A Rational Animal

 
Image copyright Steve Bates

Many thanks to the irrepressible and irreplaceable Steve Bates at the YDD for the links.  And while I’m at it, I want to return the favor:  Steve’s post, "What Edwards Accomplished," underscores some important points that I failed to make about the role that Edwards has played in this primary.  As he notes, we owe Edwards a debt of gratitude for (among many other things) making the subjects of this campaign relevant to ordinary folks. 

That’s one too-seldom-recognized element of the GOP’s success:  It couches its corporatist, expansionist, fundamentalist agendas in faux-populist rhetoric to persuade voters that it really is watching out for the little guy.  Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, but the Rethugs have been veritable geniuses at it.  And so racism becomes about "illegal immigration," which morphs magically into "protecting jobs," and criminal lawbreaking becomes about "catching terrorists," which transmogrifies into "protecting children," and so on and so forth down the slippery slope to authoritarian hell.

What Edwards has managed to do - and this is one of the reason Teh Villagers hate him so for being so "angry" - is to turn the GOP’s bullshit rhetoric inside-out (or rather, to take rhetoric that’s already inside-out and turn it back to reality), by breaking down the establishment agenda into terms that are relevant to ordinary people’s lives.  Doing so has shown average voters that, in fact, voting Rethug is not in their own self-interest, long-term or otherwise.

And I still say, vote Edwards.  It’s time to hold his delegates hostage until we extract some real action from the eventual nominee. 

This one’s for you.  Blessings, my dear.

~ L 

. . . at Debwe.

As is probably grossly evident, it’s been (with one important exception) a profoundly shitty year around here.  I swear, I feel like fucking Punxsutawney Phil on a brilliantly sunny day - "OMG!  There’s my shadow!  Run!  Hide!" - I don’t dare poke my head out, for fear that yet another Really Bad Thing will blast me in a drive-by.  Puts a damper on the blogging, I gotta tell ya.

The next two weeks are going to be a fucking nightmare.  Away from home, stuck involuntarily in a shithole fundy Republican-run town, life in suspended animation.  In theory, that should make for good blogging conditions; in practice, maybe not so much, since my current environment seems to have forced my brain into suspended animation, as well.  Amazing, the anesthetizing effect these idiots can have on you.

So I’ve begun updating the blogroll - at least then you can read folks who make sense, which is not guaranteed in these quarters for the time being.  (Still working on it; if I’ve promised you a link and it’s not there yet, never fear - it’s forthcoming.)  Pay particular attention to Mikey and Righteous Bubba, whose genius I discovered courtesy of Da Boyz at S,N! (or, rather, courtesy of their Comments section).  If you’re unfamiliar with their respective oeuvres, I suggest starting off with a comment thread from today; scroll down until you reach the Bear/Puma Rap between the two.  (Yes, I know it’s confusing, what with other comments interspersed, but it’s worth the effort.  Steve, you especially will appreciate this.)  Seriously, though, the commenters at S,N! are some of the smartest and funniest in the blogosphere - and none of this "Fitz!" crap, either.  Sometimes I go there purely because I need a laugh, and it rarely disappoints.

In other news, Maru has renovated her digs - she’s got a sleek, elegant new look to go with the snark.  Contributing bloggers Undie Lib (heh) and JasonC now appear on the sidebar, too.  (Note to divageek:  What’s your URL, woman?)

Finally, I’ve got half a dozen posts in the pipeline, in various stages of undress.  If I can ever get them decently attired, maybe they’ll put in an appearance.  Or maybe I’ll just let them run around starkers, risking lewd-conduct arrests . . . .

In a manner of speaking.

I’ve left behind the place that feels like my real home (above image taken there), to return for a few days to the one that other people insist on calling my "home."  It’s a place that’s toxic to my health and sanity.  Unfortunately, I have no choice.

It’s been a rough couple of months.  I spent five or six weeks effectively without any Internet access, owing in part to the technological backwardness of this place.  No, finances weren’t the issue (this time); it was a clusterfuck of tech problems, scheduling, lack of access, and other issues.  But the upshot was no blogging - or virtually anything else, except loss of sanity.

I don’t know; maybe it was for the best.  I’ve also been dealing with issues that would’ve made it hard to write - at least, hard to write anything of any use to anyone.  As longtime readers know, I’ve been battling autoimmune diseases for years now, and they’ve flared - mostly as a result of all the other bullshit in my life.  And as I’ve mentioned before, a lot of my work involves issues of abuse - physical, emotional, sexual - and some of my professional activities over the past few weeks dredged up shit from my own past that left me a bit freaked.  Add to that mix assorted client bullshit, family bullshit, financial bullshit (always with the financial pressures - feh) and I’ve been useless to everyone, especially myself, lately.  And then I return to the blogosphere to find that we’ve lost Jim Capozzola, and I wonder whether there really is any justice in the universe at all.

Of course, I know it’s not that bad.  And, in fact, in the last couple of weeks I’ve begun to feel better psychologically than I have in . . . oh, hell, I don’t know how long.  Yeah, the illness and chronic pain are still there - in fucking spades.  Yeah, the money problems are still there.  Yeah, Jim’s still gone, along with Steve Gilliard, while Chimpy remains to fuck up the world some more.  Yeah, I’m stuck in this hole for 2.5 more days - and I’ll have to return next week.  But - thanks almost entirely to the help and support of one person, and you know who you are - my brain is back.   I’m me again.  And I haven’t felt like that for a long time.

So, apologies to everyone who’s been kind enough - or crazy enough - not only to read this site, but to return periodically while I’ve been on an unintentional hiatus.  I’m afraid to make any promises about consistency for fear of tempting fate, but I do promise to try.  I’m planning on staying up - all night, if I can - to watch the Senate actually do its fucking job for once, and I’ve got a post or two in me yet tonight.

And thank you to one particular person - mostly for being you.  I don’t know whether you realize just what a beautiful thing that is.  I’ll be home - really home - in a few days.

My other home, and my favorite place on earth 

And tanned, rested, and ready to go.  Well, sort of - the tanned part, not so much.

It’s been a rough few weeks.  People I love with medical issues (one just had surgery;another’s postponing surgery); my own medical issues; financial issues; professional issues . . . you name it.  As much as I’ve wanted to write about the countless outrages in the news, by the time I’d dealt with each day, I just didn’t have anything left over for blogging - either physically or psychologically.  And on the rare occasions when I was able to snag a few days at my haven (see above), all I could do was try to decompress for a few days.

But I just spent a week there (thank you, W), and - unintentionally - worked through a lot of the shit that had piled up.  When I’m there, it feels like a vacation, but it’s not; I had two all-day training conferences in five days, one out of town.   And their subject matter was difficult, to say the least.  I do a lot of work on issues involving domestic violence and sexual assault, and a lot of what I see and hear is truly horrifying.  This week’s work was horrifying in an additional way, in that it dredged up shit from my own past that I’ve been (mostly successfully) avoiding for longer than I can remember.

But you know what?  It’s all good.  It prodded me to begin to deal with it, which I clearly needed to do.  It got me back in touch with my spiritual obligations, which have been getting short shrift.  It prompted me to listen to my guides.  And it answered two nagging questions and pushed me to do something about them.  (And for that, thank you, W - again - for paying for the session that made that possible.)

One of those answers is Debwe.   No, there’s nothing there yet - although I hope there will be later tonight.  But Debwe will accomplish two things:

1.  I have to write.  Period.  When I don’t, I get crazy.  And if that means that I have to jettison other tasks, so be it.  And this gives me a focal point for certain topics that don’t fit neatly here.

2.  Increasingly, my work (like my life) involves tribal issues.  This is especially true in the context of my domestic violence and sexual assault work - but it’s also emblematic of the turns my life has taken recently in other areas, as well.  I need an outlet for those issues.  However, ARA has always been largely a political blog, and I don’t want that to change.  There’ll be some cross-posting between the two, but a lot of Native American issues that are not necessarily front-burner political issues will appear on Debwe instead of ARA.

Hmm?  Oh, the name.  "Debwe" is an Anishinaabemowin word.  It loosely translates as "I speak the truth" - or, simply (and this is my usage of it), "truth." 

Maybe I should’ve named it "therapy" . . . ?

Love you all -

 ~ L 

My sanctuary*

[Sigh . . . .]  Yesterday I left another piece of my soul here.

Fortunately, it’s in good hands until I return.

P.S. to the owner of those hands:  Take care of yourself until I get back.  If you need me sooner than that, tell me.  I’ll come.  And know that no matter where I am, I’m always with you in spirit.

* Photo shot by D; property of W. 

Particularly apt for a return to blogging after what’s been in some ways a rough couple of weeks:  one favorite blogger who made me want to weep, followed immediately by another who made me laugh out loud.

Condolences to Dave at LG&M on the loss of a family member.  Props to Tbogg for finding the humor in the unfunniest of spectacles.  And thanks to both of you for blogging in the first place; in the unrelenting catastrophe that is life during the Bush maladministration, you guys are two reasons to get up in the morning. 

A Sioux crane flute, my big indulgence at the Gathering of Nations Traders’ Market

I’ve got a four-day break in travel, so it’s time to catch up on some serious blogging and various other duties.  Expect bloggus interruptus for the next three hours, because I have a meeting (no, off the road doesn’t mean off-duty; no rest for the wicked), but then I’ll be spending the rest of the day shuttling between here and Chez Maru.  (Who, BTW, is back, bitchez!  Serious snark to recommence.)

But before all of that, I have to post a shout-out to a certain someone (that would be the co-owner of the indulgence pictured above, who has custody and use of it):

THANK YOU.  You know what, and you know why.  I can’t believe how blessed my life is with you in it.  And now I can’t imagine it any other way.

  ~ L  

While I’m thinking about it . . . .

I intended to post this several days ago, but I was stymied by my hosed hard drive.  I found it courtesy of blog buddy Maru, who is one of my all-time idols of incivil bloggery goodness.  Predictably, it’s being promulgated by another blog buddy, Official Role Model of Blogger Incivilitegritude NTodd.  Kidz, I love you both.

You know, this is all of a piece with the Broderella-style pearl-clutching over all of us "incivil," "vituperative, foul-mouthed" bloggers "named Vinny" who sit in our "efficiency apartment[s]" that we "haven’t left . . . in two years," with "an opinion, a modem, and a bathrobe" - and a delusional mission from God to make real journalists lives hell.  [Um, guys?  See why I love your real journalist colleague Dan Froomkin, below.] 

So I think it’s worth posting NTodd’s glorious Holy Fucking Pledge Not-Pledge in its entirety.  Especially since, as we all know, we’d suddenly get a pass from the SCLM if we simply jettisoned one lonely little word from our posts.  Yeah, that word.  Fuck.

Now, I ask you, what the hell is so wrong with the word fuck?  I like the word fuck.  It’s expressive, it’s cathartic, it’s multitasking, fercrissakes:  It’s a noun, a verb, an adjective.  You can use it to mean very bad things, and everyone knows exactly how you feel.  You can use it mean very good things, and everyone knows exactly how you feel.  Hell, I like to fuck.  Fucking’s fun.  Which, of course, is the root of the whole problem, but I digress . . . .

Anyway, without further ado, NTodd’s Holy Fucking Pledge Not-Pledge:

Exactly.