Tomorrow is Election Day and if you’re anything like me – and isn’t being like me every heart’s desire? – you can’t wait until the election’s fucking over. I’m sick of unbridled bad behavior. I can’t wait until votes are counted and verified. I want the mainstream media, which kisses the asses of maniacs and pooh-poohs the rational, to calm the fuck down. So I can. The campaign speeches, relevations of felonious acts and racist, sexist, homophobic chitterchatter is harshing my glamorous mellow. How am I supposed to be adorable with steam coming out of my fabulously adorned ears?

Section 7. All bills for raising revenue shall originate in the House of Representatives; but the Senate may propose or concur with amendments as on other Bills.

Every order, resolution, or vote to which the concurrence of the Senate and House of Representatives may be necessary (except on a question of adjournment) shall be presented to the President of the United States; and before the same shall take effect, shall be approved by him, or being disapproved by him, shall be repassed by two thirds of the Senate and House of Representatives, according to the rules and limitations prescribed in the case of a bill.

Wednesday morning, we’re going to wake up in America, with the same friends, enemies and sweetener packets emptying grittily into suit pockets. I don’t expect miracles like the most corrupt Congress in history finishing its spin cycle steam-clean and lemon-fresh, but maybe we could blow-dart the rampaging cutthroats engaging in zero-sum legislating and toxic commentary. Ladies, gentlemen and Merry Maids, we’ve got real problems and killing each other won’t fix them. After we’ve weeded out Black Hats and tossed ’em into the hooskow, the rest of us have to grab up mops and start scrubbing like we mean it. You know why? Because when it comes down to it differences of opinion are good, and threatening to kill people who are different from you is a hate crime.

We have two metaphorical problems so far. One is genuine criminals are running our government into bankruptcy and killing people for no reason – at least none I can discern. The other is that the genuine criminals have loudmouthed lookouts on every corner making such a mess it’s hard to remember how nice a place this was before all the spitting. Tomorrow’s election won’t appoint a new sheriff but even if we get a vigorous streetcleaner, possibly with indoor/outdoor stinky bleach, we still have a third problem.

The mess will take decades to clean up, and some of it won’t scrub off. It will never come off if we pretend it’s not there, but denial won’t stop our creditors from calling in their markers, and it won’t prevent the dead from rising against us. There is a whole lot of bad economic news coming down the pike – really, really bad news. We are going to have to sacrifice for years to pay off our current spending problem no matter who’s in charge, and the voters have to realize nobody can promise anything different and keep that promise. So suck it up, already. Grab a sponge.

We have a lot of filthy, disgusting, slimy problems. We have a denial problem, a selfishness problem, a fuck-you-I’ve-got-mine problem, a screw-the-poor problem, a lying-liar problem, a war-for-hubris problem, a rewriting-the-Constitution problem, a torture problem, a no-bid-contract problem, a union-busting problem, a bankruptcy-law-favors-the-credit-card-companies problem, an empty-Treasury problem, a ruthlessness-against-defenseless-enemies problem, a mounting-casualty-count problem, a drowned-NOLA problem, a secret-appropriations problem, a no-fly-list problem, a Unitary-Executive problem, a Vichy-opposition problem, a borrowing-from-China problem, a domestic-surveillance problem, a consolidation-of-Church-and-State problem, an Our-Children-Left-Behind problem, a no-privacy-rights problem, a Jack-Abramoff problem, an Abu-Ghraib problem, a Terry-Schaivo problem, an unverified voting problem, a dismantling-the-middle-class problem, a falsifying-evidence problem, a race-baiting problem, a phony-immigration problem, an outing-a-CIA-agent problem, a global-warming problem, a inciting-to-endless-panic problem, a gutting-Social-Security problem, a pitting brother-against-brother problem, an anti-gay marriage problem, a can’t-fucking-trust-Congressmen-to-obey-the-laws-they-wrote problem, a stealing-medicine-from-everyone’s-Grandparents problem, a disavowing-science problem, a selling-off-the-National-Parks problem, a no-one-could-have-foreseen-fill-in-the-blank problem, a Darth-Cheney problem, a sell-off-the-ports problem, a new-and-mind-blowing-problem-every-day problem. Problems-I-can’t-remember problems. We’ve got problems. We’ve got 600,000,000 hands, if have two each, which some of us don’t anymore, and some of us never did. There is a whole lot of filth to muck out.

Fractured metaphors aside – because every heart’s desire is that quit tossing ’em crookedly into the air like juggled eggs – the only way to a shining future is together, through each other. I don’t believe for a minute you won’t swing that broom handle like a crowbar, but it won’t help. I’m not saying you should turn the other cheek while your opponent is still hauling off and hitting you, because some opponents will do anything to win, and don’t take your eye off him. I’m not saying anyone should expect cooperation from every quarter. That will never come. But please think about trying.

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, progressive, juggling.

I can’t bear the thought you imagine I’ve abandoned you but I’ve got my hands full at the moment. Tonight, I’ll make time to be with you, you, you. In the meantime, accept Section 6. as a token of my love.

The Senators and Representatives shall receive a compensation for their services, to be ascertained by law, and paid out of the treasury of the United States. They shall in all cases, except treason, felony and breach of the peace, be privileged from arrest during their attendance at the session of their respective Houses, and in going to and returning from the same; and for any speech or debate in either House, they shall not be questioned in any other place.

No Senator or Representative shall, during the time for which he was elected, be appointed to any civil office under the authority of the United States, which shall have been created, or the emoluments whereof shall have been increased during such time: and no person holding any office under the United States, shall be a member of either House during his continuance in office.

Put on your fluffiest socks and throw in the JiffyPop, darling. You know just how I like it.

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush.

First thing this morning, the newsy conundrum that preceeds the Today Show offered one of my favorite things: speechless presenters. I was sitting on my couch, counting how many fingers I was holding up and trying to remember my name – as I do every morning – when Rob and Darlene stuttered and I looked up.

Unlike the last time I was suddenly unsure whether or not I hallucinated livestock on the news, this time I can produce evidence. I can’t prove it, but I’m starting to wonder if my problems are really Chopper Dan’s, and maybe both of us need vacations. Coincidentally, Merriam-Webster’s word of the day is cowcatcher.

Section 4. The times, places and manner of holding elections for Senators and Representatives, shall be prescribed in each state by the legislature thereof; but the Congress may at any time by law make or alter such regulations, except as to the places of choosing Senators.

The Congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such meeting shall be on the first Monday in December, unless they shall by law appoint a different day.

That wasn’t actually the first thing that happened this morning. First-first thing, I was dreaming I’d missed my alarm and was late for work and the alarm wasn’t going off and I was too tired to get up and began to worry and I picked up my head to look at the clock and it was 5:15 and that’s way too early and I still thought I was late and then I was awake enough to scratch Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul and to know that my bedroom was fucking cold. The cat was clever enough to observe me turning on the heating pad for him. I hope he doesn’t burn down the house before I get home – unless he has to for, you know, Science!

Section 5. Each House shall be the judge of the elections, returns and qualifications of its own members, and a majority of each shall constitute a quorum to do business; but a smaller number may adjourn from day to day, and may be authorized to compel the attendance of absent members, in such manner, and under such penalties as each House may provide.

Neither House, during the session of Congress, shall, without the consent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any other place than that in which the two Houses shall be sitting.

I meant my house, not the House. In life, we have to accept that reality offers us few absolutes short of Death and bad hair days, and even the best whole wheat bread recipe will be subject to the rise or fall of humidity levels in uncaring temperate zones. After our parents’ breakup, Daria, Todd and I were for a couple of years commune kids. We spent a lot of time with the other commune kids, and when the commune broke up over issues of direction, responsibility and who forgot to pay the damn heating bill in the mammoth house, we kids were kind of lost for a while. In the bargain, Mom found Tom. Daria, Todd and I got his daughters Anya and Corinne as sisters. We have been thus since, which I suppose might have been 1974 or 1975. I don’t know. Who cares, right? But what do we call those other kids? Who are they to us, and where did they go? Do they miss us? At least some of them do. Etienne, a small stone skipping across the surface of my life, asks for a current picture, sparking a little crisis.

Maybe yesterday’s blog entry wasn’t especially clear on this topic: I’d rather re-grout my tub than have a camera pointed at me. With Silly Putty. What do I look like? How would I know? I look like stuff. I look like the person who rides by on a Segway and in your head you hear the Reverend Horton Heat play “Stop the Pigeon.” I look like what changes on the next go-round. I look like I beat Carol Burnett to the curtains. I mean, for all practical purposes I’m your invisible friend – right up until someone else makes eye contact. Let’s hope it’s a bartender.

I don’t know what Etienne expects. Daria insists she took this picture between stops on Corinne’s 1997 bachelorette pub crawl outside the bar I refer to as “the bar” and atop the vehicle referred to as “your truck, ma’am?” by the Turnpike Authority. It’s as close to what I look like in my mind as can be seen from the outside, but I don’t think it’d help Etienne pick me out of a lineup.

I mean, should he have to.

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, invisible friend, bull.

Some battles are not worth fighting. A few years ago, I gave up fighting my hair for Coif Supremacy, when I realized I could just as easily throw $100 a month out my window as move to a slightly better apartment and give it to my landlord. See, ultimately, I’m too selfish to fight anybody or anything for anything they don’t want to do freely, and if my hair won’t behave, I don’t have to tolerate its existential crisis. So now I tint my own hair and Rosanna cuts it every six-eight weeks, depending on how often I look in the mirror and find I look more like Yahoo Serious than “Yoohoo! Gina Lollobrigida!”

When I’m holding a drink, the resemblance is uncanny. To hers. Anyway, I had an appointment Saturday morning Rosanna called on account of weather and the flu. While I was grateful not to be reinfected after last month’s miserable pox on my house, I’m not pleased to remain shaggy.

A few weeks ago, a photographer I’ve known many years asked to photograph me and in a moment of complete idiocy, I agreed to pose. I know how this works. I modeled for artists for ages; my face becomes a medium for the artist and ceases to be itself, and I am not myself. I understand how distressing this is for academic feminists, and we can worry about those complicated issues another time. For the moment, we’ve got more than we can handle. We’re tangling with my rampaging vanity, for crissakes, and I don’t trust the photographer. Or this either, now that we mention it:

Section 3. The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each state, chosen by the legislature thereof, for six years; and each Senator shall have one vote.

Judgment in cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office of honor, trust or profit under the United States: but the party convicted shall nevertheless be liable and subject to indictment, trial, judgment and punishment, according to law.

Last night, I schemed and plotted my cosmetic itinerary leading up to Monday’s appointment with the photographer until a phone call changed my perspective rather sharply. Sharkey called to tell me another member of our tribe had passed away, though I would never say they’d lost battles with cancer. The cliche doesn’t feel like a fit. In June, we lost Freddy, who was also called Stinky Sonobuoni, and found ourselves at the only funeral I’ve ever attended where everyone told stories about leopard print underwear. The subsequent wake in the bar where we all met, drank and fell down a million times was cathartic and wonderful, and the last time I saw Lance Carter. At the wake, I was surprised to see Lance in a wheelchair. While I knew he’d been sick, I had no idea how sick. Our tribe is large enough and loose enough that while I saw Lance and his wife Lisa around for almost twenty years, they were really friends of my friends.

Lance and Lisa documented his illness extensively on Lance’s blog, which is both beautifully detailed and painfully honest, an amazing read. I can’t say enough about it – and I shouldn’t. It is everything.

Next week: another funeral. Then we will throw Lance a glorious, loving wake. While I’m contemplating my vanity and mortality, I should say that Lance was one of those lovely souls who always had a smile on his face. He was vivacious and enjoyed a good laugh. So laugh because life is really, really short, but don’t try this at home.

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, chicken.

Siobhan sent me a joke.

The famous Olympic skier Picabo Street (pronounced Pee-Ka-Boo) is not just an athlete…she is now a nurse currently working at the Intensive Care Unit of a large metropolitan hospital. She is not permitted to answer the hospital telephones any longer. It caused too much confusion when she would answer the phone and say,
“Pikabo, I.C.U.”

A good clean joke is hard to find these days – pass it on! (Admit it… you’re smiling.)

I AM NOT SMILING! My horoscope said I should just stay calm, which immediately made me nervous. Then Siobhan, who loves children once they’re old enough to send out for booze and ammo, emailed me A BABY JOKE. I should have realized left was right, up was down and Daniel Ellsberg would speak here Wednesday, as if to remind the faculty it forgot to tell students who Daniel Ellsberg is and was – fear not, Stephen Colbert remembered. Now that all those children are not being left behind, it’s a good thing Comedy Central helps them catch up. Let’s all do our part, shall we?

Article I
Section 1. All legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of Representatives.

Awesome. Since this was published before indoor plumbing, let’s hope that implied a safe distance and separate outhouses. Otherwise, the ground under our nation’s capital might shift uncomfortably at odd moments – like this week, when I suddenly understood why Elvis shot up televisions. Here we are using our giant brains to read the Constitution while men and women running for Congress seem unable to use theirs at all – and the electorate isn’t in great shape, either. In fact, a good part of the electorate sounds like we should have conned the grownups into pulling the plug ages ago. I’m not talking about people who have carefully reasoned ideas and vote them, liberal or conservative; people are entitled to opinions and, politically, feelings are facts. That’s fine by me. No, the citizens keeping me up nights are the mouthbreathers who consider politics boring, jury duty a burden, registering and voting less important than another trip to WalMart – the undecideds who can’t be bothered to acquaint themselves with the issues. A few weeks ago, I had this conversation with someone dear to me.

She: …I have to think of another way to get out of jury duty. With the job and the kids, I just can’t manage it.
Tata: Your kids are in school, right?
She: Yes.
Tata: Don’t you have the kind of flexible job that lets you pick your own hours?
She: Yes.
Tata: That’s your obligation as a citizen – jury duty. You take a book. You read for a few hours, break for lunch, read for a few hours. Then someone tells you you’ve got the crazy eyes and you’re excused, right? Or is that just me?
She: (Pause, as she hits ERASE on the conversation)…so I have to think of another way to get out of jury duty…

Initially, I thought Section 2 micromanaged a wee bit –

Section 2. The House of Representatives shall be composed of members chosen every second year by the people of the several states, and the electors in each state shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the state legislature.

Representatives and direct taxes shall be apportioned among the several states which may be included within this union, according to their respective numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole number of free persons, including those bound to service for a term of years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons. The actual Enumeration shall be made within three years after the first meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent term of ten years, in such manner as they shall by law direct. The number of Representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty thousand, but each state shall have at least one Representative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the state of New Hampshire shall be entitled to chuse [sic] three, Massachusetts eight, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations one, Connecticut five, New York six, New Jersey four, Pennsylvania eight, Delaware one, Maryland six, Virginia ten, North Carolina five, South Carolina five, and Georgia three.

The House of Representatives shall choose their speaker and other officers; and shall have the sole power of impeachment.

– then about an hour ago I found a student worker in my office trying to drink hot coffee out of a melting paper cup and what seemed simple wasn’t.

Tata: Dahhhhhhhhhhhling, can I persuade you to make a fresh pot of coffee?
Student: Sure! What do I do?
Tata: The coffee machine is unique and disaster-enhanced. First, take out a filter and find the coffee. Because ten cups fit into the pot, you put five scoops into the filter. Good job, lovey. Watch this door here, if you close it, water can go everywhere and you’ll feel like salmon swimming upstream to mop. It’ll happen very fast so be careful. I’ll be right back!

It’s true. I stupidly sashayed off because I thought my phone might be ringing and who am I to disappoint my public? About two minutes later, I returned.

Student: I can’t get it to go.
Tata: I don’t know what you mean, pet. The coffee pot appears full of coffee.
Student: Yes, but –

Suddenly, I knew. This young woman attending an accredited state university – very probably a high school graduate from a public school in a state that truly values education – had not emptied the coffee pot but had added fresh water to it and placed it on the burner. In doing so – and this is the part that made me fear for this poor soft thing in a world full of solid objects – she had expected the pot to empty itself through its non-porous glass surface into the coffee machine and generate coffee. I did what any reasonably compassionate registered voter whose horoscope had advised her to stay calm would have.

Tata: My pet, I know that in teaching you to make coffee I help you have coffee for a lifetime, and that’s just the kind of giving person I am. So. You empty “fresh water” into the body of the machine, replace the carafe quickly and press the ON button. We always have extra hot cups around here. Please throw away that waxy improvisation – however clever! – and use this special tool. And promise me, won’t you, you’ll stay for grad school..?

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, coffee, jury duty, Daniel Ellsberg.