January 23, 2009 § Leave a comment
I’m beginning to think what MSNBC needs is an astrology pundit show (in the slot after Rachel, we don’t need Keith twice) so all the intricate parsing of the day’s events could be livened up with discussions of what Mercury retrograde will do to the President’s Blackberry and what effect the coming eclipse (Jan 26; you have to be in African, Antarctica or Australia to see it) will have on our alpha Leo. Here’s my prediction, for what it’s worth: Obama won’t get 100 days to prove himself, much less the couple of years the press has been nattering about, but more like a week and a half. Already he’s closed Gitmo and bombed Pakistan. If he can cut taxes, pass universal health care, outfit Air Force One with solar panels and get the girls their puppy before the end of the month, the country will sigh and start shopping for valentines.
So, okay, the stimulus bill, what’s supposed to save the banks, our jobs, savings and houses: that little thing. The early draft sounds like those sex guides that define foreplay as caressing all the erogenous zones (there are so many more than you thought!) repeatedly—and never once mention what might be called the art of it: narrative, strategy, precision. I know Congress is out of its depth. Brains aren’t passed out at the door. They just want to make us and their donors and the lobbyists and the President happy, and not be made fun of on TV. They’re not potted plants, as Tom Lantos once said. (Not Axelrod—he said that the cabinet members aren’t potted plants). All I can say is, Can you help the girls find their dog?
Philip expressed his pleasure with my post yesterday about respecting his (and others’) privacy. It kind of makes me want to upload a picture of his dick. But dick pix are everywhere, and his isn’t two pronged like a kangaroo, nor bullet proof like Obama’/s inauguration suit. (http://blog.wired.com/gadgets/2009/01/president-oba-1.html) It’s just mostly perfect, like the private parts of every man I’ve ever slept with who might be reading this blog, but of course more perfect than most.
(As for Charles, he’s spoken for himself, most eloquently, in a recent comment. He knows how perfect he is.)
January 22, 2009 § 2 Comments
I’ve been considering what level of openness regarding my personal life I want for this blog. People have raised issues—hurt feelings, privacy—that have made me uncomfortable, though not surprised. I was in therapy and AA for years, so the personal spills easily. And I’m a novelist, so raw emotion and peculiar human detail seems like the good stuff, what I hate to let go of even if I know it will upset someone. Not that I don’t have boundaries; there are plenty of things I’d never put in here, though the writer in me salivates. And I know exactly where the boundaries should stay to keep my loved ones happy, but I can’t help wanting to move the goalposts a little.
I find my sexual and emotional life an endless source of comedy. This isn’t because I haven’t cried several rivers, but because I have and so what. My boyfriend’s pretzel of a psyche, my husband’s Man-Who-Fell-to-Earth oddity spark enormous tenderness in me, yet there have been many times over the years when one or another has lain beside me, disgorging secrets and dreams, revealing astonishing delusions (like the ones you and I have) while I repeated the words in my head, memorizing the turns of phrase, thinking, What a character he’ll make someday.
I thought that ‘someday’ I’d be disconnected from one or another.
“I don’t want to censor you, but you can’t expect me not to have a reaction.”
“You have to write what you want—you have to—but can’t I tell you how I feel?”
Well, okay. I guess the appropriate cautionary tale is Nixon and the White House tapes. He probably didn’t get the novelistic splendor of it all, but he knew the joys of the raw meat moment. General This and Senator That, talking shit. You want to preserve and protect. You don’t want to be kicked out of the place of privilege.