Quote of the Day

"He wanted to have sex under the stairwell. I was like, I ain't having sex under no stairwell. I ain't having sex in no creepy alley either. I'm a princess."

--High school girl on the T.

For when you should be working

Check out Google's archive of LIFE Magazine photos going back to the Civil War. Pretty lovely.

Death and the Ring

On my way to the gym, the transit police and ambulance service people were covering the body of a dead guy on a stretcher. I couldn't see who it was or if it was any of the homeless men who are typically around Back Bay Station.

In the locker room, when I pulled my shirt over my head, it snagged the stone on my ring and tore it out. I found the stone on the floor, placed it carefully in the locker thinking the jewelry store could easily pop the stone back into the setting.

Before leaving the gym, I put the ring back on my hand but had no safe place for the stone, so I decided to hold it between my fingers until I got back to my desk.

This was successful until I got to the Vanguard Medical building by Back Bay Station. My faced itched. I scratched it with the hand holding the stone. And pop! It snapped out from my fingers and I didn't see it drop.

I put down my gym bag, pulled back my hair and got down on my knees to start scouring the brick. It must have bounced into a crack.

The more I looked, the more it wasn't there. People walked by staring at me like I was a crazy person. Tears started to form. Now I'm crazy and crying, I told myself.
After 15 minutes of crawling on the brick mere feet from where someone died a half hour earlier, the tears were getting too heavy and I couldn't see through them. I gave up.

Back at my desk, feeling sorry for myself, I took the clothes out of my gym bag. The little blue stone plopped onto my desk. It hadn't fallen in the street, it had fallen into my bag.

Dated

"I'm a Nintendo in a PS3 world."

Thought of the Day

I know that until January 20 President-elect Obama has no more constitutional authority than I do (he's not even a senator anymore, as of, I think, Sunday)... and, harrumph, I guess it's a good sign that he's exhibiting respect for the rule of law by refraining from setting up a shadow presidency, which given the circumstances it would probably be very easy for him to get away with...

But still.

Can't we just make him president, like, today?

If Bush's goons have another two months to mismanage the economy we'll all be wearing barrels and potato sacks to the Inaugural Ball.

Shack Attack

I was surprised to see that Shaquille O'Neal is still playing basketball. By now he must be an old man (by pro sports standards, at least). He was playing when I was in sixth grade. I remember that specifically. In Spelling class that year, I remember this kid named Luke (fill in the last name, Mom) leaning over to show me a picture he'd drawn of a garden shed slam-dunking.

"It's a Shack Attack," he whispered with a conspiratorial snort. "Get it?"

I did not. And it was years before I did.

The early bird catches the bookworm

I love books but rarely can get through one. In the last six months I bet I've read the first half of more than a dozen books, but the second half of only two or three. Mostly I'm crippled by choice -- if a book isn't knocking my socks off, why should I spend one second more on it, when there are so many others that might be better?

I used to buy books, and my shelves have grown littered with abandoned novels sprouting receipt-bookmarks from their middle pages. Now I use the library, but still, dropping a book down the Returns chute two-thirds read still leaves me feeling guilty.

The other day I recognized there was a problem when I returned a book by my favorite sci-fi author, Alastair Reynolds, less than half-read. It was a typically good read but I just couldn't plow through it.

So I returned to my favorite book, what Steinbeck called his "first book" (implying that everything he'd written before was just preparation), East of Eden, just so I could remember what it's like when time and page numbers disappear. The writing is so good, I swear it breaks my heart at least once per page. I'll encounter a sentence so beautiful it seems to demand something of me, that I cut it out and frame it or use it to try to cure sadness and hunger. Sometimes I'll go back and read the whole page out loud. Other times, if I'm alone, I'll set the book down and say "Yeow!"

A happy couple

The news and pictures out of Connecticut this morning were extra meaningful for me in light of what went down in California last week -- maybe because of what went down in California last week. When the CT Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage in October, it barely registered on my radar. But since last week I've been counting the days till the ruling went into the effect. Just so Massachusetts wouldn't be the only state anymore. One is a lonely number. And one feels vulnerable.

What hit me so hard about California (and why I think it'll be marked as a turning point in the gay civil rights movement) was that it was the first time gay people were stripped of an existing, active and in-use right. Lots of other states have passed legislation to prevent marriage equality. But it's far more meaningful and devastating to have it and then to have it ripped away. And it's a wake-up call.

Until last week I'd grown complacent. That's why the ruling in CT barely registered for me. I thought being on the right side of history was enough, because the right side always ultimately prevails. What I guess I failed to realize until the loss of California (and it was a big loss) is that the right side doesn't prevail inevitably. Change doesn't come merely by expecting it. I think I'm not alone in realizing this now.

So today should be celebrated. Two is a glorious number.

Doggie Soup Kitchen, Part 2

For you, Maggie:



They need a hypoallergenic dog because Malia is allergic. May I suggest a cocker-poo!

Doggie Soup Kitchen

The city of Berlin in Germany opened a soup kitchen for the dogs of homeless and impoverished residents.

It warms my heart that people not only realize that the recession effects households' ability to feed their pets, but that they are doing something about it.

Local food pantries around me have begun to collect pet food in addition to people food.

In other animal news, President Elect Barack Obama has said that his family is looking to adopt a dog. They will get one from a shelter, not a pet store or breeder. I love this guy.

44

Imagine that.

Election Day

It's like Christmas, Fourth of July, and a root canal, all rolled up in one.

Mi mi mi mi mi!

When I stuck my Obama 08 sticker on my car 22 months ago, I stuck it because Obama was fresh and young and new, and because he spoke of an America I wanted to believe in.

But between then and now he's impressed me in a variety of ways I didn't even consider in the beginning. Unlike both of his competitors, he didn't bankrupt his campaign, which shows he knows how to manage (my) money. Unlike both of his competitors, he didn't need staff shake-ups, which shows he knows how to hire people who can get the job done. He's proven to have an unflappable temperament and a willingness to be bold when the situation calls for it. He's done what he said he was going to do in terms of expanding the Democratic electoral map and winning over Republicans.

And his message of a united America has never changed. Barack himself never changed. I kept waiting for what I thought was the inevitable cringey moment -- like John Kerry pheasant-hunting to show he was a regular guy -- but Obama never jumped through any hoops. He was what he was.

I know he's not going to be some kind of American messiah. I know he's not going to transform the world. It'll be enough if he's able to keep things from getting any worse. But I'm 27 and so far in my experience a president is someone either to be embarrassed by or ashamed of. That we might have one to be admired is thrilling.

Thrilling too is the idea that America is on the verge of proving that a man who forty-five years ago would've been blasted with a fire hose just for wanting a decent seat at the movies, can now be elected to our highest office. That gives me hope. That means that somewhere in Des Moines or San Antonio a gay kid will look at the paper Wednesday and see Black man elected president and she'll believe in a new option for herself. That is progress.

So. Two years this race has been going on, and finally the fat lady is warming up. She's getting ready to sing. And if you look close, you'll spy a little sticker on that viking hat of hers. We'll find out for sure tomorrow what the sticker says, but I think the sticker says HOPE.

Your little hater vs. creativity