tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71627349431960451022024-03-06T22:54:14.345-05:00The Unbearable Lightness of BeingUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-91198139985243479202009-03-16T23:18:00.003-05:002009-03-16T23:41:15.848-05:00Chapter 27 - Things to Laugh AboutShe who goes on audacious adventures should expect whatever insanity appears.<div><br /></div><div>I freely acknowledge that I live life on the edge. I do things that my friends think are crazy. I don't follow many rules. I'm the last person in the world who needs to be told life is short. I milk every single second out of every single day that I can, because I'd rather live with a little red cheeked embarrassment for the things I did than the melancholy regret for the things I didn't. And thanks to my aversion to the mundane, I'm going to have one hell of a book to publish one day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not that all of my stories have pretty, wrapped up, happy endings. The endings are always amusing and evocative, but I've had my fair share of explosions. But that's the thing... even the explosions are good. They're real. They're filled with emotion and life. And they're all part of my story. </div><div><br /></div><div>And so I try to write it all down as it happens, because I know how I am. After the fireworks subside and the dust settles, I'll be back on another adventure, probably involving a passport. Once I set out again, I'll just remember the good of what happened in the chapter before. I forget the angst in making a life changing decision, the profound loneliness of an unknown place, the rage at life's injustices, and the bitter taste of the inevitable. After they pass, why bother with them? Do they make the sweet times any less satisfying? Does anguish make a memory more real than joy? I don't think so. And even if they did, there's still something to laugh about, just up ahead.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-59370787570793032582008-12-31T12:54:00.003-05:002009-03-16T23:18:17.131-05:00Taking StockNew Year's Day is one of my favorite days of the year. It's the perfect day to take stock of the 365 days prior, and daydream about the new year to come. <div><br /></div><div>I've gotten in the habit of measuring my life in a series of before and afters that seem to revolve around the places I've lived. Before Lubbock. Austin. After Jersey. Spain I, II, and III. DC. It feels like the chapters of my life have started flying by since Austin. It was a staggering thought to wake up on my birthday this year and realize that I graduated from college 6 years ago. Eesh. Fortunately, I feel like I'm in a good place in the world. I'm happy with the exhausting degree I'm working on, my family exists in relative harmony these days, I'm blessed with wonderful friends across the globe, and all is as it should be most days of the week. <div><br /></div><div>The fact that life is so good right now has done much to reinforce my mantra that everything happens for a reason. I can't help but think how much things can change in a year. If someone had told me last New Year's that I'd be living in Tennessee in less than a year, I would have laughed. It certainly wasn't in my life plan that I'd painstakingly assembled. Fortunately, I have friends and family willing to smack me back into reality and keep me from missing the hidden opportunities life has to offer, even if they don't come wrapped in the sort of package I might expect. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-26903481010792723982008-11-19T08:33:00.002-05:002008-11-19T21:19:09.188-05:00PerspectiveLaw school is sort of like being on Survivor. 196 of us have been tossed on this island. Every once in awhile, we win a prize and get to have a visitor, or get to go back to whatever city we came from and reclaim a teeny piece of our old lives for 36 hours. The rest of the time, we hang out with the same people, in the same classes, with the same really lame law school jokes that we all come up with in our non-existant spare time. And the dreams. Dear God. We've ALL had the most effed up dreams since we moved here. And somehow, the goal is to win. The jacked up thing? Most of us really don't actually want the prize. 90 hour weeks and soul selling to the man isn't what everyone signed up for. But does that matter? Not really. <div><br /></div><div>It's so easy to lose perspective in law school. It's an insanely competitive environment that attempts to prepare you for the insanely competitive job market by implementing trial by fire methods. And when the only people you see all day are law students, it's totally easy to forget that you were once a normal, functioning human being with a day job, disposable income, and hobbies who had no idea that the word reasonable actually has a completely different meaning than the one the rest of the world knows. There's a whole world out there, but if it doesn't involve the library, Bar Review, or Blackacre, we certainly wouldn't know about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then finals season starts, and people really go bat shit crazy. Ordinarily <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">reasonable</span> people become patently <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">unreasonable</span>, and the stress level gets so unbelieveably high that you can almost hear the energy in the room humming. People lose their center of gravity and all rational thought processes. As a general rule, law students are a pretty volatile bunch from November 1 - December 20. And the 1Ls are the worst, because we've been convinced that nothing we've done up to this point matters in any way, shape, or form beyond whatever grades we get in this, our first year of mental assault. </div><div><br /></div><div>I won't lie. I sort of drank the Kool-Aid for a minute and started to get sucked into the madness. And then as always, something popped the Crazy Bubble and brought me back down to earth. </div><div><br /></div><div>K, a friend of my family's has been battling an incredibly aggressive cancer since mid-June. Everyone has been hopeful for the best since the beginning, but it's become apparent over the last weeks that the harder they seem to fight it, the more vengeful it becomes. K is tough as nails. We met in high school and got to know each other on a couple of different trips to Latin America as teenagers. I always identified with her because, even though we came from pretty different backgrounds, I saw a little bit of myself in her. We both had sweet as pie fathers, phenomenal, strong, no-nonsense mothers, and we ourselves were a little headstrong and independent. You couldn't really tell us much that we didn't think we already knew. I haven't seen her much since high school, but have always kept up with her through my mom's updates and random encounters with her mom in the mall. K has led a superstar life - amazing jobs across the country, an opportunity to work in Africa... real work doing real things to help real people. I cried when I found out she was sick, but had faith that she'd fight her way back again. Tonight I cried again. K's fight has become a losing battle, and she has been moved to hospice. We're still praying for a miracle, but at the same time praying that she'll find peace and rest after a hard fight. The part that shocks me the most is that K and I are the same age. We're adults in our own right, but we're still sort of getting started. We've been busy changing the world while keeping an eye out for a life of husbands and babies and mortgages. At our age, we're supposed to have our whole lives ahead of us. </div><div><br /></div><div>K has been in cancer wards for about as long as I've been in law school, and I'm the one complaining. </div><div><br /></div><div>So here's to perspective. Here's to the unfairness of being graded on a curve, cancer, and life. And here's to K, for reminding me what's important, and inspiring me to be a better person. Please pray for her.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial;font-size:13px;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; ">Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">John 14:27</span></span></span></div></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-91837153270331978702008-10-14T00:34:00.001-05:002008-10-15T02:00:01.659-05:00Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes...My poor, neglected blog. I met my goal of checking out of the world for awhile. It was amazing. I missed the growing concerns regarding the subprime lending crisis, fingerpointing across the aisles of Congress over failed economic policies, and obituraries for the American Dream. The only indication I had of any trouble in paradise was the ever increasing cost of withdrawing Euros from ATMs across the Iberian Peninsula. Apparently, while I was off <a href="http://www.spainontheroadagain.com/">gallivanting across Europe</a>, it appears our American economy was priming itself for a downward plunge. And plunge it has, just in time for me to get settled into my new life and start itching to write something that isn't a faux legal memorandum. Fortunately, it appears all may not be lost as the decline seems to have been stemmed, at least for now. I hope that in this painful process, some of us have learned some lessons about how our changing world works these days.<div><br /></div><div>I recall having an 11 hour conversation with my favorite Madrileño one sunny July day on our way up the steepest mountain God ever created. We picked politics as our topic that afternoon, in the hopes of exasperating each other to the point that we'd forget about the pain we were inflicting on ourselves on our way up the cliff. Our conversation shifted from America's lenient firearm laws to how loans work. Their government helps grad students by providing grants and scholarships to those who continue to study after undergrad. My companion was appalled not only by the cost of my impending legal education and the amount of loans I was going to have to take out to finance the entire affair, but also by the ease of obtaining credit and loans in our country. He was in the process of purchasing a flat, and our conversation quickly turned to the stringent requirements that must be met across most of Europe when one decides to take out a mortgage. He was further scandalized to find that, not only do you not need a 50% down payment or well established guarantors to obtain a home loan, but our banks had been in the business of summarily handing out money at variable interest rates to people who barely had the cash on hand for closing costs. You can imagine the interesting conversations we've had over the course of the last week, one of which actually started with the statement that my country is responsible for tanking the entire global economy in a matter of days because we don't know how to manage money properly. I think he might be on to something.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to the sad state of our affairs, lots of previously "comfortable" people are having to worry about making their lives fit into the confines of a tight budget. For all the ridiculousness that we've seen in vice presidential politics as of late, the one thing Sarah Palin has said that I agree with was a statement on Americans having to bite the bullet, get over ourselves, and learn to live within our means. Sometimes, people have to go without. This is going to be an especially interesting lesson for a lot of American teenagers. The <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/12/fashion/sundaystyles/12teen.html?_r=1&ref=fashion&oref=slogin">NY Times did an article</a> this weekend about the effect that our economic crisis is having on the current generation of pampered teens, many whom have been raised in households unfamiliar with the word 'no'. I'm one of the cheapest people I know in all areas of my life except travel. I'm perfectly willing to buy my jeans off eBay to have extra money to spend on a plane ticket to a new and nifty place. I refuse to buy new furniture, and my new bicycle is one of the only things I've payed full price in many, many moons. I justified it because I sold my car out of sheer refusal to pay current gas prices, especially when I live across the street from campus. This mindset of mine makes it almost impossible for me to understand a teenager who wouldn't rather buy thrift store Sevens and have cash left over to play with. Or, God forbid, save. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm disheartened by the number of people whose livelihoods and retirements have been submarined by the abysmal economy. But maybe there's a silver lining to be seen here. As we come out of our own modern version of the Roaring '20s, maybe we'll get back to ideas of a less materialistic and greedy society. The Times article makes interesting observations regarding families that have previously used money and tangible gifts as a way to assuage their guilt for not spending enough time with their children. People are having to adjust and deal with the emotional baggage that often accompanies money issues of all kinds as they become accustomed to a new and more restrictive economic reality. But that's okay. There are worse things than the forced enjoyment of simple (and cheap) pleasures. After all, it builds character. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-81306394364367445572008-03-28T12:33:00.004-05:002008-03-28T15:02:30.764-05:00I liked him more when we were just texting.I have long likened myself to Bridget Jones. She and I share a penchant for making idiots of ourselves in front of other people, with or without the assistance of vodka. Kind people give me the benefit of the doubt and assume I'm easily flustered. Others just assume I'm a card carrying member of the Asbergers 'R Us Society.<br /><br />Fortunately, <a href="http://www.endlesssimmer.com/">Gansie</a> says it's not my fault that my social skills are declining. I've forgotten how to act in public settings because there's just no real need for face to face interaction anymore. I spend 8-10 hours a day in my small, small office, door closed. If I have to ask someone a question, I email them. Voicemail scares me. I have incredible typing skills based on my ability to recount an entire Thursday night via gChat in under .5 billable hours, complete with caps for inflection. I judge people who misuse "your" and "you're" in their texts, and "Ur" is enough to get yourself deleted from my phone entirely. I have friendships centered around cellular and internet based exchanges that involve nary a phone call, much less any in person contact. When my most important interpersonal interactions involve the ability to type and retype my thoughts before actually imparting them on another human being, it's not a wonder that I sound like an experiment in artificial stupidity when you get me face to face.<br /><br />And I know I'm not the only one. My friends don't call or write, they blog. Screw holiday cards - I get mass text messages on major holidays. I've met boyfriends, dogs, and children via Facebook. I'm quite familiar with entire hookups and breakups that have been engineered via electronic means. It wouldn't be my first friend who has engaged in witty repartee with a member of the opposite sex until the wee hours, just to find that they're wildy uncomfortable with the mere idea of sitting next to each other, sober and sans cell phones, at a restaurant. And we've moved past waiting 3 days to call. Why on earth risk a phone call when you can shoot a quick "What r u up to?" text? If they don't answer, you can assume they never got it, as opposed to the more painful option of exploring the idea of rejection. We've even graduated from the 3am booty call to the 3am drunken, misspelled text message. Thanks to all this ridiculous technology around us, we're becoming more socially retarded with each passing second.<br /><br />So next time you hear me make a complete ass out of myself in public, I hope you'll understand - I would have been much pithier if I could have just texted you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-61764113430995155402008-03-26T10:00:00.003-05:002008-03-26T11:57:21.148-05:00The End is NearSomewhere between my landlord showing our apartment to prospective tenants and me researching storage units in Tennessee, it has come to my attention that I am not long for this city. In an attempt to combat the melancholy creeping into my heart, I'm constructing a "Things I Have To Do Before I Leave DC" list. This is no time for tears, as there are still many restaurants, museums, and concerts to be enjoyed in a baccanalian manner before I pack up my car. Suggestions welcome, as are tagalongs who want to enjoy the next 3 months with me!<br /><br />Thus the list begins, in no particular order...<br /><br />1. National Portrait Gallery - Hip Hop and Contemporary Portraiture, Katherine Hepburn Exhibits<br /><br />2. Dinner at Marrakech<br /><br />3. Boating in the Tidal Basin<br /><br />4. Drag Queen Brunch at Perry's in Adams Morgan<br /><br />5. Dinner, drinks, or both at Proof<br /><br />6. Sushi at Makoto<br /><br />7. The Phillips Collection<br /><br />8. Old Rag<br /><br />9. Manassas Regional Park<br /><br />10. Friday night Jazz at the Natural History Museum<br /><br />11. An Orioles game at Camden Yards<br /><br />12. A Nationals game at the new stadium<br /><br />13. The FDR Memorial (I know - I have no idea how I haven't seen this yet)<br /><br />14. The National Firearms Museum<br /><br />15. Mount Vernon<br /><br />16. Pope-Leighey House<br /><br />17. A night at HR-57<br /><br />18. Ethiopean food. I don't even care where.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-29841802712677812282008-03-18T15:21:00.002-05:002008-06-19T10:35:27.466-05:00A More Perfect UnionI have my own warped opinions about race and society. I credit my opinions to the fact that I am the product of a slightly complicated multiracial family. The only public statement I have heard to date that even begins to match many of the things I believe in came today from Barack Obama. It's not lost on me that the first person to put words to many of my thoughts is also of mixed racial heritage. As globalization shrinks the size of our comfort zones, I hope Obama's thoughts are prophetic to the type of world we're moving towards.<br /><br /><br /><strong>"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union." <br /><br /><br />Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787. <br /><br /><br />The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations. <br /><br /><br />Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at is very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time. <br /><br /><br />And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.<br /><br /><br />This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for of children and our grandchildren. <br /><br /><br />This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story. <br /><br /><br />I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible. <br /><br /><br />It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one. <br /><br /><br />Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans. <br /><br /><br />This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.<br /><br /><br />And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn. <br /><br /><br />On one end of the spectrum, we've heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we've heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike. <br /><br /><br />I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I'm sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed. <br /><br /><br />But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a religious leader's effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam. <br /><br /><br />As such, Reverend Wright's comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.<br /><br /><br />Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way <br /><br /><br />But the truth is, that isn't all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God's work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.<br /><br /><br />In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:<br /><br /><br />"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn't need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild."<br /><br /><br />That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity's services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.<br /><br /><br />And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.<br /><br /><br />I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.<br /><br /><br />These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.<br /><br /><br />Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias. <br /><br /><br />But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality. <br /><br /><br />The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American. <br /><br /><br />Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn't dead and buried. In fact, it isn't even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.<br /><br /><br />Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven't fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today's black and white students.<br /><br /><br />Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today's urban and rural communities.<br /><br /><br />A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one's family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us. <br /><br /><br />This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What's remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.<br /><br /><br />But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn't make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright's generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings.<br /><br /><br />And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright's sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.<br /><br /><br />In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don't feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they're concerned, no one's handed them anything, they've built it from scratch. They've worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they're told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time. <br /><br /><br />Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren't always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.<br /><br /><br />Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding. <br /><br /><br />This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.<br /><br /><br />But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union. <br /><br /><br />For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.<br /><br /><br />Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright's sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change. <br /><br /><br />The profound mistake of Reverend Wright's sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It's that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.<br /><br /><br />In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper. <br /><br /><br />In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world's great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother's keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister's keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well. <br /><br /><br />For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.<br /><br /><br />We can do that.<br /><br /><br />But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change. <br /><br /><br />That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time. <br /><br /><br />This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together. <br /><br /><br />This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit. <br /><br /><br />This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned. <br /><br /><br />I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election. <br /><br /><br />There is one story in particularly that I'd like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King's birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta. <br /><br /><br />There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there. <br /><br /><br />And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.<br /><br /><br />She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.<br /><br /><br />She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.<br /><br /><br />Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother's problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn't. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.<br /><br /><br />Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley." <br /><br /><br />"I'm here because of Ashley." By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.<br /><br /><br />But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.</strong>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-56819071867577529712008-03-05T10:26:00.003-05:002008-03-06T09:57:13.350-05:00Fear and OptimismOne of my best friends is having her first child today. In my excitement about this fantastic new person we're all going to get to meet in a few hours, I've done a little reflecting. It's been a big year for a lot of people I'm close to. Some people are getting married and some people are starting over. Some people are starting new careers making more money than they've ever made and some people are walking away from it all. So many of us are moving to new places, and some people are moving back to the familiarity of home. I joke that the exodus from DC has begun, but the joke isn't so funny anymore when it's actually happening before my eyes.<br /><br />When I first graduated from college and found myself naked and cold in the middle of reality, I thought I'd adapt eventually and my fear of the future and the unknown would fade away. I wish someone would have told me the truth. Now I'm realizing everything will just be sort of scary all of the time. Fear is an incredible motivator. Sometimes it gives us the intestinal fortitude to do things we never thought we were able to do, and sometimes it turns us into the biggest cowards we never thought we'd be. It's hard not to get bogged down in the emotional minutia and find the happy medium between moving a direction (even if it might not be the ideal direction) and not moving at all.<br /><br />Fortunately, we all have those little moments of clarity that come to us in the middle of the shit show we call life. We catch a break. We get a raise. We meet that person. We meet ourselves. Babies are born. Houses are sold. And as scared as we might be, we remember why we've made all the sacrifices and put up with all of the hassle when it would have just been easier to walk away. There's a fortune taped to my computer monitor from an otherwise unmemorable chinese lunch I had two months into my current job. It had been a long two months. I had just decided to put off applying to law school for the 2nd year in a row. I was in a relationship that was crashing and burning quickly, and I knew I needed to get out but didn't know how. My checkbook wasn't balanced. I was working 75 hour weeks with minimal interaction with other human beings and didn't really like my life right that second. After my lunch that I probably didn't chew properly, I opened my fortune cookie. It told me "All the effort you are making will ultimately pay off." Desperately wanting to believe that was true, I saved the fortune. Two and a half years and a few bad days later, I still have it, and I'm more convinced than ever that hard work and a little faith go a long way.<br /><br />My roommate forwarded me <a href="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=8577255250907450469&hl=en">this link</a> the other day, and it touched me to the point of making me cry at work. As you'll see in the video, it is a lecture that was originally given at Carnegie Mellon last September by a professor suffering from pancreatic cancer. His doctors have told him that he only has months to live. Despite the tragic state of his life around him, he stands as one of the most inspiring testaments of what life can be like with some work, persistance and optimism. You don't have to look very far to know that life just isn't easy. The pessimist in all of us can point to examples in our lives that prove that nothing can be absolutely perfect for more than about 4 hours every 6 years. The key is getting the optimist in us to appreciate those 4 hours and tide us over to the next perfect moment.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-60036403096545363632007-12-03T11:24:00.000-05:002007-12-03T12:20:55.682-05:00The Reason for the SeasonMost people who know me have heard me say that while I love the holiday season, Thanksgiving is actually my favorite holiday. I enjoy the opportunity to spend time with my family and friends without all the chaos and noise of presents and parties and expectations that you find during the month of December. Don't get me wrong - I love a good party, and Christmas Eve is still my favorite night of the year. There is something so crisp and magical in the air, and I can feel it right about 10:15pm when we're leaving the house for church, even in the middle of the desert in West Texas. I'm still bothered, though. We somehow manage to lose the basic message of the season between consumer confidence reports and debates over buying toys made in China. The ads on tv don't encourage you to buy a winter coat for someone who may not have one this year - they want you to buy a new cellphone for your spoiled 14 year old so they can make money off the impending barrage of TXT MSGS to their BFF, Jill in the coming year.<br /><br />My sentiments were reinforced last night after a conversation with my 89 year old aunt about everything we're cooking for Christmas this year, our attempts to shop for presents for the 3 teenagers who will be in the house, and the disturbing increase in the promotion of materialism that has left us unwilling to set foot within 100 yards of a mall. If we're honest with ourselves, we don't really need most of the things we're given, and the same applies for many of the gifts we give to friends and family.<br /><br />I'm personally a huge fan of finding a better cause to support than WalMart's bottom line and the pile of future white elephant gifts in my cousin's junk closet. That's why I'm excited about Brad Pitt's new project called <a href="http://makeitrightnola.org/">Make it Right</a>. Through this organization, he is trying to help "make right" some of the things that have gone so terribly wrong in New Orleans by focusing on rebuilding the city's cultural base in one of its most important neighborhoods. He has worked with world renowned architects and designers to create plans for affordable, environmentally sound and culturally relevant homes for New Orleans' Lower Ninth Ward. They have identified a target area of 150 homes in <a href="http://makeitrightnola.org/mir_SUB.php?section=app&page=target">one of the most devastated parts of the city</a>. Through grants and donations, financing will be offered to families that will cap their mortgage payments at 30% of their income and allow them a chance to move back to their city. The public can help by making general cash donations, or by participating in their <a href="http://makeitrightnola.org/mir_SUB.php?section=donate&page=main">interactive website </a>that allows you to help sponsor part or all of a home.<br /><br />Still looking for a great Christmas gift for your best friend? Why don't you call her and suggest that, instead of exchanging gifts, you pool your money and sponsor a $40 low flow shower head for one of these homes, or buy a few gallons of paint starting at $25? Or get a group of friends together and sponsor a $100 thermostat or $250 flooring. There's something satisfying about knowing that your contribution might help make this the last Christmas that a New Orleans family has to spend without a home to celebrate the real reason for the season.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-52956623418287186982007-10-07T12:33:00.000-05:002007-10-07T16:26:30.171-05:00I've been mulling the events of the last couple of weeks around in my mind, and despite the fact that I have many creative thoughts rolling around my head, I don't have a complete one I can put to paper just yet. I guess that's what happens when you get to be a first hand witness to the formaldehyde-and-undertaker-not-included funeral rituals of a traditional Honduran household. It may take me a few months to hash this one out with my shrink, but once I do, you'll be the first ones to read my dissertation on The Traditions of Death and Burial in the Tropics.<br /><br />Until then, I'd like to leave you with a witty excerpt from an Op-Ed by Maureen Dowd of the New York Times. She seems to be as tired of Clarence Thomas' bitching as I am. She's brilliant, and I sort of want to be her when I grow up.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/07/opinion/07dowd.html?em&ex=1191902400&en=286298be7ca13d3a&ei=5087%0A">http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/07/opinion/07dowd.html?em&ex=1191902400&en=286298be7ca13d3a&ei=5087%0A</a><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="font-size:130%;">I Did Do It</span></em></strong><br /><em></em><br /><em>O.K., folks, you want the truth?<br />The whole truth and nothing but?<br />After all this time, you’re still dying to see the mystery solved?<br />Fine. I did it. Everything A. said — let’s just use the initial because it’s still hard for me to speak the name of my victim and tormentor — was true.<br />I did what I had to do and I didn’t care if it ruined A.’s life. I didn’t even care if people thought it was obscene.<br />I knew I was misusing my position, but I enjoyed having that kind of raw power over A. and saying the things I said. It made me tingle all over. I’m not going to deny that.<br />The liberals have turned A. into an icon. Give me a break. We are talking about a world-class know-it-all — someone prissy, uptight and no fun.<br />Not the sort of person I’d like to tailgate with, listen to Marvin Gaye with, share Ripple or a Scotch and Drambuie or a blackberry brandy with — if I were still drinking.<br />Not the kind, like my wife, Ginny, I’d bring along on an expedition in my custom-made motor home — those idyllic times when I get away from the meanness in Washington. Can you imagine that stiff A. spending the night in a Wal-Mart parking lot or hanging at a truck stop?<br />The liberals championed A. because they wanted to keep abortion safe. They can’t stop reliving the historic face-off, reopening the wound, replaying that whole media circus, wishing it had come out the opposite way.<br />Ginny has her heart set on having my memoir reap redemption. A lot of journalists on A.’s side in the last round have come over to my side. They’ve even shown the lighter side of Clarence. My new friend, ABC’s Jan Crawford Greenburg, called me one of “the most complex, compelling, maligned and misunderstood figures in modern history.” And thank you, Steve Kroft. I never thought “60 Minutes” could be so sweet.<br />A. looks a lot different now — I’ve caught the TV interviews and op-ed opining — but the old self-righteousness is still there.<br />I have no apologies to make. When you’re born in a backwater shack in Pin Point, Ga.; when you grow up poor, cold and hungry; when you get a bellyful of racial slights and condescension; when you can’t get a job after graduation, even with a degree from Yale, because you’re competing with rich, white, well-connected guys who were legacies at Yale, that’s when the anger boils up in you.<br />Every Southern black who lived through Jim Crow knows the feeling. From the time I was a kid, when my white classmates made fun of me as “ABC” — “America’s Blackest Child” — the beast of rage against The Man has gnawed at my soul.<br />Your Yale law degree isn’t worth 15 cents when everyone assumes you got special treatment because of the color of your skin, when, really, it was the witless Wonder Bread elites who got special treatment because of the color of their daddy’s money.<br />I still have a 15-cent sticker on the frame of my law degree because it’s tainted. I keep it in the basement.<br />That’s why I refuse, as a justice, to give a helping hand to blacks. I don’t want them to suffer from the advantages I had. Few of them will be able to climb to my heights, of course, but if they do, they will have the satisfaction of knowing that they made it on their own, as individuals.<br />Because Poppy Bush put me on the Supreme Court after I’d been a judge for only a year, I’ll always wonder if I got the job just because of my race. I want to spare other blacks that kind of worry. That’s why I pulled the ladder up after myself — so that my brothers and sisters would have the peace of mind that comes with self-reliance.<br />I used to have grave reservations about working at white institutions, subject to the whims of white superiors. But when Poppy’s whim was to crown his son — one of those privileged Yale legacy types I always resented — I had to repay The Man for putting me on the court even though I was neither qualified nor honest.<br />So I voted to shut down the vote-counting in Florida by A. — oh, I’ll just say it: Al — because if he’d kept going he might have won. I helped swing the court in case No. 00-949, Bush v. Gore, to narrowly achieve the Bush restoration.<br />I know it wasn’t what my hero Atticus Finch would have done. But having the power to carjack the presidency and control the fate of the country did give me that old X-rated tingle.<br />Al Gore’s true claims didn’t matter in that standoff any more than Anita Hill’s true claims did during my confirmation. That’s the beautiful thing about being a conservative. We don’t push for the truth. We push to win, praise the Lord.<br />It’s a relief to finally admit it: I’m proud to have hastened Al’s premature political death, hanging by hanging chads. It was, you might say, a low-tech lynching.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-18899987503234375772007-09-12T14:10:00.000-05:002007-09-12T16:01:46.591-05:00And the Jerk of the Week Award goes to...I'm loathe to even write this, because even bad press is good publicity, and I'd hate to draw any further attention to <a href="http://bigheaddc.com/">this idiot</a> than he's already getting. Sadly, he's picked on my friend, and for that he earns my Jerk of the Week Award, and the wrath of sunscreen deprived foodies across DC.<br /><br />BigHeadDC seems to pride itself on publishing up to date news on DC's latest scandals and escapades. Not really that difficult of a feat when you consider the number of criminals and deviants in Congress alone. On a page that boasts headlines from "Hooker Says Sen. Vitter Helped Her Score Drugs" to "Fred Thompson's Dirty Cigar" Biggie seems to have scored a picture of my favorite <a href="http://endlesssimmer.com/">food blogger</a> seeking some much needed breeze for her painful sunburn. Biggie attempts to turn it into a story by mocking the Native Jersey inability to pronounce certain words properly and attributing her current employment to her voluminous assets as shown in Exhibit A. It's almost entertaining in a very National-Enquirer-Elvis-is-living-in-the-Lincoln-Bedroom sort of way, except he really doesn't make any sense, and probably just wanted an excuse to post a picture of a rack similar to one he's seen at Millie and Al's but can't convince to go home with him.<br /><br />At the very least, Gansie can relish the fact that her ship has come in. You know you're famous when people start talking shit about you in a public forum.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-37271852296697040112007-09-05T08:33:00.000-05:002007-09-05T08:35:51.213-05:00Today's Bit 'O Wisdom by Jimmy Kimmel"If I was <a href="http://apnews.myway.com/article/20070905/D8RF89I80.html">Larry Craig</a> I'd say, 'Here's the deal -- I'm not gay, but my feet are' "Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-60013136781888356502007-08-10T11:27:00.000-05:002007-08-10T11:35:07.874-05:00Give me more Sex!In my quest to be uninformed, I've spent my mornings cruising the entertainment headlines. I'm usually bored by 9:05 by the next ridiculous thing done by a rich, blonde skank in California. This morning, I was greeted by the delightful surprise that "Mr. Big" has signed on to the Sex and the City movie!! I knew they couldn't just leave Big and Carrie in Paris and not finish the freakin' story. That, and I'm in love with Chris Noth. Filming begins in New York in September. Fortunately, my fabulous friend Rebecca has just moved to Manhattan, and the Chinatown bus to the Big Apple is only $20. I see some SATC stalking in my future...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-66715899081142248122007-08-07T11:46:00.000-05:002007-09-09T21:09:27.036-05:00The Problem of Pain... except it's really not a real problemI really don't have a creative thought in my head today, however my roommate forwarded the below email to me and I found it so true to life that I had to post it. I couldn't agree with it more, and I actually laughed out loud while reading it because very, very recent conversations I've had with friends about boys came to mind.<br /><br />I have no idea who wrote this, but whoever he is must be fabulous... and have a house cleaner than mine.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Why do women fall for jackasses?<br /></span></strong><br />Repeat this to yourself one thousand times:<br /><em>Screwed-up people are not more interesting than people with their heads together.</em><br />Baggage is not fascinating, romantic, or exciting. It is very, very tiring. Men who are polite and emotionally mature are hot. Learn it, love it, live by it.<br /><br />I have no idea whom to blame for the romantic mythology surrounding brooding, emotionally limited, narcissistic yahoos. I'm tempted to chalk it up to movies, where most men who start out as selfish jerks are eventually revealed to be wounded birds of some sort. Or it might be the uglier side of the therapy culture, which tempts you with the idea that these jerks might be amenable to solution, like crossword puzzles.<br /><br />For whatever reason, there are a surprising number of women who are attracted to guys who can't commit, who can't relate, who can't get along with anyone, who can't tell the truth… these guys get a lot of action.<br /><br />It's not that women really want jerks, exactly. I think it's a matter of mistaking emotional clutter for emotional complexity. Here's an analogy: Imagine a messy apartment. You walk in, you survey your surroundings, and there's an incredible quantity of stuff lying around. Books in tall stacks, Chinese food containers in the corners, DVDs in and out of boxes scattered around the TV… the place is in chaos. And while you wouldn't really want to live there, there might be some part of you that would look around and grudgingly admit, "There's a lot going on here." Now, imagine the same apartment, once somebody has managed to get it cleaned up. The books are on the shelves, the trash is thrown away, the DVDs are alphabetized. This is a much nicer place to live. But it's a little… you know, boring. And that's in spite of the fact that the same books are being read, the same food is being eaten, and the same DVDs are being watched. You're just in the presence of a person who knows how to clean up after himself.<br /><br />I think that for a lot of women, guys in turmoil seem strangely fascinating, as if they are, by definition, more interesting than everyone else. There's more of that clutter, so there's more going on, and there's more to sink your teeth into, and there's maybe even more emotional depth to such a person.<br /><br />Let me tell you something about the guys I know who are emotionally mature. The ranks of the healthy and rational include plenty of guys who have been in rehab, or been divorced, or seen their parents' marriages end horribly, or had their own dreams thwarted in some ugly way—all the things that creeps are fond of waving around as explanations for why they lie or cheat on you or generally continue to be creeps.<br /><br />The difference is that the healthy and rational people have at least undertaken the process of digesting all of that stuff and placing it in some sort of perspective so that it doesn't have to become your problem. They know from suffering, just as much as the ones who sit around brooding into their beers and writing free verse and dragging everyone else into their little theater of agony. The sane ones are still working on their crap, too—who isn't? The difference is that they're not fetishizing their own misery or asking you to embrace it. And that's a benefit to you, because the only thing you can guarantee yourself about that kind of hair-pulling drama is that if you cuddle up next to it, it'll get on you.<br /><br />You're going to get plenty of emotional complications from anyone. Even people who have their lives very well pulled together are going to give you lots of opportunities to practice patience and understanding. There's no point in starting out with someone who isn't even trying.<br /><br /><br />According to studies, many intelligent women prefer men with emotional complexities, even if it means that he can be verbally abusive, inaccessible, and generally loonier than Courtney Love on a bender. Now, I can't speak for all men, but while I may have tolerated similar behavior, I can't say I've ever preferred it. Any time I found myself dating a woman who was an emotional roller-coaster, the only reasons I stuck with her were because a) I was lonely and her presence in my life helped to fill a void or b) I was getting the best sex of my life. Lame, but true.<br /><br />Put another way: Could you ever picture a man saying out loud, "There's something that's just so mysterious about her. Sometimes I look in her eyes and I feel like she totally understands me, and other times, I have no idea what she's thinking. She runs really hot and cold but I can't get enough of her. I think I'm going to stick around until I can crack her shell. One day she'll learn to be more emotionally available and loving." Tolerance for female ambivalence is not a stereotypically male attribute.<br /><br />This isn't at all to castigate women, as much as it is to acknowledge that women see more nuance in every scenario, so it's no surprise that they give undeserving men the benefit of the doubt. But what for? Hasn't every woman since the beginning of time had a thing for jerks and realized at some point that jerks were always going to be jerks?<br /><br />I was the nice guy in high school who enjoyed being friends with cute girls who wouldn't go out with me in a million years. I figured, "If that's as close as I can get, I'll take it. Maybe one day they'll realize what I'm worth." I would listen to boy problems galore — essentially, nice girls being treated badly by jerks — and not once did any of these girls ever say: "Hmm, Steffan's a great guy with a really kick-ass afro. I'll bet he'd be a wonderful boyfriend."<br /><br />But it's not simply the rejection of the nice guy that's keeping so many women single. It's the acceptance of the screwed-up guy. Because screwed-up guys draw screwed-up women into a whole Misery Loves Company episode of Love Connection—where both parties are brought together not by the audience but by their insecurities and inadequacies.<br /><br />All that "You can't love anyone until you love yourself" stuff? So true. And if you're choosing to date guys with major issues, you're just as guilty as he is. Yes, everybody's got issues, but not necessarily deal-breaker-type issues. Which is why women often say they're seeking men who can fit their baggage in a carry-on. Unfortunately, there are lot of men who try to sneak a 75-pound trunk onto the plane and protest that it has wheels so it's technically a carry-on. Women with issues are the ones who choose these guys.<br /><br />Women who have their act together simply don't have the patience. Admittedly, there are a few people who probably enjoy the histrionics and the moods and the make-up sex that come with dating drama kings and queens. But I'd bet that most are just willing to tolerate the drama, because, thus far, that drama comes attached to the "best" person they could find. Essentially, they're saying, "Yeah, he's inconsistent, selfish, and distant, but he's all mine." Just realize that every second you're spending with the wrong guy is a second that you're not out looking for the right one — the guy who gives, the guy who listens, the guy who learns.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-81068519596803260142007-08-02T23:16:00.000-05:002007-08-03T09:30:55.635-05:00Things That Make My Skin CrawlPedophiles. They're at the top of my list of things that make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and not in a good way. I've been a firm believer that there is a special place in hell for people who take advantage of children and old people. Pedophiles fall easily into that category. My absolute disgust with them has spread to what should usually be a sacred and respected institution - the Catholic Church. The horrific stories that have come to light in many of the clergy abuse cases have really rocked me to my core. I can't comprehend how an adult who stands as a role model to their congregations as a man of the cloth can find the gall within themselves to do such poinlasting damage to innocent children. I'm not happy about the fact that much of what I have read and heard has affected me to the point that I have a difficult time even going in to Catholic Churches now. But I digress.<br /><br />Based on my feelings towards child molesters, you can imagine my absolute horror when I heard about Jack McClellan. He's a "self proclaimed" pedophile living in California. He's a sick piece of shit who has his own website that serves as a "How-To" guide for adults interested in molesting underaged girls. His links range from statutory laws regarding sexual relations with minors to lists of current LG (Little Girl) sightings and events. <br /><br />I can't effectively articulte my utter revulsion with this disgusting predator. I'm all for free speech, but the fact that something like this can be allowed to exist in a public forum where children are already such visible targets is simply unacceptable.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-64360351820806400712007-08-01T09:46:00.000-05:002007-08-01T14:10:49.588-05:00Killing Me Softly (or Why I Think Michael Moore Is On To Something)I'm well aware of the fact that the American health care system is broken. I've known this for quite some time, yet somehow that is of little consolation to me when I'm the target of a deficiency in my medical care.<br /><br />I'm really fortunate. I work for a very large company that has gone to great lengths to provide its employees with the best health insurance possible. I will never have health insurance this good ever again. Unless I sell my soul to a corporate law firm after I graduate from law school, but that's another demon for another day. My health insurance is incredibly important to me because, unlike most 25 year olds, I actually really need it. I'm on several medications to manage my asthma problem I've had since childhood, and without CIGNA, I couldn't afford the drugs I'm supposed to take on a daily basis to make sure I can do dumb things like run 5 miles at a time and not drop dead. CIGNA is such a phenomenal insurance company that I am able to do extraordinary things like walk into my local pharmacy and pick up my 5 prescriptions at the beginning of the month and walk out without having paid much, if any, money out of pocket.<br /><br />Until I can't.<br /><br />I've been the unfortunate victim of my tempermental allergies and asthma this summer. My recent episodes have led me to believe it's unwise for me to be involved in any outdoor situations that don't primarily involve concrete and other non-organic ground coverings. In an effort not to turn blue and pass out while in the presence of other people, I've used more of my asthma medicine than I usually do and found myself in short supply last night while wheezing away at an outdoor Pete Yorn/Guster concert. A late night call to my Happy, Helpful Pharmacist didn't really get me anywhere. My insurance company's computer system was down last night, and despite the fact that I was the only person waiting for a prescription at midnight on a Tuesday, he wasn't able to guarantee that I'd have it before 1am. That was difficult for me to process when a)tired b)snot faced and c)wheezing like an injured accordion. Fortunately, HHP felt sort of sorry for me and handed me a box with my inhaler in it. He said that, while I couldn't take it home with me, he'd let me use some there and pick up and pay for the prescription later. I didn't have it in me to wait until 1am for my medicine. After a few hits and a Benedryl, I decided my bed would be a better remedy.<br /><br />Until this morning.<br /><br />Clearly NOT healed, I woke up sounding more bagpipe-ish than accordion-ish. I was in a hurry and opted to head in to work and grab a spare inhaler from the Happy, Helpful Pharmacist across the street from my office. After all, a nerd like me can't have too many inhalers. I called in my prescription, tossed back a Benedryl and Red Bull in an effort not to completely pass out face first on my desk, and popped over to pick up my inhaler. I thought I had it all figured out. When HHP2 pulled my prescription, she said my insurance declined the claim on the basis that it was a duplicate. I told her it wasn't a duplicate and explained that I was filling a separate prescription from the one I filled last night. She said the insurance considered it a duplicate because they were filled so closely together and wouldn't spring for another refill for at least two weeks. Two weeks?? Not acceptable. HHP2 offered me the option to pay for the prescription out of pocket. I was pulling my debit card out of my wallet when she announced, "That'll be one thirty five." I got a little confused. Thinking that perhaps the lack of oxygen to my brain was affecting my hearing, I asked her to repeat herself. HHP2 then said, "One thirty five. As in, one hundred and thirty five dollars."<br /><br />I almost dropped dead right there, a reaction that would have completely negated any need for any inhaler at all.<br /><br />One hundred and thirty five dollars? Are you effing kidding me? Needless to say, I left the pharmacy without my inhaler and vowed to wheeze all 3 verses of "Danny Boy" before I paid that much money for an inhaler. Despite all the hassle and my minor discomfort, I'll be okay. I'm still disturbed, though. Tonight after work I'll pick up my original prescription from the Happy, Helpful Pharmacist down the street from my house and huff all my problems away. Unfortunately, it's not that simple for people without insurance. Asthma is a frighteningly common disease among children, especially in urban areas. An unsettlingly large number of these children come from families who really have to stretch to make ends meet every month. $135 for a rescue inhaler is out of reach for a lot of these people, not to mention the $250+ cost for steroid inhalers intended to prevent attacks in the first place. It's easy to understand why many children then find themselves treated with simple remedies to this potentially deadly condition in an emergency room instead of at a pediatrician's office, and why your grandmother is being cuffed and cavity searched at the Canadian border for drug smuggling.<br /><br />Universal health care might not be the perfect solution to our health care crisis, but when pharmaceutical companies and insurance companies make it so cost prohibitive for people to receive the sort of treatments they need to live productive and useful lives, something has to give somewhere. I'd bitch about it, but I'm keeping busy just trying to breathe.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-35560902829513310772007-07-30T09:42:00.000-05:002007-08-01T11:30:30.973-05:00For Sale: The US MilitaryYou know you had a great weekend when you're beside yourself thrilled that it's finally Monday so you can go to work and clear your head.<br /><br />It seems my public is demanding a new post. By public, I mean Leslie, my college roommate/<a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.savantphotography.com">favorite photographer</a>/almost oldest friend in the world who somehow seems not to have enough to do in her day despite her insanely busy schedule, household and wifey duties, and the fact that she's expecting a little bambi(no)/peanut/lentil. Did I mention she's my <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.leslieannkitten.com">favorite photographer</a>? She's so great, she can even make my Uncle Fester bags under my eyes go away AND make me look 10 pounds thinner. Pretty miraculous stuff.<br /><br />My current events blogs have kind of tapered over the last couple of weeks because I'm on a news diet. My favorite green eyed man is leaving me for sand and sun - not the bikini kind, the burqa kind - so in the interest of my personal sanity and mental well being, I've decided I don't really need to know about EVERY suicide bomber who finds success in the Middle East. However, despite my best efforts to be an ignorant American, a few ridiculous news stories have managed to seep into my News-Free Zone.<br /><br /><p>Everyone has their own personal point of view on the war. I'm not getting into that debate this morning. One less divisive topic that has totally enraged me over the weekend is the amount of money private contracting corporations are raking in thanks to this incredibly brutal war. I will be the first to agree that contractors do have a place within our defense department and I firmly believe that contractors should be used to fill certain administrative and support staff positions to take some of the burden off our overworked military. What I don't agree with is war profiteering. Thanks to the <a href="http://iraqforsale.org/">greed of the largest military contractors in the United States</a>, exhorbitant amounts of money are being made off the backs of members of our armed forces and civilian contractors who are being put in harm's way in the name of a quick profit. <br /><br />While contractors who work with the United States government should be allowed to make a measure of profit for their services, their first priority is to provide quality support to our troops, freeing up much needed man power for other tasks. Like fighting a war and coming home to their families in one piece. Basic security precautions, like staggering meal times to allow for varied schedules to avoid planned attacks on large groups of soldiers, were thrown to the wayside by companies like <a href="http://www.halliburtonwatch.org/about_hal/since2001.html">Halliburton</a> because of "cost concerns." Interestingly enough, the same companies complaining about their bottom line seem to have enough money to pay their CEOs millions of dollars in salary and benefits each year. To say we deserve better is an understatement. When our men and women in uniform <a href="http://www.boston.com/news/world/middleeast/articles/2006/01/23/halliburton_gave_troops_foul_water_workers_say/?rss_id=Boston.com+%2F+News">can't even be guaranteed fresh drinking water</a>, how are they supposed to effectively do their jobs? Even worse, how can we expect them to when we allow our own government to sell their safety and, in turn, our country's safety, for campaign contributions?</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-57901268372078146822007-07-10T11:43:00.000-05:002007-07-10T14:45:52.909-05:00Fallout BoysWell, at long last, <a href="http://www.deborahjeanepalfrey.com.nyud.net/Jeane10c.html">the drama</a> begins again.<br /><br />Our famous DC Madam has released her phone records, thanks to an order handed down by the District of Columbia District Court last week. Our first victim? David Vitter, a Republican Senate candidate in the state of Louisiana. He's had enough problems up to this point with accusations regarding his relationship with white supremacist David Duke, who seems to be providing help under the table to the Vitter campaign.<br /><br />It's going to be a long, hot summer in DC, and it's easy to get bored with the daily grind. We'll have plenty of time to pore over the phone lists in search of number we recognize. I wonder whose boss is next on the chopping block?<br /><br />In other news, here's <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070710/ap_on_re_as/china_tainted_products">reason # 487 </a>being a government employee in the U.S. is better than being a government employee in China. Apparently the wages of getting lazy on the job are death. Can you imagine if we held FEMA to the same standard?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-70215139516852689732007-07-09T15:44:00.000-05:002007-07-09T16:18:45.754-05:00Feeding My AddictionIn honor of one of America's favorite pastimes, I have to give a shout out to my fabulous friend Gansie and the fruits of her successful partnership with friend BS and roommate 80 Proof. They're the founders of and contributors to <strong><a href="http://www.endlesssimmer.com/">endless simmer</a></strong>, a rising, epicurean authority on all things edible. Gansie gets extra kudos for actually being able to cook the things they discuss. While my experience with haute cuisine is strictly limited to actual consumption rather than creation, I feel qualified to state that the majority of their blogs will make you so hungry, you'll want to devour your mouse. Check them out. Try your hand at one of their recipes. Then call me so I can help you eat it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-30143803103035009502007-05-27T11:16:00.000-05:002007-05-27T11:37:52.689-05:00There are few things more painful than being the sober person in Adams Morgan on a Saturday night. Fortunately, sobriety heightens my sense of hearing. Or something. Here are some of my favorite conversation snippets from last night's... outing.<br /><br />"Man, you're hot baby. So how many kids do you have?"<br />"I don't have any kids."<br />"Girl, really? No way. You Puerto Rican or something?"<br />"No, and fuck you for saying that."<br />"Girl, I'm just saying. You 25... You sure you ain't got no kids?"<br /><br />"Hey baby, I like your dress. Can I call you next time I go shopping?"<br /><br />"It warms my heart that everytime I see you, you get better looking."<br /><br />"This isn't a drunk dial. This is a Capital of the United States drunk dial."<br /><br />"I'm not kidding! I miss the freakin' annoying lady!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-4803246289349256332007-05-24T08:25:00.000-05:002007-05-24T08:26:30.844-05:00The Constitution gives every American the inalienable right to make a damn fool of himself.<br /> - John CiardiUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-42100881522300331512007-05-18T09:09:00.000-05:002007-05-18T09:46:45.873-05:00The brownies will get you every timeI've seen and heard some pretty ridiculous things in the last 24 hours, but the following is so absurd, I just don't even have words for it.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hnZb5wi_jsU"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hnZb5wi_jsU" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-57503114301971971602007-05-15T14:04:00.000-05:002007-05-15T14:37:04.637-05:00Ding Dong...I went back and forth with myself for a little while as I tried to decide if I was going to bother commenting on the one thing that might entertain my sad little mind for the next day or so. I've come to the conclusion that since God already knows what I'm thinking, what harm will it do to put some of those thoughts to paper (or screen, as it were).<br /><br />So Jerry Falwell died.<br /><br />I have a friend who is currently trying to decide if he feels bad about the fact that he's happy Jerry Falwell is going to hell. I won't go quite as far as my friend, since I do well enough on my own on a daily basis when it comes to reserving my own eternal picnic spot next to the lake of fire. I will say, however, that I would love to be a mouse in the corner watching <strong>THAT</strong> conversation with St. Peter.<br /><br />So here's to the man who blamed the sins of America for September 11th. He's the one who told us the Antichrist was alive, well, and Jewish (of course). He said a cartoon character was gay and would turn all of America's children gay if they watched him. I don't know what else we expected from a purple fluffy toy named Tinky Winky. Here's to the man who actively supported Apartheid in South Africa and denounced the Civil Rights Movement, saying "Where God has drawn a line of distinction, we should not attempt to cross that line."<br /><br />Jerry, we'll miss you. Thanks for the laughs, and don't forget your sunscreen.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-70124528427344347692007-04-26T10:55:00.000-05:002007-04-26T11:28:32.043-05:00And now, for something completely differentI'll just cut to the chase. If you are a woman under the age of 27, run, don't walk, to your favorite doctor, internist, gynocologist, whatever, and get the series of HPV shots. There are three of them. They hurt like hell (or maybe I'm just petrified of needles...), but colposcopies and cervical cancer hurt worse.<br /><br />Why do I care? Well, two reasons. I'm at a high enough risk for enough other cancers, and I'd really like to keep cervical cancer off that list. In my efforts to take care of myself, I got the first of the three shots on Tuesday. My arm didn't fall off, so I'll go back in 2 months for the second shot. The good news - my health insurance covers them. The realistic news - even if my health insurance didn't cover them, I'd get them anyways. They're that important.<br /><br />Reason number two? The <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18328391/">one thing </a>the Governor of Texas has ever done that I've wholeheartedly supported was shot down by the Texas Legislature out of a sense of foolish, dangerous pride. The Governor sidestepped the Legislature by issuing a mandate that female students in the State of Texas receive the shot in order to enroll in school from grade six and beyond. The Legislature got their feelings hurt and passed a bill instating a four year moratorium on any mandate requiring the shot as a prerequisite to school enrollment. Parents are in an uproar because they don't want to talk to younger children about the purpose of the shots for fear that it will start a premature conversation about sex. Well, guess what? Teens are becoming sexually active at younger ages, and if all we do is stick our heads in the sand, we'll end up with a bunch of disease ridden, confused teenagers. When it comes to sex, ignorance doesn't equal abstinence.<br /><br />That being said, my readers are old enough to know where everything is and what it all does (or doesn't do... but that's another blog for another day). I don't really care if you're married or in a monogamous relationship. You still need the shots. HPV is a virus that can lie dormant in your body for years before becoming active, so even if you've been faithful to your favorite guy, that crazy frat boy from college might still come back to haunt you when you least expect it. Even scarier, it will eventually affect 80% of women at some point in their lives. It's a game of Russian Roulette if you're part of that 80%, because you might be unlucky enough to contract the strain that causes genital warts or worse, cancer. Get the shots, and take a friend so she'll get her shots, too. Make a day of it. There's just no real good reason not to.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7162734943196045102.post-11009953480604729832007-04-25T23:47:00.000-05:002007-04-26T10:48:08.751-05:00the collective wisdom of ignoranceMonday afternoon I passed within 2 feet of James Carville on the street while walking back to my office from a quick snack break. I'm still giggling about it. While some individuals mock my fascination with my DC people sightings, I feel nothing but childlike glee when I see people in my daily life who I'd ordinarily only catch glimpses of on Sunday morning talk TV. Between The Ragin' Cajun Sighting and my incredible tan, it's been a fabulous week. I love my life.<br /><br />While my gut instinct is to introduce you all to my jackass landlord today, I think I'll save him for the month of May when I get closer to moving out and he actually does fray and break my very last nerve. After all, I'm sure he'll wander into our house unannounced and catch one of us in a towel at least one or two more times before our lease is up.<br /><br />Rather, I think I'll discuss <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/03/06/AR2007030602145.html">Ayaan Hirsi Ali</a>, the inflamatory anti-Muslim feminist without a country. She lives under the constant eye of bodyguards who protect her from death threats just short of the fatwa imposed on Salman Rushdie, which she supported as a teen and young adult. She has defied her family and walked away from two husbands. She lives with the twisted emotion of survivor's guilt since the death of her friend and associate, Theo Van Gogh, who was murdered after producing the anti-Muslim screenplay she wrote. She has denounced her religion and had the intestinal fortitude to openly call Muhammed a pervert.<br /><br />While I won't be so naiive as to take Ali's point of view as the Rosetta Stone for all modern Muslim women, I am intrigued by her life story and the events of her past that have led her to her present day opinions about religion and current affairs. Her recent autobiography <em>Infidel </em>not only discusses her life, but also brings perspective on Muslim society. She makes comparisons between the fundamentalist religion she found while living in Saudia Arabia, her lax religious upbringing in Somalia, and the present day rise of fanatical beliefs in Africa. If Ali's own experiences are not poignant enough, she also narrates the story of her younger sister Haweya. A graphic description of the female circumcision ritual performed on both women during their childhood paints a backdrop for the remainder of Haweya's conflicted and tragic existence, a life that almost provides a textbook prototype for the abused and manipulated Muslim woman.<br /><br />Beyond any emotion I felt while reading Ali's memoir, I was most moved by her selflessness in speaking out. I'm beginning to understand the personal and professional ramifications that can present themselves anytime a person decides to voice their opposition to an injustice, no matter how big or small. To do so on the far reaching scale that Ali has astounds me. She has given up a good measure of freedom in her personal life to raise awareness to the situation of oppressed Muslim women around the world. In return, she has been publicly scorned for her divisiveness, no more than by <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/25/AR2007042500387.html">those she has sacrificed so much for</a>.<br /><br />It takes courage to acknowledge the things that matter. It is much easier to allow daily events to pass by unnoticed, or at least unmentioned. People's feelings don't get hurt, tough decisions don't have to be made, and everyone can stay in their own undisturbed comfort zone just a little longer. And things never change, because everyone is too busy pretending not to notice.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0