California has become a swirling, unholy maelstrom of public policy crises. 

I don’t understand why the state, whose economy is among the largest in the world, is in the financial toilet. And I don’t feel like the media have done a very good job helping us understand. The housing crisis pushed us over the edge, sure, but why is California doing so much worse than other states? Because it had so much more to lose? I need answers and I can’t find them.

Furthermore, I’m coming to the conclusion that the state’s initiative and referendum system – which necessitates seemingly random and confusing special elections where only something like 20% of the population votes – is making things worse. I hate to be an enemy of direct democracy, but it seems like last week’s special election, in which people voted against both extending tax increases and curtailing state spending, is proof of this.  Here is a good analysis from LA Times that argues Californians want to have their cake and eat it too. 

And separately, while we’re on the subject of direct democracy, one has to concede that it doesn’t always yield the best or most just results….Prop. 8, anyone? The people spoke…and they deprived 10% of the population of a basic right. I wonder if some of the most important legislation we’ve had, if it were left solely up to some kind of majority popular vote, would it have passed? Like the Emancipation Proclamation, which freed the slaves – it was an executive order by Pres. Lincoln. Hmmm.

Here is a list of “lifestyle” choices I believe wholeheartedly in:

1. Sleep with the window open. It’s a scientific fact that it’s healthier for you. Actually, no, that isn’t a fact, but something inside me just knows this.

2. Learn how to make bread without the breadmaker. You will feel un-lazy, wholesome, pure and not unlike Laura Ingalls Wilder.

3. Write postcards and short letters to your family members, even if you are telling them the same thing you just told them on the phone. It’s comforting and you feel like you are crafting something that means something, something permanent. Plus everyone likes getting mail.

4. Don’t buy shit you don’t need. This includes: most makeup; holiday-related tchotckes, kitchen doodads that only do one thing; electric can openers; fondue sets; breadmakers; any kind of air freshener or scented candle; any kind of body spray; clothes for your pet.  Also, you probably don’t need as many shoes/clothes/towels as you think you do. Also, don’t buy anything new until it’s ready to drop dead.

5. You can very easily steal glassware from bars, so you really don’t have to buy those, either. Size up the bar before you do, though. Don’t steal from a respectable dive or like a neighborhood pub. Steal from the bar that is three stories and has a velvet rope and charges $12 for a mixed drink.

6. Go thrifting for most of your clothes. Learn to hem stuff so you don’t have to worry as much about finding the right size.

7.  Shop at  the farmer’s market and don’t suddenly be all calculating about the cost when really, it’s not THAT much more expensive than the grocery store. And think of it as paying a fair price. And letting those farmers keep their farm and their dignity, instead of forcing them to become a cog in the industrial agriculture machine.

8. Let your house get messy. Then enjoy the feeling of control as you clean it back up, assert order on your life and start all over again. It’s a nice cycle.  You can also do this with shaving your legs. Let ‘em get hairy. Then shave them off and enjoy the new-ness of the feeling of smooth skin.

9. Always be taking a class. Community college is awesome in opportunities it provides.

10. Take public transportation even when it’s a bit more inconvenient. You’ll meet more people and you’ll have more time to read/knit/listen to headphones/look out the window on your way to work.

11. The only makeup you need is sunscreen, tweezers, mascara and chapstick with SPF. That’s really it. Maintaining a good eyebrow shape is the best thing you can do your face.

12. Always rinse your rice before cooking. At least three times; make sure the water runs clean.

13. Read the news. Never, ever, under any circumstances, watch local or national broadcast news.

14. Meet your neighbors. Share your table.

15. Don’t ever listen to those “rules” about relationships….except for #16 on this list.

16. Don’t date guys that are into chivalry. I say chivalry, not kindness; there’s a difference. Chilvalry is about putting women up on a pedastol, treating them like princesses, putting them outside the scope of rational human activity, making them objects to be petted like lap dogs or something. You want a guy to be respectful and kind — to all men/women/children/dogs/cats — not chivalrous.

English pastoral meets horror

I love it. My guesses on who gets eaten alive: Wickham, Lady Catherine — or Mr. Collins. Maybe he’s a zombie all along. But if anyone can save the good people of Merrtyon from hordes of the mindless monsters hungry for brains, Elizabeth Bennet can.

Lizzy joins X-Men, the Incredible Hulk, Spiderman

As far as I’m concerned Elizabeth Bennet can do no wrong — she’s as perfect a literary creation as it gets. So all thanks and praise are due to Marvel for recognizing this. Lizzy doesn’t fly or have mutatnt powers or superhuman strength….but she does have those bewitching “fine eyes” and she broke the implacable, imperturbable Mr. Darcy. No small feat.

Here are some figures on the trip:

Miles to Fairbanks from Santa Cruz, CA: 3,134 miles

Total mileage for the trip, including side excursions on the way: 7,500

Cost in gas, on a vehicle that gets 20 mpg, gas at $3.00 average*: $1,125.00

(*Gas in British Columbia looks like it’s about $3.41 Canadian dollars per gallon, based on $.90 Canadian cents per liter…so that’s $2.86 per gallon in American dollars. But I think $3.00 is a safe estimate.)

I think that driving a Prius would be great, what with the awesome gas mileage…but there’s a bit of a problem when you consider the possibility of breakdowns. You’d need a special place to repair it, and I wouldn’t like to count on that for a long trip through a relatively remote area. Better to take a non-hybrid, and also something tougher than a compact, I’d imagine.

Some day!

Whatever you want to call them, I don’t like police. (Except in movies making fun of police.)

Yes, they catch people who murder and rob and rape. Yes, we can’t go without some kind of law enforcement. Yes, sometimes you walk away with only a warning instead of that speeding ticket.

But I think a lot of people instinctively recoil when they see the cops. And why not?

When you look at the ugly side of policing – racial profiling, brutality, inciting riots – it’s easy to feel  nervous about abuses of power. Here in Columbia this summer, the police Tasering a man who was going to commit suicide has set off citizen interest in police oversight. And then, why does it sometimes seem that Americans are loathe to convict a cop for wrongful use of force? Same thing goes for military personnel on trial.

And on the individual level – what makes someone want to be a cop? Is it because you want to help people, keep them safe, or do you just want to carry a gun?

I got an answer into this – kind of – two years ago.

I was in San Francisco after Love Fest and my friend and I were tottering around, making our way back to the BART station. The crowd had pretty much dispersed, my drunkenness had subsided to a contented buzz, and I spotted a bored-looking cop smacking his gum as he stood in the middle of the blocked-off street.

Who is this man in dark blue? What goes on in his mind? I thought to myself.

Then I was standing in front of him, asking “Do you like being a cop?”

He hesitated for a second. I’m not sure if anyone had asked him that question before. I still don’t know what he was thinking, but he told me, the way he saw it, cops didn’t get much respect.

“I told my sons, don’t be a cop, be a firefighter. No one’s happy when the police come around. Everyone likes it when the firefighters come.”

I don’t remember what I said to this, and we didn’t speak for very long since my friend finished up with the ATM and we had to go. But I think of this moment often – this moment of connection, this little attempt to understand someone’s psychology – and I’m not sure how I feel.

Sometimes I feel sympathy; I can see the pathos in his situation – he was just a guy in a system, perhaps raised or led to believe that people would look up to cops, then discovering that the opposite is true. What must that do to one’s ego?  On the other hand, I consider the work of a cop and I think – why would you expect that people would like you? Did you expect people to cheer when you arrest them?

So: fuck the police? Maybe. Maybe more like, strictly scrutinze the police. Law enforcement is tricky business, and I don’t envy the people that have to do it – but just because they have a tough job it doesn’t mean we can’t question them on their methods and use of force.

1. A black Gap tank top, cuffed Target jeans, and black Reef flip flops. I was wearing this when I hooked up with a friend (who then became my boyfriend) in college. We were at this huge party and ended up making out on a curb. I even think I lost all inhibition and pulled him on top of me. (That’s what Goldschläger – and being with someone you really like – does to you.) And at the end of the night, it started to rain and we ran home through a massive downpour, me taking off my flip-flops in the process and going barefoot through the puddles. We were both soaked to the skin and it was all very sexy and perfect. I’m pretty sure I could have been wearing anything and we would have hooked up, although now that I consider it, I wonder: Would the same thing have happened if I had been wearing, for example, pink stretch pants, a neon orange tee-shirt and plaid jacket? Hmm.

2. My May-Ann tee shirt. When I was maybe 2 or 3 I had this red tee-shirt with the face of a little girl on it, with black buttons for eyes and yellow yarn hair. I named it May-Ann after my friend from church. I’m not sure how she felt about me naming clothing after her. But I loved that shirt and wore it everywhere, my mom tells me.

3. My plaid uniform skirts in high school and grade school. I’ll probably never wear any one piece of clothing as much as I wore them. You’d think that 12 years of basically the same outfit would be torture, but I didn’t really mind; it was easy to get dressed in the morning and you only had to wash those skirts like twice a month. And while the skirt was the same as everyone else’s, how you wore it mattered. One of the most embarrassing moments of junior high occurred when my seventh grade teacher was telling the girls that our skirts were too short, and then Thomas Baines* says, in front of everyone, “But Année’s skirt is so long!” My face burned red. I felt like such a dork. In high school I hiked my skirt up a bit more, although it never got to slut-short. Thankfully.

4. The boxer shorts I wore underneath my uniform. It is a well-known fact that underneath their plaid skirts, all female Catholic school high students (at least on the West Coast) wear boxer shorts. In my day this was kind of before the trend of wearing track shorts with some word sprayed across the butt. Most of us wore Old Navy boxers. My favorites had Valentine’s heart candies on them.

5. My “Fuck Art, Let’s Dance” tee-shirt was made for me by a friend, after I saw a tee-shirt with this phrase on it in London’s Camden Town street market. It’s way existential, DIY (which I support) and definitely my favorite slogan shirt.

6. My purple slip-on Vans technically aren’t clothes, but countless times they’ve been my favorite thing to put on. I wore them to work, to play and even out dancing – you can’t really dance in heels, after all. They’re kind of synonymous with my whiney post-college “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life” phase, which I am still partially in. I love them to death and it shows; they’re now about 30% holes, earning them the right to be referred to as “my holey Vans,” or “my sacred Vans.” My loan money just came in and I am considering buying a duplicate pair, but I don’t think it would be the same.

7. My oversized Bongo jeans overalls and this blue, taupe, white and dark teal stripped long-sleeved, crew-neck shirt that fit like a glove. At St. Frances Cabrini we got “free dress” – a reprieve from the uniform – on our birthdays and I wore this kind of faux-ghetto, very mid-90s ensemble on my 13th birthday in sixth grade. I was becoming a real person and learning how to wear things besides plaid; so I guess it was inevitable I’d go to stripes. Part of me wants to bring this back, but I doubt the world is ready yet.

8. My Rainbow Brite Halloween costume when I was in preschool. Growing up, I was lucky to have a mom that loved to sew and made all our Halloween costumes. I was spoiled by it, too; I looked down on the poor kids who wore store-bought costumes. Late into the night every year on October 30, I could hear my mom hard at work, her sewing machine at a steady whir and the occasional curse when she made a mistake. Later she told me that the Rainbow Brite costume was one of the most difficult she ever made, but she pulled it off, as always, and I was a very happy 5-year-old that Halloween.

9. This toga I fashioned from a sheet for this dance my freshman year at Notre Dame. It was a Big Deal – the other girls on my floor pitched in, one doing my makeup (my first forray into the “smokey eye” look), another doing my hair, and another wrapping and pinning me into this white cotton sheet. This toga makes this list because it marks one of the first times I got dressed up for a date. (Maybe the last, too.) The guy and I ended up going out for two weeks; it was my first real relationship and I was heartbroken when it was over, but at least we had that one dance, and I looked hot. Yeah.

10. My salmon Mary Janes. My Aunt Katie took me to Marshall’s or T.J. Max as a toddler and I saw these shoes and HAD to have them. They were a weird salmon color and they were three sizes too big, but I screamed and screamed until my aunt relented and bought them. This might be one of my first memories, actually – I remember them sitting on bottom shelf, and being transfixed by the color because it was so unusual (in my mind.) Luckily I didn’t grow up into the fashionista this behavior would suggest. Catholic school probably beat it out of me.

*Thomas, I forgive you.

Scottish Ballet will perform Ride the Beast, a piece choreographed to a few Radiohead songs. Sweet. If I were going, I’d love to see the “Idioteque” part since that song is made for dancing.

As far as I’m concerned this is a great idea – I love new ballets outside of the traditional ballet repertoire (The Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, Giselle, etc.) And I think this is especially smart -  popular music might attract new people to ballet and loosen its stiff and stuffy image a little. Like that last scene in Center Stage when she dances to Michael Jackson -  the crowd went nuts for that. (I’m a sucker for dance movies.)

Plus this sounds like a much better idea than other ballets that borrow from another art forms – like, for example, Gone with the Wind performed by the Hungarian Ballet. I loved the novel in junior high, but I think now it’s probably racist. And Civil War uniforms in a ballet? It just seems kind of weird, like two worlds that should not be meeting.

But if they made Lord of the Rings into a ballet, however, I’d be there.

(I didn’t take this picture. I don’t know who did. But it’s so deliciously dorky, I had to post.)

The Obama-supporter in me thinks: Too bad they can’t vote. Especially those Germans.

But seriously, while foreigners can’t and shouldn’t be able to vote for another country’s president, Americans would do well to consider their opinion when they hit the polls. The U.S. will likely influence their country. What we do matters and creates shock waves felt around the world. In our egoism, we think this is just an election about the U.S., when really the implications of our choice will be global.

And finally, on a somewhat related note, I bring you this little piece of Obamamania. Besides being today’s evidence of all the weird, strange, wonderful things in this world, it’s also proof that we need the Internet Archive to preserve Web sites. If this gets lost in the ether, political historians down the road will be missing out on a cool bit of the 2008 election zeitgeist.