Back from dinner and movie with DH, and still buzzing on cabernet. And yes, it was That movie. The line was still out the doors of the IMAX, and wow, it's all that the most enthusiastic reviewer has said, and then some.

This week, Slyde's post about The Dark Knight got me thinking about Star Trek, and Mr. Bananas brought up Trek on his most recent post. ... hmmm, should I be posting while sort-of intoxicated?... Anyhey, this and Batman got me thinking about how good a Star Trek movie would be if it focused on Cardassians!




NO! Not the Kardashians!



The Cardassians:







In other news, Mr. Eros offers up the most succinct and solid argument to straight men about a certain activity which many appear to fantasize about but are afraid to admit to because, well, as the man says:

"I have heard guys scoff — in theory, as these opportunities arise rarely outside of porn and your better class of orgies — at this sort of woman-sharing. Usually they proclaim, loudly, that they’d never do such a thing because your dick would be, like, almost touching another guy’s dick. Too close for comfort, anyway; if you’d do that, you’d have to be gay.

Yes, they say this like it’s a bad thing.

Word of advice to those guys: Like Ron White says, we’re all a little bit gay anyways. Grow up, nut up, and get over it. You’re still stuck in your high school locker room, while the grownups — the Men with a capital M — are out seizing the day and eating the oysters and, yup, laughing at you."

OH YES -- his link is so not safe for work -- and SO effing happy I uploaded pics and pasted links this morning. Typing and posting is a hellified buzzkiller.

... so yeah, double penetration and lizard men...that has to connect somehow, no? mkay, crawling into bed now, sleeping on it, so to speak..

Because I'm sharing John's "blogstipation" tonight, I'm also sharing my comment inspired by his post Learn to be Still:

"I wish I could recall in greater detail the sensations of my first Zazen session, but most of that 30-minute period is lost on me. What I do remember, and really, the only important thing I need to relay to you, is that when the session ended, I never felt closer to God than I did at that moment. I found him. I found myself."

Ah, exactly. And the book that finally got me to muster the courage to give meditation a go after a couple of years of reading about it and taking yoga classes was Old Souls. That book literally fell on my lap while I was looking for something in my sister's partner's meager shelves to read and kill time, the night before we were to drive to Scripps hospital to be with dad as he was released to go back home, to home hospice care.

And the silence and the closeness to the divine, so, so different from a priest's tirades about atheists and abortionists, and so different from the mass hysteria of the Pentecostal meetings my poor mom was talked into a couple of times.

I sometimes walk by a Baptist church after running, and one night last week I could hear the pastor's booming, angry voice from across the street. As I passed by (only the first row of parking space was taken), I felt sorry for the poor souls in there. It was such a starry glorious night out -- there's a poem I'm trying to remember that was written by a WWII pilot who loved flying and the line "touch the face of God" comes up thinking of how close the sky was, how sweet the silence.


There -- blogstipation circumvented! Thanks, John! And the Maná video needs no stinking explanations; simply the latest heavy-rotation hit from Mexico's greatest rock export.

Why I love a civilized simian.

I'm really stretching my limited procrastination time right now (I'm off for Memorial Day tomorrow BUT have some catching up to do again for the online class and will visit mom and her newborn chihuahas tomorrow, so had to squeeze a super-mini vacation with DH yesterday and today) -- what was I saying again? Oh, following is a hilarious yet profound anecdote from my favorite primate blogger regarding how silly suicide can be under most circumstances. And mind you, I support the right to pull the plug on yourself. Without further ado, the last 3 paragraphs of Mr. Bananas' latest offering:

“I’m going down now, Horace.” I said. “Why not watch tonight’s episode and sleep on the suicide thing? There’ll be plenty of opportunities to do it right later. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you to plan your death properly.”

Later that evening, I joined the circus staff watching Falcon Crest on a communal TV set. Horace was there and I sat next to him, taking care not to show exaggerated concern for his emotional state. I chuckled at Jane Wyman’s lines to remind him of what he would have missed if he’d pinged himself. I didn’t wolf-whistle at Lorenzo Lamas though – one has one’s limits. He later agreed it would be silly to commit suicide before the current series ended, by which time, of course, he’d found himself a new beau.

This successful course of therapy led me to formulate the Bananas prescription for mental health: live in the present and savour your favourite TV show. As a famous economist once said, in the long run we’re all fucked.

Ms. Smack's questions and my answers to them from her latest post:

Regarding your job, does it impact on your loved ones?

Not often, as I'm single but lately it's impacted my dating life/new relationship (OUCH, I said the 'R' word!). My friends not much -- most work about the same hours and times as I do and we see each other when we can, try to stay in touch by e-mail & sometimes by phone, and there's the rare case like this week when my friend Susan wanted to visit Palm Springs and do tourist stuff with me.

Do you find yourself giving work related advice out of hours? Can you switch off?

Yes, often. Can't switch off sometimes, for example I'm trying to not give too much details about my work on my public blog, and this is still a small town/valley.

Does it start with snarling at the kids if you're over-worked and end with fatigue?

No kids, but I find myself sometimes reacting as I would to particular clients or court/county staff, etc., I've had negative encounters with on unusually bad days.

How much DOES our career affect our personal life?

A lot I think, but it can be both a good and a bad thing. Bad in taking the negativity home or to others who didn't bring it on. But good in that it reflects your passion and commitment to your work.

Should your friends and family be given a break from the stuff you lay on them?

Yes, as much as humanly possible. Am working on that :)

Ms. Smack's comments about teaching her daughter to be wary of predators on the internet brought to mind my own grown-up issues about public blogging. I've pulled two photos of me that showed my full face, though I love them and tickle my vain little ego; still feeling out if that's the way to go because I'd love to share some without what-ifs as gutsier people have on their own blogs.

... but yeah, I think I can't avoid the self-lovin' pics too long; gonna see if the DH man can snap a few distance, side, and especially back side ones as he seems pretty keen on that.

I've given some more thought lately about why I feel the need to blog publicly, and part of the answer I've come up with so far is that I need both to vent about what I usually can't talk out directly to most people around me, as well as draw little slices of life and share them with the world in general, like tossing a message in a bottle into the ocean. But to do that with some security, I think I will do as other bloggers I enjoy do: Not reveal the exact latitude and longitude of my whereabouts, my person.

Otherwise this becomes a blog that's nothing more than a carefully primped photo album or showcase of what my life "should" be. I don't mean to put down blogs that highlight certain aspects of the bloggers' lives -- vacation blogs, tour blogs, this-is-me-and-all-my-good-moments blogs. I love,love,LOVE to click on the Next button on the Blogger header and get eyefuls of snapshots from every corner of the globe, about lives that I would not know about any other way -- it's like being invited to take a peek into people's lives, people you'll likely never meet but who are treating you as a welcome friend.

But I would find that too confining; wouldn't find a point to it in my life, at least at this time. And I already have plenty of albums and do my share of sharing pics and greetings online and on Flickr with people I know.

So I'll keep walking the joyful tightrope, kicking up dust on demographic tracks so I can shine some light on the realities, dreams, and the in-between that I need to explore within this buffer zone of relative anonymity.

Neither merchandise nor vessel.

Again I find myself quoting an entire article or post, because I've been there and been treated like That, and I doubt that there is one soul incarnated on this world as woman who has not been treated this way. And more often than not by those who profess their godliness the loudest. And I'm always amazed by how good-looking, fit men use their looks and bodies in subtle and overt ways to both get ahead in their careers and their personal relationships without fear that they will lose the respect of their peers. Or that they'll be labeled as just a "body" in some way.

For example, I dress very conservatively and professionally at work, not just because it's not the place nor time to "express myself" freely but because always in the back of my mind their lurks the risk of forever not being taken seriously if I give in to the impulse of wearing a summer dress (and DAMN are summers hot here) however demure it may be, because it's too "girly" or it may make me look like I'm trying to find a hook-up at work.

But I also work with and around a couple of good-looking men who feel free to come dressed in bike shorts (one's a cycling fanatic) -- VERY tight shorts -- or to openly boast about how flirting with so-and-so got them a client, an argument reconsidered, etc. I realistically do not see myself ever being cut that slack, nor can I see the female attorney at the firm getting a pass either. So yes, in many respects, women are still boxed in as either "madonnas" or "whores".

So here it is, the May 10 post from Pastor Peggy Senger Parsons' SillyPoorGospel:

Walking down a back street in Santa Fe. The sidewalk was minimal, the adobe wall on my right hand was solid, my left hand could have touched any passing car. It was a one-lane sidewalk.

I heard the slow rumbling approach behind me. Then I heard the young men in the car. They were speaking Spanish, but their intent required no interpretation. They leaned out the open windows. I took a deep breath, blew it out and ignored them. They matched my pace, rolling along directly behind me, providing color commentary.

Then I noticed the old Hispanic man walking towards me. He looked at me, he took in the boys. He could see what they could not – I was visibly pregnant – and it just popped his top.

He jumped off the curb in front of the car. He stood there screaming at the boys, in Spanish of course. He waved his arms wildly in my direction. The only word I caught, multiple times, was “Madonna.” I turned. The boys got the message. The old man continued to yell and pound his fist on their hood. The chastised put it in reverse, backing away from the avenger.

I slipped around the corner, unnoticed.

And that, was in fact, the problem. Nobody on that street had seen ME. The ones in the car saw the biological usefulness of my backside. The one in front of me saw the biological usefulness of my womb. All had opinions about my status as a woman. Their opinions were in severe conflict.

None of them saw the young woman who was neither flattered nor frightened by the unasked for attention. No one saw the young woman who needed no protection or vengeance. What I thought or felt mattered not at all to them.

But hear me now.

I am not my biology.

I enjoy all the things that my body can do.

But I am not my body.

I treasure my body, giving it respect without worship. It is my friend and my servant.

But it is temporary and I am not.

My gender is temporary.

I, created in the image of God, cannot be truly defined by gender.

When my blood and sinews, hormones and neurotransmitters are all rot,

I will remain.

Some of what walked that street will remain.

But those blind men on that street that day would not recognize me,

because

they never saw me.

Psychologist Carl Jung believed that all desires have a sacred origin, no matter how odd they may seem. Frustration and ignorance may contort them into distorted caricatures, but it is always possible to locate the divine source from which they arose. In describing one of his addictive patients, Jung said: "His craving for alcohol was the equivalent on a low level of the spiritual thirst for wholeness, or as expressed in medieval language: the union with God."

Therapist James Hillman echoes the theme: "Psychology regards all symptoms to be expressing the right thing in the wrong way." A preoccupation with porn or romance novels, for instance, may come to dominate a passionate person whose quest for love has degenerated into an obsession with images of love. "Follow the lead of your symptoms," Hillman suggests, "for there's usually a myth in the mess, and a mess is an expression of soul."

My hippie horoscope hero makes the long-neglected Blogroll Quote of the Week tag again because Carl Jung is the man of psychology, in my humble opinion; Freud was jus' jellus of Carl's stylings. And because I want to share this week's "Sacred Advertisement" that came with my horoscope this week. It touches on a profound truth. And I loveloveLOVE Hillman's phrase "myth in the mess."

Now I must go back to unraveling the myth in my apartment's mess, which includes about 5 loads of laundry ... and later, two, yes TWO, dreaded quizzes due by midnight, blech!

Escape from freedom and enslave the world.

(Skip to 33:00 on the clip above for a quick dose of insight.)

Because I've been so busy and was planning a post anyway about the religion of hate, in all its sects and disguises, and because in spite of being a Mac fanboy, Mark Morford keeps speaking his heart and conscience, and because again he so uncannily speaks for me in this piece, but words fail me and all I want to do is bitch-slap the smug and militantly blind out of people who back the shit going on around us: I've done what I don't want to do regularly and quoted an entire article.

My TodayInSeven post-title was inspired by a book I read in Cal State, Escape from Freedom by Erich Fromm, which psychologically and sociologically gets to the heart of the matter that when enough individuals are scared shitless of the work and courage required to be free, even the most "advanced" and democratic societies spiral.

-- oh yeah, and the YouTubery? That's to cleanse my mind of the Christ-hijacking image of "Kriss-chuns" (as a friend forever nicknamed a spittle-spewing regular haranguer from a fundamentalist church outside the old Planned Parenthood clinic in Indio, whose answer to why he was out there waving photoshopped pics of trashcan fetuses and hollering about "whores of Babylon" to women coming into the clinc was "Cuz imma kriss-CHUN!"). Thank you, Anne.


Mark Morford:

I know I know I know — we don't exactly have huge platoons of nasty jackbooted soldiers storming through the streets in riot gear and gas masks and large sticks bashing down on the shiny heads of peaceful monks.

We don't exactly have smashed and burning vehicles and dead bodies in the streets and vicious martial law, ethnic cleansings and curfews and media lockouts and blocked Internet access and all sorts of nefarious, disturbing reports of brutality and beatings and death. Well, except for parts of Oakland. And L.A. And Chicago. But never mind that now.

Overall, even under the deformed and wretched Bush regime and despite how much Dick Cheney's dead raisin of a heart leaps with excitement when he sees the videos of those bloodied and dead Tibetan protesters ("Damn hippies had it coming"), America is still far from the brutality and inhumanity happening right now in Lhasa and beyond.

Or maybe not. For here is what we do have: We have torture. We have a frighteningly simpleminded cowboy-wannabe president who supports and endorses the most inhumane treatment of prisoners imaginable despite its utter failure as a tactic, and this violent belief, this dark energy infects the national bloodstream like prehistoric malaria.

We have capital punishment. We remain the only so-called advanced first-world democracy on the planet that legally kills its own, and we top it off by imprisoning tens of thousands more merely for growing or selling a bit of marijuana or Ecstasy or meth, wasting tens of billions of dollars on an overflowing prison system and a failed drug war that no one at the highest levels of government dares speak against because oh my God all drugs are evil! Now go slam a few beers and a fistful of Xanax and forget about it.

We still have a hateful fundamentalist religious right that, despite nicely fracturing itself over the fact that certain chunks of it aren't hateful enough toward women and gays and sex and non-Christian beliefs, still freaks out when kids play dress up, still is horrified by the notion of a black or female president, still honestly believes homosexuality is an abomination and Jesus spoke perfect English and stem cells have feelings and cavemen rode dinosaurs and the vagina is Satan's playground. Which, of course, it totally is. But in a good way.

Thanks to Dubya's disastrous economics, we now have the largest deficit in history, coupled to the widest gap ever between ultra-rich and the poor, with the largest swath of the middle-class no longer really in the middle and now more like hovering just above oh my God how will we make the mortgage payment this month I hope nothing goes wrong with the Civic and please please please no one get sick.

Wait, check that: Bush's economics haven't failed at all. They've worked spectacularly well, and exactly as designed: The rich got richer and, well, f— everyone else.

We are all but officially in a recession, deepening by the day. China and Japan own the vast majority of America's staggering debt, in the form of massive loans with equally massive interest rates, and if their economies so much as sneeze, we're basically screwed. Check that: more screwed.

The housing market is tanking. Has tanked. Is still tanking. And you know it's tanking when even homeowners in normally bulletproof San Francisco are getting nervous, when real estate blogs from here to SocketSite are all posting items about how even ridiculous multi-million dollar Pacific Heights homes and downtown luxo condos are slashing 50 thousand, 100 thousand, 1 million bucks off their sale prices to stimulate interest, and while there are still gobs of dot-com money floating around, most everyone is feeling very edgy indeed. But hey, at least you have that IRS rebate check coming, right? Smell the economic stimulus package! Mmm, futile.

Is there any good news? Why, sure. Hope is bubbling and churning like we haven't seen for nearly a decade. Given how 80 percent of Americans believe/know we're currently on the wrong track, all attention is turning to the Obama/Hillary cavalry riding all-too-slowly toward us in the far distance. But meanwhile, the feral neocon pigs are still rooting what's left of the garden. As Jon Stewart put it, despite all the change in the air, despite the wisps of hope and progress and fluffy bunnies for all, well, Bush is still president.

Yes, Dubya is still being mocked overseas and still raping the English language at every speech and still taking these remaining miserable months of his failed presidency to see if he can't hammer a few more nails into the coffin of the economy, the environment, the soul of the nation. Hey, what's happening in Tibet is horrible, but have you seen the smoking rubble that was the U.S. Treasury?

Gas is four bucks a gallon. Airlines are shutting down. Newspapers are dying. Oh my, yes. Major media is in upheaval and some of it is good and some of it is very ugly and no one seems to have any idea how to create a new kind of business model that will sustain true and invaluable expertise in journalism, deep reportage that we actually count on — and which all those petulant, anti big-media blogs actually depend on for their very existence — to give the nation some sort of reliable collective narrative.

Whoops, sorry. Sidetracked. But then again, not really. You want to know about Bush's various ongoing abuses? You want to know the facts about the failed surge in Iraq? About Darfur? Burma? Tibet? You need major media, flawed and imperfect and biased as it may be. What, you think it's a perfect science?

As for Tibet, it's sort of amazing, really. This Olympics might indeed turn out to be a terrific opportunity for this same beleaguered media — right along with the blogs and the YouTubes and the rest — to shame China for its rampant human rights abuses and abhorrent record of oppression and ethnic cleansing.

But here's the really incredible thing: Intense international scrutiny could actually forcibly reshape the political and moral agenda of this exploding superpower at the perfect moment, just as it enters the big leagues and becomes a true force in the world. Put another way, Bush's America has essentially failed as moral and theological leader of the world. Maybe our turn at the wheel is done. Maybe a revolutionized, liberated, democratic China can do better?

But this is not a column to say we're in the same situation as Tibet/China. There is no real comparison. After all, Bush has yet to order the Army into the streets of Eugene and Austin and San Francisco to crack people's skulls for doing some yoga and lighting incense and for believing that Jesus wasn't actually a warmongering Muslim-hating isolationist jackass like he is. Not yet, anyway.

This is merely to remind, to point out one of the great things about this country. You want dour news? You want heartbreak and disappointment and oppression, people paying 15-grand to have a tiny bump removed from their elbow because the health care system is a disaster? You want to feel enraged at human rights abuses and overflowing prisons and fascist-like government maneuvers? Wave that banner high, protester. Free America! Free America! Free America!

Because she practically read my mind ...

"I have the best life...really... I affirm this all the time. Not only do I affirm it, I truly do believe it.

And then, I find moments during my "great life" that send me into a fury of tangled emotions. And I ask myself, how do I get myself in that space, where I start to feel anger or frustration coursing through me? When I have the best life, how do these feelings come to surface? If we believe that we are beautiful and divine beings, with purpose and connected to source/divinity, how do we keep creating distractions from the truth?

Is it only ego? There must be some growth along the way... is there a world that can exist where growth CAN be beautiful? I think I would like this place. I was called an "idealist" for a good duration of my youth years, as if I was not in touch with "reality." People around me would describe their reality and it didn't sound any fun at all. Why not have a deliciously divine "ideal" reality... I believe we can create this reality.... a better world. Where we live in peace with ourself.

Really, that is all we need. If we were at peace with ourself... our True self, there would be no contrast to have with others. I am reminded daily that nothing, and I mean NOTHING is ever about anyone else. If you find yourself focused on someone or something else and give your power away, you are not facing the truth. Nothing is outside of us, it is ALWAYS within."

Janan, GetSelfCentered

Reading this hit a nerve because I was thinking about how my work, in spite of being hectic and irritating, is strangely turning into the place I need to be at -- the place I'm getting some kind of opportunity to take a look around me and which may provide some of the answers to the path I will be taking in the hopefully near future. And I don't mean that in an airy-fairy way (though, I know, this blog sure as hell looks all kinds of airy-Cali-fairy). For example, the lawyers I work with have in a strange way shown their true colors slowly, their softer side. OK, they're still sharks when doing their jobs, but that is often a very good thing, and for example, Slick the youngest may be slick, BUT more than once already he's shown he will not abide repulsive potential clients -- anyway, getting way too TMI, esp for ye olde public blog, so maybe I'll continue it in the privates, bye.

"Our longing for the eternal kindles our imagination to bless. Regardless of how we configure the eternal, the human heart continues to dream of a state of wholeness, that place where everything comes together, where loss will be made good, where blindness will transform into vision, where damage will be made whole, where the clenched question will open in the house of surprise, where the travails of life's journey will enjoy a homecoming. To invoke a blessing is to call some of that wholeness upon a person now."

- John O'Donohue, *To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings*

This is from Rob "Astrology Hippie" Brezsny's newsletter this week. Goes great with the gorgeous night full of crackling bright stars and blooming moon, so beautiful I was reluctant to come back indoors but dinner and an empty belly compelled me. Good night to all the whoevers if ever one is out there ;)

Blog Roll Quote of the Week

Dear Dude in the beaten up Chevy Malibu from Saturday:
When I am out for a walk, standing at an intersection while waiting for the light to change, please refrain from lowering your window, slowing down and making kissing noises at me as you turn the corner. As aroused as I get when a unwashed, possibly buzzed stranger kisses at me from his shitmobile as if he's summoning a dog, I am not going to jump into your sticky-looking passenger seat.

No, it would not have helped if you'd been driving a nicer car.


This Big Fat Blog Addictions link-adding has me truly laughing out loud every other click now. The excerpt above is from one of my favorites from way back, by one fabulous freakmagnet redhead. I myself am a habitual flirt, it seems to run in my family, but I want to stab the eyeballs out of freaks like this great blogger describes so perfectly. She also has great insights into flirting-do's, as well as insightful general social commentary.

... HOWEVER, in all fairness to the GUY-humor side of these issues, I humbly direct you to The Best Page in the Universe, by a guy named Maddox, blessed with harsh but razor-sharp and on-the-money wit. Enjoy!