Here's a little tribute to some of the dogs in my life. I love these little furry persons. They are so kind, loving and generous with their emotions. Why can't people be more like them?

From top to bottom, these creatures are: Albina (who likes to squeeze into Marcy's teeny bed when she visits), raccoon visitor (I know she's not a dog), Morran (Camilla Engman's beautiful oft-photographed puppy), Gibby (who recently left this earth--we miss you!), and Marcy (my little chihuahua).

Here is another artist whose work I really like. His name is Kit Malo. Or her? I don't really know. Does it matter? Not really. I love this image--it is so emotional and lovely. You can get some of her/his work on Blueflip Art. Very reasonable, too, besides being just gorgeous. This print is called "Entre le Loup et le Chien."

Wow. Katrine does it again, with a beautiful, mystical piece of art entitled "I do not know you." I can't really articulate or even describe how much I love this piece. I love the way the figure on the right is looking at the woman on the left--and how she is spurning him, just a little bit.

Katrine will be showing some of her work this spring in Hollywood, California, at a gallery called Tinlark. The show will be from April 12 to May 10. Go, Katrine!

Marcy enjoying the view from my Mom's window.


Here's my mom's birdbath, full of lovely fall leaves.


Here's some salvia I planted in my mother's backyard in Burbank, California, two summers ago. She's not a big fan of these plants, but I love them, especially when they're blooming. I took the picture last summer.

feminist motivations . . . (these are from a talk I gave recently to college students)


don't do your boyfriend's (girlfriend's) homework. or write their papers. ever.

don't go out with anyone who makes you feel bad about yourself--even a little bit.

do spend time with people you love--and the people who love you.

don't ever have sex unless you really, truly want to. seriously.

it's okay to ask for pleasure! if the person you're intimate with doesn't or won't reciprocate, dump them. seriously.

don't spend a lot of time looking in the mirror. don't stress about how you look. you look great, believe me.

do love your body. I mean really love it. it's a fabulous, amazing machine--take good care of it, feed it well, use it well, love it.

get to know your body--what makes it happy, what gives it pleasure. boys know this already. but who tells girls its important to know this? I'm telling you now. you need to know how to make yourself happy before anyone else can do it.

don't ever criticize other women for how they look, dress, how much they weigh. criticism of women's appearance perpetuates devaluing women and reinforcing the wrong idea that women are primarily valued for how they look.

realize that everything is political. the personal, in particular, is political. each and every action we take is a kind of political moment. what you put or don't put into your vagina is political. think about this: if your husband beats the shit out of you they used to say "that's a domestic matter--between the husband and his wife."

Stephen Colbert is sexy. He is very smart. Smart is sexy, no? I realized last night that Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert have made it a little more bearable to live in a world that looks to Dick Cheney and George Bush for leadership. Thank you, guys, for your scathing sarcasm and withering insight into our pathetic administration.

Here is a little photo tribute to the love of my life, Marcy Keeton Younger.

Art obsession continues. It's truly amazing how much incredible art there is in the world. One of my very favorite artists is a Norwegian named Katrine Kalleklev. She sells some of her work on Etsy and also has a blog (see links right) that showcases her stuff. She is very nice, too, and always sends me a note or little extra with her art. I admit I am slightly crazy about her work. It is really just so beautiful and moody. She also has a cat named Julius.

Here is one of my favorite pieces by Katrine. It is titled Girl and the House.

The other day here in Des Moines it was very sunny--almost painfully so--but it was very beautiful. The snow and ice were sparkling and glaring at me under the crazy sun and I couldn't believe how amazing it all was. The streets were glowing, shining away, everything seemed illuminated in a strange and ferocious way.

Okay--this may be a bad thing to say, but why does no one ever talk about the fact that every time someone shoots up a place and kills a bunch of people the shooter is male? I know there are rare exceptions, such as the woman in Baton Rouge a few weeks ago, but almost all of the shooters are men. Why is it that this little fact gets omitted from news reports? They usually tell when someone is black, or white, or latino.

Is it because white males are the default for human in our society? Is it because we expect shooters to be men? I think it is because they are the default, and women and people of color are the "other" in our lovely culture. But here's the real issue--their sex is not mentioned because there is something deeply wrong with masculinity in our society and no one wants to talk about it. Notice that I said there is something deeply wrong with masculinity--not with men. I will acknowledge that most shooters are white males, yes, that is true, but the problem is not with sex--it is with gender--it is with masculinity.

Carol Clover argues in her book Men, Women and Chain Saws that sex proceeds from gender in the modern horror film. What she means is that characters perform gender. No matter what a character's biological sex is, they are coded male or female according to how they "perform" gender. So you are female if you scream; you are not necessarily screaming because you are female. So in the case of all of these shootings, the shooter is male because he is shooting--he is not shooting because he is male.

What I'm saying is that something in our culture--something about how we teach men, primarily, about what it means to be masculine, lets them believe that it is a appropriate expression of anger to buy guns and use them to annihilate a bunch of people.

Here I am, in the middle of February, waiting for the end of winter and just the tiniest bit of spring. Please, oh weather gods, send us some warmth!

What I really want to say is that I love my dog, Marcy, and I feel very badly for her (a 9 pound chihuahua) in this weather. I know its doubly hard for her to go outside and pee or poop.

Here is my pictorial tribute to her and to this frozen wonderland we call Des Moines, Iowa.

Apparently there is this thing called tagging--and a blog I read all the time by artist Ashley Goldberg www.kittygenius.com posted her experience of being tagged, and so I responded with my own seven random facts. Here they are.

I introduce my Chihuahua Marcy as my "partner."

Sometimes at night, just before I fall asleep, I swear there is someone in my doorway. This has been going on for years.

When I watch television, I can't switch between channels randomly--I have to go up or down the numbers in order.

I believe in zombies.

When I was born, my mother said I was very "simian-like."

I used to work for Aaron Spelling!

I lived in the same apartment for 13 years to the day.

Ashley's artwork is just amazing, and she is the nicest person I know from the web whom I have never met in person. The above prints are "You Were Saying" and "Heartbreaker." If you want to see her work which is totally fucking great and very reasonably priced, go to her Etsy shop, which is www.ashleyg.etsy.com and is also linked on her blog. I have about a million pieces of her work. Lucky me!

When I was in college I used to write poetry sometimes, like any lunatic english major. I usually began a poem when something momentous or annoying happened, or when I had an epiphany of some kind. The other day I found a bunch of crap I wrote in a file, and actually found a few things I liked. Here's a poem that I wrote when I realized the jerk I was dating at the time was a jerk. His name was Michael Riedell and I think he is now a high school teacher which I find rather frightening.

I like to think that I learned something from every relationship that I've had. In part because of my time with him (besides learning what total assholes humans can be) I actually did learn many things about myself including becoming aware of some of my own vulnerabilities. I don't regret many things I've done in my life; I do regret wasting precious time on him. At least I got a poem out of it.


marriage

when he hears the word marrriage
more than three times
in as many days, he begins
to itch in places he didn't know existed
he starts to eye the windows
of travel agencies
he wonders about the limits
on his visa and mastercard

the itch gradually subsides
until he gets to waremart
where he slowly becomes aware
he is shopping with a woman at his side
the aisles of the store contract around him
eggs become orange juice
milk flows into wine
he takes refuge in a magazine
she continues to shop
not unaware of his proximity to the floor
as food fills the cart
the need to move
the urge to scratch
become central
outside, he feels relief
until he sees a woman
selling chocolate roses for valentine's day
he looks at her, then at the woman by his side
no, he says to himself
but the woman he loves hears him
he sees her mouth move
but does not hear the words
he glides the cart with some effort
toward the car

at home, the air is still and heavy
he opens all the windows
gulps the mobile air
and wonders where to scratch
the woman who was beside him
who is beside him
puts her hand on his neck
he feels her warm lips
and looks at her
he sees himself
alone on a mountain top
in the wind
the woman says
I could spend my life with you
and shuts the door
he watches her through the open window
and does not move

I have not posted for a very long time. So what? No one reads this thing, anyway, except me. But here I am, writing away, thinking about cheese.

Lately I have become obsessed with art. For example, I have been spending lots of time on the website Etsy, which is a fantastic place to look at all kinds of art and crafty kind of shit. I look mostly at the art. I'm currently totally obsessed with an artist named Luca Tripaldi. I love his stuff. I gotta tell you--it is insane. Here is one that I wished I owned, titled Howell (bottom image). I do now own a print of Mr. President (top image) and it is quite possibly my favorite piece of art ever. It is now away from my greedy little brain while it is being framed. I miss having it around.

I really need someone to tell me why so many "soy" dairy products actually have milk ingredients in them. Since I have been vegan, I have noticed that many, many products such as soy cheese, soy cream cheese, soy whatever, actually have casein (a milk derived protein) as an ingredient. I have become a good label reader out of sheer necessity just for this reason. I just don't understand it--so many products are not actually vegan that should be. Why do these products exist? Maybe they are helpful for lactose intolerant people, or for those concerned about cholesterol. But I have to say it really irks me that so many soy dairy items contain casein. What this whole thing makes me realize is that I need to just give up the idea of vegan dairy products. The one vegan cheese I did find is not bad, but it's way expensive and is just not that cheesy. I can live without it! Ha! Anyway, this is just a minor rant to get it out of my system. By the way, Tofutti soy cream cheese (which is vegan) is fucking awesome. I can't tell it's not real.

Okay--so I have been vegan for two weeks now, and I love it. I really do. I feel incredible, and I have been eating in a more healthful fashion than ever before. Anyway, I have only had one moment of wanting to eat something not vegan, and that was at a cocktail party where there were these amazing chocolate desserts that were in all likelihood made with dairy. So I satisfied myself by forcing my friend Craig to describe the deliciousness of the chocolate mousse he was eating.

That said, the thing I have noticed about being vegan is NOT how difficult it is to avoid animal products (it isn't that hard at all) or how much one feels deprived (I don't feel deprived one bit) or how difficult it is to eat in restaurants (it is remarkably easy given the cooperation of helpful staff). What I have noticed is that almost all the people who have learned of my veganism respond with a comment about their own eating. Only one person has asked a question. Every other person has said "I could never live without cheese," or "I could never give up ice cream" as if my decision to forgo dairy products somehow comments upon their eating choices. Which of course in some ways it does; yet to me veganism is about so much more than what I don't eat. It is about what I do. I see it as a positive, active mode, rather than a mode of not doing or not eating. It is about making choices that affirm my ethical ideas about animals. Anyway, I find it fascinating that most people immediately defend or rationalize their own eating choices. There have been a few notable exceptions. One of my neighbors said "Good for you!" and proceeded to ask me questions about veganism. My sister also said very enthusiastic things and I appreciate her very much.

I have been reading lots about being vegan, and the best book I've read so far is Vegan Freak, which is the most helpful and amazing guide to being a vegan in a non-vegan world. I love this book--it has answered so many questions for me, and the chapter about dealing with other people is the best. I have to work on being a non-critical, non-judgmental, non-preachy vegan. That is my goal. I have to say that I am very glad I've made this change, and I don't know why I didn't do it a long time ago.

By the way, my original plan was to make March my "transition" month from vegetarianism to veganism. This endeavor began with the lovely fantasy that I would gradually phase out any foods with dairy and egg products and replace them with vegan stuff. Well, certain aspects were executed in a fabulously ideal way--but what I found myself doing in my usual overconsumptive fashion was gorging myself with dairy and cheese for the last week of March. I ate pizza twice, ice cream about three or four times, and pasta with LOTS of parmesan at least five times. So much for gradual phasing out. The idea was a hopeful one, but I was a pure failure at making it happen. But now I'm vegan and I'm very, very happy about it.

Last night I was stupidly watching some jerk on CBN (that's Christian Broadcasting Network) talk about celibacy and chastity for women. Of course, this asshole was male, and he was wearing a bunch of really annoying rings, including a wedding ring, which he kept neurotically twisting as he spoke. But the thing that was truly intriguing about what he was saying was that his views about celibacy and chastity until marriage were very apparently appropriating the language of feminism in order to bolster his ideology.

He was very specifically promoting the idea that women and men should wait to have sex (meaning heterosexual intercourse) until marriage. He also believes that any form of birth control is against God's will, or something, since it interrupts the very godly purpose of hetero intercourse which is of course to procreate. So--his idea is that each and every act of intercourse should have the intention to create life--in other words, sex for pleasure or intimacy is wrong and bad. No surprise. Yet, the very fashion in which this jerk was promoting this oppressive ideology is by using the language of liberation, power and female strength.

He kept saying things like "Chastity provides a way for young women to be in control of their lives" and "If girls realize that not having sex because a guy wants you to will make you more powerful . . ." and so on. His basic policy is that women should not have sex just because some guy wants to have it. Duh!!! Feminism has for years, decades even, been promoting the idea that women and men should be able to determine when and how they engage in sex. Of course a woman should not have sex just because some dude wants her to. What intrigues me so much about this nonsense is how he twists the idea of self-determination and self-respect so that it only includes chastity and virginity. There is no room whatsoever for true and real female agency that may or may not include sexual pleasure. His view is that sex is only for breeding. But by making it sound like he has young women's interests at heart he is wildly misusing the language of female empowerment to advance a very repressive agenda. And please--birth control is wrong because it interrupts God's plan? Birth control was one of the most important inventions in the history of the world, as far as I am concerned, since it made it possible for heterosexual women to have sex and experience sexual pleasure without the constant fear of pregnancy. Of course, this ring-twisting asshole knows this, and thus his repressive, woman-hating, heteronormative agenda. This guy made me so mad I wanted to immediately find out who he was and send him an email, but 24 was coming on and I had to get my Jack Bauer fix.

I have been vegetarian for a really long time. Lately, and actually for several years, I have been thinking about the next step. Yes--I mean veganism. It is the logical progression from vegetarianism. Just as the logical step of letting go of my attachment to my long hair was shaving my head, the next step in extending my philosophy about animals is to become vegan.

I had a moment of epiphany a year or so ago when I was eating in this amazing japanese restaurant called Kyoto with my sister and her husband. They live in Humboldt County in Northern California, a place that is accustomed to vegetarianism, and the server asked me if I was vegetarian or vegan. I answered that I was an "aspiring" vegan. At the time, I hadn't really thought that much about it. But later that evening I realized that I had no excuse to continue to consume dairy products and eggs.

So this month of March 2006 is my transition month from vegetarianism to veganism. I will no longer consume animal products of any kind. I will no longer purchase shoes made from leather. I will no longer eat ice cream, cream cheese, parmesan cheese, eggs, sour cream, whipped cream, cottage cheese or yogurt. No more butter. Yikes.

This is the last Sunday of 2005. This is the last Sunday that will ever exist in this year. I'm not sure why this seems relevant--but somehow it does. We like to mark passings, us humans. I like it as much as the next person. I like to think it's about appreciating the transitory nature of things--but maybe it's really about attachment. I've been reading a lot of Buddhist texts lately, or rather texts by Buddhists about ancient Buddhist writings, and I've been thinking a great deal about attachment and desire. One of the writers I've been reading (Pema Chodron) writes about our human inclination to desire things, people, relationships, in the hope that somehow we will be at last satisfied or made happy once we attain whichever person/relationship/thing we want. When I read about this kind of attachment I feel strangely calm. Maybe it's because I see these very attempts in my own life. It seems to be all about seeking. Maybe it is really a way of not paying attention to what is happening right here and now, since the acts of seeking and desiring are quite obviously focused outside the present moment. In fact, is there any way to desire that which you already have? If it is present, and you desire it, does the desire become something else? I seek and desire that which I do not have. I seek and desire that which I may never have. I seek and desire that which I believe will make me feel better. More whole. Complete. But does this wholeness ever actually happen in relationship to something outside of oneself? I don't know. For me, these issues of desire and attachment are the major ones. They seem to be the ones that need the most attention. When I read this stuff, I realize how much work it is to be aware.

All of this ruminating makes me think about a line from a book I read long ago. I don't even know what book it is, but the line has always stuck with me. Two women are toasting themselves in the sun. One woman says to the other "When you have a tan, what have you got?"

John Spencer died on Friday. He played Leo on The West Wing. For some reason, going as far back as when he played a lawyer on L. A. Law, I have always thought he was really sexy. He was only 58.

Thinking about John Spencer makes me consider my weird prediliction in terms of attraction. I like either really old men, or really young men who are wildly innappropriate for me. What is my problem? Maybe it's not a problem, but just a preference. Maybe it's the sex drive issue. Maybe it's some deeper psychological drive to either recreate youthful experiences or to repair my relationship with my father. This is sounding way too Freudian, even for me. What I have realized lately is that I'm only attracted to men who I perceive as really smart. Once they reveal themselves as stupid in even the tiniest way, they cease to be interesting.

This attraction thing works both ways. Old men are always flirting with me. They make comments about my toe rings, ask if they can rub my head, and generally look at me as if I am a particularly juicy piece of tropical fruit. One time a few years ago I was waiting in a doctor's office with my Mom. She was having a follow up appointment after cataract surgery. The waiting room was full of older people. I was wearing shorts and sandals, and of course my toe rings. I had just added a third toe ring. Across the aisle from us was a couple in their seventies. The male half of the pair was very pointedly staring at my feet. His wife noticed this, made eye contact with me, and then kind of elbowed her husband. He ignored her and kept staring. She finally said to him "Stop staring at her feet!" He then looked at me and asked me if the toe rings were uncomfortable. I told him no. Once my Mom and I got up to go in to her appointment, he winked at me. He was cute.

This kind of attention really intrigues me--and I often wonder about it. Why do old men like me? Why can't it be Vincent D'Onofrio flirting with me in the grocery store instead of Jimmy Carter?