I am the finest turnip in all the land; some men call me arugula; I am Czar of all Mangos.

Unsurprising revelation #38 in this blog-I'm political. Not necessarily ideological, but I enjoy the political process both as entertainment (Molly Ivins called politics the best form of free entertainment ever invented) and a bit like a miner watches his canary. There are the occasional practical benefits.

At the same time, after years of paying attention, taking an interest, tuning in, holding forth, and otherwise immuring myself in this bullshit-I've find myself angry. I don't feel good about that, honestly. I think that even as a secular humanist left-wing ersatz democrat, I respect the rights of the right wing. I don't need to think my particular views are the correct ones, just mine. But there's a difference between disagreeing with someone else, and being disgusted with the sheer lack of imagination at the top. Something tells me these people aren't born...they're decanted.

Seriously-I watched the democratic debate and the closest we got to unusual were the two guys who we know aren't going to win. And last night, on 60 minutes (I got very little time for 60 minutes-between all that bloviating and Andy Rooney, I usually just change the channel. Lord please take Andy Rooney soon! Who am I kidding, Christ and the Devil'd both give him back.) George Tenet spent almost 40 of that precious 60 rationalizing his performance at the CIA.

"Are these people gonna have a nuclear capability? This confers superpower status on a networked organization that is not a state. Is it gonna happen?"(In reference to Al-Qaeda getting the bomb)

Anyone who could say the above with a straight face and believe...honest-to-god believe that words like "capability" or, god help me "superpower status" are even applicable in this particular situation...words fail me, they really do. I'm tired of old, rich, fat white guys running everything. I call for a moratorium-100 years of the poor, the female, and the off-white in charge. I'd relish the change of pace, if nothing else.

The Hippy High Holidays

I'm a big fan of WinCo, not just for the late hours and rock-bottom prices. Every trip to WinCo is a magical adventure to a strange land that's very well lit and devoid of joy. Late nights are the best, I think-no jockeying in the aisles, no children-and the folks with whom you share the store are always characters. Even the staff's all scraggly and angry and weird.

Brunch today (thanks again to everyone who came) Monte Cristos and a Dutch Baby. Cleaned my kitchen, blew off my gardening. Roses coming along, Rhododendron too. My rhubarb's struggling to breed. I know how he feels.

NOVA

A woman collapsed in one of our (Capella's) bathrooms today. Working next to the bathrooms as we do (I work in the produce department, otherwise known as "those people who work over by the bathrooms"), I noticed that we were having a sudden backup at the restrooms, and thought that one of the locks had malfunctioned-it wouldn't be the first time. So after knocking on the door and getting no response, I called for a manager. When they opened the door, she'd collapsed against it and they immediately called 911. The next 10 minutes were a blur of activity, as we blocked the thoroughfare and cleared the way for the paramedics. When they pulled her out and laid her on the floor, she was pale and had blood running from her mouth. We had two new people training today-they took it kinda hard. I took it kind of hard. It's not what you expect to deal with, not just working with fruits and vegetables all day.

I've been coming to something, working my way to something lately. Let's say it's complicated, and leave it at that, but I want to do something new. For years now, I've been spending two hours a week telling my stories, hearing the stories of other men, and talking about them. I"m good at it, both ways, and I think I want to do it regular. It's a hard thing to say-a treacherous thing, inside. I've been wary of it, working my way around it in my head, and I think I'm ready for it. But I'm scared, scared of myself. All I can have are the right reasons, I just have to figure out what they are.

Doing the dishes

So I'm doing the dishes, thinking about this-this thing, this artifact. This extension of my ego. This was initially, originally, ostensibly about a trip I was taking, but it's become something more than that. I held off on blogging for a long time, unable to see it as anything other than...masturbatory, let's say. But after doing it for a while, I find myself more and more able to see it as an extension of my regular life, the ways I communicate w/ y'all anyway.

(I don't care. I like "y'all". It's a handy pronoun. It also offers me the opportunity to use "y'all's", which has two different apostrophes in it. That's great.)

I'm very self-involved, in the sense that I spend a lot of time in my own head, thinking about myself. Lots of downsides to that, I realize, but I also mean "self-involved" in the sense of being introspective, trying to have a constant sense of self. How I interact with other people, what I want, what I'm trying to accomplish. Those of you who know me well might have some idea what I'm talking about.

I also like to tell stories. It's something that I've cultivated, something that's central part of my identity. A great deal of my perspective centers on the stories that people tell themselves. The story I tell myself. And it's that story I want to share, want to be able to communicate-both because it's a part of my own accountability, and because maybe if I talk to myself(and you) this way, it brings me closer to the truth of things, rather than the story. I don't know, but I've got nothing to lose.

April is the cruellest month

breeding lilacs out of the dead land. A woman asked my permission to take lilacs today, from the yard adjacent to Capella. They weren't our (Capella's) lilacs, and even if they were, who would be so cruel as to say no to that, even in April.

My home is clean, my head too, empty of the terrible notions that had plagued it for the last month or so. April may be cruel, but March is harrowing, I think. Months named for war gods can be nought but bad juju. Like a dead hummingbird.

Today was easter (thanks, jesus), and Sunday-thus, brunch. Thanks to all the people who showed up-I had a wonderful time. Thanks to to Michael and Melissa who brought along their delightful family tradition-we painted beer bottles like easter eggs and hid them around the house/yard. I see this as being very civilized. Cleaned the house saturday, so thanks too to dave, for his part in taking the mess out behind the shed, giving it one last cigarette, and putting a bullet to it. It's funny how much nicer it is to come home to somewhere that's not riddled w/ dirty laundry and moldy food.

So...while tired, worn out, and more than a little sore behind exertion/substances, I am happy to have had so many fine people in my home today. All my love, and more when I'm feeling like it.

Christ...there are three cats and a rat in my apartment

I think that counts as a third person-I'm going to have to start charging them rent.

Tourist in my own town.

Went to lance/steen's BBQ last night, rode there. It's a beautiful ride, the river and the little neighborhoods in downtown springfield. And I had a wonderful time, until I was ready to leave, and everyone thought I was crazy to bike home in the night. It's cold, they said. Of course it's cold, but the moon was full, and would be shining on the river like you wouldn't believe. And really, I don't get cold.

I hadn't made that ride in a while, and I'm glad I did-the bike paths are incredibly beautiful at night. It's quiet and empty, and when the moon is full it's like a wan blue day. The clouds were incredible, the river was high, and I saw people fucking in the crossroads at the knickerbocker bike bridge. I'm happy to live somewhere where something as simple as riding my bike at night can be a remarkable, strange experience. Next full moon-anyone else up for it?