Some quick advice: never, ever invest in a satellite internet connection, even if like me, you're only other option is dial-up. It's way overpriced ($60/month!!!) for what it provides. The download speeds are about half the speed of cable or DSL and the upload speeds are barely on par with dial-up. In addition, every time it rains or snows or sometimes, even if it's just cloudy, the damn connection doesn't work. On top of that you have to commit to it for a minimum 12-15 month time period if you want to avoid a wildly exorbitant termination fee.
In a word: fuck satellite! Can you tell I haven't had a connection in 3 days now and have spent almost 2 hours with very polite and professional technical support personnel in India the past couple days, just so they could finally tell me I had to wait an additional 3-4 days for a service technician company to contact me to look at the dish in person....?
Ahhhhh.....doesn't technology make life soooooo much easier....
As a result of this and my upcoming trip to Denver to visit my newly born niece, postings may be light for a little while.
Truth and tranquility to all!
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
purple is the highest color in the electromagnetic spectrum
This article about self-help books and a strange seminar by the author-guru (not the writer, mind you) of the "Chicken Soup" series literally had me rolling on the floor in laughter - brilliant - check it out!
From: The Believer, September 2005, by Jessica Lamb-Shapiro
"We need heart-touching, soul-penetrating stories!: are self-help books moronic and doomed, or can they deliver us to our better selves?"
From: The Believer, September 2005, by Jessica Lamb-Shapiro
"We need heart-touching, soul-penetrating stories!: are self-help books moronic and doomed, or can they deliver us to our better selves?"
bullshit in the bathroom
Here's a little quote I came across today that reminded me that so-called "smart people" (disclaimer: I am in no way smart myself although as this blog can attest, I do like to give my long-winded opinion on things) maybe shouldn't always open their mouths or give their opinions on matters of public policy, no matter whose side they are on...
When asked about his university's decision to build some single person bathrooms to accomodate the transgendered and "otherwise ambiguously self-identified persons",
"a doctoral student at the University of Chicago Divinity School...reports: "The University of Chicago has just supplied us with a number of bathrooms for those 'uncomfortable' about classifying themselves within the hegemonic taxonomies of bourgeois heteronormativity."
When asked about his university's decision to build some single person bathrooms to accomodate the transgendered and "otherwise ambiguously self-identified persons",
"a doctoral student at the University of Chicago Divinity School...reports: "The University of Chicago has just supplied us with a number of bathrooms for those 'uncomfortable' about classifying themselves within the hegemonic taxonomies of bourgeois heteronormativity."
[wtf did he just say? lol!]
quote from: First Things: A Monthly Journal of Religion and Public Life, May 2005 i153 p67(1).
Monday, September 19, 2005
camp fire songs
Our world a martialed set of past existences; each an army of an age tending to warm fires and setting up camp on opposite sides of the river. Inward or outward across imaginary lines of mines, why must there always be a "they?" Our democratically wealthy-selected leaders say there can be no bridge built here. Newly emerged, wrinkled sacs of unconditional love, we are forced to pick sides before even understanding there is a choice.
Ah, but to love is always a choice; the most instinctual choice there ever was.
eat of spitted gender expectations.
chew on the charred flesh of masculinity.
swallow the pride of shallow belonging.
choke on the brittle bones of imbalance.
but we still chase away the ghosts of battle with sad camp songs.
Labels and neatly pressed uniformities still adorn, still leash our budding selves. There can be a sort of peace in little captured vanities, in taking another shallow breath. Salvation only for those who sacrifice of self; can there be an I in the blind bliss of conformity?
And we wonder why we bicker so much harder and higher when the stakes have been pulled and the tents are stowed and the warmth of loosely tethered embers has been doused by the pissings of slovenly drunken louts. It's simple really for all self; no doubt, and endless love for each little moment spent enjoying the always present.
Ah, but to love is always a choice; the most instinctual choice there ever was.
eat of spitted gender expectations.
chew on the charred flesh of masculinity.
swallow the pride of shallow belonging.
choke on the brittle bones of imbalance.
but we still chase away the ghosts of battle with sad camp songs.
Labels and neatly pressed uniformities still adorn, still leash our budding selves. There can be a sort of peace in little captured vanities, in taking another shallow breath. Salvation only for those who sacrifice of self; can there be an I in the blind bliss of conformity?
And we wonder why we bicker so much harder and higher when the stakes have been pulled and the tents are stowed and the warmth of loosely tethered embers has been doused by the pissings of slovenly drunken louts. It's simple really for all self; no doubt, and endless love for each little moment spent enjoying the always present.
Friday, September 16, 2005
update
forgot if I mentioned these already:
- my name change is official!!! Dana Harmony lives and breathes...
- put in the form to change the name associated with my ss#. Tried to sneak the F gender past the clerk but she caught it and good-naturedly changed it to M for me. Next is the license, which I will definately change the gender on - just got the letter from my therapist in support of it. Hope I can get that crap done before I fly out to Denver to see my brand new niece in a few weeks!
- been presenting as more and more femme at work lately (to go along with the name change). Even wore women's slacks and button blouse the other day with earrings (small ones). Middle of next month is the last big plunge into FT (I need work outfits badly!!)....
Sadly I say goodbye to a relaxing summer season. Wish it lasted a bit longer, but then again we will soon be awash in the awe-inspiring colors of fall...Peace out!
dream what may
Had a weird but exhilirating dream last night. It's fuzzy in my mind now, but I woke up around 3am feeling all tingly and giggly inside and with a hard-on, which hasn't happened in I don't know how long. Anyways, the dream (embellished and tightened with a little waking imagination):
I was wandering a barren, flat, dry, featureless (and orange?) land. I was wearing some kind of form fitting, light blue latex top and a frumpy, long swirly patterned skirt, with bare feet. And my hair was down past my shoulders; sweaty, dark and curly. I remember being unsure what I was doing. I was searching for something, but on the brink of hopelessness because I couldn't figure out what. It was like something important, essential on the very tip of my tongue, but stuck there permanently. Oh ya, and I had some kind of small gun clutched in my hand. But I couldn't stop moving, that I was sure of so, I kept on. Then on the horizon was a sort of oasis, made of thick, tall bamboo trees - smooth, tan trunks and lush green leaves above, and little wooden cabins, most no bigger than an outhouse. In the middle of this was a pool of something, definately not water tho. It had an airy, sparkly, dusty appearance to it.
I reached this oasis almost instantaneously I guess and then started running amongst the trees and cabins. I would grab a tree trunk and swing myself around and around in clumsy figure eights, several times almost bashing myself against a cabin. But then my twirling landed me in front of one cabin, which now was made of blood red mud bricks and a straw roof that looked like shattered bone fragments. So I crept inside on my knees, into the darkness, gun held alertly in front of me. Still nothing, nobody. There were cold, hard but nebulous shapes in there that I could touch, but not understand or get my arms around. And this seemed to go on for a while until I could no longer find my way out; until my knees started to bleed.
I cried in that darkness and contemplated shooting myself but did not know how to work the gun. So I cried some more and the wetness from the tears started to glow on my sleeves. It was weird because the tears were pitch black, but they somehow also glowed. This glowing showed me a small hole just in front of me, no bigger than my fist. My hand slipped easily into it's cold airiness and back again. So I stood shakily and stomped on the edges of that hole frantically. Suddenly I was falling awkwardly. It only lasted a couple seconds, but I screamed mightily, half in fear and half in anger.
I landed hard and into a muddy substance, exhausted and unable or perhaps unwilling to move. I remember not caring and even thinking for a moment that it was a dream. But then something grabbed me and pulled me down. It was a delicate, ivory hand. And when I emerged (not rightside up?) the hand was attached to a beautiful girl. She was somewhat tall with soft elven facial features, straight jet black hair and glittering brownish grey eyes. She wore a simple but snug tank top and corduroy jeans. The movements of a graceful gazelle is the best I can describe it as she lifted me out of the muck and set me gently on the shore, all the while staring intently into my eyes. There was also a mischievous twinkle in those eyes and a slight upturn to her small mouth. It was then I noticed that she was bleeding from several deep cuts on her legs, chest and side.
So I reached out to her, to touch these wounds, to try and staunch the bleeding. And all this time I was sobbing uncontrollably, my tears still black. It was then that she reached out and held my chin in her hands for a moment and lowered her face to mine. We kissed for what seemed like forever and all my sadness flooded out, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief and joy and, to be honest, horniness. So we mingled our bodies, our blood, our tears, and our clothes seemed to melt away between us almost as if they were never there. Suddenly we were both knee deep in the pool in the middle of the oasis. I remember looking up and seeing the gentle swaying of the bamboo trees above us; backdropped against a pure blue sky and felt our bodies align ourselves to that swaying and my desire for sex was forgotten. The chaff we were wading in felt like pillowy moon dust. We eased ourselves horizontally into this pool, all the while never letting go of each other, and cuddled, on the brink of falling asleep. The last thing I remember is trying to speak, to ask her name, and not being able to find the words, but knowing that was ok...
I was wandering a barren, flat, dry, featureless (and orange?) land. I was wearing some kind of form fitting, light blue latex top and a frumpy, long swirly patterned skirt, with bare feet. And my hair was down past my shoulders; sweaty, dark and curly. I remember being unsure what I was doing. I was searching for something, but on the brink of hopelessness because I couldn't figure out what. It was like something important, essential on the very tip of my tongue, but stuck there permanently. Oh ya, and I had some kind of small gun clutched in my hand. But I couldn't stop moving, that I was sure of so, I kept on. Then on the horizon was a sort of oasis, made of thick, tall bamboo trees - smooth, tan trunks and lush green leaves above, and little wooden cabins, most no bigger than an outhouse. In the middle of this was a pool of something, definately not water tho. It had an airy, sparkly, dusty appearance to it.
I reached this oasis almost instantaneously I guess and then started running amongst the trees and cabins. I would grab a tree trunk and swing myself around and around in clumsy figure eights, several times almost bashing myself against a cabin. But then my twirling landed me in front of one cabin, which now was made of blood red mud bricks and a straw roof that looked like shattered bone fragments. So I crept inside on my knees, into the darkness, gun held alertly in front of me. Still nothing, nobody. There were cold, hard but nebulous shapes in there that I could touch, but not understand or get my arms around. And this seemed to go on for a while until I could no longer find my way out; until my knees started to bleed.
I cried in that darkness and contemplated shooting myself but did not know how to work the gun. So I cried some more and the wetness from the tears started to glow on my sleeves. It was weird because the tears were pitch black, but they somehow also glowed. This glowing showed me a small hole just in front of me, no bigger than my fist. My hand slipped easily into it's cold airiness and back again. So I stood shakily and stomped on the edges of that hole frantically. Suddenly I was falling awkwardly. It only lasted a couple seconds, but I screamed mightily, half in fear and half in anger.
I landed hard and into a muddy substance, exhausted and unable or perhaps unwilling to move. I remember not caring and even thinking for a moment that it was a dream. But then something grabbed me and pulled me down. It was a delicate, ivory hand. And when I emerged (not rightside up?) the hand was attached to a beautiful girl. She was somewhat tall with soft elven facial features, straight jet black hair and glittering brownish grey eyes. She wore a simple but snug tank top and corduroy jeans. The movements of a graceful gazelle is the best I can describe it as she lifted me out of the muck and set me gently on the shore, all the while staring intently into my eyes. There was also a mischievous twinkle in those eyes and a slight upturn to her small mouth. It was then I noticed that she was bleeding from several deep cuts on her legs, chest and side.
So I reached out to her, to touch these wounds, to try and staunch the bleeding. And all this time I was sobbing uncontrollably, my tears still black. It was then that she reached out and held my chin in her hands for a moment and lowered her face to mine. We kissed for what seemed like forever and all my sadness flooded out, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief and joy and, to be honest, horniness. So we mingled our bodies, our blood, our tears, and our clothes seemed to melt away between us almost as if they were never there. Suddenly we were both knee deep in the pool in the middle of the oasis. I remember looking up and seeing the gentle swaying of the bamboo trees above us; backdropped against a pure blue sky and felt our bodies align ourselves to that swaying and my desire for sex was forgotten. The chaff we were wading in felt like pillowy moon dust. We eased ourselves horizontally into this pool, all the while never letting go of each other, and cuddled, on the brink of falling asleep. The last thing I remember is trying to speak, to ask her name, and not being able to find the words, but knowing that was ok...
Thursday, September 15, 2005
let us count the ways parents can quietly, unintentionally reject us...
I will never, ever understand how any parent could ever turn their back on their own child for any reason short of mass murder or something equivalent, let alone due to something as innocuous as sexual orientation, appearance or lifestyle. Why can't people learn to accept what is different from themselves? Why must they always project a "them" or "evil" status on anyone not exactly like themselves. Is it pride? Is it fear? Is it ignorance? Is it self-hatred? I guess I may never understand, although I suspect it is a complex mixture of all those and more.
But I do know it is hard, especially for older generations, to accept change or to free themselves from the social fears of being seen as different, since in times past to be different was to be automatically ostracized and isolated by a close-knit local community. Unlike so many other girls like myself, I know I have been truly blessed to have understanding and love-me-no-matter-what parents. However, the pervasiveness of this reality for all of us hit me in the face about a week ago when I was out at a restaurant with my parents and grandmother (on my mom's birthday no less) and an acquaintance of my dad, a bigwig in the community I guess, stopped by our table. My dad then proceeded to identify his "wife," "mother-in-law" and then just froze and didn't identify my relation to him; just said, "and this is...Dana." I was silently crushed for a while by that probably instinctual reaction on his part, especially since for the most part he has been more open and loving with me since I have been "Dana" around him. And perhaps that episode played a small part in my recent mild depression, I don't know. Upon reflection though, I think he probably regretted it and it was an involuntary reaction on his part; a socially conditioned defense mechanism.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that each parent of children like us (or for that matter any child unjustly deemed as "abnormal'' by the community) must come to grips with these things in their own terms; on their own timetable. In general, they have more deeply ingrained social conditionings to deal with than we of the younger generations. While events do sometimes require us to forcibly bring these issues to the surface of a smothering environment of denial, in the long run I believe the best strategy may be to meet that resistance with patient, steady, firm, positive, and personal love in return. Some may consider that idea utopian or naive, I know, but I believe that may be the only way to truly fight against the insidious power of social conformity and bigotry that we're all, unfortunately, born into...
But I do know it is hard, especially for older generations, to accept change or to free themselves from the social fears of being seen as different, since in times past to be different was to be automatically ostracized and isolated by a close-knit local community. Unlike so many other girls like myself, I know I have been truly blessed to have understanding and love-me-no-matter-what parents. However, the pervasiveness of this reality for all of us hit me in the face about a week ago when I was out at a restaurant with my parents and grandmother (on my mom's birthday no less) and an acquaintance of my dad, a bigwig in the community I guess, stopped by our table. My dad then proceeded to identify his "wife," "mother-in-law" and then just froze and didn't identify my relation to him; just said, "and this is...Dana." I was silently crushed for a while by that probably instinctual reaction on his part, especially since for the most part he has been more open and loving with me since I have been "Dana" around him. And perhaps that episode played a small part in my recent mild depression, I don't know. Upon reflection though, I think he probably regretted it and it was an involuntary reaction on his part; a socially conditioned defense mechanism.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that each parent of children like us (or for that matter any child unjustly deemed as "abnormal'' by the community) must come to grips with these things in their own terms; on their own timetable. In general, they have more deeply ingrained social conditionings to deal with than we of the younger generations. While events do sometimes require us to forcibly bring these issues to the surface of a smothering environment of denial, in the long run I believe the best strategy may be to meet that resistance with patient, steady, firm, positive, and personal love in return. Some may consider that idea utopian or naive, I know, but I believe that may be the only way to truly fight against the insidious power of social conformity and bigotry that we're all, unfortunately, born into...
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Clutch Night
This past weekend I actually got out and about. Friday night I went out to Club 22 as a drag show was scheduled. I also got a new black equestrian coat and I wanted to show off the little goth outfit I had put together (the pick on the homepage of my fansofdana Yahoo group with the coat over it :-). Unfortunately when I got there they had rescheduled the show for next friday. As a result, the club was totally dead. So I just stayed for a couple brews and hung out with a very nice cd named Nancy, and my fav 22 gay boi, Eric.
I haven't been sleeping well at all lately for various reasons, so when I got home around 2 am I smoked a bowl and played a little solo pool and then watched Matrix Reloaded. Didn't get to sleep until about 5am....
Luckily, I didn't have anywhere to be on Sat. so I had a rare morning where I slept in; until 10:30! Anyways, on Friday I had e-mailed my friend Kelly, who I knew had at least heard of them, about one of my fav bands coming to town, Clutch. She was hesitant at first, but I convinced her to come out with me and so we met down in Clifton Park and headed over to the show. I put together a simple, unassuming, but punk-ish ensemble; jeans and a sleeveless white top and my biker boots. The place, Saratoga Winners, which is basically just a glorified barn, was fairly crowded but most people were hanging by the bar in the back so Kelly and I went up front so we could watch. A live show is sooo much more enjoyable to me when I can see the bands playing up close and so this show ended up being awesome - we were about 10-15 feet from the stage...
Opening for Clutch was a three piece instrumental band from Philly called Stinking Lizaveta. The guitarist looked like a shirtless and very hairy Charles Manson and the drummer was a really cute girl. They freakin rocked! All great musicians with great grooves and riffs. I was tempted to buy their CD but really wanted a cute brown Clutch T they had there and didn't have enough $ for both.
Anyways, Clutch came on for 2 full sets and as always (this was my 4th time seeing them) they were fucking awesome; crisp, groovy, heavy...The only bad thing was, since they played 2 sets, they didn't do an encore (nor did they do Kelly's fav song, "Careful with that Mic"). Oh well, still kicked ass.
After the show Kelly and I headed down to Albany, to Waterworks, a semi-gay dance club; in reality the only decent club in the city. There was a good crowd there and we danced for a while and then played a couple games of pool. Got home about 4 am...
Damn, recounting all that has made me tired...late nights have caught up; bye for now!
I haven't been sleeping well at all lately for various reasons, so when I got home around 2 am I smoked a bowl and played a little solo pool and then watched Matrix Reloaded. Didn't get to sleep until about 5am....
Luckily, I didn't have anywhere to be on Sat. so I had a rare morning where I slept in; until 10:30! Anyways, on Friday I had e-mailed my friend Kelly, who I knew had at least heard of them, about one of my fav bands coming to town, Clutch. She was hesitant at first, but I convinced her to come out with me and so we met down in Clifton Park and headed over to the show. I put together a simple, unassuming, but punk-ish ensemble; jeans and a sleeveless white top and my biker boots. The place, Saratoga Winners, which is basically just a glorified barn, was fairly crowded but most people were hanging by the bar in the back so Kelly and I went up front so we could watch. A live show is sooo much more enjoyable to me when I can see the bands playing up close and so this show ended up being awesome - we were about 10-15 feet from the stage...
Opening for Clutch was a three piece instrumental band from Philly called Stinking Lizaveta. The guitarist looked like a shirtless and very hairy Charles Manson and the drummer was a really cute girl. They freakin rocked! All great musicians with great grooves and riffs. I was tempted to buy their CD but really wanted a cute brown Clutch T they had there and didn't have enough $ for both.
Anyways, Clutch came on for 2 full sets and as always (this was my 4th time seeing them) they were fucking awesome; crisp, groovy, heavy...The only bad thing was, since they played 2 sets, they didn't do an encore (nor did they do Kelly's fav song, "Careful with that Mic"). Oh well, still kicked ass.
After the show Kelly and I headed down to Albany, to Waterworks, a semi-gay dance club; in reality the only decent club in the city. There was a good crowd there and we danced for a while and then played a couple games of pool. Got home about 4 am...
Damn, recounting all that has made me tired...late nights have caught up; bye for now!
Friday, September 02, 2005
for you blues fans out there...
The awesomely talented Mississippi Delta blues guitarist R.L. Burnside (2nd only to John Lee Hooker in my book; fav album: A Ass Pocket of Whiskey) is dead...
- Burnside's obit
Rest in peace blues man...
current must reads (see how our gov't is destroying peace prospects and gutting our country)
- View the Bush admin's effort to gut the United Nations and stomp on most international treaties:
http://www.tompaine.com/articles/20050831/a_declaration_of_war.php - How Bush slashed the New Orleans Corp of Engineers budget by 44% and is indirectly responsible for the extent of devastation there now:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/chi-0509010009sep01,1,6491327.story?ctrack=1&cset=true - An assessment of prospects in Iraq and the sham constitutional process:
http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/083105O.shtml
Get informed people and then inform your neighbor and then vote accordingly - it may be the only way to save our nation from going the way of the Roman Empire...
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