It's All Connected

I’m spending this upcoming week in New York away from the throngs of people descending on the MD/DC/VA, I’m not resentful, the opposite in fact, grateful that so many from near and far want to be a part of something so monumental, so truly beautiful. 

I know for many it doesn’t transcend politics and though I am a sworn Democrat and Liberal, the two are not in fact synonymous, the inauguration of Mr. Obama is something I honestly never thought I would see, something I didn’t believe this nation was capable of, something that isn’t about victory for my chosen candidate but a real strike against this land’s short and ugly past, a slowly changing present and a sign that there truly is hope after all and the dream is not forgotten.  It feels good to believe in all of that every time I walk into a classroom in the inner city and see faces unlike mine, knowing they really can believe anything is possible, well almost anything – women, I think, still have a hill to climb, a hill that’s lost some of its steepness but a hill.  I’ll watch from New York and shed a few tears of joy, a few tears of hope and a few tears because though eight years have ended the damage left is large. 

I decided to come to New York on my own terms, for reasons that don’t involve wishes, whimsy or obligation, I’ve come for me, I feel the pull of home.  I don’t have plans to see my family or really any friend other than the one who has graciously offered me a place to sleep until noon and then spend the rest of the day watching Nickelodeon or Discovery Kids and maybe even the Disney Channel – I decided to stop making excuses regarding my penchant for children’s programming.  There is so little on television, nothing really, that catches my interest, so I watch what I watch when I want to watch it, I’m tragically unhip when it comes to television viewing habits and I truly love that about myself. 

Speaking of tragedy and unhipness, I’ve decided to continue my exploration of American Idol, even without my friend around this week I’ll savour the people that that make me look up from the book I’m reading – so far, there has been only one, Deanna Brown, in mere seconds she made me a fan.  Then there was the girl that proved, once again, how far women must come, how we must move beyond self-objectification, we need to stop participating in our own inequality.  I’m trying to stay hopeful, stay a believer, believe that one-day brain will trump booty, always. 

I’ll probably haunt bookstores and try to flavor my purchases with the old and the new.  I joined two book clubs last year, one I’ve stuck with despite my fair to severely negative critique of half the books we’ve read.  The other, well, after three months of reading about incredibly stupid women looking for a husband on 273 out of 300 pages or women unable to leave a cheating/absentee husband because their job skills were outdated and a baby was on the way I decided I had three choices: blind myself, become a book terrorist, or just walk away.  I walked away because holy fuck even Jane Eyre found her steel.  I’m proud that I’ve expanded my reading habits, explored the world of genre fiction and can now say that there are and were quite a few good books written after 1959, wonderful little gems.  Although, I’ve yet to be convinced that the death of Raymond Carver hasn’t forever doomed the short story, we’ll see. 

You know what else seems forever doomed – my love.   There, I said it and though this is how I’ll close, believe it or not I’m not sad, I’m typing this with a smile on my face wondering just what it all means.  

*SpellCheck is still a patriot I see.  Ass!