Is Bush Gay?

There's this guy over at the Gay Porn Blog who writes wickedly about many diverse subjects, but mostly Gay porn. Gay porn is one of those things that most practitioners would rather not talk about. Myself included. As we used to say about Playboy magazine back in the late 60s, I only buy it for the articles. But the guy who writes over there is a very interesting person. I've met him a couple of times, but he only knows me in conjunction with someone else, so he doesn't have a clue as to who I am, and it really doesn't matter. You don't have to know someone to think they're interesting. This week he's been writing about the new to this country baseball player from Japan, Kazuhito Tadano, who apparently was in a gay-themed porno back home in Japan. Apparently in some circles that's quite extraordinary. But he finishes up with that story, and moves on to the following which is very interesting. You should draw you own conclusions. You would anyway. So, here's what we're doing: I'm quoting him quoting them. He's footnoted his comments with links. That's good enough for me. Here we go. Here's a picture of Canadian Scott. At least we now know Bush's type.


Bush prefers our pretty boy to his pretty boy
By JANE TABER
Friday, January 16, 2004 - Page A1

OTTAWA -- This is the tale of the two Scotts -- one American, the other Canadian. One is dark-haired, the other blond. Both are 35 and both work for the most powerful men in their respective countries.

Scott McClellan is the press secretary to U.S. President George W. Bush; Scott Reid is the senior strategist to Prime Minister Paul Martin.

But, according to Mr. Bush, Mr. Martin has the prettier Scott.

Indeed. Welcome to a new era of "pretty face" Canada-U.S. relations.

This is what happened:

Mr. Bush met Mr. Reid earlier this week at the summit in Monterrey, Mexico, just after the President's breakfast with Mr. Martin.

Mr. Reid was not initially in the hotel room where the two leaders and their closest advisers met, but was called in to brief the Prime Minister at the end as the group waited for the media.

Mr. Bush wandered over during Mr. Reid's chat with the Prime Minister. Mr. Reid introduced himself and shook hands with Mr. Bush.

"Well, what do you do for this guy?" the President asked as he pointed to the Prime Minister.

"Well, you know, sir, I can't really say," Mr. Reid said. "It's not that I don't want to. It's just that, you know, I don't really know from day to day."

This is true. Mr. Reid handles a number of files and performs a number of different duties, depending on the issue and the day.

The President chuckled. "Well, you got a pretty face," he told the surprised Mr. Reid. He wasn't done. "You got a pretty face," he said again. "You're a good-looking guy. Better looking than my Scott anyway."

This is true. His Scott has a receding hairline and is on the chubby side, while Mr. Martin's Scott has a full head of hair and is quite fit.

For the first time in his life, Mr. Reid had no reply. "I didn't know what to say," said Mr. Reid, noting later that he wished that Mr. Bush had referred to him as a "rugged-looking young man or something.

"But I'll take what I can, I guess," he joked. "When a Texas Republican says you've got a pretty face, then I guess there is just no way around it."

[Joe Richardson: Does any of this sound familiar?]

But wait, there's more from the Ottawa Xpress,:



January 22nd, 2004
Frontline
THE DATING GAME
Stuart Trew

The gossip pages were nearly unanimous: Paul Martin's first date with new American boyfriend George W. Bush went so well that the two are talking about seeing each other again very soon! According to the press, Bush actually paid attention to Martin's hopes, dreams and needs. But did Martin pay attention to ours?

 We heard from Martin early last week that he had "already begun to change the tone" of Canada-U.S. relations. Talking the language of relationships in everyday life, he said, "If, in fact, you know the person you are dealing with and if you have confidence with the person ... then you are going to be able to make much greater strides than if you don't."

 As it turned out, both leaders love sausage, and over breakfast talk about business and baseball at the Summit of the Americas, Bush said that although he won't promise he'll never deport another Canadian to a foreign torture chamber, Martin will be the first to know before it actually happens. Tell that to Maher Arar, or even untortured Canadians worried about the country's sovereignty.

 Martin also allegedly sweet-talked us the right to at least try and profit from Bush's occupation of Iraq, although there's no guarantee we'll land any of the reconstruction contracts. Bush said last Tuesday that Canadians "want Iraq to be free. They understand the stakes." Prior to the meeting, the U.S. idea of "the stakes" meant a world under threat from Saddam-backed terror. We didn't see it that way, and thankfully we have no more troops to send.

 "I think it went very, very well," Martin told reporters. "The vibes were very, very good on both sides." Louise Elliott, with Canadian Press, was impressed enough to note that "Bush spent close to a half-hour of private time with Martin and another 45 minutes with him at breakfast with officials from both countries - in total, half an hour more than the allotted time." Yeeouch - a cuddly favourite in the American harem.

 But as Jane Taber wrote in Friday's Globe, Bush might have his eyes on Martin's right hand man, Scott Reid. "Well, you got a pretty face," Bush told Reid, after asking him what he does for the PM. "You're a good-looking guy. Better looking than my Scott anyway," referring to presidential press secretary Scott McClellan. Maybe the prime minister should leave him at home next time.

Back to Me.
Have we discovered the real reason Andrew Sullivan is so hot to be Bush's bitch?

This is by Bruce Yurgil. He's dynamite. Visit him here. He's dynamite.

This is me:

I Used to be a Republican


No, really, I did. I was young. They had better parties. They were just a crowd and I worked them. I don't know why, but at one time they made sense to me. I used to be a Catholic in the same way. When it was a romantic idea to be Catholic, I enjoyed being there. When I found out what they believed, I was appalled! Same with Republicans. Trouble is, I have close friends from that period. Not only are my close friends Republican, but they are devout Bushies! Oh, God. I maintained with them as long as I could, but one day Leon called and started spouting that nazi shit, er-I mean, her Fox-news inspired commentary on current events, and I lost it and told her what I really thought. I mean, I told her what I really, really thought.

So now she's mad at me for having an opinion different from her own. You know, I can live with that. She and her people have been good to me. Thank you. My people and I have been good and generous to her, as well. She's welcome. But there is a history at work here, as well. My families and her families have been on opposite sides of almost every war and subwar they have ever experienced together. I was as adamant in my opposition to the war in Vietnam as she were in her support of Nixon and his lies. During the Civil War, my great-grandfather and his brother were deserters and copperheads. My Ashworth great-great grandfather avoided service to the South and named one of his boys, Ulysses. Just guess who he thought the real hero of the Civil War was? During the American Revolution, her family was rebels, my family was loyalist. Even before that, during the Regulator-Moderator fight in South Carolina after the Cherokee Wars and before the Revolution, her family was Regulator, mine outlaws and Moderators. There's a pattern here, duh?

But I'm mad at her right now because she's giving that draft dodging lowlife a free ride. I love her dearly, but she brought the skunk to the dinner table and is now mad at me for saying it stinks. Leon showed me disrespect by her original call to me, and then got mad at me when I gave you my opinion on the subject she brought up. Think about it. I would immediately call her and say whatever would be necessary to heal this breach I feel, but I can't change my mind about how stupid I think she is for not ever questioning the obvious in regards to Bush's claimed military service during Vietnam. Her failure to acknowledge that fact to my satisfaction has become a barrier between us.

And just to harden my heart, her political party has declared itself anti-Me. They want to AMEND the Constitution to permanently and forever exclude ME from full participation in the many rights inumerated within it. Her memory is short, but let me remind everyone of this fact: the Germans never did anything to the Jews that wasn't perfectly legal. They wrote the laws that made it legal to persecute Jews. Leon's people, her political party, would make my people legal targets. If you allow those people to speak in your name, you're fucking well endorsing all of their points of view. You're as evil as they are.

There. I feel better. Well. Okay, I'm going to save you the grief of banishing me from your life this time, though. I'm just going to say goodbye now. Good-bye.

Free Lunch Conservatives

I like that term. I'm starting a list: Free Lunch Conservatives; Cheap Grace; inflated salvation.
More later.

Celebrity Watching


I watched Diane Sawyer interview Jennifer Anniston last night. Yawn. On both counts. Diane Sawyer's pablum serving delivery did nothing to warm Miss Iceberg up. Nothing she could ask made Ms. Anniston sound interesting or engaged. I watched as long as I could, flipping back and forth between something on PBS that was much more interesting. Towards the end of the interview, Ms. Sawyer asks Ms. Anniston to say something about her five co-stars that they probably don't know about themselves. Ah, shucks, Diane, that's powerful stuff. And wow, what an answer Ms. Anniston gives: Why, the tin man doesn't need a heart with all that love! And scarecrow, you're the smartest person here. You just need a degree. Or in the case of Courtney Cox, why Courtney, you're absolutely beautiful with an inner beauty! Oh please, dear Jesus. What drek.

We did learn that Jennifer got mad at her mother for a book her mother wrote that Diane tells us Jennifer felt was exploitive of her fame. Jennifer didn't have to say anything, and as inarticulate as she came across, it's a good thing. I hope both she and her mother live long enough for her to get over herself and beg her mother for forgiveness. The question she should be asking, is not whether her mother made any mistakes, but whether she did the best she could given the circumstances. Ms. Anniston is now old enough to interact with her mother as an adult, and the standard of expectation is different for adults than it is for young girls whose mothers drive off their daddys.

Thanks, Diane, for an evening of vapidity, yours and hers. (houston)

Mars, my Ass

Listening to NPR this morning, I heard that Bush is going to announce a new space exploration mission this week. Why? Did they hear that there was oil there and the locals were hiding terrorists? That's about the only reason I can think of that might warrant how this administration actually spends our money. They sure don't spend it on education where they said they would. This is actually an example of how much power the White House has in setting the agenda in an election. For the next week, reporters will be asking the Democrat presidential candidates what they think of the President's plan, not what they think of space exploration. Why? Because we're all for space exploration. It's like motherhood. Who's against it? That isn't the issue. The President's vacuous, attention getting "plan" is the issue. It's not going to fly. The President knows it won't fly. Everybody for it knows it won't fly. Everybody against it knows it won't fly. So why are we even saying the word "fly"? It's just bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit! I'm sick and tired of bullshit.

We need to be talking about what's going on. There's no reason talking about where we're going if we don't know where we are. (raven)

Happy New Year!

I'm back from the holidays. If you're curious, this is what I've been up to.


Well, Britney's back in the news. Is there any better example of how marriage has been trivialized by heterosexuals? I am not a proponent of Gay marriage. I am adamant about equal treatment of Gays and Lesbians, but I have never thought we should emulate a failed institution.

The Britney Spears Phenomenon

I don't get Britney Spears. She's the one we watched grow up on videos, right? She started out as a little girl on one of the star search shows. She's done well since then. I heard she heads a $200 million empire with dozens of employees. I watched her the other night as she was interviewed by Diane Sawyer. She came across as vacuous, sensitive, nice, trailer park White version of Michael Jackson except maybe not as perverted--yet.

Yeah, but can she sing? I'm not sure that's a requirement. Consider Bob Dylan. She's interesting though. I watched for 30 minutes before my mind wandered on to more important things. After 30 minutes I didn't know any more about her music than I did when I started watching. I know that she's rich, pretty, well known and widely recognized. If she lived next door I'd like her. So, enough about me and my lack of relationship with Britney.

One of the blogs on my list to the right is Toby. He reviewed Britney's new album for his college newspaper. It's very insightful. I never realized. Toby, you are so in the zone!

A Letter from West Virginia

Not exactly a letter, but my blog cousin, Sara, over at Hillbilly Sophisticate, is my single source for commentary about Jessica Lynch, our reluctant heroine. I agree with Sara. I thought Jessica was very composed, and surprisingly well spoken for someone not used to being in the public eye and speaking a lot. Diane Sawyer has always reeked of empathy, so she would have been my choice of all of the news models with whom we are familiar.

Have we learned anything from this entire episode? Probably not, but it is a cautionary tale.

Prayers placed gently upon the wind

A long time ago when my life was in a period of extreme turmoil, I was touched by an angel. Out of nowhere, I ran into a wall of calm. It was a profound experience. I never forgot the name of the person in the center of all that calm. I've always wondered what became of him. Last week I asked the gods of Google if they knew. They did.

I think the year was 1969, maybe 70, and Ben Torrey was about 18, maybe 19, fresh from Korea where he had been living with his parents at a primitive Christian community in the mountains of central Korea. It was called Jesus Abbey. This boy man radiated empathy and calm, as yet unspoiled by the American common culture. I think I was struck dumb. I've never forgotten him nor the impact I felt from just meeting him.

It was like getting a postcard from God telling me "oh by the way, you remember that nice young man you're always praying for? Well, he's doing pretty good. Just thought you'd like to know." Of course I wrote to him in an expression of my joy at having the opportunity to know that he was doing well.

Thanks, God. Ya' know, God, he's one of your better efforts.

The Right Christians

This is my favorite new blog this week. I'll tell more when I know more about them.

Obscure Bible Passage of the Day: Jeremiah 12:1-3

You will be in the right, O Lord, when I lay charges against you; but let me put my case to you. Why does the way of the guilty prosper? Why do all who are treacherous thrive? You plant them, and they take root; they grow and bring forth fruit; you are near in their mouths yet far from their hearts. But you, O Lord, know me; You see me and test me—my heart is with you. Pull them out like sheep for the slaughter, and set them apart for the day of slaughter.(NRSV)

Comment
Jeremiah wonders whether justice will ever come.

The Week-end

The fund raiser came off without a hitch and was enjoyed by all. My gumbo was fabulous, even if I say so myself. The boudin balls were a delightful surprise to my little group of California foodies. Ain't nothing like discovering a new food to make them go nuts. The weakest link in the dinner was the crab cocktails, but no one sticks their nose up at a generous serving of crab. I made Helen Corbitt's cocktail sauce which was a nice touch. Dessert was a freezer version of keylime pie.

Friday night, however, my car died. My poor old cadillac. I was cruising down Oak Street in San Francisco and suddenly every light on the dash came on, and there are a lot of them. I was warned that the engine was overheating, my electrical system was failing and then my power steering went out. I was sure the car was doomed.

Okay, when the car died Friday night, I parked it and walked away from it. I gave the s.o.b. to the universe. I refused to go near it on Saturday (NOT that I had time, but I didn't anyway). On Sunday I went into San Francisco and checked on it. It was fine. No parking tickets, depsite the fact that it was in a location that warned that street cleaning occurred daily. I did notice that there was a lack of signs of extreme motor duress. So, I blessed it again and promised I'd be back.

On Monday morning, I checked in with it again and still no tickets. At that point in time, if the rules had been followed, I could have had as many as a dozen parking tickets. Is that a sign from God or what? I called Triple A and had it towed to a garage recommended by the tow truck driver. It was close by. They took it in, diagnosed the problem, called me within an hour with an estimate, and by 4 o'clock, had my car ready. Bear in mind, I was ready to walk away from it as a hopeless and expensive cause. I did not blow the engine, I only lost a waterpump. So, once again, I have a car. I am so happy.

Well, not entirely. Do you ever do computer dating? I'm registered with several: Yahoo Singles, Chicago Singles, Planet Out (or some such shit), and occasionally I run ads on Craigs List. I'm not always sure I'm looking for someone, but as long as I'm single, I dutifully put bait on the hook and cast the line. About the only ads I never answer are the ones who are looking for a hairy chested alpha male. I am defintely not that, and besides, that's what I'm looking for. But I love to meet people. It's like an old fisherman who talks to everyone he sees. Since we're all looking for fish, we do have something in common and something to talk about.

So I answered an ad of this real cute guy who, by his own admission likes my stories, enjoys my writing, blah, blah, blah, but feels it necessary to write to me and tell me that our "chemistry" is not right. Excuse me? What chemistry? We haven't met yet. How can one determine "chemistry"? I think he wasn't honest in his ad, and that annoys me. A lot of guys won't say that they're only interested in White men, so they write an ad that is inclusive and then they just don't respond to Blacks. Same with HIV, same with age. Oh, well. Next?

Enlightenment

Sounds kind of pretentious to say it, but it means different things to different people. How about, I had an epiphany? Well, walking to work the other morning, suddenly, a light went off in my head. Oh. And I can couch it it buddhist terms, christian terms, California-new-age-let's-all-feel-good terms, but in the language of my people, I figgered something out. I figured out how to let go of some of the struggle. A weight was lifted off of my shoulders. A close friend dismissed it by saying it was just my drugs kicking in, but that's not true. It is true that I had a third cup of coffee that morning, but it was more than that.

For the past few months, I've been less energetic than usual. OH, hell, I was seriously depressed. Wasn't nothing wrong with me as far as I could tell. I was a year older and fatter, working at a dead-end job that I'm trying to milk out another half dozen years, have lost interest in a sexual relationship of any sort, what could I possibly have to be depressed about? On top of that, I felt like I was skiing down an expert slope and I'm a beginner. Everything was going a little too fast and I felt that I was in the last turn instead of the next. There was this layer of anxiety. I didn't feel like I could pull it off. I was losing control.

Control is an illusion, anyway, right? I have no control over anything. Never had. I surrendered that illusion Tuesday morning while walking to work. With that surrender came the most peaceful feeling. I'm three days into it, and maybe it won't last out the week and I'll go back to that steep slope, but I don't think so. But even if I do, I won't be quite as afraid as I was two or three weeks ago.

Tomorrow I'm cooking gumbo for 16 people I don't know. I donated a gumbo supper/cooking demonstration to my girlfriend's choral group, the San Francisco Choral Society. Usually we sell 4 slots for about $50 each. It's a total win-win situation. I get to have nice people come over for a smart party where I get to entertain in my best Louisiana or Texas accent, show off my china and silver, regale them with tales of my life on the bayous "back home." The choral society gets a $200 cash gift, the people get a lesson in making gumbo, and we have one fun afternoon. I play cajun music, ply them wine, and real good food. This year, a couple who bought tickets, asked if they could invite their cooking club along, adding 10 to the count. That's $800 to the chorus and oh, my god, I've got a crowd coming over to eat.

I've noticed that when one is depressed that their house cleaning skills seem to be one of the first things to go. I looked around my house and thought, oh my god, I can't let people see this mess. Then I remembered Tuesday's epiphany and thought, people aren't necessarily looking at the things you're pointing to. Sometimes they're just looking at you point. You know, I think my place is charming, just as it is. Is it a mess? No, I prefer to think it has a "lived in" feeling to it. Those people are coming to taste my gumbo, not to judge my housekeeping. (I will clean the cabinets, floors and bathrooms and put out flowers, but that's it! The tub doesn't need to be scrubbed--no one's going to be taking a bath, ya' know?)

I'm cooking chicken and sausage gumbo. The reason it takes a cooking lesson to cook gumbo right, is because you can't start with a recipe and do a traditional gumbo unless someone has showed you how. Why? Because you wouldn't know if you got it right or not. It's not because it's hard to do.

My families started arriving in Louisiana in the late 1780's, about 20 years behind the Cajuns, following them into the back bayous of southwestern Louisiana. It didn't take ten years to begin seeing our names marrying theirs. We immediately became part of Louisiana's fusion of culture. I'm pretty sure my people, the Ashworths and Perkins and Clarks and Drakes and Bunches and a dozen others, reflected the Scots-Irish culture of backcountry South Carolina. Cooking was at best primitive. Meat would probably be stewed or fried. Bread would be corn pone. It is doubtful that they even had sourdough. Next to the Cajuns we were primitives. We were also Baptist and they were Catholic, but still there was intermarriage. Abner and William Ashworth, the sons of Keziah Dial and James Ashworth, married Cajun women: Abner to Rosalie Gallier, and William to Deliede Gallier. Thank god for it, too, because the cooking in our family got good, quickly.

How Stupid is Stupid?

I gotta ask this question.

Here's the set-up: there's this guy who feels a connection to bears. He's an amateur, but he's had a modicum of success in marketing his connection. I don't imagine he's a bad guy, just a little obsessed to the point of lacking a certain ability to stay rooted in reality. I mean the potential has always been there. It always is when someone successfully markets an avocation.

Okay, this guy's name is Timothy Treadwell, and according the L.A. Times. I'm going to link to the Times story, but you have to register with them in order to read it, so don't be afraid. Anyway, this dude has a reputation with the Park Service up there as not having a realistic attitude about the bears, and in their opinion, he takes too many chances. Make that took too many chances, cause, he's daid now. He was eat by a bear.

But that's not why I'm writing about stupid. By cruel irony and coincidence, we have an audio recording of his last moments. ("Chomp, chomp, chomp.") I apologize to anyone who's sensibilities I offend with this.

"...the tape begins with sounds of Treadwell screaming that he is being attacked and calling for help to Huguenard [Treadwell's companion whom we are given to believe was his girlfriend], who was apparently still inside a tent.

"It's obvious that the attack was going on before the tape was turned on," said Wilkinson, who then repeated quotes from the tapes.

"Come out here; I'm being killed out here," Treadwell said.

"Play dead!" Huguenard yelled in reply.

"That strategy is commonly used to pacify angry bears in an attack. But Treadwell told Huguenard the strategy wasn't working and she then urged him to "fight back."

"Treadwell, who never carried weapons [emphasis mine], then asked her to get a pan and to hit the bear, police said.

"At that point, the tape stops. Much of it is fuzzy or inaudible . . . .

We are left assuming that she grabbed a frying pan and went after a thousand pound grizzily. More probably? I don't know. Did she try playing dead in the tent only to have the bear rip it apart to get to her? What do you think she did? What would you have done?

But do you understand my question? How stupid is stupid?

What Do Conservatives Want for Us?

In a op-ed piece in the Wall Street Journal today, Andrew Sullivan asks If it's not a crime to be gay, why can't we get married? I don't know, Andrew, they're your friends. Be sure to tell us what the answer is.

Meanwhile, back in Texas, a Republican state senator says to one of the Democrats, "If you're going to act like Mexicans, then you're going to be treated like them." (via Eric Alterman)

Now let's talk about California's recall. So long, Gray, hello Arnold. Eric Alterman sums it up well for me. Quoting Eric, "This is a lesson to Democrats everywhere. Don’t think you can win if you ignore your base. They will ignore you back. . . . If Arnold makes politics fun and interesting again, well then, I’m all for it. And if he screws up the state horribly, well then, tough luck. You people [we] voted for him."

Maybe Robert Rosencrantz can get a break now. The Governor-elect understands that people sometimes deserve a second chance. That seems to be something that Davis never understood.

The Collapse of the Enron Presidency

Josh Marshall uses a business metaphor to examine the Bush Presidency.

The Debate

What a bunch of crap. The moderator should have been given a switch enabling him to turn off microphones. I tuned out after about ten minutes, screaming at the tv for all of them to "shut the fuck up!" Ms. Huffington both impressed me with her dogged determedness and annoyed me with her lack of manners. She didn't get my vote, though. I'm not sure what the purpose of her being there was. I think she was there because she can afford to be. She's promoting Ariana, and she's doing it well.

Big winner: Arnold Schwartzenegger. He didn't look any more stupid than everyone else there. Second place was Ariana Huffington who was offered a part in Terminator IV.

Big loser: well, there were two. Tom McClintock, who looked almost like a senior statesman in the first debate, was invisible next to Arnold. All of his common sense was drowned out by the fireworks between Arianna and Arnold. Second big loser: Ariana Huffington who came across so caustic that she won no converts and made Peter Camajo look like a reasonable candidate.

I would like Peter Camajo if he were running as a Democrat. Unfortunately for him, he is running as a Green, and I am having to take medicene on a daily basis because George W. Bush is President of these United fucking States. If Ralph Nader hadn't been such an ass, we would be living in a different world. As for the Greens, they're a sad joke of would-be hippies who fart, think it's righteous, and call it singing. I am simply not interested. The whole country is being FUCKED right now because of their Bobo self-righteousness. Screw them. Peter Camajo might sound normal were it not for his association with those people.

Okay, today's prediction. The recall fails. What a bunch of clowns we witnessed tonight. Gray Davis looked down right reasonable in comparison. Tomorrow his numbers will go up. I'm still voting no on recall and I'm voting for Garrett Greuner, just in case. If it ain't Davis, give me someone who hasn't been tainted by this shit fest.

Living with Depression

You know you're depressed when your co-workers send you a get well card that says "by a vote of 10 to 5, we wish you a speedy recovery."

My hmo has a book they give you to help you figure out what's wrong with you so you can have the answers to the questions they're going to ask you when you call them to find out what's wrong with you. Anyways, I looked up depression in their book, and after checking five on a list of eight, I shut the book saying to myself, "what the fuck do they know."

Yeah, well maybe I'm not alone in this. How can any liberal not be depressed these days? Our common sense tells us that no one in this country is going to vote for a party made up of depressed people. Ain't going to happen. And liberals know that. So, fuck yeah, I'm depressed.

Still, retiring to a quaint and picturesque monastery where you can just grow roses and meditate isn't really an option, what with reality demanding attention and all. We all have to maintain. It ain't easy. For some of us, it's more difficult that it should be. My depression is beginning to debilitate me. I am less able to keep my opinion to myself than I need to be. I just want to be left alone. The problem with that is that I work in a service position, and if my services aren't utilized, then my labor needs to be refocused, i.e., reassigned.

The problem with that is that I'm a house servant, and the master will put me out in the field picking cotton if I don't straighten up and get along with the missus and the kids. You see, I'm a secretary to fifteen attorneys, most of whom respect me, several of whom like me, a couple to whom I'm very close. There are 12 women and 3 men. The three men are straight. Of the 12 women, 2 are lesbian and 1 is asexual. I have known most of them for over ten years. At different times, I have thought each of them fascinating. This is not one of those times. And three of them despise me for breathing the same air as they.

My boss thinks I have an "edge." After giving it some thought, I agree with her. I've made an appointment to talk to my primary care physician about a referral to a psychologist and a prescription for an anti-depressant. Maybe drugs will even me out. God knows, the political situation for America and the world doesn't look very promising. This could be a long haul.

So there, I've come out and said it. I'm depressed and I'm going to get help. As for politics, I'll try to get zen about it. It's all cyclical. This too shall pass.

Photograph of the Day

Well, two of them actually. This for art's sake (via Magpie), and then This for the sake of art (via Chris Paul).