No More Disease Cream

This California State victory makes a Louisiana Jones very happy.

As my friend put it, "awww, no more disease cream?"

(YAY!!!)

Future Presidential Hopeful

(a letter to my daughter)

My darling RX,

Today I saw President Obama for a few split seconds.

He was in town for fundraising. I was at lunch with my friend, BS, and returning to my office when I remembered I needed to go to CVS for something crucial. When I get there, many people are gathered on the corners around California and Battery, and beyond. There are many cops and blockades and the vibe in the air is anticipatory. I knew he was somewhere near today, so I found a good spot and stood and waited with everyone for a good 20 minutes. Then, I heard someone say, "He's gonna be another 45 minutes." Since I was unprepared for a wait, and was just returning from an hour off from work already, I gave up and went into CVS. That's when I heard someone inside the store, yell, THERE HE IS! I spun around and saw many black cars with dark windows rolling past the giant picture windows. I expected he was hidden in one, then I saw a hand! I saw HIS HAND waving to the crowds. It was an enthusiastic hand. It had long, slim fingers and right behind it, A SMILE! I could see his beautiful, white teeth beaming out from a smile deep in the darkness of the car. The crowd erupted and clapped. It was SO EXCITING!! I was THRILLED!

Two thoughts flooded my brain: 1. should I be excited? I don't know what Obama's up to these days. 2. I love that man. I love our President. I have never felt that in my life for a President.

So, maybe you ask yourself as I did, why and how could I love a President whose White House work I have maintained ignorance about. I'll tell you. It's in the way he speaks. He doesn't get flustered or say stupid shit. He's smart. He's even. He has an honest smile—which I saw close up today—and he's honest about his past. Yes, he has smoked pot. Yes, he inhaled, "that's the point, isn't it?” I love that he's black and he's leading a world owned by WHITE MEN. That to me is the greatest thing. As a woman—the other marginalized "race" in this country—I appreciate that so very much. And he supports gay rights. (Ok, gays may be even more marginalized than women and black people in the US.) I love that he sounds compassionate and like he’s good to people who do good.

When he won the Presidency, I cried.

RX, I hope you don't have to scramble to love the President when you're an adult. I hope you can love him or HER for everything that they do, not just for their color and support of gay rights—which shouldn’t be a question anyway—or just because they sound smart and rational and like they CARE; something else that shouldn’t be so rare. I hope you can love our President because they are doing the right thing and changing the world and being compassionate and good to people who have done good—and you KNOW it. I hope that’s your world. I love you.

—your mom.

Social Networking is Stupid, Part X

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There's a commercial running now that got my attention and gave me pause last night. That almost never happens. My attention span for commercials is zero. Whenever anyone says, “Hey, have you seen that commer...” I’m like, NO.

But Bing got me and the flow of thoughts that came out of my head is disturbing.

The commercial tells the story of how Bing works for you to make your life awesome. It lets you announce you're going on a trip, for instance, and then collect all the awesome suggestions all your “friends” have about the place you’re visiting, and then lets you go to all the awesome places that everyone recommends complete with images, and longitude and latitude, and hidden markers, and special things to ask for of the tall waiter with a limp in that restaurant on the corner.

And then I froze. Bing does not make your life awesome. It sucks the fun right out of everything.

What do you miss when everything is planned out and guaranteed to be awesome? What if you never learn how to explore or take chances on possible bad plans, make bad decisions that you then learn from, or experience shocking surprises?

Let’s call it what it is: “pre-screened fun”, and it’s a fucking shame.

Pre-screened fun destroys adventure. And even more insidious, you might actually think you’re being adventurous anyway. But you’ll be on somebody else’s adventure and it’s been cleared for takeoff according to the general population’s needs and wants. And that’s not the same thing.

What if this is the only way Guy and I ever traveled. What would we have missed out on?!

Excuse me a moment, I’m horrified.

Guy and I would have probably gone to the official Git-Git Falls in Bali, and not stumbled upon a small section of it run by a one-eyed guy and his frat-boy friend just trying to make a buck. That was interesting. We didn’t know if we could trust them any step of the way and this made the experience thrilling and rich. In the end we learned not to judge frat-boys and one-eyed people as scam artists—that Bali is different—and we got a private Falls tour. WOULND’T HAVE HAPPENED WITH BING.

And when we were on the Big Island of Hawaii and were four-wheeling down endless dirt roads looking for any possible renegade camping spot, careening towards a classic Hawaiian sunset, we would have known that off-road camping isn’t advised in Hawaii for very good reason (and so probably wouldn’t have gone). And we would have known that we would come upon the massive burial site of King Kamamamahamahama all of sudden on said dirt road. But we didn't, and it was such a surprise! WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED WITH BING.

Or what about when we were in Bangkok and decided we wanted to see Patpong at 10pm one night during the King’s Birthday Weekend. We wouldn’t have gone outside to talk to the tuk-tuk driver to find out that Patpong closes early on that weekend, and we wouldn’t have been directed by him to a crazy illegal prostitute bar and then further directed to an even crazier illegal disco on an epic adventure that lasted all night long! No, we would have known that Patpong was closed and probably would have rested up in our room for the Next Day’s Big Plans of all the awesome things people told us to do. We would have missed out on so much...it's hard to imagine how it  WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED WITH BING.

This loss of self is so sad, and just one indicator of the social networking epidemic. It spreads with such stealth, I'm afraid someday I'll forget what it's like to live in a regular world, not a networked one. I'm the least in danger of that than anyone I know, and it’s still scary. 

This post is about knowing too much and the detriment to creativity and invention that is.  It's also about what happens when everyone does your work for you. Laziness ensues and you don't even know it's happening. 

It's less about stupid social networking and more about that.

Ween-er

Ween have broken up,

And you know it’s for good because it’s for health reasons. Like, “I party way too hard in this band and I’m going to die if I don’t stop.” People who think there will be a reunion, have no idea how fucked up addiction is, much less through the eyes of a newly sober person. So, yeah, be broken-hearted. One of your top 5 favorite bands of the last 20 years is over.

WEEN! Goddammit, you’re the funniest fucking shit ever!! No replacement for you, not at all.

 and

 WAY TO GO, GENER. 

And, that’s all I can really say. This article says more and says it really well.

 fuck.

Meeting Augusten Again

When authors are like rock stars, you'll find me in line.

Even if it's in San Francisco where fierce winds blow while I have to wait outside for two hours to get a glimpse of him. Even if I have to walk, take a ferry and then a car to get there. Even though I've met him before.

When an author is like a rock star, the same thing happens.

A journey to arrive. A purchase I can't afford. A long wait on my feet that hurts my back. Then another long wait. Then a handshake and a stumbling of words over my tongue and then an autograph and then done. Abruptly. That's how it works with rock stars and that's how it works here.

I'll see you tonight, Augusten Burroughs, and I won't be the freaked-out tongue-tied 30-something I was when I saw you last. This time I'll get the words out. I'll smile and laugh because you are just like me and I am just like you.

Except you're famous and awesome.

The last 15 minutes of work on a Friday

I feel a bit lightheaded, maybe you should drive. Huge bats, all screeching...diving at the car...and a voice was screaming, Holy Jesus what are these goddamn animals...

I'm at work. It's Friday, but that doesn't matter because most days here are a ridiculous waste of time. Most work is, this excludes "being creative" which almost never happens at work. Especially in creative jobs. "Creative job" is a nice way of saying "everybody's bitch with skillz".

I pour a glass of red wine in a mug that reads “ I LOVE CAKE.” It’s for some show that probably doesn’t exist anymore, some reality show about a guy who makes cakes. Who cares. To me, it says I LOVE THAT BAND, CAKE. And, also, I AM NOW DRINKING THE CALORIC EQUIVALENT OF CAKE AND I LOVE IT.

This page I’m typing upon is supposedly some searchable SEO content about...

Look, I already got bored thinking about my job.

I tune back in to the Hunter Thompson documentary playing on youtube in some background window. Hunter’s voice calms me, I know that if I tune out, I’m not going to suddenly return to consciousness with bullshit battering my brain. It will still be Hunter, still making sense. This is very calming.

He says: it’s in the interest of the greater good if we just smoke a joint and calm down. My life will be easier and yours too if I smoke a joint.

I am grateful that Sober Guy recognizes this fact about me.

Ten more minutes...

Serenity NOW

What’s going on with people? They’re so absurd and not the funny kind. 

Like the fighter Miguel Torres. His personal website is one big nonsensical mishmash of whatever: watch videos of Miguel making tacos on Sunday nights, watch him cut hair, teach kids how to warm up, go to the chiropractor, and illustrate the best attacks from the side. Don’t forget he’s a jokester who posted this to twitter: "If a rape van was called a surprise van, more women wouldn’t mind going for rides in them. Everyone likes surprises."

Know what else is really stupid? Thomas Kinkade, the painter and evangelical Christian who owned a factory that churned out his paintings “of light”. He had some recent troubles—other than dying—that included behaving inappropriately with women and urinating on a Winnie the Pooh figure at the Disneyland Hotel.

Yeah, you heard that right.

God grant me the serenity to ignore the Miguel Torreses and Thomas Kinkades of the world. The courage to be oblivious to current events and the wisdom to know which shoe goes on which foot.

A cure for racism

I got a prescription of Inderal–non-brand name propranolol–for anxiety. It's a beta blocker commonly prescribed for such psychiatric benefits.


And now it cures racism!


(all this time I had no idea what was making me hate white people less).

Olympics London 2012 logo eats shit

How do things like this happen?

The company in charge of marketing the Olympics in London chose this logo to represent the momentous occasion and got paid £400,000 for it.

...and this lump of embryonic cells as the mascot. 

Which all adds up to this.

What color is Acceptable?