randomness

I haven't had time to write all week, been working on some stuff for Chantal, and obsessively writing my short story, and continuing to send out resumes since I haven't worked since December.

So forgive me if I ramble about certain things today that are seemingly non-sequiturs.

On Sunday afternoon, still high from meeting the former PREZ, Lilia, Julie and I had brunch in Noe Valley and talked about boys. That's what girls do. We all know this fact. There was even a popular TV show about 30-something women who all got together once a week to talk about boys. Anyway, no conclusions were reached. I think we just need to talk about it all in order to help make a bridge from one encounter with a boy to the next. I don't know why women can't get together and talk about sports, like guys do.

After brunch, I was having an Amoeba fix, since I've been overdosing lately on Arcade Fire's Neon Bible, and since I really like the album, I don't want it to wear out on me too soon. I had read an article about Feist's new album in the New Yorker, so I went in search of that, but Amoeba didn't have it in stock yet, so I bought her previous one. It's kind of folky, kind of poppy, but I have to say, that woman is a great songwriter. The more I listen to the songs, the more they resonate with me. And her sultry voice is growing on me.

After Amoeba, Julie had to take off to get ready for her date with the Brazilian. So Sultan, Lilia and I ended up at some strange cafe talking about spirituality and faith. Since I was raised Catholic, I can kind of see both sides of the coin. I can understand why someone would want or need to have faith in a god. And then as a fallen angel, I can also see the side that says that god doesn't exist, we're here and then we're gone. Discussions about faith can be very tricky, especially in urban hipster circles in SF, because the majority of folks I know are types that go to yoga instead of Mass on Sunday. Or Burning Man is like their Christmas and Easter. It's like we can't have traditional religion so we adopt these new age spiritualities that are just as organized and have their own doctrines. I've been thinking a lot about Sartre these days (because of my short story), and his point is that most people adopt some kind of belief or value system so they don't have to accept the freedom they really have to make their own choices. It's something like that. I'll have to re-read Sartre again to really understand what the heck he's talking about.

Julie went on her date, and when she came back to the apartment, she had a big grin on her face and just said to me, "WOW." I guess it went well.

Finally, my short story. I have been drafting a short story. I haven't written one in years. I felt very inspired about a week ago with some ideas and visions and it just flowed out of me in about 8 hours. I've been putting the finishing touches on it the past few days. I really want it to be good and I want people to enjoy it, and I don't want it to be trite. So I'm taking the time to make it good. Just read a GREAT short story today in the New Yorker called "Something Like Happy." Now if I can make my story as good as that one, that would make me something like happy. Or even happier.

totally mental

in the presence of greatness

Last night I met former president Bill Clinton at the inaugural event of the Millennium Network, a new branch of the Clinton Foundation geared towards mobilizing leaders under the age of 40. He is incredibly inspirational. I am in awe of the power that he emanates. And rightly so. His organization has done so much for saving the lives of people stricken with HIV/AIDS in Africa, notably making the prescription medications for treatment available at significantly lower costs to the African people. I felt honored to be in the same room with someone who can move mountains like Clinton can. When he entered the room, his power and energy were so present that I was shaking! I was inspired and invigorated by his speech, to start doing the right thing and be part of the solution and use my energy in positive ways. I was so wired when I finally got home that I could hardly sleep. I'm still on a high.



And I know that I've mentioned this before, but if you still have not read the New Yorker article about Bill Clinton and the work he's doing with his foundation, read it now.

this song has been haunting me all week

My Body is a Cage from Arcade Fire's new album Neon Bible:

My body is a cage
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

My body is a cage
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

I’m standing on the stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It’s a hollow play
But they’ll clap anyway

My body is a cage
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

Standing next to me
My mind holds the key

I’m living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head

I’m living in an age
Who’s name I don’t know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow

My body is a cage
That keeps me from dancing with the one I love
Though my mind holds the key

Standing next to me
My mind holds the key
My body is a...

My body is a cage
We take what were given
Just because you’ve forgotten
Doesn’t mean you're forgiven

I’m living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There’s no one in sight

I’m living in an age
They laugh and I’m dancin'
With the one I love
But my mind holds the key

Standing next to me
My mind holds the key

Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free
Set my body free

Set my spirit free
Set my body free

i miss him

I miss Alexei. I miss holding his hand. I miss playing with the ringlets in his hair, and watching them spring back into place when I release them. I miss it when he has bed-head. I miss it when he kisses me not just once but a hundred times. I miss it when he grabs my butt whenever we walk up a staircase. I miss that he brings me a demitasse of espresso in bed every morning. I miss how proud he is of his library, which consists of about a dozen books, if that. I miss when he tries to recite The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe. I miss the way he pulls his shirt halfway up his chest when it gets hot. I miss playing 20 questions with him. I miss having cervezitas with him on the Malecon at sunset. I miss spooning. I miss that he loves the way my armpit smells. I miss that he doesn't snore. I miss taking a siesta with him in the afternoon. I miss reaching across the bed and grabbing him in the morning. I miss his awkwardness when he leads me on the dance floor. I miss the way he watches me when I dance for him. I miss the way we catch each other's eye when we're at a party but across the room from each other, reminding each other that we are still together. I miss his pleasant smile when he looks at me adoringly. I miss his missing tooth I can see only when he laughs (the tooth he lost when he drank so much rum that he couldn't walk straight and fell onto a curb, woke up later missing a tooth). I miss his taste in music. I miss it when he says, "Wow!" every time he sees me naked. I miss it when he looks so satiated when he sits down for a meal. I miss when he calls me mi amor, which is often. I miss the way he stops when he sees a stray cat in the street and scratches behind its ear. I miss it when he does the same with stray dogs. I miss cooking with him. I miss hanging our laundry out to dry in the sun on his patio. I miss watching him lift weights in his makeshift gym on the patio. I miss the biceps he's forming. I miss his two tattoos. I miss his slender waist and little bottom. I miss it when he's so tired he falls asleep on my shoulder. I miss hearing him tell me he loves me. I miss his touches. I miss kissing him. I miss holding him.

forgotten love

Boris Vian. I read two of his books when I lived in France. L'Ecume des Jours and L'Automne a Pekin. I just found this article in a back issue of the New Yorker, and was surprised that I had forgotten about him for so long.

I was reminded of the blind guy in an overcoat who used to stand on the steps of the Eglise St. Louis outside of my apartment in Grenoble and sing Le Deserteur every night during all the antiwar demonstrations in 1991.

Ah la nostalgie!

j'ai deux amours

Here's one of them:

squeak/no squeak

I got a new pair of shoes a few weeks ago. I love them. They are Naots from Israel. Did I say I love them? But when I walked, one of them used to squeak. Only one. It was highly annoying. Now all of a sudden, it doesn't squeak. I love them even more now. And there was much rejoicing.

proposals/partnerships/parents

Last night I had dinner with the crew that my mom went to Ireland with a couple years ago. I should have gone on the trip with her, had I known I was going to get fired a week later. Instead I up and went to see Alexei, so I didn't get to meet her travel buddies until last night. Some of them I already knew. They are old friends and might I add quite an eclectic bunch of intellectuals--artists, lawyers, doctors, etc. One aspect struck me as very progressive. There were the McCarthys, friends from way back, who have divorced and either re-married or re-partnered. Clem married Tara, who coincidentally was my dad's secretary at Hal Riney. Lynn lives in sin with David, an Irish doctor and quite the character. Then there was my aunt Sheila, my "godmutha," from Long Island. There was another couple, Barbara and Tucker, who made us laugh by sharing with us that growing up he was the brunt of all the name game jokes. I had a great time, laughing and enjoying dinner with them, the only person from my generation at the table. I realized that they are all kooks, and eventually in 20 years, my friends from my generation will all be sitting around a table, with our respective husbands or second husbands or life partners or whatever, our own scandals, life and experience equalizing our differences, being as kooky as we are now, just a little more gray and a few more wrinkles.

So a few weeks ago, I wrote a letter of support for my friend Sultan, who was applying for permanent residence as an alien of exceptional ability. Unfortunately, he was not approved, so he followed up by letting me know that possibly in a few months time he would be showing up at my doorstep on one knee with a large sum of money and a diamond ring. Maybe not so coincidentally, Sultan joined me at Mass with my family and brunch for Easter. My family has been talking about him ever since. I informed him last night that he has basically ruined it for me because he's not my boyfriend, but I think my family wishes he was. He responded by saying something like, "You never know. If I don't become your business partner, I might just be meeting you at the altar." So this was the second proposal from Sultan. But who's counting?

So finally, my business. Lately, I'm leaning toward Rue des Genies (Street of Genius) as my business name. This morning I woke up thinking something with Reveries in the title as well. I'm still partial to the former. Any comments?

neutral space

My family origins are Swiss and so it would seem logical that the notion of neutral space would appeal to me. So Panama would serve as a neutral space for me and Alexei should his visa be approved. I imagine that we could have a lot of fun there together before he comes here or we go somewhere else when we would have to get settled and start dealing with all the serious stuff! When it comes down to it, I am visiting him in my country's enemy nation, and if it were possible for him to come here, he would be visiting me in his country's enemy nation. So I can only imagine a time when we were somewhere in the middle, where the government really wouldn't care at all which country we were from! I can only imagine a time when we could galavant around the rain forests and take long walks along empty beaches, simply experience a romantic and worry free time together, just experience life and each other before we would have to file paperwork with the INS and plan weddings and I could use my bank card and so on and so forth. We deserve a neutral space!

In fact everyone does. I had brunch with my friend Lynn this weekend. She has been living for the past 6 months or so with her boyfriend in a rented apartment, even though he had a place and she had a place that they could have moved into. However, they wanted to move into a neutral space--a place that was neither his nor hers, but THEIRS--the first time they lived together. I think it's a great idea because then she wouldn't feel like he was changing her space or identity by moving into her space with his stuff, or that she was changing his space or identity by moving into his space with her stuff. This way, they are able to experience a brand new space together.

I think when I have my house with my significant other, I will create a space within the household that is a neutral space, like a chill out room. It will be a place that is yin-yang balanced, where people go to be themselves and settle down, to find peace and clarity in the midst of all the madness life brings.

hurrah!

The Supreme Court rebuked the Bush administration Monday for its inaction on global warming in a decision that could lead to more fuel-efficient cars as early as next year.

inhumane treatment of life

A friend just sent this video about the massacre of dolphins in Japan to me. She said it was disturbing, and I thought, "Just how disturbing could it be?" It is very disturbing and upsetting. But I don't regret watching it. Better to be in the know of severely inhumane treatment of life than turning a blind eye. I signed the petition. And you should too.