sustained 2nd degree burns on his hand and face just from the radiant heat of the flames. To view the footage click below:

http://www.myfoxboston.com/myfox/pages/Home/Detail;jsessionid=00A2A1CAA9CE02A6055B91E2007352E3?contentId=6044805&version=4&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=VSTY&pageId=1.1.1&sflg=1

Apparently, that's him with the hose, but I couldn't tell. He said the Brookline residents who were evacuated acted like they were refugees from Darfur. I asked him if he knew he was being burned in the moment and he said: "Yes, I was like 'This is hot! Get me outta here!'" Inspiring words from a brave man which prove that tough guys have feelings too.

Have Laundry, Will Travel

My mom claims that I am the only person she knows who carts dirty clothes thousands of miles just to wash it for free. I counter that I am probably one of the only 30 yr olds she knows who has been living on my own for 12 years and still doesn't have a washer and dryer. Sometimes my little bro makes fun of me, then I remind him he lives in our mom's basement.

After a three night stay in San Francisco, my mother, brother Matthew, and myself, flew to Las Vegas to meet up with my brother Craig and stay with my aunt Theresa's family. The flight on Virgin America was reminiscent of the Britney Spears Toxic video. The cabin lights were blue and pink (is that code?) and there was a tall, thin, blonde stewardess my brother described as "unbeliveably hot." They, of course, had to flirt and then we got free beers--hurrah. Or maybe we got free beers because the cable wasn't working on our mini TVs and the flirting was just so we wouldn't file a complaint. Hard to tell.

When we exited the plane, a disco ball greeted us and "Remeber, we're all in Cincinatti, right?" was painted on the wall. C-R-A-Z-Y. The whole "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" thing doesn't do a lot for me. Is everyone just agreeing that if you cheat in Vegas it doesn't count cause it's like you got a get out of jail free card when your partner agreed to let you go there? Or if you lose your life savings, its ok, cause hey, its Vegas, baby? While we were waiting for Craig's delayed flight to arrive, Matt had a minor melt down in the airport when the bartender at the only sports bar wouldn't put on the Celtics game. That felt unnecessarily hard. Matthew believed it was some anti-Boston bias at work.

Today was a very gender segregated day. My mom, aunt Theresa, and I went on a hike to Red Rock Canyon while my brothers took my little cousins bowling. Then my uncle Darren took the men to the Bellagio to play poker and the women were left at home to make the children dinner. I'm sure many of you can imagine how I felt about all that. However, my aunt doesn't let shit get her down, so we fed the kids, went to the Bellagio and spied on the men playing poker. I would have played, but I don't like losing money. However, I did lose $25 on the slot machines. It was suprisingly easy in the moment to feed $10 to a machine named "Helen of Troy" as I convinced myself that based on my love of Greek mythology, the gods had steered me there. Yeah, no, that machine ate my money and no magic "free" money came out--boo.

We drank expensive beers and ate expensive food, but one thing about being on vacay with the fam, is that I don't pay for shit. Including laundry. It makes me look forward to potentially moving home to go to school. I am betting if I whine in just the right way, I can get my mom to take me school supply shopping in September. I feel nervous that I am regressing and 30 is slowly becoming the new 20 for me.

I'm So In!

Today I got a gigantic package from Emerson College in the mail. It wasn't like the time Brown sent me an application packet three weeks after their admissions deadline had past (those online request forms sure work great!). No, this time it was an actual acceptance letter.

Thank you God.

They sent several heavy books which were tearing at the envelope and I wondered for a second if one of my housemates hadn't tried to sneak a peak before I got home. Inside, was a letter telling me I'm special, registration forms and a map of Boston. I found the map hilarious since I hardly know any of the street names of Boston, even though I grew up there. I can take you through Brookline via some fancy secret shortcuts but don't ask me to tell you how.

I texted everyone on the East Coast with the good news and then immediately began to feel overwhelmed. Leave San Francisco? No! (Insert lonesome howl here.) I walk to work in a t-shirt in March, there's no such thing as humidity, and people certainly never break bones falling on ice here. But there are many things I miss about the East Coast and it's totally time for me to leave my job.

The quitting plan I've had in my head for awhile is that I go in, turn to face Carlos's desk, shout "I QUIT!" and then dance around the room in a circle slapping my own butt and singing "I'm going to grad school, I'm going to grad school." Over and over. Awesome, huh?

Tonight I celebrated by drinking wine, comforting my housemates, crying and obsessively researching Emerson's rank online. In 1997, it was in the top 20, but now it's just in the top 50. Why the fall from grace? Apparently their funding sucks (great), but they have a prestigious journal, so that's exciting.

Anyway, I am still waiting to hear back from Brown, UT Austin, Irvine and SFSU, so nothing is definite yet. Although my little brother Matty already asked "When do you start?" All I can say is that I am extremely grateful I don't have to look for a new job.

I'd Be Pissed Too

According to the cat psychic, Finn is pooping instead of spraying. It's more of a territory thing. Apparently, he can tell that I am nervous about us getting evicted because of him (not supposed to have pets) and those little turds are intended as a message to my landlord: this is Finn's place, keep out or I'll poop on you!

Also, the psychic said he is mad that he can't have sex. She didn't know if he ever had sex, and his past is a total mystery to me, but apparently he really wants to have sex and is mad he can't. Hard to blame him and I could have guessed. Ever since he tried to rape my stuffed snow leopard the first night I brought him home, it's been an uneasy thing between us.

I would have let him hump Cheetah (the leopard's name) except that he jumped on his back and was tearing at his neck with his teeth and I thought my beloved childhood stuffed animal would be ripped apart. So Cheetah lived in the closet for awhile. Now they co-exist with out any sexual aggression and Finn has moved on to pillows and sometimes me, but I guess he's is pretty pissed about the whole dissatisfying situation. Sorry, little guy.

The pet psychic said I should have a talk with him, but she had a psychic talk with him too, so I'm hoping our combined efforts will result in less turds. She said the sex thing was something that he was going to have to learn to accept in this lifetime. I love psychics.

Why?

Note: I have decided to start blogging about my 12 step ruminations. I don't think this is a break of anonymity because I'm not going to talk about any particular program, just the concepts.

The 12 step programs of recovery have many acronyms, slogans and adages, much like Antioch College, the U.N., and the National Lawyers Guild, to name just a few of the other complex systems I have tried to comprehend in my short lifetime. One good one is: come or be dragged. Hell ya. It took me 28 years and the death of my best friend to hit a bottom with drugs, food and alcohol, so I am hoping to come along with less resistance for the rest of my recovery. Only time will tell, one day at a time (another slogan!).

Another one of my favorites is: ceased fighting anyone or anything. Ever see that Simpson's episode where Lisa tries to help Bart calm his mind so he can win a mini golf tournament? She makes him meditate and asks him riddles like "If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?" Upon hearing this mental conundrum, Bart's eyes become huge and his pupils dilate and it seems as if his mind is still for the first time in his life. That's what it was like for me the first time I heard the ceased fighting saying. The idea of not fighting anyone or anything was such a relief, I nearly slithered out of my chair and collapsed into a pile of jelly on the floor.

For a large part of my life I enjoyed fighting. In fact, as a feminist, I prided myself on being comfortable with confrontation and being aggressive. In my early twenties, I even wore a maroon t-shirt that said "Girl Militia" on it and had a picture of a naked woman shaking her fists in rage. However, I had never tried speaking my mind without the safe retreat into my addiction to fall back on. Being able to numb out with my substance of choice turned out to be key in my ability to tell everyone to fuck off (who knew?). Now when my boss is talking crazy talk and I'm feeling annoyed and planning a witty and cruel retort in my head, that slogan comes to mind and I just "detach with love". It's so easy! No, it's not, but it is a lot less aggravation and wasted energy.

My passion for social justice and keen sense of righteousness leads to me to be quite concerned with the state of the world and incessantly come up with ways to fix things. However, as an addict, fighting is not something I can afford to do. My priority for each day must be to abstain from my addiction and spiritual growth. I have been trying to retrain myself to think about my life not as a finite amount of time in which I need to accomplish as much as possible. No, rather, I must now concern myself with living simply, humbly, and growing along spiritual lines.

Wanting to prove that I am as good or better than all the rich jerks I grew up with? Cross that off the list of things to do before I die. Ditto for writing the great American novel (about left wing radical lesbians). Making more money than my parents should no longer factor into my decisions about the future. And I should definitely forget about being more successful than my siblings.

This all leads me to feel sorry for myself that I'm in a 12 step program that forces me to reorganize my life in a sane manner and abandon my superficial goals. The good news is they have a saying for that too: ask your higher power for what you need, not want you want. You know what I thought the first time I heard that one? Fuck you. Did I mention that self-pity and resentment are two of the biggest "character defects" for addicts?

Another saying that annoys the crap out of me is: 'why' is not a spiritual question. What the hell does that mean? I used to turn my head to the sky and shout "Why?" 50 times a day. Now I wonder why and then I think "that's not a spiritual question." I don't fully understand, but I think it has something to do with learning to go with the flow. Something. But, because this is a process, I am going to share some of the things that still make me ask "Why?!?" on a daily basis:

1. My cat leaves little turds around the apartment. All the vet techs I have talked to say they have never heard of such behavior. It's a weird, gross, mystery WHY he does it.

2. My cat was neutered but continues to try to hump things, including me, especially when he is kneading and drooling all over me.

3. My boss makes bad jokes that no one laughs at and causes awkward silences in the office.

4. People leave large piles of poop on my street, that either come from their butts or that of their animals.

5. Another genocide?

6. Why are stupid/greedy/morally bankrupt people in charge of running my country and the world?

When greeted with any of these things, and I realize two involve poo, I ask God: why is this happening? What is the purpose in the larger scheme of things and my life in particular? Why is it necessary for me to experience this unpleasantness right now? And what is the benefit to humanity, if any? I have not gotten any answers, maybe because they are not spiritual questions, but I will let you all know when I do.

P.S. I am making an appointment with a psychic so we can ask Finn why he is pooing all over the house. So perhaps I will get a spiritual answer to my non-spiritual question?

My Mom is Gay

She informed she bought a black leather bomber jacket for her big trip out to San Francisco next week! Now we can be twins. And she wonders how I came out a lesbo?

ICE the INS

Check out this very cool video game oriented towards immigrant rights and against Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) practices.

http://www.icedgame.com/

Are You There H.P.?

The grad school rejection letters have started rolling in and I've been thinking about life and my career and where I live and who I love and how far away my family is and how much my chosen gay family means to me and the future and all those things that make me go fucking bonkers.

In the 12 steps, they encourage you to do the footwork and surrender the results. Which means, it's cool for me to want to go to grad school and it's great if I can apply to grad school (without engaging in my addiction), but I shouldn't get too attached to the idea of going to grad school. Or going any particular place. Or feeling like it needs to happen this year. Because that is my self-will and as an addict, I rarely know what is best for me. There are crazy voices inside my head that tell me to do really self-destructive things, like try to distract or kill myself with all sorts of substances and activities. So it's best if I just let God, or whoever my Higher Power (H.P.) is in the moment, run the show. Because although I think I know best, I often don't.

My friend Dana told me that "control is safety to the anxious mind." As someone with an anxiety disorder, those words really hit home. I like to be in control of everything, I definitely think things would be better if I was running the show. As a liberal-arts-college-educated-vegetarian-dyke, my morals are clearly superior to most other people's in America. However, sadly (or maybe luckily) for me, I am not God, I am just one person in the universe and most of the time things don't go the way I think they should.

So what to do? A wise older woman told me that there is always a Plan B. I might really like Plan A and think that is the plan for me but that might not be the plan that the universe has for me. And whether I like it or not, the universe's plan is going to prevail. Since control is an illusion, surrender then just becomes a matter of being willing to be with whatever arises and dealing with my emotions as they come up. Looking back through my life I can say that the plans the universe has had for me are often better than my plans. Damn it. So I am just trying to be ok with whatever happens with this whole grad school thing because attachment leads to suffering, right Buddha?

Weasel's Got a Gun

This weekend my friend Ruthie was in town from NYC, I had cleared my schedule to hang out with her but she was being kind of cagey about plans. It wasn't until I was at brunch with her and our high school friend Zev, that they revealed their true plans for the day: to go to a gun range.

Zev and I go way back...to the winter nights of my youth, when I got high and fell in snow banks and he walked around without a coat saying it was "mind over matter". He was even inspired to make up a song to the tune of Pearl Jam's Evenflow about me:

Laura's stoned
thoughts arrive like butterflies
She don't know
So she chases them away...

and falls in a snow bank.

Zev and I are pretty different now. He served in the Isreali military (I like to refer to him as the "Isreali solider" for Bay Area shock value), tried to join the F.B.I., and was recently recruited by a right wing think tank. It's scary cause he's brilliant. But he also shares a love of travel and hiking and is a really sweet caring person. Also he is probably the best listener of the male persuasion I have ever met. So anyways, sometimes we hang.

Ruthie and Zev both rightly assumed that I would not want to go to the gun range. I am a pacifist, hate guns and violence, and won't even watch scary movies. However, a few weeks before she died, my dear friend Tucker went to a shooting range for her brother's birthday party. She was in a bad mood about it and did not want to go, but once there she discovered a hidden talent: she was a crackerjack shot. No one should ever underestimate the motivational power of competitiveness, even with a dead person, because I decided that I would like to know if I am also a natural. Also, I am a pacifist and it occurred to me that I should know what I am against.

So I went with them. We made lots of jokes along the way, I quoted Wayne's World endlessly: "I don't even own a gun, let alone many guns, which would necissitate a gun rack!" But then we got there and Zev said "Ok, the jokes stop." And I realized that we were up to serious business. So then I had a panic attack.

Teen-age boys worked at the front desk and gave me and Ruthie a lady gun to shoot, so we wouldn't learn bad habits, since neither of us had ever shot before. Zev got a glock and once we were comfortable shooting the lady gun, which didn't have much kick-back, he let us shoot his glock, which was fucking crazy.

Some things that surprised me which probably shouldn't have:

1. It was busy: If you are like me and assume that a very small percentage of people want to spend their Saturday afternoon firing a gun at a large piece of paper in a smoky room with lead warning signs everywhere you are wrong! People love to do this, they drive from far away and wait for 20 minutes for a "lane" cause it's such a popular activity.

2. Couples on dates: nothings says 'I want to get to know you more' than not shooting someone in the foot.

3. IT WAS LOUD: You have to wear goggles and ear protection. You can't hear shit and it's like being underwater, only less fun because you really want to hear what people are saying when they have guns in their hands.

4. It was located near San Quentin Prison: I wish this part wasn't true, but it totally is.

The things I saw that didn't surprised me at all were men using guns to make other men feel stupid and embarrassed for feeling fear. Also, men shooting guns the size of small cannons which made bullet holes the size of golf balls

My lower back was spasming by the time I walked out and I found the whole experience...rather violent. Afterwards, I immediately had to do yoga in the parking lot which made Ruthie and Zev laugh at me. I feel slightly dirty now, like a lost an innocent part of myself, but Zev was a really good teacher. Now if I am ever faced with a gun, I know that that if I shoot it, there is a 15% chance I will hit anything near my target.

Way Better Than Hetero Sex with Matt Damon

Is gay sex with Ben Affleck!