is david lynch still relevant?

I'm going to attempt to write a few of my truths regarding the new Twin Peaks The Return.  I'm not sure where it will take me.  Trying to write about Twin Peaks feels sort of like entering the Red Room itself.  Anyway, here goes...

Truth #1:  I've only watched through episode 4.

Truth #2:  The first time I watched Blue Velvet I was in college, and so stunned out of my everyday existence that I walked around for days in a daze, wondering if what I thought about the world was even real. I've been a Lynch fan ever since.

Truth #3:  That said, regarding Twin Peaks, I'm only in it for the nostalgia.

Truth #4:  I loved Agent Cooper with a fancrush love.  Now he's gone (well, actually, there are more of him, but none of them are the one I loved), and I haven't fallen in love with any of the characters yet in the new series. This is a huge problem.  At its heart, a show needs a sympathetic character to draw me in.  The sympathy is gone.

Truth #5:  Oh shit, there it is!  Why David Lynch is still relevant.  There is no sympathy in a world that has Bob in it.

Truth #6:  I fell asleep twice during the past four episodes. (It was late, and I was soooo sleeeeppyyyyy......  but still). Well, damn, there it is again. The excessive slowness of the pace only serves to reveal our own shrinking attention spans.

Truth #7:  When Bobby walked into the room, saw Laura's photo on the table, and cried, I cried right along with him. Classic Twin Peaks soap-opera moment, complete with Laura Palmer theme song. Thanks, Dave.

Truth #8:  Twin Peaks The Return makes me laugh. Andy and Lucy's son telling his parents they can do whatever they want now with his childhood bedroom.  Lucy's incomprehension about how cell phones work. Every time Cooper yells, "Helllloooooo" at the slot machine.  Former psychiatrist Dr. Jacoby spray painting shovels gold. My favorite so far, though, is when Lynch, playing FBI Director Gordon Cole, says, "I hate to admit this, but I don't understand this situation at all."

Truth #9:  OMG this moment!

Truth #10:  If you understand this genus of funny, we can be friends.

arundhati roy

Author of one of my favorite novels, The God of Small Things, and now there's this:



and this:

i wish i knew more about opera

Just click the little triangle, take a thank-god-it's-nearing-the-end-of-winter-but-isn't-the-white-still-beautiful deep breath, and close your eyes for about as much time as it would take you to empty the dishwasher and wipe down the counters.

Happy Valentine's Day. I love you.

on the origin of inspiration

I'm not sure if it's because I'm feeling overwhelmed by the passage of time, or if I'm just damn lazy, but I feel like reposting this picture and quotes, from two years ago today. If you know my husband, you will know that he is never at a loss for words when it comes to the topic of Evolution. It is his pet. His purpose. His motivating force. His life's work in his Biology classes at Pine Creek High School. Honestly, I get tired of hearing about it, but I respect him for the passion and the knowledge he brings to his profession. If I had had a science teacher like him when I was in high school, I very well might have enjoyed it. So here's to Charles Darwin, and here's to John Spengler, and here's to a new administration, with all its ugly imperfectness, that at least understands the importance of science.

"Doing what little one can to increase the general stock of knowledge is as respectable an object of life, as one can in any likelihood pursue."

HAPPY BDAY MR. DARWIN!


"Ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge: it is those who know little, not those who know much, who so positively assert that this or that problem will never be solved by science."

In my early morning internet link wanderings, here's the best thing I stumbled upon:












via

best. concert. ever.

Michael Franti and Spearhead played a matinee at The Fillmore for families today.

Cherine Anderson borrowed my sons' friend's hat for a song. She fucking rocked.

Word was that if you had the craziest hat, you might be chosen to go backstage. Or something. Anyway, here's Elise and me. I decided to go bald with a pink tiara. (thanks, Olwyn!)

After the show, Michael Franti kissed me. Then he asked me for my name, and the names of my children. He bent down and pulled two yellow picks out of his pocket and placed them into Grant and Bennett's hands. He chatted with them for awhile about music. Then he hugged and kissed me again, looked me in the eye, and said, "Shine on." A secular blessing that felt rather holy.

There's more I could write, but what else is there to say, really, after "Michael Franti kissed me"? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Here's what I wrote about them back in September, if you want more.......

48 hours later.......

I'm still, like many of us, reflecting on the Obama victory. It's one of THOSE nights, one of the "Where were you when........?" moments for which you will never, ever forget the answer.

I was snuggled into a comfy couch in a crowded little living room with a dozen or more adults - some were close friends and others I had just met. Chicken and dumplings simmered on the stove, dark green split peas and potato chips graced the kitchen table. Strider had promised to streak if Obama won, and I had promised to take off my head scarf. The children, four girls and five boys all between the ages of seven and eleven, vacillated between running around, playing in the garage, watching the states turn red and blue, and making up an Obama song to be performed for us later from the stage set up in the garage.

When the MSNBC livestreaming became too ADD, we switched to the BBC. When the BBC became to droll, we switched to MSNBC. When the pundits kept talking over the Star-Spangled Banner, we changed to something else.

The moment the polls closed on the West Coast, and California, Washington, and Oregon began blinking blue, you could feel the air become lighter, the haze lift, and that indescribable hope/doubt questioning moment: Is this really going to happen? You mean the Republicans aren't going to steal it? Do we dare believe?

Yes, it was. Not, they weren't. Yes, we can.

There was much hugging and high-fiving and tears flowing. A flood of relief and joy. The children exited out the front door into the streets and we followed, hooting and hollering. A neighbor brought out sparklers for the kids. Luckily, they were so preoccupied with the fireworks that they missed the naked man in his boots running up and down the darkened street. And yes, I took off my headscarf, and shared my beautifully-shaped, clean-shaven head with the crowd. It was good to be with people on this night.

McCain's speech was genuine and gracious.

Obama's speech....... well, yeah, you saw it. Damn!

And yet..........

Things will never change. I cannot change them. Revolutions and their leaders come and go. Only hearts can be changed.

But I guess that's what I see happening. It's not so much a political victory as it is a spiritual one.

I don't have faith in Obama to fix any kind of a broken system..... he can't and he won't. But I do have faith in him to inspire people to be maybe just a tad bit better and more involved in the process than they were before. Before you can make your voice heard, you have to believe that it will be heard. We, the people, must hold his (and the rest of the Dems) feet to the fire. The difference is that now, many more people believe that that is possible. Will it happen? I don't know. But I have to believe that it will. If it does, then we truly will have a "chance for us to make that change". But if we drift off into complacency, the fault for what comes will be ours as well as his.

Perfection in our leaders doesn't exist. Never has, never will. Those who hold out for it will always be disappointed. The populace needs something to believe in, something that inspires them to believe in themselves. We cannot treat this man, Barack Obama, as an idol or the new messiah, lest we neglect our own duties, our own responsibilities.

Something tells me I don't think he will forget to remind us of them.

Before closing the boys' door, at nearly 11 PM (They had NEVER stayed up that late on a school night before!), I looked at them all drowsy and worn-out and snuggled in, and I said softly, "You will remember this night for the rest of your lives."
I wonder what their version of it will sound like, 10 or 20 years down the road.

Where were YOU on the night of November 4th, 2008?

michelle

the funniest thing i've seen since forever

via NEWSPEAK

one more reason to vote democrat

...... as if we needed one

turns out there are many, many...........

Things Younger Than John McCain

(I submitted "The Atom Bomb".......)

Aaron Retka is younger than John McCain.

excuses, excuses

I wanted to go see Amy Goodman today. Really I did. But the sun had the audacity to shine the way Obama's flock has the audacity to hope.... unapologetically.

Time became a Twizzler and I became the midwife of the tender garden once again. I don't really think it needs me, the way a healthy baby doesn't really need a midwife. The Mother does though. Noone is really sure yet what the Father needs.

I am pretty sure my job is to eliminate all that is dead, and that I am to do this at just the right time. I am also to observe and take note of what has decided to return and what has not. Inventory. Two delphinium gone. One lupine. The annuals, of course, expected, but nonetheless. Tragedies all. In opposition- an abundance of yarrow, fleets of White Nancy, strawberries that have hopped their walls. I dabble in futility, trying to contain species within little rock circles.

I wanted to go see Amy Goodman. Really I did. But there was lasagne to be made and a flute to be played, stories to be read and flowers that were dead.

empire lite?

Yesterday, a graphic representation of Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States was published. It's called, simply, A People's History of American Empire. Real American history in comic book form! What more could we possibly ask for?!

Here is one of the most amazing 8 and a half minutes of succinct video I've ever seen. It's Howard Zinn's essay "Empire or Humanity? What The Classroom Didn't Teach Me About the American Empire", and contains images from the newly published book. Viggo Mortenson narrates. The video is worth watching, if not for the content, then for the sexy way in which the word "Louisiana" comes sensuously rolling out of Mr. Mortenson's mouth.



You can read the full text of the essay at TomDispatch.com.

how good a whore are you?

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Take the quiz and let me know. The questions are far less esoteric than the book quiz, so try and be honest.

A true whore has a mystic understanding of Power. She knows men for what they are: pathetic, cowardly, needy beings who may wield power in the big big world, but are helpless little boys inside. She listens attentively. She understands, or at least she pretends to.  She laughs at jokes. She flirts. She strokes egos as well as cocks. True men understand and worship her Power; they are not afraid to admit their unworthiness and cowardliness before her. She views her art as healing, and sends men back into the world to be, perhaps, better husbands and fathers.

Perhaps my vision is romanticized or perverted, I really don't know.... if you think I'm high, by all means let me know.  But in all honesty, who among us would not love to find out how much we are worth per hour!? It's all a fun little game, this quiz, but there's a reason the whole story is so compelling..... it taps into something very profound that goes beyond morality and stupidity.

As for Mr. Spitzer, there's a special place in hell for hypocrites. I can only hope he sends a personal little apology to all the girls he's helped to lock up. I won't be holding my breath.

P.S. Guys - you can take the quiz, too.

"hope" is the thing with feathers

I had never caucused before tonight. I had no idea what to expect. But here it was, Democracy in Action. DIA. It was fascinating! A small, diverse group of people, standing around in a semi-circle, speaking frankly about their candidates and their issues. It was insane in its provincialism, and beautiful in its simplicity.

I'm not sure what I liked most about my Precinct 50 caucus. Perhaps it was.....


The gray-haired man holding the little baby girl in the red velvet dress declaring that the only candidates saying anything reasonable about "his" issue: pot smoking, were Mike Gravel and Dennis Kucinich. Several of us hollered in communion.



Raising my hand for John Edwards in the straw poll.



Watching my husband raise his hand for Joseph Biden in the final poll. Integrity and pride he has in no small measure.




Listening to my neighbors' and friends' impassioned voices about health care and education. We put forth six resolutions! The cynics among you can say, "Yeah, like they'll ever get to Washington." But you see, that's not the point, really. The point is that people are thinking and caring and wanting and hoping and trying.

"Aren't there any other feminists in the room?!" (Most, if not all, of the Hillary supporters appeared to be women over 50)

Joking about where the Precint 50 after-party was going to be, and wishing we would have asked Guillermo at Cucuru to host it.

Finding a 15-year-old boy who wants to babysit who only lives three blocks away!

Taking dictation from our local friendly 24th street drunk who said, "The cost of living raise for people with disabilities should keep pace with the cost of living", and helping him sign his name to the resolution. It passed.



Meeting an 18-year-old young man voting in his first presidential election.

It was a strange thing that happened tonight. Magic. I knew half of the people in that room. Another quarter I met. It wasn't just a vote. It was a community-building exercise. I'm not waxing sentimental here, folks. At one point, in the middle of all of our discussion about resolutions, I simply said, "Why don't we just put down, 'Save the World'". Laughter. Because we know we can't. Because we know the forces we are up against. And yet...... I saw our small pathetic caucus, imagined thousands of others like it across America tonight, and felt power in words and hands.





And at the end of the night, I raised my hand for Obama, knowing simply this: his presence in the race is what had brought most of us out of our houses, children in-tow, curious about the process of the caucus for the first time in our lives, to stand around for one-and-a-half hours while our feet began to ache, to try and make the world a better place.
And that counts for something.

jesus loves porn stars

I am now the proud owner of a t-shirt that says just that. It cost me 15 bucks, but after Ron Jeremy signed it, I figured it at least tripled in value. Here's a blurry pic of him signing it, and one of ron & me having a tender moment.



Shove Chapel was filled to what I'm sure qualifies as unsafe-by-fire-code standards. Every available space had bodies in it, most of them college-aged porn fans. You could just feel the hormones in the hot, stuffy air. Craig Gross made some fairly valid points, and his ministry has a place in the world, I suppose. (And he is really, really HOT, I might add!)

In the debate, Ron was funny, gracious, and honest. In person, he was warm and huggable and smelled like some unnameable cologne that an old man might wear.