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It feels like things are spiraling. I can’t get get life aligned properly so that there’s a positive feel to it. It’s lopsided. Yet I maintain my sunny optimism… mostly.
From a discussion today, I (re-)learned that actions do speak louder than words. That if someone apologizes for something yet continues to do it, their apologies are probably not sincere. So you take those with a grain of salt.
I’m going to have to deliver an ultimatum to my mom… which doesn’t feel good (and I haven’t even done it yet). I actually did set a date for her to be someplace other than my house, but she pretty much threw it back at me. I’m going to have to do it again and be prepared to have buckets of guilt, shame and manipulation dumped on my head. Over and over again.
I feel sad but okay. I know that growth requires such things as action, even sometimes pain. I still don’t like it.
Android: more blue candles. Stat.
Hey, Havana S!
I promised a shout-out if you came to visit, so here’s hoping you do.
Havana is my new friend on Second Life. It’s loads of fun. My name there? I’ll never tell!
First one, then the other. Then both at once. It’s the battle of the me’s.
With Franque as the audience, they perform whenever possible (er… necessary?). Did I say perform? No, it’s truly a battle.
Let me tell MY story! No! MY story!
MY childhood! NO! MY childhood!
MY grandmother! NO! MY grandmother!
As I sit there, in between, chewing food only to send it down to the ever-expanding ulcer. Waiting, watching, in pain. Emotional pain.
A narcissistic melody. Screechy and inane.
Madness.
Blogged with Flock
Tags: narcissism
Embedded Video
I heard this woman on NPR the other night. Her story is very touching.
Tags: calperniaaddams, transexual
Day after day, night after night, I see that comedians feel quite comfortable spewing out jokes about Hillary Clinton. Yet I’ve not heard a peep about Barack Obama. Not a thing.
I’m guessing it’s because he’s black and nobody wants to get a hand-slapping for saying something that might be construed as racist.
But why is it okay to be sexist?
A feminist perspective of these two candidates might go like this: It’s still a “man’s world.” Penises are above vaginas (correctly, “vaginae,” but that feels awkward to type!). First the white penises, then the penises of color. And it’s the same for the vaginas.
Political correctness, it seems, extends to skin color, but not beyond.
Another day I will go into more detail, but it’s been a crazy time (hence my absence) and I’m exhausted.
Be well, all!
Tags: BarackObama, Hillary Clinton, sexism, racism, political correctness
Embedded Video (Video & text from http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm) I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But 100 years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men - yes, black men as well as white men - would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check that has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice. We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hoped that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “for whites only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today my friends - so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification - one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning “My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father’s died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!” And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi - from every mountainside. Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring - when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children - black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics - will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!” Blogged with Flock Tags: MartinLuther King, Jr, , I have a dream, march on washington
(Video & text from http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm)
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But 100 years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men - yes, black men as well as white men - would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check that has come back marked “insufficient funds.”
But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice. We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hoped that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “for whites only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today my friends - so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification - one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning “My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father’s died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!”
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi - from every mountainside.
Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring - when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children - black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics - will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”
Tags: MartinLuther King, Jr, , I have a dream, march on washington
Nobody is truly happy at my house. I manage to maintain some sense of cheeriness, but there’s a rumbling tension beneath the smile.
Today I wore new purple cowgirl boots. That was a good thing. Happy feet = happy Franque. But once the boots came off, my awareness of the hatred bouncing back and forth here. (As in “I’m rubber, you’re glue; whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”) And of course the boots came off at home. So that ought to be at least a smidge telling.
This is just a quick report. For some reason I’m pooped. Long day today, busy day, good day. Interviewed a professor for an article, learned something new: Williams Syndrome. Often misdiagnosed, often untreated. Shame, that. Wrote a press release about an upcoming gallery exhibit. Got praise for some graphic work I do (yay, me!). And a zillion other things. Amazing what a person can do when she’s alert and sober and such. (I’m just sayin’)
So now I’m off to bed. Ten-oh-eight and all’s not well, but it’s okay.
OH… postscript: I am having a wicked hard time having a conversation with my mother about her “next plans.” IE, this isn’t working out - she needs to work and she can’t really do it from a place where there’s no transportation. So she’s trapped in my house. It’s like Brigadoon, without the music. And fog. Well, it’s not really like Brigadoon at all, but it IS like nothing’s going to change for her here.
Now I’m really going to bed!
Tags: mom
Here’s a snippet from an article about Peterson’s life: Oscar Peterson
“Oscar Peterson, who sat atop the world of jazz piano for decades with his driving two-handed swing, technical wizardry and rapid-fire solos, has died, a friend of the musician said on Monday. He was 82.”
and
“Technique is something you use to make your ideas listenable,” he [Peterson] once told jazz writer Len Lyons. “You learn to play the instrument so you have a musical vocabulary, and you practice to get your technique to the point you need to express yourself, depending on how heavy your ideas are.”
Peterson’s web site:http://oscarpeterson.com
Tags: OscarPeterson
The radio.blog tune is not playing. Oops.
Jeff Beck, “Cause We’ve Ended As Lovers.”
I first heard this live in a darkened warehouse around the midnight hour. I must have been 17 or so. The two Michaels (Samman and Jensen) plugged in their guitars and serenaded me. There may or may not have been some weed involved. I’m not at liberty to say.
So to recapture that moment in time with me, slap on your headphones and close your eyes (or turn out the lights) and listen.
I feel at this very second that my emotions are once again captured musically.
It’s been that way my whole life.
Ah, Chris Whitley… tellin’ it like it is.
So it’s 12:07 pm and I’m sitting here hoping my mom doesn’t come downstairs to find out why I’m still up. I don’t want anymore mothering today. I’m all caught up. I’m certainly old enough to stay up as late as I please.
On a related side note: Would SOMEONE please send me a laptop for Christmas? It should have wireless capabilities and have a decent amount of memory. With this laptop, I will be able to write to you, dear reader, any old time - early, late and in-between. Fearlessly.
Sad, isn’t it? I am begging people I might not even know to send me a damn laptop. (But just do it, okay?)
Things are going okay. I had a pleasant time shopping after work. Some presents for the above-mentioned mom, a few things for the spouse and a friend. Nothing -nothing!- for me. Hmph! It’s okay… I have more than I need. I actually really do like gift giving. (I really like the part where I get to make packages pretty.)
Here’s another tune:
One of you will call me cheesy. I care not: I am cheesy. Anyway, I have continued to be cheery, singing Christmas carols, decorating the office and my home, either completely sucking it all in and maintaining a shiny pocket of denial or maybe being genuinely cheery.
Does it matter which, really?
Of course it matters. Truly, I think it’s a combination. An emotional value-pack, super-sized. Yeah, yeah. Bite-sized denial with a cheery dipping sauce. Yum.
I leave you with Nick Drake. He brings out my melancholy…
Blogged with Flock Tags: chriswhitley, sarah mclachlan, nick drake, melancholy
Tags: chriswhitley, sarah mclachlan, nick drake, melancholy
Or maybe not. Being pulled in two directions. Like living with two 6-year olds. Exhausted in every way.
Maintaining sunny optimism.
I don’t remember that I’ve always been this way, but maybe I have. Have I always looked on the sunny side?
Okay, so the headline is lame. But what about companies selling bottled holy water… holy drinking water? Thanks to Unca Bwuce in Amsterdam (his full, Christian name, of course), I’ve just learned about this phenomenon.
My favorite is, of course, “Formula J,” as seen here
You can read all about it here.
A few snippets from the article by Lisa Miller:
“Holy Drinking Water, produced by a California-based company called Wayne Enterprises, is blessed in the warehouse by an Anglican or Roman Catholic priest (after a thorough background check). Like a crucifix or a rosary, a bottle of Holy Drinking Water is a daily reminder to be kind to others, says Brian Germann, Wayne’s CEO.”
Franciscan nuns have launched a letter-writing campaign to put the damper on this crazy industry, “Water is life,” says Sister Mary Zirbes, a nun in the Franciscan Sisters of Little Falls, Minn. “It really should not be a commodity to be bought.”
Amen, sister. Amen.
Tags: holywater
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drinking water? Thanks to Unca Bwuce in Amsterdam (his full, Christian name, of course), I’ve just learned about this phenomenon.