Anna Nicole Smith's cause of death?

Who really gives a shit when there's real news.

Why doesn't anyone seem to want to get at real news anymore?

For BFF, circa 1988 (or so)

Check it.

Thanks to Sid for the link!

Pay attention, now

It's so fucking sad that this kind of thing still needs to be published.

But it does, perhaps now more than ever. So read it. Figure out how you're complicit. And then ACT UP.

Thanks to Kiki, who is turning 30! on Saturday (bettah than evah, baby), for the link.

Four years ago today

. . . I covered a massive anti-war demonstration in Boston. Thousands turned out from all over the state. I was overwhelmed by the anger, the unity. I realized I couldn't possibly be an impartial or disinterested journalist when it comes to things I feel strongly about. Now I wonder, should that ever have been the goal? Is the pursuit of objectivity, even as it's embodied in information gathering, noble?

As I listen to reports on the fourth anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, I feel disgusted and responsible. Why didn't we stop it? Did our pursuit of objectivity actually keep us from reporting the truth? Do American journalists automatically temper what is horrible? Does it keep us from getting to the depths of ugliness that people absolutely must see? And timeliness. Yes, hindsight is 20/20 and all that, but news journalists must have 20/20 foresight, or at least aim for it.

It's the old grief and then blame game.

I'm finding it hard to go about my business today.

Paddy's recap:

1. The wearing o' the green(s). They need not match. Why not look like you were drunk when you dressed?
2. Pack flask, drive to A2 and arrive late to workshop. Upon leaving, engage playfully with multiple drunken fratboys dressed like leprechauns who appear to be trying to get hit by cars.
3. Find friends and begin the day's revelry by lining stomachs with Jameson.
4. Set out on foot to pub crawl, jig across all intersections, arrive at Zing's and proceed to eat more corned beef, undercooked cabbage and Guinness gelato than should be legal.
5. Arrive at quiet bar down the street, suck down $2.75 pints of Guinness, then slurp flaming shots through melting plastic straws.
6. Hit the empty gay bar where the waitstaff are particularly festive, decked out in green sequined bow ties, neon green wigs, reflective eye lashes, and/or faces painted green. Drink made-up-on-the-spot green martinis (oh the childhood memories of emptying parents' bottles of midori come rushing back), more whishkey and beer. Think we've made a fine friend but realize he's gouged us for all the shots we assumed we'd be getting for free.
7. Undeterred, we skip back across the street to the bar where the drinks are cheap, do more shots involving Bailey's and throw back more Guinness. Ravenously eat pretzels.
8. I start losing track here, but I remember having a conversation with a three-legged dog outside the food co-op and terrifying the clerks at a cupcake shop by inhaling their delicate creations, cookie-monster style.
9. Finally meander to the one and only Irish bar downtown only to find a line to the door that winds around the block. Oh, but before that we rejected a few other watering holes including a realy lame street party inside a tent and someplace where the slippery foyer had me and my speedcats nearly splayed on the tile. We did get seduced into a frenchie cafe that advertised $3 car bombs on their placard outside. Score! But since we didn't specify the special, we got unspecial car bombs at double the price. Same curdling effect, though. But if you shoot the Bailey's first and then sip the Guinness instead of dropping it in, you don't have to look at the curdling happening in the tumtum. Regardless, we stiffed the bartender on her tip. What kind of person takes advantage of recreational drunks on Paddy's Day? Oh, right. At the Irish bar, I pushed my way to the front of the line and said to the people waiting there, "What in the hell are you waiting for? To get in and pay for drinks? Pfffffft. Y'all crazy."
10. Then I think we tried to find food but only discovered more lines out doors. So we walked and walked and jigged and skipped when possible all the way to a tavern with great burgers. Tried desperately to help Kiki tame his interminable hiccups. Failed. Thought we spotted our governor with bad hair at the bar. Passed out in the park across the street on the way home. Probably spent some time rolling in old dog poo. Came up with the brilliant idea to run part of the way home so that we might make it there in the same amount of time we would in a cab but save the cab fare. Destroy property and have a mild pine-cone fight on the way there.
11. Fall asleep in coat as friends watch Cabaret. Wake self up snoring and laugh. Sleep (mostly) through the neighbors' house party.

Thank Jaysus Paddy's Day comes but once a year! And thanks to M! and his brilliant photo essay of the entire day's events for supplying most of the information herein. As soon as he emails some of the highlights (hint, hint), I'll supply some illustration. . . .

I think I'm still hungover.

Transformation

Here's what I've been thinking about: the divine feminine. I've become totally possessed by Jungian psychology lately. I feel a little bit like I'm practicing on myself without a license, but I'm unearthing stuff that's good fodder for my writing.

Speaking of which, I'm realizing there's very little fodder available in terms of creative work when there's no time for idleness. Yes, there's truth, I think, in the notion that if you want something done, give it to a busy person; however, I've busied and done to my breaking point. I am a holy mess, and have been for some time. And yet, I'm mostly excellent at keeping up appearances. But the body is wise and literal, and there's no fooling this body of mine, lord knows. I've been sick--exhausted, really. And now my face is breaking out like it did when the beginning of the end was near with HB. My skin along my jaw line erupts in defiance and anger when the emotional stress gets too great. I'm there again. Damn it.

My body's suffering, and the work that matters most to me is suffering. The result: I feel like I'm compromising my soul. I've been here before. Nothing should cost that much, even if you love it.

So, I've decided that as soon as possible contractually speaking, I'm going to eliminate the work that takes the most time and energy with the smallest financial return. I'm choosing to honor myself instead of allow an institution to exploit me. I think this is a big step. I'm being purposefully vague here because I haven't made any official announcements.

But simply by making the decision, I feel like a weight has been lifted. And while it will be difficult to give up a part of myself, I know in my heart there must be death for there to be rebirth. I expect, eventually, the world will open up to me.

Just in time for spring. The snow is melting, and the sun has been shining for three days straight! Today I went for my first run of the season outside. It felt so good to take the cold wind in my face and feel the warmth of the sun on my body. Just in time for the Shamrock Shuffle in two weeks. . . .

I also kept the momentum flowing from Paris on Friday and ate well at the new sushi joint in town (tres bien!) then danced my ass off at a little club. My date and I were the oldest ones on the dance floor, ugh; but damn, do we know how to move!
This is me at 5 a.m. in Paris after a fabulous meal and hours and hours of dancing--as KT said, we danced until our feet couldn't take it anymore! Funny how revived I look, non?

I got to see and touch the daffodils in Paris and Dublin; now I can feel them trying to emerge here at home. It's already begun. . . .

Back.

From Pah-ree and Dublin. Lived it up--ate like royalty, danced 'til dawn, took in the lunar eclipse, chased down Oscar Wilde. Then popped across the pond to inhale the city I love more than anyplace on earth, to see the daffodils growing wild along the highway, watch the full moon make a path to me on the black Irish sea, and spend a few hours with people whose company I find relief in. A marvelous mix--an all-too-brief four days well spent. Now I'm jetlagged yet renewed. And I think I've made a professional decision that just might change my life.

I'll keep you posted. Photos to come.

Finally, the sun shines again. I can visualize spring on the horizon. It can't come too soon.