1)

























First off, I'm really happy to be spreading my stuff (glue, exacto's, paper, random cups with water, markers, pica rulers, etc) across a work basin again. But I'm equally nervous about the fact that my family alternates between calling this my "big opening" and "J's J-party." Which leaves me with a bit of nervousness and confusion as to what it means to open a studio to the public to say, "whala!".

Truthfully, I think it actually means that I'm most happy and productive when I feel a part of a true intellectual and supportive community. I don't know if the studio is supposed to qualify as a "business," but I do know I'm embarrassed/angry-at-self by my unproductivity, laziness, and lack of actual achievement without clearly defined borders, which really is my deal, but I'm trying to change, or more likely, to adapt. If anyone knows the key ingredients to that particular adaptation, feel free to let me know.

Anyhow. I'm working hard to make the showing something okay in this small, foggish town. I don't know why, actually, I'm so nervous about this thing since it's just an office, and as my once-Bville-college-mentor put it: what's the big deal over an office? Nothing probably, and maybe I'll be in another country (with Herald) before I can think about it too long.

But...

2) Can I just put it out there that I love and adore Steven Colbert?

One of the problems behind moving queer-rights forward is that there are no real numbers, as there was with the black or feminist communities. We are a moderately negligible group of people, easily ignorable. No real money behind the dish, and a whole wholesome Mormon crew (and funds) against, not to mention the Baptists, Catholics, Muslims, easy-slider liberals, true conservatives, etc. And this is, true, a truly troubled economy, and a truly troubled global climate that warrants attention in so very many arenas other than localized civil rights. Which is why I'm still supporting Obama, and will continue to do so even if he writes me, personally, right off the map.

Earlier tonight I sat within a hot-tub worshipfest of Obama. And earlier this year, I've multiple times also sat in an equal hero-worshipfest of Obama. I have, when drawing notice to Obama's undeniable backpedaling with regards to the queer community, experienced resistance and irritation from everyone Not Queer. I admit, if you're not queer, he's a miracle, and if you're queer but totally uninterested in civil rights (which sometimes I qualify as, since I'm what I call "barely queer") he's still a fucking straight-A miracle. If you hope for peace, or intelligence brought to colleges, art and politics, he's, yep, a bit of miracle. If you love multiculturalism, and incredibly beautiful families (those White House Ladies, my goodness), he's just straight up, that's right, there you go, a miracle. To make this clear, I want to love our President. For the first time, truly ever, in my life.

And I will. I do, however, remember the beauty of him being the first presidential candidate ever to write a letter to the gay community. It sounded excellent--not because he believes in exactly what I believe, but because he used the word 'equality' and also 'inclusiveness'. Based on what he said, I really wanted to hope he just didn't want to subscribe to the easy, to the obviously symmetrical and glorious, but the recognition of so many... edges, textures, forms. This is not just about being gay or lesbo, but also about not being normal, in some way or other. Maybe a single mother, or a dominatrix, or a writer trying to write again: this is about life as it is lived without arc or subscription or clarity. Anyhow...

If you've experienced 'the love', you also know that expression of a desire for 'equality' means in most instances: a true look deep into the eyes with a surreptitious backwards glance (for those who have actual power) to the back pocket, or maybe even the eternal imaginary white board that catalogs wagers vs. desires. Obama, like so very many people, told us what we, and those who want to believe they believe in We, wanted to believe. I've experienced that before, perhaps in school or when buying a delicious item, or even perhaps in a number of deep, but false, relationships with people who tell you more about how they wish to be, than about how they are, simply in order to get you to Believe. Such a big thing, that form of investment.

To be blunt: America creates its desires from the name "genuine." We truly want to believe in ourselves. Above all, we want to believe in our belief in our belief in ourselves. And surely that is powerful?

But what I want to say is that it hurts to want to adore an amazing President while potentially being one of the people he deems it okay to use as a foil for belief, or a cause, or something. Going back to the original point: why is the disinterested ('disinterested' not meaning 'not interested' but meaning 'nothing to gain') liberal-catholic comedian the one with most interesting stuff to say?

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word - Stonewalling
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Mark Sanford

What can I add, but that while I want to fully adore our President, I end up wanting to bear a lesbo-sired child, simply to name him after Colbert.

3) I've, tangentially, been reading the Dalai Lama, and I'm really struggling. I don't exactly want to punch the Dalai Lama, but I feel like he makes huge leaps in his reasoning (logic problems that I'd warn advance composition students against) that make all the difference in my emotional ability to follow... and I get angry at him as a result. Does this make me violent and shallow? Of course. I can't seem to doubt that. My shallowness fronts my reasoning to evolve. I will become so shallow that the tides will strip me clean and start me over again. And under such revision, I will realize the cyclical and meaningful nature of this dried up, autumn pile of weed.

4) It's totally an aside, but I'm really very sad about M.J.'s death. Two of my first early important memories are of being scared/titillated by the Fischer-Price rendition of "Thriller," and of finding the median of a number of streets, their stripes, and trying to moonwalk along them while singing the lyrics to "Beat It" and simultaneously bulldozing a fictitious defense of Jackson against Prince, 'cause, uh, Micheal had the break-dance + high voice & theatrics, while Prince had only his high voice and theatrics.

There really is no need to reconcile the pan-out to the river-rush: the star should have lived much longer--certainly long enough to become human. His death is not quite like Lenin's, nor Princess Di's, nor Ledger's--all too early. But he still was something else. Something else very particular to the time I've lived. CR doesn't think of him as a true icon because his music was pop shit, and he was a pediphilic creep, but nobody caught my early attention like the alien being who asked me to "beat it." He may have been a creep, but he was part of my formative years, and something else besides that too.

It's something that will catch up to me, and startle me, when I remember he's no longer there.

Anyhow. That's the four. There is no appropriate end to the beginning of pop. Except maybe the democratic crises experienced across the Globe (like Iran, and fucking Korea: no war, no war, no war, please find yourself, no war).

Posted by: bezdomnik / 12:39 AM