"Undermining my electoral viability since 2001."

Paying For It Now

Ugh, I need another weekend to recover from my weekend. I made the executive decision to sleep in until 10:30 although I was up at 7. There was some very suspect noise coming from my sour BBQ and beer-soaked gutbag. There's a ton of work to be done this week, and I will need to be in much better mental and physical shape than I am today if I'm to get all the shit taken care of. Time to start some sort of regimen. This summer is going to be a make-or-break on a lot of levels.

I feel persecuted by my dreams at times. Awareness is a double-edged sword for sure. Right now I would that I were unaware of my head and my kidneys, but that's just wishful thinking. I'm stressed -- weight of the world and all -- and I can't relax. It's time to motivate, time to get back into the business of getting shit done. Let's get serious. Are you with me for the goose?

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Lush Life

Lengthy spates of partytime lately. The backyard is the perfect place to hang out with a G&T and do the wireless thing. Last night we hit up a trendy trendy thai place in W-burg. Sea. It was ambitious: big, designed, cheap food and expensive drinks, both pretty delicious. It's the place 20-somethings take their parents when they visit, so it's really not quite "the beautiful people," although there were definitely a few. It felt a little bit midtown, but it's hard to argue with a reflecting pool.

After that there was a party. I saw Julia again, and she was drunk and beligerent and funny. We talked a little about the girl situation, and she at least made me laugh some. My friends are pretty fiercely loyal to me, which is nice. It's been a little lonely to tell the truth. I'm missing a pretty big outlet.

But I'm hard at work on life, the universe and everything. I still get hopeful rushes and thrills. Things will work out.

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Blogs Over Baghdad

Quick note for those who find this fascinating. Salam Pax has some news stuff and also introduces us a new blog from an Iraqi: G In Baghdad. I'm assuming that since it's from Salam, it's legit. Choice quote:

Please stop and start doing your homework properly, I don't want my country to be another breeding place for Osamas and lunatic terrorists.

It's brilliant. He's writing to America and the world and he's telling them what they need to hear. I hope someone with juice is listening. As Frank said to me this morning, we all hoped Bush would prove us wrong on the war, on the occupation, on the Israel/Palestine summit, but right now it's looking like we need a change in leadership here to start setting things right. We need someone who can work with, not against, the rest of the civilized world. Paging Dr. Dean...

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Saw some fucking art last night. Mixed bag but it felt good. I'm not and never have been into the "scene" -- and that goes for every other "scene" out there -- but I do like the sometime sense of community that accompanies really good performance. I know some talented people.

Frank the Enabler struck hard before hand and we showed up to the show very very very high, as well as being wet from biking in the rain. I'm still not entirely comfortable being stoned in public, but I do like showing up places dripping wet and lightly sweating. Helps me tap into the man-juice.

While I didn't expect to be as high as I was, I also -- as HST writes -- need to learn how to deal with smoking marijuana in polite company. However you cut it, I was too stoned to network, which was a setback. It's ok, but I would have liked to more affably commune with some of the people there. Make plans. Promote axiom a bit.

The show itself was a lesson in how to be a good perfomace artist: work hard and have a point which you can communicate. Art is for the audience, not for the performer. At least, that's what I believe. I saw my old classmates Kieth Biesack and Maggie McBrian do something that could have been so much more than it was. I also saw a work of sheer genius pomo storytelling by Zack Steel and Adam Carpenter; two men who I deeply respect as performers.

Then there was some film and some dancing that had a lot of senseless pussy, which was something of a drag. I detest pointless nudity. If you just want to show your cunt or your tits off that's fine but please either treat it as a fun/beautiful thing or have some context around it. This is art, not a nudist colony, and if you take off your clothes it should mean something.

It all culminated in an extremely unsafe and loud solo dance piece by some stranger. It had potential (some really interesting bits of humor and rhythm) but it was also abusive to the audience (aggressive cooch-in-face action) and frankly dangerous (almost hit audience with swinging microphone cord). I'm all for danger, but it needs to be the kind of fantastic danger that the stage makes possible, not real physical danger, and it needs to be used carefully.

I'm hard on these people because they should know better. The don't have my training, but so what? They're older than me, and they made the choice to get up on stage. They should know better. Hopefully they will learn.

But Zack and Adam were so brilliant it made the whole evening well worth it. I ran into Zack back in May at Ren Fayre of all places. Just made a little small talk, but he mentioned that he and Adam were working on stuff. It was quite something. A testament to hard work and talent. Some of us, at least, are professionals.

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All Good Things

I spent the evening with Sasha last night. We had some Thai at Amarin -- trying to smalltalk in spite of my vast uncomfortability -- then back to her place ostensably for me to pick up stuff of mine that's still over there. I launched "the pitch," laying out my feelings on the summer and my misgivings about breaking up.

Basically I know the summer was a poochscrew. We didn't talk about it enough. I didn't want to jinx anything, so I just sort of let it ride. That's a bad idea when you're planning two months worth of travel. Live and learn. This was the catalyst for the split, and I understand it. Even agree up to a point.

At the same time, I realized this week I'm not ready to let her go. This kind of thing doesn't come along all that often for me, and I decided that I can't simply roll over on the whole relationship. I did a pretty bad job making my case, lots of fumbling for words and hemming and hawing, but I think the point got across. It's better to regret what you've done than what you havn't. She says she's not going anywhere; we sat out in a hammock feeling the lightning and the rain come in. Just being close, which did great things for my soul.

It's going to be a little raw for a while. It's a hard situation. She says she's done fucking around. I echo the sentiment, but maybe we mean different things. She wants to settle, doesn't want to be a trucker's wife, which I can appreciate. But I'm not sure whether I'm a trucker or not. This is causing serious reflection, and time -- I think -- will be key in sorting it all out. Breathe. Drink water. Practice what matters.

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GOP Convention News

As I'm sure you're all aware by now, I'm righteously pissed about the 2004 GOP Convention being in NYC. It's not just that these people have screwed the city on several money issues, they also get away with using the wounds of New York as an emotional justification for whatever whack-ass jingo plan they're pushing. They pushed their dates back to early Septemeber, and now reports are surfacing that they plan to lay a cornerstone at Ground Zero during the convention.

This as firehouses around the city are closing. What happened to that first-responder aid and that reconstruction grant? Oh, right. Tax cuts. Don't try to play me, Bush. Don't think you can play NYC. This time it's personal.

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Building Steam

The Geeks for Dean movement is starting to build steam. See Britt and Mitch. If we can get the serious makers of the net on board as well as the new blogging constituency and keep everyone's egos under control, we'll have the internet sewn up. We're warriors and professionals and it's time we activated ourselves.

A reminder of why I do this: interviewed by the BBC and asked what keeps Dean going on his reportedly back-breaking schedule, he responded as follows:

I think that what drives me to keep going is the knowledge that if this country fails, then a beacon for the world is lost. And this country is headed for failure under this president.

-- Howard Dean, M.D.

I've been thinking that for a long time, and Dean is the only one who's saying it. He's tapping the main line as far as I'm concerned. This summer is going to be a long simmering process and in the fall it's going to explode.

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I Read the News Today, Oh Boy

It's funny. I used to read the news a lot, the NY times, CNN.com and so on. But since the war I've stopped doing it regularly. I scan the times headlines and read their editorials, but other than that I don't spend time on major news outlets. I read what is referenced in the Blogs, but I don't sit down with the news.

Here's an example of why. CNN is so clearly has an enforced, almost propaganda-like pro-US policy on all their stories these days. It's subtile, but it's there. Look at this article. The substance is about a closed-door hearing about Bush's handling of Iraqi WMD intel, an attack on a US convoy and the civilian death toll. The photos are of a US Solder having fun with a couple kids and our Man in Iraq L. Paul Bremmer at some official ceremony.

I'm all for GIs making nice with the locals and L. Paul getting to exercise his ambassadorial talents. However, the photos and stories are decidedly mismatched. Are there no more relevant photos? Are there no sunnier stories? Cuffs and collar don't match here, and it seems like no one cares.

Perhaps the Onion truly is America's finest news source. Check out their WMD lies infographic.

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It is James Brown Time

Everybody over there/get on up

Everybody right now/get into it

Everybody over here/get involved

Get involved/get involved

Anyone can be a part of the movement now. If you find the technology intimidating, we will help you with that. This is stuff anyone can do.

We'll need respectable people like Britt Balser, Doc Searls and Lawrence Lesseg to give this dean.com thing the extra hip techno juice it needs to really turn over. I personally feel more affiliated with the freak wing; I feel more etherial kinship with people like HST or rageboy or the feisteir days of Justin Hall. The latter two don't touch on politics directly all that often, but 'tis the season, my friends. The going has gotten very weird, and it's time for everyone to turn pro. Let's do this thing.

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Fuckin' Bangin' It, that's how I'm doing. The workaholism is kicking in strong, as I'm finding myself more and more involved in grassroots stuff for the Howard Dean campaign. It feels good to have something to work at. I also have -- cross fingers -- some paying work in the pipeline too, which would be a boon and a half. In spite of the recent round of tax cuts, my finances are still looking pretty shaky. I'm sure some sort of check is in the mail. Yeah, right.

Last night we wished Andrew a happy birthday. I had some wine with Kate before and we talked about life and all that jazz. She wanted to make sure I'm ok wrt Sasha and everything. Like I said, I know I'm not through all of it, but the indicators are good. I'll live. I tried to obliquely encourage her to think about starting her own indie litereary mag. Maybe a more concrete proposal should be floated...

Easy E is now in the 24 club with the rest of us. It was a grand old time. Capodiche showed up and reminded me about the Gooseberry, the 2003 summer drink of choice; gin and grapefruit. Try it out. We went back to Eleni's house and had a little party on the roof. "Do you party, man?" It was quite something to just hang out and laugh and feel the warm night air just right. Biking in the city at night in these warm halcyon days feels like some kind of New York dream. Freedom, terrible terrible freedom.

I got a monkey call at about 1am; full support in these troubled times. It's nice to know my people are with me in spirit. It gives me the spunk to sit up and fight a little. Good thing, too.

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