Sadness and salvation:

1) I have no illusions that certain segments of the electorate or the media are going to drop the subject, but I think Obama's press conference yesterday regarding Jeremiah Wright was erudite and wise. If more of the populace were the same, it would be the last of the topic.

2) You have to have gargled a bathtub of crazy to think Michigan, where Clinton was the only major candidate on the ballot, is indicative of anything. Roger Simon of Politico sums up why the junior senator from New York has gone off the rails:

http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0408/9994.html

3) And because animals often seem like the best reason not to mainline Kahlua and burn this world to the ground, secure in the knowledge that God has one eye closed, here are some photos of pomeranian puppies:

Goddamn Jeremiah Wright:

It's great that Barack Obama remained composed while fielding questions about Pastor Wright today. But in this instance, I feel no pull toward gentility. I've given notable time and money to the Obama campaign and I'm disinclined to stay polite while an addle-brained yahoo attempts to hijack it. (Yes, I know Wright served honorably in the Marines and has spoken vociferously on behalf of the poor and against racial injustice and for that, of course, I respect him. But much like Gloria Steinem, Robin Morgan, and Erica Jong with their pro-Hillary editorials, it's likely Wright's recent words mostly will help himself.)

So, to Jeremiah Wright, I say this: African-Americans aren't a monolith any more than women and I'm in no way telling you what to think or say. Obviously. But it will suck all the dick in the world if the best presidential candidate this country has seen in my lifetime isn't elected, not because most voters rejected his positions, which would sadden a lot of us but would be fair game, but because he once trusted you and you now appear clinically insane. Remember that scene in Jungle Fever where John Turturro futilely explains to the assholes in the diner that David Dinkins and Marion Barry, while both black, are two different guys? And how the assholes can't fathom it, because they're assholes? That's what we're facing come November if you don't step off the national stage immediately. Enough voters will attribute your words to Obama and we'll be heralding President McCain, who, while an honorable man, wants to leave Iraq pretty much never and might not be able to find his car keys by the end of his first term. In large part, an African-American will have prevented an African-American from becoming president.

Which is more odious than any conspiracy you could concoct.

The Good German:

The oft-mentioned, deeply cherished, and awesomely talented Mr. Spitznagel interviews Bob Odenkirk and David Cross for Vanity Fair and I'm happy eight different ways:

http://www.vanityfair.com/ontheweb/blogs/daily/2008/04/david-cross-and.html

I've been listening to Charles Mingus'...

...Mingus Ah Um and this morning I discovered something he said that's note perfect and wise:

"Creativity is more than just being different. Anybody can play weird, that's easy. What's hard is to be as simple as Bach. Making the simple, awesomely simple, that's creativity."

Even the most open-minded among us make jokes about the inbred...

...so I think we should heartily applaud ABC's Charles Gibson and George Stephanopolous for lifting the stigma and demonstrating that, even if your parents share genetic code, you can hold a job and, if you work very hard, moderate a debate between two of the most intelligent and historically relevant presidential candidates of the past few decades. Kudos to ABC's news division for hiring different sorts within the inbred phylum, too: based on tonight's questions, it appears Gibson's parents are first cousins and that Stephanopolous' folks are siblings, maybe even twins.

Americans are ready for change after all.

Gloria Steinem once said that writers don't like writing...

...but they like having written. I sometimes genuinely love the act of writing, but in the larger sense, she's correct. You're isolated when you're working and composing in your head when you're not and this occasionally renders you a tad batshit. But when you're done, it's candy apple delicious and there's nothing so invigorating and humbling as when someone tells you in person or in print that they like your work.

So today it was fun discovering my words linked to a piece in the Guardian U.K. (click on "delivering the punchline himself")...

http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/music/2008/04/wish_they_could_be_like_charli.html

...and on Seattle Daily photo (see blogroll on the right, replete with very kind appellation):

http://seattle-daily-photo.blogspot.com/

Also, I'd like to give shout-outs to New York Daily Photo, Almost One a Day, and Thessaloniki Daily Photo, truly delightful sites that have usurped a bit of my free time lately:

http://newyorkdailyphoto.blogspot.com/

http://almostoneaday.blogspot.com/

http://thessalonikidailyphoto.blogspot.com/

And if you haven't already, check out Rebecca Traister's Salon feature, "Hey, Obama boys: Back off already!". Singularly intelligent and even-handed, Traister's piece is one of the best I've read during this cracker jack season:

http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/04/14/obama_supporters/index.html

Words on words and music and some on other words:

My dear friend and fellow scribe, Chris Estey, recently asked me and a scoop of other writers and musicians which album, given our druthers, we'd tackle for the 33 1/3 book series. The answers are featured on Three Imaginary Girls:

http://threeimaginarygirls.com/features/2008apr/whatwouldyour3313be

The aforementioned Mr. Estey is covering the seminal EMP Music Conference all weekend for KEXP and the result is a crackling good time:

http://depts.washington.edu/kexp/blog/?p=5501#comment-85853

My "Bleacher Friction" piece is also on the literary blog I sometimes write for, The Nervous Breakdown, replete w/ lively comments:

http://thenervousbreakdown.com/

Bleacher friction, lefty thuggery, a Hobbit: notes from the 36th District Democratic Convention

Two months ago at the Washington State Democratic Caucus, I was elected an Obama delegate to the 36th District Democratic Convention. As my cousin, Ellie, said recently, "Litz, I'd be more surprised if you weren't totally supporting Obama." As is often true with those who love you most, she meant it as both a compliment and a dig. Which is fine, as she treated me to a very nice steak last night.

As per the literature I'd received, I arrived at 8:45 a.m. on Saturday at Ballard High School to sign in early for the day's proceedings. (Mad props to my dad, a lifelong moderate Republican, for picking me up and dropping me off. While this is a great time in my life, things have been dicey physically. Dad usually rises at 4:00 a.m. and he knows how sick I am in the mornings, so when he found out I had to be there early, he volunteered to transport me. Righteous that the father/daughter thing supercedes party affiliation.)

After traversing the lines required to establish credentials, etc., I entered the gymnasium and found a seat on a low bleacher riser in the delegate section. Two women in Hillary shirts sat in front of me and grimaced when they saw my Obama button. I managed a tight smile, but in all fairness, it's not as if I wanted to hug them, either. As other Hillary supporters filed in, the women beckoned them over and soon I was the lone Obama delegate in the front two rows. They introduced themselves to each other and pointedly ignored me. I was tempted to join the Obama crew forming nearby, but found the fly/ointment scenario too appealing. The Clinton ladies kept uneasily eyeing my notebook, and while they were trashing Obama and the media, I would have taken notes regardless, because, like many writers, that's what I do. I agreed with them on certain points, too: Republicans will scream, "Pastor Wright!" all through the general; some jibes against Hillary are sexist.

A guy waving an Obama sign ran down an aisle yelling, "We're about change! We're about our children's future!" If I'd had a week to live, I would have stabbed him in the lungs. As it was, I took another hit of coffee and hoped his shoelaces might untie. Then other Obama supporters hoisted placards and Hillary folks responded in kind and the whole things smacked of a homecoming rally, with less hair and more fleece. (Much like an aerophobic self-hypnotizes before take-off, I focused intently to block out the rampant fleece.)

A district official gave an eloquent and heartfelt introduction and for the next two hours, Washington State Democratic candidates and elected representatives sequentially addressed the 3000+ crowd. When Congressman Jim McDermott approached the podium, he received a standing ovation, minus one curly-haired Greek girl. I do not understand why Seattle Democrats love this guy so much. He's been in office since I was a little kid, and while I often agree with him on the issues, I think he's kind of a thug, but for the left. Seriously, why is it okay that he illegally taped Newt Gingrich? Brain-damaged alligators have a more acutely honed sense of ethics than Gingrich, but we can't cry, "Watergate!" when Republicans pull this shit but look the other way when our side does it. And I disagree with McDermott's points in Fahrenheit 911. If the Bush administration is as inept as he claims--and he's right here--then there's more of a reason to be scared, not less.

We arrived at the time where the Obama and Clinton camps were each allowed three minutes to sway the throng. Clinton's apostate spoke first and it was the actor, Sean Astin. A man near me lifted a homemade sign that read, "HOBBITS FOR HILLARY!" so clearly at least a few knew he was on the roster. Astin said he likes Obama and will gladly vote for him if he's the nominee, then discussed why he supports Hillary. He was a class act, but spent most of his 180 seconds discussing Clinton's "barrier-shattering" tenure as First Lady. His assessment was accurate, of course, but the only time he mentioned her role in the Senate was to note she won re-election by "a landslide".

The Obama contingent decided to divide their time among four speakers, and the first was a 79 year-old grandmother whose family emigrated to the U.S. after escaping the Nazis in 1938. She said she wants her grandchildren to live in a country wherein they are proud of the president, his accomplishments, and what he stands for. Her words were lovely and meaningful and everyone clapped loudly. Next was a guy in his twenties who, if he convinced anyone of anything, it was that his parents should be forced to pay reparations for spawning such a cloying fuckwad. He spoke almost entirely in non-sequiturs, announced, "For Obama, style is substance!" and usurped the remaining time so that the other Obama speakers were shut out. A Hillary supporter in front of me asked loudly, "What did that even mean?" and I leaned forward and said, "For what it's worth, I completely agree with you. He was awful." She met me halfway and pleasantly responded, "Well, I guess we're all amateurs here."

The next several hours were spent discussing and voting on the 36th District platforms and resolutions. Issues included ending the Iraq War, a pledge of support to our troops and veterans, providing universal health care, and the exigent need to halt climate change. At this point, I had been sitting on the floor for the past two hours with my legs stretched out, unable to remain contorted in the bleachers. The chills were awful and when one of the Hillary supporters saw my cane, she asked if I wanted her seat. I thanked her and explained that I needed to stretch my legs--hence sitting on the floor--and that I had my water and Cliff Bar and would be fine. The chills became almost unbearable, though, and when it became evident that we were five and a half hours into things and still several hours away from electing delegates to the convention in Denver, I knew I had to leave. If I became much sicker, I would be immobilized for the upcoming week and I cannot spare that kind of time away from my novel. I'd concluded weeks before I didn't want to go to Denver--again, the novel and health--but I'd wanted to vote for those who would. However, I knew the district brimmed with erudite Obama supporters--aforementioned asswipes to the contrary--and that, in a state where Obama won every county, my presence the rest of the day would have negligible impact, except to weaken me.

At 2:15, I took a last look around the room, exited the gymnasium, went outside and called my dad.

Hooray! Only seven more months to go:

• Listening to Hillary Clinton tell a joke is like thinking about your own conception. Either way, you're unlikely to eat for the next hour.

• Maureen Dowd referred to Barack Obama as "effete" again today. Didn't she throw the same shit at Al Gore in 2000? Admittedly, neither guy is butch, but last I heard, the job requires no working knowledge of belt sanders. Not sure why Dowd needs a president who swings his dick with one hand and crushes Bud cans in the other.

• It's nice, though, to have reached the long overdue point in history where an African-American man isn't automatically assumed to be tough.

• If John McCain endorses Viagra like Bob Dole did after his '96 loss, my lady parts and I are emigrating far, far away.
  

Surpassing, even, mint and chocolate or eggs and Sunday mornings

As noted before, I'm not a big fan of YouTube, largely because I have things I still want to accomplish before I'm dead and it's not as if there's an infinite amount of time in which to do them.

But I'm psyched for the upcoming DCfC disc, so I thought I'd peruse some of the lads' concert footage to tide me over. Then I stumbled upon this video for "I Will Follow You Into the Dark", which is lovely and appropriate for all sorts of reasons:

Goddamnit, people, I'm in no mood for this shit: Cooper House to become office space

I'm thrilled that it's not going to be demolished, but it's about a mile from here and it kills me that in a city teeming with the newly rich, no one had the wherewithal to restore and augment its glory. If I had the money, I know exactly what I'd do with it. And, yes, the bunnies would have their own wing.

Details:

http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/realestatenews/archives/134955.asp

Lulu

For the past week, I've wanted to address Geraldine Ferraro's ludicrous screed and the more batshit elements of Pastor Wright's beliefs. I respect each of them in some ways and in others think they're gargling bongwater. And there's much I want to say about the complex, challenging, and moving speech Senator Obama gave this morning.

But I discovered last Friday that Lulu has lung cancer. (Initially, it presented more like arthritis, which would have given her more time.) She's almost ten, which is impressively old for a rabbit, particularly a Holland Lop, and up until a few weeks ago, she was a super-intelligent, sprightly ball of fluff. She and her remaining brothers have had a great run of things and I love them (and Oscar, who died in '03) like I love my family and friends. But she's getting sicker rapidly and this morning, I made the call. Tomorrow at 3:00 p.m. her vet will euthanize her and I'll be in the room soothing her.

So there's much I want to write about the campaign, but I won't right now, because my heart and head are filled with sand.

Gentlemen, if we may have a word:

I'm not going to write about Elliot Spitzer except to say I think he should resign. Not because he cheated on his spouse, but because he violated the same laws he once prosecuted as New York Attorney General, indicating his judgment is way out of whack. (Bonus points to The Daily Show for deeming it "Fuck-gate".)

Instead I'm going to address the headline on the bottom left of the current issue of Esquire, "WHEN THE HELL DID 39 YEAR-OLD WOMEN GET TO BE SEXY?". My Esquire editor is awesome as popcorn and I've read Esquire since high school. Also, I understand that, ostensibly, the headline is complimentary and, no, I haven't had a chance to read the piece yet. My beef is strictly with the headline's implicit surprise. So, to the editor(s) who wrote and approved the headline, I say this:

1) If I took my shirt off, I guarantee you'd stay in the room and,

2) Eat a bag of dicks.

Toodles,
Litsa

Pre-sleep thoughts on Democrats:

1) Florida and Michigan party officials drank lead-based paint as kids.

2) Bill Clinton is the ex you tried to stay friends with but who keeps trying to fuck you. Dude, you're not getting back in.

3) I wish Hillary didn't represent New York. It's like your high school principal managing the Beatles.

"You used to be able to tell the difference between hipsters and homeless people. Now, it's between hipsters and retards. I mean...

...either that guy in the corner in orange safety pants holding a protest sign and wearing a top hat is mentally disabled or he is the coolest fucking guy you will ever know."

Chuck Klosterman is wiser than your grandpa and writes better than a fish swims. From the online version of New York Magazine:

http://nymag.com/daily/intel/2008/03/chuck_klosterman_on_the_differ.html

A Quantitative Overview of the Only Individuals or Entities More Annoying than the Democratic Voting Populace of Ohio:

• My Legal Writing professor who had the I.Q. of a sand fly and the writing skills of its larvae

• The half-life of plutonium

• Wes Unseld of the Washington Bullets and his cry baby antics during the 1978 NBA Championship against the Seattle Supersonics

• Large chunks of black peppercorns in otherwise delicious Italian salami

• The gum stuck to the bottom of my white Pumas

• Women who allow David Lee Roth to penetrate them
  

• The phalanges and sexual organ of David Lee Roth

• Hitler's mom's gynecologist

• The CNN producer who, apparently, elects not to cock-punch Lou Dobbs before and after each segment
  

• Any dining partner, who, upon discovering that I don't like olives, responds with, "You don't like olives? But you're Greek! Ha! Ha!"

• Those who act as if their preference for tea instead of coffee connotes moral superiority

• The clog in my garbage disposal

• White people who post their umbrage on stuffwhitepeoplelike.com

• That bacon originates and results in death

• Ragweed

• The Democratic voting populace of Texas
  

Yeah, but I don't wear ass-less pants:

A guy who is the spitting image of Rob Halford just looked up at my kitchen window, saw me pouring tea in my sushi pajamas, and smirked.

I'll listen to Journey for a month and wear a fleece hoodie in public if someone...

...can explain to me how Chris Matthews has a job.

The homeless guy who routes for change in the convenience store pay phone across the street speaks in the same cadence and is every bit as lucid.

Does Matthews have a G.E. executive's mom duct taped to the water heater in his basement?

There's no other explanation.

What the fuck?

I can't fathom the circumstances under which this decision would make sense.

From today's Dallas Star-Telegram via Wonkette:

Police Concerned about Order to Stop Weapons Screening at Obama Rally:

By JACK DOUGLAS Jr.

Star-Telegram Staff Writer

DALLAS -- Security details at Barack Obama's rally Wednesday stopped screening people for weapons at the front gates more than an hour before the Democratic presidential candidate took the stage at Reunion Arena.

The order to put down the metal detectors and stop checking purses and laptop bags came as a surprise to several Dallas police officers who said they believed it was a lapse in security.

Dallas Deputy Police Chief T.W. Lawrence, head of the Police Department's homeland security and special operations divisions, said the order -- apparently made by the U.S. Secret Service -- was meant to speed up the long lines outside and fill the arena's vacant seats before Obama came on.

"Sure," said Lawrence, when asked if he was concerned by the great number of people who had gotten into the building without being checked. But, he added, the turnout of more than 17,000 people seemed to be a "friendly crowd."

The Secret Service did not return a call from the Star-Telegram seeking comment.

Doors opened to the public at 10 a.m., and for the first hour security officers scanned each person who came in and checked their belongings in a process that kept movement of the long lines at a crawl. Then, about 11 a.m., an order came down to allow the people in without being checked.

Several Dallas police officers said it worried them that the arena was packed with people who got in without even a cursory inspection.

They spoke on condition of anonymity because, they said, the order was made by federal officials who were in charge of security at the event.

"How can you not be concerned in this day and age," said one policeman.

JACK DOUGLAS Jr., 817-390-7700
jld@star-telegram.com

Link:

http://www.star-telegram.com/dallas_news/story/486413.html

Because we could all use a pallate cleanser:

The video for Chris Walla's awesomely catchy and moving-in-a-good-way "Sing Again" packs more familiar faces and indie fun times than the green room at Neumo's. Commence with rockin'. Or bending slightly at the knees and swaying almost imperceptibly. (I say it with love, emotards I stand behind at shows.)

On plagarism and pride:

As everyone knows by now, Governor Deval Patrick and Senator Barack Obama have been friends and political allies for fifteen years and both say they talk several times a week. David Axelrod helped coordinate Patrick's campaign and oversees Obama's and according to CNN, as early as a year ago, both Patrick and Obama said publicly that they sometimes use each other's lines. Since yesterday, in at least two interviews, Patrick has made abundantly clear that they sometimes swap adages and that he encouraged Obama to employ the phrases in question. Plagiarism, by definition, involves theft. As a writer, I take the charge extremely seriously. If I thought Obama stole another's words, I'd forfeit my position as county delegate. But it's like Patrick gave him the keys and said, "Here, borrow my car" and the Clinton campaign is crying, "Grand theft auto!" Logically and morally, it doesn't make sense.

Re what Michelle Obama said about feeling pride in her country for the first time in her adult life: I have complete respect for her and I like that she often speaks off the cuff and perhaps she misspoke, but any way you parse it, it was a ridiculous thing for a potential first lady to say to a room full of reporters. Please, Mrs. Obama, do not morph into Teresa Heinz-Kerry.

"Besides, if there is another life after this one, think how much we'll get to laugh watching it all...."--Molly Ivins; "I've always said that in...

...politics, your enemies can't hurt you, but your friends will kill you.”--Ann Richards

As the Texas primary looms, I can't help but wish Molly Ivins and Ann Richards were still alive.

On the precipice of turning 41:

1) Regarding my last post: I was wrong about Denver. All of us who were elected county delegates at Saturday's caucus must attend our legislative district caucus on April 5 and/or the county convention on April 19. Then we attend our congressional district caucus on May 17th. Out of the county delegates, a group of convention delegates is elected. They attend the state convention in Spokane on June 14 and then, of course, the DNC in Denver August 25-28.

At my caucus on Saturday, I was elected precinct secretary and asked to speak on behalf of Obama before being elected one of the county delegates, so I was recording the caucus minutes and discussing with Obama supporters the points we should make and it's entirely possible something got lost in the fray. But I asked a number of detailed questions of those running the show and was under the impression no one was quite sure what the hell was going on. Or if they were clued in, they were unable to elucidate the proceedings.

I still had a number of questions and went to the Washington State Democratic Party web site and as far as I can discern, the info I listed above is correct. I know a whole bunch of writers who tend to vote Democrat and I might corral said scribes and see if all of us can help with the party's written materials. There's no way a button for the state party crab feed should be front and center but the delegates should have to dig around to find what, exactly, we're supposed to do. And I think it's confusing to refer to both county delegates and convention delegates as "delegates", even if the latter is elected from the former. It's sort of like calling prime rib and sirloin steak the same thing because they both come from cow, when really, they're similar but different.

Given the deadlines of my novel and the parameters of my health, I'm not sure if I'm going to try to get elected a convention delegate. I want to go--of course--and am fairly certain one of my editors will assign something in conjunction, but I don't want to end up in a wheelchair with an unfinished novel in order to do so. I've decided to take it day by day: if I'm persistently ambulatory and still writin' well when the congressional district caucus rolls 'round on May 17, I might toss my hat in the ring. We'll see.

[Side note: My condo on Nickerson hasn't sold yet and I'm still registered in that precinct. I'd read that you could "re-register", i.e. update your address and precinct at your new precinct caucus site on caucus day, but so much of what I'd read that week was incorrect, so I decided not to risk it. I caucused at the Coe School on Queen Anne instead of Prospect Church on Cap Hill and while I missed hanging with my new neighbors, it was nice seeing some of my old ones.]

2) What's up with Democrats wringing their hands over the notion of "electability"? Yesterday I read in the New York Times and in the Stranger online two different pieces decrying the impetus to choose a candidate based, in part, on whether she or he can get elected in November. I agree with the larger points: that it's a bit cynical and that it's impossible to predict with utmost certainty what voters will do, particularly this year.

But here's the thing: Democrats haven't won the White House with a significant majority of the popular vote since Carter beat Ford in 1976, and that was in huge part because Ford pardoned Nixon. Clinton didn't win a majority of the popular vote in 1992 or 1996--hey, Ross Perot!--and it left him without a mandate and vulnerable to the Gingrich-led smackdown in 1994. Gore won the popular vote, but just barely, and while it seems clear the Supreme Court decided the outcome, the Florida embarrassment could have been avoided if the esteemed Vice President had won his home state.

So yes, "electability" isn't an ideologically pure notion, but it is an important one. Humphrey, McGovern, Mondale, Dukakis, and Kerry all have one thing in common, you know? I happen to agree with most of Obama's positions--he still hasn't sold me on nuclear energy--and I think he has the best shot to beat McCain, so the electability question isn't a tripwire for me. And no, I'm not naive. I realize I think an African American first-term senator will beat a decorated war hero who's whiter than toothpaste. But I know many life-long Republicans and Bill Clinton voters in several states who are voting for Obama and I think that's significant. No matter what, though, I believe it's crucial to remember how difficult the next nine months will be and that all three candidates have smart, conscientious supporters in their camps.

3) For the most part, being 40 was awesome. The novel, new home, dudes, and donuts. If possible, I heartily recommend living at least this long.

4) And now I'm 41. So far, so good.

It's been a long and invigorating weekend and I can barely keep my eyes open, but...

...I'm pleased to report that at my caucus site on Saturday, I was asked to speak on behalf of the precinct's Obama supporters, then I was asked to be a delegate at the Democratic National Convention. Denver, ho! I know his positions in fair detail, but I intend to learn them as well as Daschle. Re Friday's rally at Key Arena, I'm too tired to elaborate and if you're voting for him, you've read about it by now. Also, I don't want to proselytize.

And because we've got nine months to go and it's important to keep a sense of humor:

http://wonkette.com/354429/which-horrific-swamp-beast-would-you-elect-president

Recappin':

• I figured HRC would take California, but you have to give her props for winning Massachusetts. Obviously, I'm displeased, but I'm not Teddy's biggest fan and I'm intrigued that Massachusetts Dems, of all voters, weren't swayed by the Kennedy mystique. (They weren't swayed by John Kerry or Deval Patrick, either, but that's ultimately less noteworthy.)
  

• I think Obama's momentum will propel him to win the nomination. If I'm wrong, though, like I've said before, I'll back Hillary. I've read a bunch of comments on sundry message boards today wherein supporters of both parties have said they'll jump ship if their candidate isn't the pick. Weird that any voter could lose sight of the Supreme Court.

• My dad grew up under Nazi occupation in Greece and survived the country's subsequent civil war. I have so many family members who grew up without food and shelter, much less the right to vote, so election years always resonate with me. I feel grateful to have been born here and in this era.

• Read that Mitt Romney has spent nearly forty million of his own cash in this campaign. Can't help but think that, after all this dies down, his kids (and presumptive heirs) are going to be pissed.

• Cindy McCain's hair tonight was colored and styled exactly like Gwen Stefani's. Unintentional no doubt (rim shot!), but I like that, while her husband is going on about showing that dipshit Rumsfeld a thing or two, she might be channeling her inner rock star.
  

• I don't understand women who vote for Huckabee. If a candidate proclaimed, "All darkies should fix me a sammich!" she or he wouldn't garner African-American votes. Yet ladies surround Mike on the dais. Evangelicals of any stripe perplex me.

• The 2008 campaign seems like it was scripted by Aaron Sorkin on Red Bull. I mean that in a good way.
  

Or fuck Sam Giancana's mistress:

One of the smartest comments of the week, and certainly the funniest, comes from Ramesh Ponnuru at the National Review re Caroline Kennedy's New York Times editorial endorsing Obama:

"She says that Obama could be a president like her father. I assume that means he'll be overrated, not that he'll bring us to the brink of nuclear war."

I respect Caroline Kennedy quite a bit, but for eight years I attended Catholic schools where JFK was considered on par with Jesus, the Pope and ice cream. So I find it refreshing whenever a more objective view of our thirty-fifth chief executive is presented.

Link:

http://corner.nationalreview.com/post/?q=MjU5MjJkNjRjODlhZjgzNDQxZDZhYjk4ZTFmZTE2MDI=

The CDC needs to look into this:

For the past two nights, I've slept in my "Team Bukowski" sweatshirt.

Today, I walked without a cane for the first time in a month.

Coincidence?

I don't think so.

It seems strange that a few weeks ago...

...I said that, in spite of my support for Obama, I would "gladly" vote for HRC if she gets the nom. Obviously, I'll still check her name if it comes to that, but it'll be with the enthusiasm I muster for changing the litter box or getting my car serviced.

I'm totally disgusted by the Clintons' recent comportment and that's a hard thing to write because I've considered her a gifted senator and I voted for WJC twice. While even Chelsea would acknowledge her folks sometimes committed acts of preposterous skeev, they seemed to have a greater goal in sight. Now, like breading coats chicken, they are sealed in a crust of venality.

On a related note, and I'm saying this as someone who's been a feminist since she was a little kid, today's statement from N.O.W.'s New York chapter is reductive and verging on paranoid. It's self-evident that you can be a feminist and support Obama--or any candidate besides Huckabee, really--and I can't see how a sentient person concludes otherwise. Kudos to the national chapter for distancing itself.

Heath Ledger 1979-2008

I read about Heath Ledger's untimely death a few hours ago and I still can't wrap my mind around it. His portrayal of Ennis Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain is one for the ages and his role as the damaged son in Monster's Ball sticks in your head like glass in skin. [Sidenote: Billy Bob Thornton, who played Ledger's father in MB, just wrapped a film with Brad Renfro, who died last week. His grief must be intractable.]

Thoughts and prayers to Ledger's family and friends. And to those of journalist Frances Lewine and actress Suzanne Pleshette, both of whom died on Saturday and were classy ladies who forged work of lasting impact.

Melange:

1) Received some very good news yesterday re my novel. Many, many, many hurdles left to clear, but it's nice to have a few behind me.

2) Had another short story accepted. Candy apple awesomeness.

3) A bad cold turned into pneumonia and I'm the weakest I've been since I had surgery five years ago. Have received many offers to help. Haven't taken anyone up on it, but I'm touched by everyone's kindness. Much love, and you guys remain forever on the chocolate list.

4) Reminded again that some individuals cannot metabolize any mention of illness. A tad pathetic, considering all of us are in our forties.

5) B.E.T. founder Bob Johnson just apologized to Barack Obama for the ridiculous comments he made at a Hillary Clinton rally last Sunday, which fell almost ten years to the day after the Monica Lewinsky story broke. Impressed with the Obama camp's wisdom in not responding, "Prior bad acts. Really?"

6) Wish molecular biologists would clone Mike Huckabee so that I could kick someone just like Mike Huckabee in the balls and not get razed by Secret Service.

7) "The West Wing" on DVD is a pneumonic girl's best friend.

And now we momentarily turn our attention to the rock:

Light in the Attic Records asked a bunch of writers and musicians to choose our favorite discs and/or sundry things of 2007. We're listed alphabetically, so I'm several spots below Robert Christgau and directly above Greg Dulli, which pleases me more than snowflakes:

http://www.lightintheattic.net/news/?p=339#more-339

As always, mad love to Light in the Attic publicist and talented scribe, my friend, Mr. Chris Estey.

Election notes:

1) As I wrote the other day, I'm backing Barack Obama, but I'll gladly vote for Hillary Clinton if she's the Democratic candidate. So I can't help but feel irked on her behalf given the inane comments she's endured since Saturday's debate. I like that she got fired up when John Edwards and Obama tag-teamed her and I think her reaction was reasonable and proportionate. I don't get what George Stephanopolous was on about when he said during his post-debate wrap-up (and I'm paraphrasing), that it wasn't "her finest moment". "Fired up" is Edwards' default setting for fuck's sake and no one spills their coffee when he raises his voice. Then today every news outlet in the Western world has run on a seemingly endless loop that clip of Hillary tearing up. Pundits, she's human. I'm sure she digests food, sheds skin, coughs when she's sick and that, if you cut her, she will bleed. Climb off her ass and move on to something to relevant.

2) In what has to be the most surreal moment of the campaign so far, Eugene Mirman shook Mike Huckabee's hand at a campaign stop in New Hampshire this morning. CNN has run the footage several times as part of its NH primary coverage, never once mentioning that the non-descript guy in the diner crowd who smiles and addresses Huckabee is Eugene Mirman. I'm not surprised that no one in the newsroom is familiar with Mirman's work and that makes the whole scenario funnier. I just checked Mirman's site and found no mention of it, but I suspect this won't remain true for long. If he has waffles with Romney next week in Michigan, we'll know something awesome this way comes.

If Top Pot gets converted to a bistro, I will go Bastille on someone:

Last month, in an act bursting with douche-itude, club owner Stephanie Dorgan unceremoniously yanked the plug on Seattle's beloved and historic music venue, the Crocodile Cafe. (Though it's like choosing a favorite bunny, my fondest memory comes from the night I told a friend, "In my heart, I'll always be a sixteen year old R.E.M. fan", not realizing we were within earshot of Peter Buck, who turned around and nodded.)

Yesterday morning, Mom called to tell me that Sunset Bowl, where my brother and my friend, Eva, hurled vending machine cheese and crackers at each other with the force of gladiators and got us kicked out on more than one occasion, has been sold to a developer and likely will be replaced by condos.

Then last night I read that M. Coy Books, a store I have frequented most of my adult life and a favored stop on my Pike Place Market treks, will close in February because the proprietors can no longer afford the lease.

Fuck. Why not turn the Space Needle into a high rise and be done with it?

Or his cigar:

For the past few months, I've been on the fence between Obama and Clinton. While I will gladly vote for either of them in the general election, this morning I made up my mind.

I support Barack Obama because I believe he has the intelligence, compassion, and wherewithal to lead the U.S. in establishing universal (or near-universal) health care, to implement environmentally sound and financially smart energy policies, and to alleviate some of the cynicism and disgust that's become endemic to American politics over the past few decades. I think he understands the complexity and danger of national security issues and that he would be a highly effective communicator when interacting with other heads of state. I like that he reaches out to independents and Republicans because there are individuals with active minds and kind hearts across the spectrum and at this juncture in history, when our survival as a species and our stature as a nation are not necessarily assured, I think it's essential to underscore our commonality or we're really, truly fucked. Obama is the rare politician I'd like to vote for and have lunch with, and assuredly, he would appreciate Mom's baklava.

Please, dear god, never let him stick his member where it does not belong.

There's so much I want to write about...

...and I'll get to it soon, but right now I'm still thinking about the family and friends of Shannon Harps. Their loss and grief must be incalculable.

I had lunch a few blocks away from where Harps was murdered a few hours before she was attacked on New Year's Eve. Due to the savagery of the crime, the Seattle Police Department says not to walk alone on Capitol Hill while the suspect is still at large, and this saddens me, as traipsing the Hill is my favorite part of living here.

Thoughts and prayers to those who knew her.

More:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2004105581_webstabbing03m.html

Dear Philip Seymour Hoffman:

I have seen almost every film you've made and have long thought you're one of America's finest actors, but your crackling portrayal of CIA agent Gust Avrakotos in Charlie Wilson's War is more flavorful than bacon and eggs and twice as satisfying. On behalf of smartypants Greeks everywhere, much thanks to you, Aaron Sorkin, Mike Nichols, George Crile, and, of course, Mr. Avrakotos.

Stop by some time and I'll introduce you to the bunnies.

Best to you and yours,
Litsa Dremousis

"Daughter of Destiny: Benazir Bhutto, 1953-2007", by Christopher Hitchens

Hitchens provides a multi-strand analysis of Bhutto's complex tenure, exile, return, and assassination. From today's Slate:

http://www.slate.com/id/2180952/

When I was a kid and my mom would listen to Dolly Parton, my reaction was...

...usually "Mo-ther!" Throughout my pre-pubescent years and then junior high and high school, I loved Donna Summer and Elton John and then the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and the Who and then the Police and R.E.M. and Bob Dylan and could not figure out what my mom heard in this big-haired lady who was even more voluptuous than either of us. (I developed at ten. Yeah, I know.) Of course, as an adult, I've come to appreciate the lilting, soulful twang of Dolly's voice and songs and the warmth of her singular persona. Much like I did with my dad regarding Frank Sinatra, I retroactively apologized to Mom regarding Dolly. (I should note here that I have one of the few moms who pushed her kids to read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas when they were in college and, obviously, she was spot-on with that one, too. Mom's artistic radar is finely tuned.)

As I wrote a few weeks ago, I would be fine if it were already January 2nd. It's not that I'm holiday-averse, but in recent years I've become holiday-neutral. I enjoy sending and receiving cards and reconnecting with loved ones, but I haven't put up a tree since '04 and could do without the incessant carols and forced cheerfulness. However, this brief holiday greeting from the tinseled Ms. Parton is tastier than sugar cookie icing licked straight from the bowl and should warm even the frostiest heart:

http://www.dollypartonmusic.net/site.php?content=splash

Happy holidays, all!

Much love,
Litsa

If you're having a shit-laden day, I suggest reading...

...this piece on "locked-in syndrome" (total body paralysis, except for controlled eye movement) and the new breakthroughs that are turning thoughts into speech. The developments lend genuine hope, are scientifically invigorating, and shift garden variety crapitude into perspective. If I ran the world (and who's to say I won't?), Dr. Phil Kennedy, Dr. Frank Guenther, and their research peers would receive the kind of salary that (fuckwad) Alex Rodriguez apparently found insufficient.

From today's CNN.com, "Scientists seek to help 'locked-in' man speak":

http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/conditions/12/14/locked.in/index.html

Though I can think of a few he left off:

I often agree with Bill Maher's larger points--years ago in Salon he wrote one of my favorite political essays, excoriating the South for not supporting presidential candidates from the rest of the country, and telling them, essentially, to get the fuck over the Confederacy--but I think he's reflexively self-congratulatory, lacking in introspection, and seemingly, a bit of a douche. (Does anyone else remember when he mocked developmentally disabled kids on a segment of "Politically Incorrect"?)

Still, his new piece for Rolling Stone, "Dickheads of the Year: My Picks for the Biggest Assholes of 2007", should be added to school curriculums nationwide:

http://www.rollingstone.com/photos/gallery/17538811/dickheads_of_the_year/photo/1/large

Three new interviews worth your time and money:

1) Ricky Gervais talks to New York Magazine's Adam Sternbergh about the end of Extras, concocting the funny, and his loathing for those who perpetuate mediocrity:

http://nymag.com/arts/tv/features/41525/



2) In Blender's cover story, Jay-Z and Chris Norris discuss how the film, American Gangster, inspired Jay-Z's disc of the same name, why the instantaneousness of mp3s creates a disposable musical culture, and how money can blunt the power of racism:

http://www.blender.com/guide/articles.aspx?ID=2962



3) My gifted and cherished friend, Eric Spitznagel, interviews Tina Fey in the current issue of Playboy, pages 47 through 54. (I'd provide the link, but it's print-only.) The result draws more blood than a drunk wielding a staple gun and unveils the kind of insight rarely seen this side of mukti.

Two of my favorite quotes:

"Will Ferrell tried to stab me once. We had been up all night writing skits for the guy from Dawson's Creek--James Van Der Beek. And you know, it was SNL, so we were all hopped up on goofballs, out of our minds on quaaludes and horse antibiotics. I foolishly made a disparaging joke about Will's skit. I was like, 'Really, dude? A hat salesman who's afraid of hats? That's the best you can come up with?' And he lunged at me with a letter opener. I remember thinking, This guy's a genius. It would be an honor to be killed by him."

And:

"It's this weird fetish with ladies who look like erasers. Holes is holes, as I like to say, but I don't understand the cultural obsession with these weird mental children with orange skin and bleached-out Barbie hair and boyish hips and big fake choppers. They're so close to being trannies. I sometimes feel like, Who are these creatures? And they certainly don't exist only in this magazine. They're everywhere, and that's a reflection of our culture. It's like the difference in our food since the 1970s. It has become overprocessed with all the trans fats. Maybe we need to get organic with these ladies."

TNB on KERO TV:

It's a Catch 22 whenever writers publicly discuss the impetus to write, the psychological effects of isolation, and the mechanics of the publishing industry. For the most part, those who don't write won't understand because they can't. And while I think it's wise to acknowledge the obstacles in any field, I think it's just as unwise to focus on them. So I don't agree with all the opinions expressed therein, but I'm delighted to see the The Nervous Breakdown getting the attention it deserves. Well done, Mr. Belardes!

Nick Belardes reports from Los Angeles for ABC affiliate, KERO Channel 23, on the literary site my compadres and I write for, The Nervous Breakdown:

http://www.turnto23.com/news/14784755/detail.html

Perhaps the most disturbing thing about the new allegations against Senator Larry Craig...

...is that members of both genders seem willing to let him route around their privates. Unless he smells like lilacs and sweats money, I don't understand how this transpires.

More:

http://abcnews.go.com/TheLaw/story?id=3946314&page=1

Or if I wore a shirt that says, "HELLENIC IN A HANDBASKET":

I snagged fresh egg rolls at the QFC deli and just popped them in the oven, drizzled w/ sesame and olive oils and surrounded by a julienned red pepper.

As I was about to toss the packaging, I noticed the brand logo (see above) and that the label proclaimed said contents, "ASIANTIZERS".

Admittedly, this is an 11 on the Obvious Scale and I'm on an important deadline and a bit punchy, but there is something so delightfully ridiculous about all of this that I could only be happier if Ronzoni deemed its noodles, "ITALIANDINNER".

"Good night, Mr. Bronson! Sleep tight!"

A commenter posted this clip on Jezebel today and while I've never really gotten into YouTube and think Jezebel, unfortunately, might be past its expiration date, this '70s Japanese commercial Charles Bronson did for the cologne, Mandom, might be the apotheosis of nut-studded cheeseball goodness:

I happen to be reading (and for the most part, enjoying) Jon Krakauer's...

...Into Thin Air, so I was pleased to discover that Chris Elliott has spoofed ITA and other outdoor adventure tomes with his new "novel", Into Hot Air. He elaborates in an interview with the Seattle Times' Mark Rahner:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/books/2004028288_chriselliott25.html

Is it January 1st yet?

Just checking.

Disparateness:

1) I wrote "Fifty Questions for God" during the summer of 2003, when I was incredibly sick and it seemed as if I'd fallen out of time. It was originally published in the literary journal, The Kitchen Sink, in June 2005 and I posted it last week, in a slightly tweaked form, on The Nervous Breakdown:

http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/litsa_dremousis/2007/11/fifty-questions.html

2) About once or twice a week, someone lands on this blog after Googling "CFIDS". It's worth noting that in recent months, my mom (who has an acute form of fibromyalgia) and I have benefited from taking coenzyme q10 once daily. We're still symptomatic to the degree that we usually are, but we're able to do more within the course of the day. Detailed info on coenzyme q10 from the Mayo Clinic:

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/coenzyme-q10/NS_patient-coenzymeq10

And because I had to explain CFIDS again this week to someone who really ought to know better by now, how about a refresher course from the Centers for Disease Control?

http://www.cdc.gov/cfs/cfssymptoms.htm

http://www.cdc.gov/cfs/cfsbasicfacts.htm

And from the CFIDS Association of America?

http://www.cfids.org/about-cfids/fact-sheet.asp

3) As everyone with an intact cerebellum knows, Mr. Alexie deservedly won the National Book Award last week. I raise my iced single soy mocha in cheer! Extra baklava forthcoming.

4) And this morning I discovered one of the more prescient quotes in recorded human history:

"In certain trying circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity furnishes a relief denied even to prayer."--Mark Twain

New York update:

As some of you know, I received extremely good news the third week of August, just as I was getting ready to move.

The truncated version is that within a week of one another, an agent at Linda Chester read one of my short stories, Googled me, read more of my work, discovered I'm writing a novel, asked me to send the first two chapters, then an agent at Levine Greenberg read one of my essays and did the exact same thing. I explained to my Esquire editor that I would need time to focus on my book and he sweetly replied, "We're like Motel Six. We'll keep the light on for you."

All meetings in New York last week went extremely well. I'm not being cryptic, but there is so much left to do and this isn't the forum in which to discuss it. As I've told TJ, Eric, and my mom, as I hard as I think this is going to be, it's going to be harder. I feel ready, though.

(Shhh, don't tell anyone: the bunnies write every word.)

Knowing one's place on the food chain and very old as opposed to recently dead bodies:

1) I watched an interview with Senator Joe Biden earlier today and while I generally like him, I couldn't help but notice he imbues each of his words with quasi-weighty melodramatic undertones. It's like he's Blake Carrington's heretofore undiscovered younger brother, Buck, and he's returned to to Denver to claim his rightful place in the clan. You can almost hear him intoning, "Damn it, Alexis, don't talk to me like I'm a ranch hand!" He insisted during the course of the tete a tete that he will be the nominee and that he won't accept the Vice President slot, but that, of course, is crap because almost no one besides his mom and eight other people views him as presidential and being one lodged piece of Beef Wellinton away from the top spot is better than playing craps with Harry Reid and Chris Dodd for the the rest of one's life.

2) From a scientific standpoint, the new pictures of the unmasked King Tut are fascinating. But they have been all the fuck over the news for the past 24 hours and while none of us would be okay with viewing photos of someone's neighbor lying in the morgue, we seem to be fine with looking at the Boy King's mottled flesh over our phad see ew and spring rolls because, after all, he's been dead a really long time. I feel like I missed a meeting on this one.

[I get on a plane in eight hours. Yippee!]

Because tales of coitus-induced seizures never grow old:

I resurrected a short essay first published on The Black Table for The Nervous Breakdown. Originally called, "Seizure Sex", now in its slightly different form, it's titled "Halloween, 1993":

http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/litsa_dremousis/2007/10/halloween-1993.html

"I'm not going to be happy until every human being on the planet has read something I've written"

Two years ago I interviewed Sherman Alexie for the second time. The interview was going to be a centerpiece of a theme issue for a magazine that I had written for a number of times before. The editors decided to scrap said theme and the interview hung in limbo for nine months before the managing editor killed it.

I've interviewed dozens of individuals from Wanda Sykes to Ron Jeremy and Alexie remains among my favorites, both because his art impacts my life and because he is boundlessly intelligent. He sends my mom the sweetest thank you notes when she sends him baklava, plus, he is the only person who's ever had the balls to write her and say, "Could you please send more?"

Alexie's new book, the autobiographical young adult novel, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian, was just nominated for a National Book Award. What follows is the introduction to and an excerpt from the interview that never ran. It went up this morning on the literary site I write for, The Nervous Breakdown:

http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/litsa_dremousis/2007/10/by-litsa-drem-1.html

Pop culture mysteries from the past 24 hours:

1) Why does each vocalist--male or female--featured on the soundtrack to any given episode of Grey's Anatomy sound like Dave Matthews with an estrogen patch?

2) How many of Satan's loads did Dane Cook have to swallow before he got booked into Seattle's massive Key Arena for his upcoming show?

3) Aaron Sorkin is one of the most astute writers in any medium, so why did no one associated with the marketing of his new play, The Farnsworth Invention, kill the um-yeah-no-shit tag line featured in its ads, "The turning point of the 20th century wasn't on television. It was television."?

4) Might we all agree that Carrie Fisher's guest star appearance last night on Tina Fey's wickedly brilliant 30 Rock indicates the possibility of a wise and loving God or universe? (This isn't a "mystery" so much as a question underscoring the potential commonality of all sentient beings.)

"If goodness is assured an ultimate victory over evil, we are in a comedy, and I must say it is an ugly farce...

...considering how we suffer in the course of the contest."

Norman Mailer is interviewed by Michael Lennon in New York Magazine regarding their new book, On God:

http://nymag.com/news/features/38961/

Insightful comments my father made recently that touch, in part, on smoking

1) "Being a writer is like being a smoker. Deep down, you either are or you're not. And either way, you know it."

2) "I like that people in this neighborhood [Capitol Hill, where I recently moved] are unapologetic about smoking. You don't see them crouched and sheepish about it."

[Note: Dad quit smoking in 1974. Safe bet, however, that his version of an afterlife includes Kents.]

I wonder who the dead woman was and why no one claimed her:

From Reuters via Yahoo!:

Notorious Dr. Crippen wrongly hanged, scientists say

Excerpt:

By Michael Kahn

LONDON (Reuters) - It was sensational stuff that riveted a nation: A mild-mannered American doctor poisons then dismembers his unfaithful wife, flees England in disguise with his mistress -- and is caught, tried and hanged.

The problem is that the poisoned corpse that sent Dr Hawley Crippen to the gallows in London in 1910 was not that of his wife, according to new evidence found by U.S. researchers.

A team led by John Trestrail, head of the regional poison centre in Grand Rapids, Michigan, took mitochondrial DNA -- genetic material passed on through the mother -- from a tissue sample from the corpse kept in a London museum.

They then compared it with samples from three of Cora Crippen's female descendants, found after a 7-year search.

"That body was not Cora Crippen's," said David Foran, a forensic biologist at Michigan State University. "We don't know who that body was or how it got there."

More:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20071016/sc_nm/science_crippen_dc

"Do you mind changing it? I don't think the Seattle Channel is jizz-friendly"--a producer with A Guide to Visitors

The producers of the Seattle-based story-telling salon, A Guide to Visitors, are among the smartest and funniest individuals I've worked with in the arts. So when they asked me to resurrect a story I'd told onstage last year at the Rendezvous, only this time for the Seattle Channel, I said, "Yea!" even though I was still living out of boxes and had scant few clean shirts.

The show has aired a few times (Channel 21, if you're local) and it's archived online now:

http://www.seattlechannel.org/AGuideToVisitors/

Or if you are jizz-friendly, you can read the original version I wrote for the Black Table three years ago:

http://blacktable.com/waxing041111.htm

Yes, basically:

I had coffee with a new friend this morning and as we were leaving Top Pot, I noticed she was carrying a Believer tote.

"I've written for The Believer," I said.

She replied, "Yeah, I subscribed awhile ago and they sent this bag, but not the actual magazine. I hear they're like that."

"The inside-the-Beltway problem is a type of tunnel vision and a sense of narrow possibilities. It's also a fear of ..."

"...not being Serious with a capital S...In other words, it's much harder to damage your career by consistently supporting war and cruelty than by consistently supporting peace and love. The default position is 'bombs away.' The problem with the outside-the-Beltway mentality is an ignorance of what the actual human pressures and incentives are inside the Beltway, why politicians and pundits behave the way they do, and why that is not necessarily entirely attributable to their moral depravity."

Radar has a new interview with one of my very favorite writers, the ceaselessly compelling Hendrik Hertzberg:

http://radaronline.com/features/2007/10/hendrik_hertzberg_the_new_yorker_charles_kaiser_1.php

And to everyone who has a ball sack:

This appears self-evident, but in case it's not:

Your testes and/or penis will not become disabled if you apologize without someone first drawing you a schematic illustrating why, perchance, an apology might be in order.

[The vaginal cabal does fucked up stuff, too. So not the point right now.]

I'm doing outdoors stuff! (Sort of):

Very much looking forward to ReAct's staged reading of one of my favorite plays, the climbing-based drama, K2, tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. at Elliot Bay Book Company.

Details:

http://www.elliottbaybook.com/events/sep07/react1.jsp

I was born at 10:47 p.m.:

"I came into the world at ten o'clock at night, and I've often thought that was the reason I turned into such a nocturnal creature. When the sun sets, honey, I feel more, oh, alert. More alive. By midnight, I feel fantastic. Even when I was a little girl, my father would shake his head and say, 'Let's just hope you get a job where you work nights.' Little did he know what was in store for me. It takes talent to live at night."--Ava Gardner, from Ava: My Story

Disconcerting:

When you're reading Heather Lewis' Notice--in many ways is a direct descendant of The Story of O in that it induces arousal and nausea in equal measure--and you can't get Jonathan Coulton's "Code Monkey" out of your head.

We're turning in early tonight.

Dear news directors:

I understand that news is a business and that you report to someone who eventually has to report to shareholders, but have you considered the possibility that a significant portion of the viewing public does not give a shit about O.J. Simpson's "latest mess"?

Quandary:

When you groove on almost everything about someone but must contend with the fact he does not like Bob Dylan.

Hey, guy sitting next to me at Top Pot:

While I'm known for them almost as much as anything, it'd be a bit more genteel if you stared less obviously.

Thanks so much,
L

Probably because, thus far, I have neither Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon nor George W. Bush on speed dial:

If you live in Seattle and yearn to be inside even though it's 80 degrees and startlingly beautiful out, come by the Rendezvous tonight at 7 pm for the latest installment of the awesomely awesome A Guide to Visitors storytelling series. It's being filmed for the Seattle Channel and will be televised subsequently and then archived online. So if I curse accidentally, which, as most of you know, I do frequently but on purpose, I will get bleeped and it will be preserved from now until the apocalypse.

Though if Bono can get away with it, why can't I?

More on the Seattle Channel:

http://www.seattlechannel.org/

But that's the beauty of this neighborhood:

There's been a dog barking outside my bedroom window for the last five minutes.

And a guy has been barking right back.

Today has been one of those days where...

...individuals who I thought could hold their shit together have, in fact, been unable to hold their shit together.

So it is with a heart full of gratitude that I thank the barrista who gave me the pink vanilla iced cake donut for free an hour ago.

Carnage has been averted.

Discuss:

I had a dream last night wherein Patton Oswalt and I were eating turkey hoagies.

[Sidenote: Kitchen unpacked and cleaned. Woo hoo!]

Dear "Family Values" Closet Cases:

If you could come out at the same so that all of us might get on with things, that would be swell.

Signed,

Everybody Else

Excerpt:

"When the police interviewed him later, the senator said that 'he has a wide stance when going to the bathroom' and that was why his foot may have touched the officer's, the report said."

More:

http://www.cnn.com/2007/POLITICS/08/28/craig.arrest/index.html

In a much more serious vein:

Our family in Greece is deeply rattled, but unscathed.

Thanks, all, who have asked as to their well-being.

More:

http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/europe/08/27/greece.fires.ap/index.html

Notes from the move:

The new place is completely painted.

Everything in the bathroom is unpacked, the counters cleaned and the tub scrubbed.

I've put deck chairs on the balcony, so I can overlook the Space Needle and partake in outdoor mochas.

____ is pretty fucking great at ____.

Shelf paper has made me its bitch.

I've replaced the short piece I wrote here last night...

...with the slightly expanded version I wrote for The Nervous Breakdown:

http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/litsa_dremousis/2007/08/words-i-never-t.html

Okay. Back to packing.

Garage sale!

I've placed ads in all the appropriate venues, but if you want to buy some of my stuff and/or bring me a mocha, feel free to stop by the garage sale I'm having at Mom and Dad's today (Saturday) from 9 a.m. until 3 p.m. (If you know me and you live in town, you know where the folks are located. If you don't remember, call me on my cell.) I'm selling tons of clothes, books, jewelry, collectible mags (Madonna, Nirvana, et al), my dining room table and chairs, desk, bureaus, vinyl, and enough indie rock promo CDs to make the emotards cream their skinny jeans.

Fuck, I've got to get some sleep.

He's shy at first, but you can coax him out of his shell with licorice whips and gumdrops:

JR takes an ax to rock show encores in a new interview on NPR:

http://weekendamerica.publicradio.org/programs/2007/08/11/death_to_the_encore.html

Dear Everyone Who Knows Me:

A few of you already know this, but the oft-discussed move occurs in three and a half weeks. I bought a place on the northwest part of Capitol Hill and to paraphrase the line from A Hard Day's Night, I really dig it and all the other pimply hyperbole.

I'm beat but wonderfully happy.

More very soon,
Litsa

My newest piece for Esquire, "How About a Little Hope?", is here today:

Opinion

How About a Little Hope?

Yes, yes, we know. The world is polluted, Iraq is an utter mess, NBA referees are crooked... Here are 20 quotes from scientists, actors, and convenience store employees who aren't so hopeless.

By Litsa Dremousis (more from this author)

7/30/2007, 8:03 AM

Jump to story

Photo illustration by Eric Gillin, images via iStockPhoto

We are all going to die. But while this is an unfortunate byproduct of still being alive, this fact has taken on a pervasive sense of doom over the last few years. It's not that we're going to die, it's that it's going to happen right now and in an incredibly painful way. Every day it's something new: Bird flu, global warming, terrorism, gun-toting school kids, crazy old Russians stockpiling newer nukes, poisonous Chinese toothpaste...

The list goes on and on. So why do most of us resist the urge to suck down a Vicodin Stoli and call it a day? The reasons are as elusive as they are myriad. American philosopher William James once asked, “Why should we think upon things that are lovely? Because thinking determines life. It is a common habit to blame life upon the environment. Environment modifies life but does not govern life. The soul is stronger than its surroundings.”

Perhaps we're compelled to live not merely because it is a biological imperative, but because we believe things will get better. Maybe hope -- like those cravings for the sex and red meat that will eventually kill us -- is hard-wired into our DNA. Or maybe, more so than anything, hopelessness is the ideological equivalent of legwarmers or the Segway: ostensibly modern, ultimately useless.

Since we're glass half-full people, we asked 20 subjects, What gives you hope? This is what they had to say:

• Patton Oswalt, actor, Ratatouille
• James Cartwright, commander, Navy SEALS
• Yellow Hawk, homeless man
• Sean Carman, attorney, Department of Justice
• Amy Sedaris, writer; actress, Shrek the Third
• Dr. Sylvia Lucas, neurologist and multiple sclerosis researcher
• Brad Listi, novelist, Attention.Deficit.Disorder
• John Roderick, guitarist, The Long Winters
• Ron Jeremy, porn star, All I Want for Christmas Is a Gangbang
• Will Napier, seven-year-old
• Kate Izquierdo, music critic, San Francisco Bay Guardian
• Randal Gage, television news executive, KOCO Channel 5
• Mistress Matisse, professional dominatrix
• Mary Rouvelas, attorney, American Cancer Society
• Kathleen Bresnahan, night-shift hostess, Denny's
• John Vanderslice, singer/songwriter, Emerald City, Pixel Revolt
• George Langley, actor, Enemy of the People
• Arthur Bradford, author; director, Dogwalker, How's Your News?
• Barfly, singer, Saturday Knights
• Sam Arefi, clerk, Union 76 gas station and food mart

"What gives me hope is the dreadful tread of history. Knowing how much closer we’ve been to the edge of destruction, and managed to pull back and save ourselves, means we’re probably going to do okay. I mean, we bounced back from the Black Plague, and the people who did it still believed in goblins. We’ve got iPods and Pinkberry now. We’re bulletproof."
-- Patton Oswalt, actor, Ratatouille

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“Nothing ‘gives’ me hope, but I have it. I hope that each of my two sons will grow up to be a better man than I am. Sure, there are other things I hope for but in the grand scheme, they aren't that important. Hope is what one can find within oneself in order to make sense of things and make it all worthwhile. A struggle, no doubt. But if you need someone or something else to give you hope, then you don’t really have it. You just have an excuse.”
-- James Cartwright, commander, Navy SEALS

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"The National Rifle Association gives me hope. Peace comes out of the barrel of a gun and whoever has the most bullets wins."
-- Yellow Hawk, homeless man

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“When someone is a spectacular failure on every level, it crushes my spirit. When the most powerful man in the world is an arrogant bully who is actually proud of his ignorance, why even get out of bed? But when great people make a small mistake, when they inadvertently reveal their humanity through some small blunder, that gives me hope. I already loved Hugh Grant, but when he was caught getting a $50 b.j. from a sidewalk hooker, he instantly became my favorite actor.”
-- Sean Carman, attorney, Department of Justice

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“What keeps me going? The feeling I got back in elementary school when Miss Parker had us plant seeds in the bottom of our Dixie cups and then days later we saw grass. That's hope in a nutshell.”
-- Amy Sedaris, writer; actress, Shrek the Third

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“What keeps me working these ridiculous hours is the hope that I can make a difference in peoples' lives when they have no hope. Medicine is not about curing disease. But it’s about providing hope, support, and relief while sickness resolves or comfort, compassion and ease if it cannot.”
-- Dr. Sylvia Lucas, neurologist and multiple sclerosis researcher

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“Hope is one of those wonderful lies that we tell ourselves: things will be better tomorrow. The truth is that things might not be better tomorrow. We might get hit by a bus tomorrow. Or an asteroid. Or a bullet train. And if that winds up happening, most of us are hoping for some sort of heavenly afterlife in the Great Beyond. And the interesting thing about this heavenly afterlife is that most of us imagine it as an eternal family reunion in the clouds, even though most of us don’t really like family reunions, and most of us don’t like clouds. And even if we do like family reunions, and we do like clouds, most of us wouldn’t want to be at a cloudy family reunion for eternity. Me personally? My sense of ultimate hope is more polytheistic in nature. I’m hoping for the reunion, certainly, and I’m hoping for the clouds. But I’m also hoping for some sunshine. And a beach. And eighty virgins. And Jesus’ cell phone number. And I’m hoping to be reincarnated as a rock star who also happens to be the fastest man alive. Because I believe it’s so important to stay positive.”
-- Brad Listi, novelist, Attention.Deficit.Disorder

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“The Constitution of the United States. It's still the best document of its kind, and written into it are exactly the kind of protections that ensure that no person or group of persons, no matter how diabolical or insane, can hijack the country for much longer than a decade”
-- John Roderick, guitarist, The Long Winters

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“What gives me hope is that I’ll have good heath. My dad is eighty-nine, quick-witted, healthy as an ox, and his mom lived to be in her mid-nineties. I have a pet tortoise named Cherry and her lifespan is one hundred and sixty. So God or Mother Nature wants us to live that long to keep tortoises company.”
-- Ron Jeremy, porn star, All I Want for Christmas Is a Gangbang

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“I hope to see penguins.”
-- Will Napier, seven-year-old

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“City life is a clash of concrete, temper and finance that does little to assuage my darkest social inclinations. But where there is struggle, there is regeneration. I live in hope, then, because despair precludes participating in the war against those who are complacent, those who are cruel, and those who wear deck shoes to the office.”
-- Kate Izquierdo, music critic, San Francisco Bay Guardian

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“The surprises keep things interesting. You can't predict how a sunset will flare over the horizon, how swimming in the sea under a warm blue sky will feel.”
-- Randal Gage, television news executive, KOCO Channel 5

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"Phrases like 'having hope' and 'what keep me going' to me seem of imply that one is under some sort of ongoing duress. What keeps me going is that I'm happy and I like my life. I don't think of it as having hope, I'm just...happy."
-- Mistress Matisse, professional dominatrix

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“I have hope because despite the rapes and murders, there are outpourings of love and sympathy afterwards. Even better, there are the everyday moments, like when I saw two men running with a handkerchief held between them. I found out later they were training for a marathon. One was blind, and the other was leading the way.”
-- Mary Rouvelas, attorney, American Cancer Society

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"I'm excited to go to college. That's my next big adventure. I'm modeling with Seattle Models Guild. I'm going to see where it goes. If college doesn't work out, I'll have modeling as a fallback."
-- Kathleen Bresnahan, night-shift hostess, Denny's

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“Caffeine gives me hope. Sometimes, when I brew my wicked strong Irish black tea just perfect, about halfway through the mug I feel a clear and overwhelming feeling of optimism. It didn't surprise me when a study a few years ago implied that suicide was much less likely among coffee and tea drinkers.”
-- John Vanderslice, singer/songwriter, Emerald City, Pixel Revolt

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“Most recently, what has given me hope comes from Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything where he makes the following observation about the human species: ‘For complex organisms, the average lifespan of a species is only about four million years -- roughly where we are now.’ Maybe our selfish little reign of terror is nearly at its end. Other than that, The Family Circus pretty much gets me out of bed everyday. ‘What are girl chipmunks called? CHICKmunks!’ Priceless.”
-- George Langley, actor, Enemy of the People

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“As much as we talk about how everything's going to shit, it really isn't. Young people come along and take a look at things and will surprise us with new ideas. And I recently read Ishmael Beal's book A Long Way Gone. Even though it's filled with horrors and hopeless situations, at least there's this one guy who made it out and wrote this great book. When someone can produce something like that from the madness of his life, it gives me hope.”
-- Arthur Bradford, author; director, Dogwalker, How’s Your News?

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“I actually have a tattoo on my left forearm of a cocktail bomb wrapped in a banner with the word ‘hope’ in it. Trying to articulate what that tattoo means usually just makes me sound nuts so I always leave it open to interpretation. What keeps me going is a desperate fear I might miss out on something amazing if I don't keep on truckin'. I mean, the Red Sox won a World Series. What's next? ‘Ghost riding the whip’ in the Olympics? Free wi-fi in Bakersfield? Oh yeah, and 2012. I want to see if the shit really hits the fan when the Mayan calendar expires in 2012. ”
-- Barfly, singer, Saturday Knights

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"You know, after what my dad went through, what I do is not that hard. He escaped from Iran during the war with Iraq. He came here with, literally, twenty bucks in his pocket and now he owns a bunch of businesses. So I give myself hope. I wake up each day and say 'I'm happy.'"
-- Sam Arefi, clerk, Union 76 gas station and food mart

Link:

http://www.esquire.com/the-side/opinion/hope071907

Today we salute my cherished friend, Mr. Eric Spitznagel...

...who is not afraid to fly the dork flag very, very high regarding the (sure-to-be-awesome) Simpsons movie:

http://vonnegutsasshole.blogspot.com/2007/07/useless-and-far-too-personal-simpsons.html

I'm not judging. I will be the exact same way when the Sex and the City film is released. (That's right. I said it.)