Palin

Of course she is “the star” of the new GOP. She is the prisoner who has been Stockholmed so thoroughly that she will gladly put her head in any noose she is told to. Of course there is no resemblance at all to any Muslim woman who would strap explosives to her body. If she was a prisoner of the CIA's they would be trotting her out at funding meetings to justify black budgets.

She is a terrific example that the Christian Right’s techniques, having adopted the indoctrination tactics of cults, (the most basic of which is to control ones environment in order to love bomb them when they are good, and isolate them when they are not), which have been being improved on daily since the fifties, work very well.

This is why my friend, after being locked down in the Moon-y camps for 15+ years is now completely free to roam at will, doing Papa Moon’s work, and his children were born, and remain, totally, already, in.


Note: I realize I generally avoid politics like the plague, but this is more about women, religion, psychology and sociology which I feel like I have some actual credentials in.

Patooey

So when I was well enough to attend many activities last weekend, I was having walkabouts around town. I had wandered up to the Book Festival last Saturday am. It was oddly not really my thing. I got better energy off the Kerrytown one last year. But I wanted to pop up to see my friend playing Indian music at one of the stalls (I think it was the U-M international center or something similar). He failed to mention it was a “for kids” performance but whatever, it was cute.

On the way back I did some downtown erranding. One thing I am in search of is a Rosie the Riveter coffee mug for Nigel as I have, stupidly yet accidentally, broken his. Naturally, I also had to hit a couple of used bookstores. Dawn Treader was less than helpful. UBU was more than helpful.

But the thing that left a really lasting impression ‘shudder’ was when walking west on E. Liberty a pungent waft of patchouli began assailing me. I looked around, no one was even close. I focused on the wind, it was out of the west. Which indicated that the likely culprit was the woman with two children, walking towards me but still almost half a block away. Sure enough as we approached each other it just got stronger and stronger.

Here’s the thing about patooey. It is not parfum, it is not cologne and it is most definitely not, by a long stretch, an “essential” oil. It’s primary use? In hot countries with little refrigeration it is used to anoint the dead because it is one of the few things that can somewhat cover the stench of rotting flesh. Why would you put something more pungent than a corpse on your body and think you looked good in it?
Oh, I suppose I have to acknowledge that it can be used in the base notes of other Parfum. But that ratio is like, one drop to a vat, of other stuff. Stuff that actually smells good.

Patooey is one of the most rank things man has ever devised. I am going to put it right up there with the sludge pit at the water treatment facility. I was going to compare it to napalm but OK, it is slightly less offensive than things that actually kill people. In the sense that wishing you were dead is still somewhat better than being dead.

Stop wearing Patooey!
This becomes NOT a matter of freedom of choice. Yes, you probably could legally wear a dead otter around your neck but would you want to deal with the social consequences of that decision? And just when does it become a legal issue if you are causing others, many others, to gag and vomit?

Just as the majority should not oppress the minority, neither should the minority oppress the majority. And in this case you oppress both the majority and that minority who have environmental allergies who should not have to keep over a half a block distance from you to not be attacked by by your fumerage.

Lady, if not for our sake, do it for the children.

On Patti Smith, Gender & Cohorts

I went to the Patti Smith concert. It wasn’t until today that I really was able to become coherent with my thoughts about some of the odd things she said between songs.

The first thing that struck me was when, after she sang “Kimberly”, she mentioned that it was the birthday of her sister for whom it was written. She then dedicated it to her and said “happy birthday Kimberly, wherever you are”. I thought “how strange, does she not have a relationship with her? Is she dead?” Because I only say that about people who are missing and presumed, deceased or long gone from me.

Later she was telling little stories about her relationship with Fred Smith. Let me state baldly that I am not a “worshipper” like many locals. Having done my time doin’ dirty deeds with M.D. I am so fully cognizant that those guys are just very, very, human. But I do respect them in a general way.
She told a story that when she was in disheveled Mom mode and the kids were dirty, Fred would walk on the other side of the street from them. Don’t get me wrong, she said it in a humorous and loving way. People laughed, cheered, whatever. Because it was an Ann Arbor crowd they got all excited that they could act excited about a local hero. She also intro’ed “Because The Night” by telling another story about how either they wrote it together or she wrote it for him (I get confused) calling him “a very good friend”. Which she then explained by relating how he once had said he wanted to introduce her for some award, she asked if he would say she was his wife, and he said he would say she was a very good friend. Meanwhile everyone is just gaga because she’s sharing stories of their idol “His Royal Majesty” Fred “Sonic” Smith. While I’m wondering if they are even stopping for one damn minute to consider the implications of what she is relating?

Because here is what it sounds like to me;
An internationally acclaimed poet/performer moves away from her career and life to marry and have kids with a somewhat famous, himself, guy. They/he seem to have some issues about gender roles and her success relative to his. Likely because they are from a particular (what I learned this year in Soc. is called) cohort, they don’t seem to be able to fully deal with a total equality based relationship thing. It’s not that I don’t think there was likely plenty of love, respect and creativity etc. I just got an urgent sense that she, in fact, subsumed some (perhaps largish) portion of herself to his personality. That it probably was a gender influenced decision, and that like many of my female friends who are getting older and more reflective she now has had an opportunity to gain a different take on it since he’s now been dead over a decade and her own career has resumed.

I looked around to confirm that they were both born in the 40’s. I think that this is a really tough place in time to have come from. Many of the people I know from that era have intense conflicts that no amount of decades of new and alternative thinking can resolve. I mean imagine that you have had a minimum of 20, and potentially up to 30 years of indoctrination in traditional gender roles when The Women’s Liberation Movement begins. It’s just likely to be too much to ever completely undo. Hell, I was born in the 60’s and those first 7 to 15 years of stereotyping still have a tremendous effect on me.

I guess what really bugged me was some creepy, unquestioning, adoration/celebrity factor. Whether it’s about her or him, the idea that some people don’t even question “stuff”, just blindly supporting a “cult of personality” mentality, not grasping that these people are ordinary, complex, heroic, flawed, poopin’, humans just like you and me. These issues are not really meant to be the stuff of titillating, celebrity gossip. Rather should probably be looked at and utilized to help liberate ourselves from restrictive role playing. I felt like her intention was to humorously and sweetly divulge and expose some quirky, uncomfortable, flaws and a lot of the people were just making it into a completely different thing. “Oh man, Fred Smith made Patti walk ten paces behind him haw, haw, he’s so cool”. It’s painful.
But other than that, I, Mrs. Lincoln, really enjoyed the play.

OK ladies

I gotta tell you, while I love you all lots, I simply can’t do this “let’s do lunch” thing that turns into 4 -6 hours of mucking about due to issues with your kids, husbands/SO’s, your unorganized life or whatever the drama of the day happens to be.

First and foremost - Dudettes please realize, I’m diabetic and on insulin. When I plan lunch at 1:00pm I need to be eating very close to that time. Please do not give me attitude when I’m starting to get really grouchy and cranky around a quarter to 3 when you haven’t managed to get your shit together yet to actually sit down at the restaurant yet.

Which is another issue - that I’m a little over being the wait staffs least favourite customer ever because of needing to be seated at the very end of lunch. You then want to draw it out for ages because you don’t want to go home to the chaos.
When the staff is giving us the constant fisheye, I’m not really having fun anymore.

For me, being broke and isolated, going out is meant to be a really huge treat. I get to do it maybe 6 -8 times a year. I realize that you may be in a similar situation having kids and all, so why not make it super pleasant instead of really stressful?

Here is a conglomed scenario as a broad example of what has occurred the last 3 times I tried this:
The time is set for 1pm. The morning confirmation call comes in around 10am. Everything is set, here’s the plan, I’ll see you at 1pm.
Around 12:30 the first delay is phoned in, move it up to 1:30. I go to the prearranged spot at that time.
2pm - the cell phone rings - we’re on our way.
2:30pm - I think we’re at the wrong place, where are you?
2:45pm - Go ahead and sit down I have to take little Suprema to the bathroom.
3pm. - Ok so what are we having? Oh well apparently several martinis for you.
In between - 8 thousand interruptions of the juicy for you to have some sort of wrangle with your kid.
4:15 - “Lets go to your house for coffee.”
5:15 - “Well I guess I should get home, girrrlll you have got me in so much trouble with what’s his name”.
Next time I call your house - Definite attitude from what’s his name.

And here’s the kicker (for me anyway) I WAS READY AT 10!!!