W-O-M-A-N

Whenever I read books or articles pertaining to women, there's always one big assumption -- that you're a mom. And immediately, even though the article is supposedly about women in general, I feel relegated to some inferior sub-group of "not really completely a woman" women. I have all of the parts that make me female, so I can't be a man (well, I could -- Chaz Bono did it. But that takes lots of money and surgeries and hormones, and I don't really want to have a penis or take dumps with the bathroom door open). And yet, since I haven't had the experience of pregnancy, childbirth, breast-feeding, motherhood -- the whole "most fulfilling experience of my life" shebang -- I'm not really a woman. Perhaps I'm a clever impostor? Perhaps I'm just pretending so I can have an excuse to cry at movies and wear pink clogs and talk about my "monthlies".

If I'm reading books about middle-aged women (which I am, so I am) -- which are usually written by women -- there's a tendency for the author to make statements such as "Having spent the first half of your life tending to the needs of others -- children, husband, family -- it's now time to tend to your own needs". I feel like a selfish bitch. Was that what I was supposed to be doing these past 25 years or so? Oops.

I will never know what it's like to be a mother, or a grandmother. I think I'm o.k with that, as long as I make the next half of my life pretty fucking cool.

I'm in Lima, OH.

I'm off to a good start.

Here We Are

We're all still here. The judgment day has come and gone, and all of us sinners and all of the "true believers" are still kicking up the same old dirt, sharing the same old planet.

All of the people who drive down your street in their cars with the bass turned up so high on their stereos that the buddahs you bought at World Market shake, rattle and roll on your IKEA shelves -- they're still here.

The people who seem to feel the need to talk very loudly about personal matters while in public places -- "There's something wrong with my right nipple. Yeah, I'm seeing a doctor about it next Tuesday" -- they're still here.

The women who bring their kids into gift shops and sip their Starbuck's skinny lattes and talk about their Pilates classes while their kids play hide & seek amongst the shelves of blown glass -- they're still here.

And I'm right here with them. I did not get pulled up into heaven -- a place where, according to David Byrne, "nothing ever happens", but in my mind, a place not unlike Yellow Springs, Ohio, or Asheville, NC, or maybe even parts of West Virginia (John Denver might agree) -- a place where little independent coffee shops and bookstores, artists' studios and street art and art-house movie theaters abound -- and I have the money and the time to spend at all of them. Heaven is eating baklava every day and never getting fat. Heaven is the total absence of cellulite. Heaven is a great big dance party with people who respect each other's personal space. (Yes, I am white, and a liberal, but my heaven is also a multi-cultural, diverse heaven where one can get authentic Thai, Vietnamese, Indian, Mexican and soul food at any time).

No one got pulled up into heaven -- we're not getting off that easy.

Living in the crime capital of the U.S can be pretty distressing, particularly if you read the paper or watch the news (I try to do neither, but sometimes curiosity gets the best of me). Every day here, someone is murdered. Every day. Most days, there seem to be multiple murders. Many of these murders seem to be related to drug deals gone bad (I wonder how many drug deals would be described as "going exceedingly well"?). But some of them are just cruel and senseless -- heartless people who must be dead inside, preying on the elderly and the vulnerable.

The poverty-stricken, drug-addled crackheads who kill on a whim, the robber-barons of Wall Street who laugh (at us, poor saps) all the way to the bank, and all of the rest of us just trying to lead good lives -- we're all here together, whether we like it or not. We can move to other parts of the city, to the 'burbs, to other states, to other countries, to try to get away from the bad guys. But "bad guys" are everywhere, and sometimes bad guys are just good people who do bad things. We can hope that the heavens will open up and all of the good folks will be taken up, and all of the bad ones will be left to sizzle and suffer here in the hell the earth will become (what happens to the animals, though? Do they all get taken up, too, or are they just left to become bar-b-que for the sinners?). But that's not gonna happen (unless God is actually Steven Spielberg, and large space-ships appear with gentle aliens who usher kind, cuddly-looking humans into the stratosphere).

We're here, I think, to try to figure out how to make this all work -- this life, this place called Earth. There's no deus ex machina that's going to solve all of our problems, or divide us into the good and the bad. There's just us. And while I have no idea what the answer is to our problems, I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve guns or weapons, or people floating up into the sky.

The answer might, though, somehow involve a dance party.

Random Thoughts for a Snowy Day

I love snow days. I think snow is nature's way of telling us to just chill -- to relax, slow down, take note. But we don't listen very well. We insist on doing things "our way", trying to bend nature -- and everything else -- to our will. Sometimes this determination to conquer the physical world works to our advantage -- we create civilizations. We create buildings with heating and air conditioning systems. We create Snuggies (or Slankets, depending on your preference), microwaveable popcorn, instant hot chocolate and NetFlix to help us pass our snowbound evenings in a cocoon of synthetic lethargy.

Sometimes our determination to conquer the physical world works to our disadvantage -- although right now I'm too lethargic to really think of why it's a disadvantage to be warm and cozy and full of instant hot chocolate.

Wait! I just thought of why -- because when one is warm and cozy and full of instant hot chocolate, one is not apt to be at "the top of one's game". One is more apt to gain a few pounds, take a few too many naps, and wear the same clothes for days on end without showering. Which sounds a bit like depression. Or winter.

Speaking of depression, I've actually been in pretty good spirits lately, in spite of very precarious finances and recently watching the movie The Road (based on the book by Cormac McCarthy), which is one of the bleakest movies I've ever seen. It really is a well-crafted film -- the acting is superb. Watching it made me certain of one thing -- I have no desire to live through an apocalypse of any kind. Now, I don't believe this is a "spoiler", because it's brought up quite early in the film, but essentially in McCarthy's post-apocalyptic world, many people resort to cannibalism to stay alive. Onion and I have often joked that, if I was an animal, I would be prey. I do not have the "hunter" instinct (except, perhaps, when it comes to finding a bargain, or something cool in a dumpster or alley -- which I suppose could prove to be a beneficial skill when surviving an apocalypse). I have no doubt that in such a world as depicted in The Road, I would be at least a few days' meals for a pack of hungry of cannibals.

Since it's been a few months since I last posted, I feel the need to end on something more positive than the thought of being made into a stew.

So, here, watch this trailer from The Fantastic Mr. Fox -- I watched this movie (for probably the fourth or fifth time) immediately after watching The Road. It makes me immensely happy, and glad to be living in a world where I can snuggle up with my instant hot chocolate and microwaveable popcorn and watch Wes Anderson films.