America

As a preface, I will say that I am a Democrat.  Scratch that...  I identify with the Democratic Party that I grew up with in Minnesota: the DFL.  DFL stands for Democratic Farmer Labor, which means that the party is specifically interested in the well being of the farmers and laborers that built and feed this nation.  I am DFL.  I am a liberal.  I may be more liberal than anyone you've ever known...

Regardless of what anyone thinks of my party's platform, candidate or morals, please take a moment to listen to me...

I believe in you.  I believe in your right to vote, work, live and love.  I believe that you care about America, your family, your freedom and your rights.  I believe that you are doing everything possible to live your life as a good person.  You are doing your best with what you have.  You hope for a better tomorrow.  You believe in this nation and its people.  You give a damn.

Here's why I'm voting for Obama...

I believe that you have a right to affordable health care that will not block or bankrupt you.  I believe that you have a right to marry the person you love, regardless of gender.  I believe that you and your children have a right to make important and difficult decisions about your bodies without the interference of government.  I believe that education is a right, not a privilege.  I believe in the American Dream.

Why do I believe in health care that will not block or bankrupt you?  Because my best friend on earth was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 35 and could have been turned away from insurance coverage because of that pre-existing condition. Because my parents are worried that they might be unable to afford their prescriptions.  Because I, myself,  have more than one pre-existing condition. Because no one should be afraid to go to the doctor because it's too expensive.

Why do I believe that you have a right to marry the person that you love, regardless of gender?  Because I have two friends whose partnership of 18 years has produced two of the most delightful, cherished, adorable and wanted children that I've ever known.  Because of my gay friends who have found a life partner that they adore, respect and honor.  Because love is love, no matter what.

Why do I believe that you and your children have a right to make important and difficult decisions about your bodies without the interference of government?  Because it's your body, not mine.  While I am in the midst of what may become a life-altering quest for motherhood, you might be trying to stay afloat in uncertain times.  My journey and my struggle is not yours. You have every right to determine what happens to your body.  Even though I might not make the same choice in your situation, I will fight for your right to make that choice for yourself.

Now, education:  Here's my soapbox...  I hate every movie ever made about a heroic teacher who has overcome obstacles to teach their students.  Every "Stand And Deliver," every "Freedom Writers," every "Won't Back Down" is an affront to America.  Why?  Because teachers shouldn't have to be heroic. IT SHOULDN'T BE A MIRACLE THAT TEACHERS TEACH AND STUDENTS LEARN!  Let me be clear:  I am not denigrating the important gifts that the teachers whose real-life experiences informed these movies gave.  Rather, I am calling out the system that required super-human efforts and sacrifices on the part of educators to get a basic job done. I don't know a single teacher who hasn't invested hundreds of his or her own dollars to set up their classroom.  I don't know a single teacher who hasn't stayed late or come early to sit with a student in need.  I don't know a single teacher who hasn't extended themselves beyond their means for the well-being or advancement of their class.  We need to respect the teachers of this country and empower them.  We have exploited their idealism for too long.

And I believe in the American Dream.  Rather, I want to believe it can happen.  I want to believe that, if you have a good idea, work hard and back up that idea with scholarship and responsibility, you can achieve your dreams.  I want to believe that American entrepreneurship is on the rise.  I want to believe that every corporation that does business in America is working its ass off to be responsible, forward-thinking, respectful and gregarious.  I want to believe, like my grandfather did, that if you work hard enough and give enough of a damn, you can succeed.

Please, America, don't prove me wrong.

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

In the middle of an existential crisis of epic proportions three years ago, I solo hiked the West Face of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park.  Dumbest.  Idea.  Ever.

First of all, I was emotionally fragile.  Don't hike alone when you'd rather be writing Loreena McKennit lyrics in your journal and artfully weeping.  You will be sorry.  Second of all, it was raining. Very few hikes are good in the rain as most mountains tend to get wicked slippery and anthropomorphically hateful when wet.  Third of all, I told people I was hiking a different mountain.  If you solo hike, you MUST tell SOMEONE where the fuck you'll be if only so they can identify your broken, moose-gnawed body when you meet with tragedy.  Fourth of all, I thought I was a better hiker than I actually AM.

Suffice it to say, in '09, I found myself crawling up the side of the tallest mountain in Acadia National Park, weeping and humming to myself.  At the top of the mountain, I noticed my hands were bleeding. I couldn't stop shaking.  I have nightmares about that trail to this day.

A normal person would have stopped hiking, or at least have curtailed their solo hikes.  I am not normal.  For the past three years, I have been stepping out in the early hours of summer days to drive into the park and hike something.  I hiked Penobscot and Sargent: Lovely.  I hiked Pemetic: Gorgeous.  I hiked the North face of Cadillac and Dorr Mountain: Majestic.  I hiked South Bubble, North Bubble and Connor's Nubble:  Ubble-y.  In short, I was determined that my initial mistake was not the measure of me.

Today, I set out on another solo hike.  I went up Huguenot Head to Champlain Mountain via the Beachcroft Trail and down via the Bear Brook Trail.  IT WAS FUCKING TERRIBLE!  I am so used to hiking paths that are lined with trees so that you're not actually aware of your altitude until you reach the summit.  Huguenot Head was like a series of staircases without a railing where you could plummet to your death at any moment.  I told myself "You can just turn back if you want to.  Don't be proud."  Myself answered back "No way in hell.  It'll just be scarier on the way back down."  I scaled Huguenot Head and scrambled up some rudimentary stairs on the way to Champlain.  And then I faced my worst fear ever....  What the guide book listed as a "very steep climb over smooth rock."  What that means is that you're a bajillion feet in the air, walking on a surface as smooth as glass and that surface is at a 65% angle.  And there's nothing but smooth rock around you.  No trees.  No rocks.  If you slip, you will plummet a BAJILLION FEET to your death.

As I do in all tense situations, I started singing.  It was 16 bar tune with a rudimentary melody.  The lyrics varied with my fear.  Most of it was "Oh god, please keep me from dying of hubris."  I sang and I sang as I crouch-ran across smooth rock from cairn to cairn.  Finally, the ground evened out and I saw the signpost that marked the summit.  I threw my arms in the air in victory.  I was safe!  Nothing would be scary from here on out!  YES!

I took a picture of the signpost at the summit, smug in the notion that I had conquered my fears.  I was happy.  I was validated.

I was wrong.

As soon as I turned away from the sign marking the summit, I noticed that all around me, the land sank away at alarming angles towards the ocean.  I meekly consulted my guide book and headed toward the path for my descent only to see a rock cairn (a trail marker), poised on the edge of a horrific ledge that seemed to drop off into nothingness, marking the trail I was supposed to take.  The wind blew.  I staggered and almost fell.  I inched toward the cairn to see if I could make it past the cairn and advance down.  The drop behind the cairn was precipitous, so I did the only thing that I could on that bald face of rock a thousand feet in the air:  I sat down and scooted along the rock on my butt.

I scooted along for maybe three tenths of a mile.  That may not sound like much, but just TRY it.  It is an eternity. I spent the better part of my time on Champlain Mountain looking like a poodle with parasites.  Finally, the ground leveled out some and I could resume my previous simian crouch to navigate the trail.

I kept singing my idiot song as I scooted and crab-walked down the mountain.  Verses included lyrics such as "When I have children, I hope they have better impulse control that I do." or "Don't let me die here, God, because I'm pretty sure that my husband would screw up my funeral."  I was singing, full-voice, when a couple of hikers came out of the trees in front of me to head up the treacherous trail I had been scooting down.  If I were a more modest person, I suppose I would say that I was embarrassed by the fact that strangers caught me in the middle of singing my "brave song" while sliding on my butt.  Since I was so focused on survival, though, I'm pretty sure those nice folks think they ran into a mentally disturbed person hiking down Bear Brook Trail today.

Suffice it to say, I made it back in one piece.  I hated almost every minute of that hike, though.  And I hate that I hated it.  By this point (eight years into exploring Acadia National Park), I should know what I love and what I hate.  I should know to avoid steep climbs over sheer stone.  I should know that I fucking hate anything with a dramatic view because that usually means you're hanging on by your fingernails off the side of a cliff to enjoy that view. I SHOULD know that my time is valuable and is not to be spent on something that is destructive, terrifying and horrible.

Ultimately, that's the lesson I SHOULD have learned in '09, before I let myself be emotionally beaten down enough to think I deserved to hike the West Face of Cadillac in the rain.

Don't hike what you think you deserve, hike what you love.

Cash 4 Rights

I have been unbelievably fortunate to know a progressive, funny and inspirational young woman named Kate Lambert.  She is a creative whirlwind and a genuinely kind and gracious person.  She made this video, which made me laugh and made me think.  Please enjoy and please share.

Cash 4 Rights

Love and loss

To be human is to master the art of losing...  Though we live in an incomparably connected society, there are still those amongst our friends who slip through the cracks.  We may be connected to the boy that we had an immense crush on when we were six years old and playing in the corn bin in nursery school, but we may lose touch with the person who laughed with us until we cried just last week over dinner.  We may feel lucky to walk inside our homes and lay hands on the people that we love the best in the world, but still feel a pang for comrades whose lives have drifted away from us over the years. 

This is what I will say about the friends that I still am connected to:  They are amazing.  They are changing the world.  They are strong.  They are facing challenges that are unfair.  They are incomparably filled with grace.  They are warriors.  They are an inspiration.

For those of my friends that I have lost over the years, I hope that your lives are filled with grace and peace.  Would that I would be so fortunate to reconnect with you again, sometime.  For those of my friends that I am still connected to, I promise, to the depth of my being, not to lose you.  You are remarkable and my life is infinitely richer for knowing you.

Up at the Lake...

If there's a phrase more evocative of perfection than "Up at the lake," I don't know what that is.

I DO, I DO! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I DO!

I tried out today for "Who Wants to be a Millionaire."

Idiot question, that...  Only a few people in the world would answer "no" when asked if they'd like to be a millionaire.  Those few people are called 'billionaires' and don't want to have to downgrade from their solid-gold toilet paper.  But I digress...

I drove out to the 'burbs, to a casino to presumably wait in line for hours to possibly get a ticket that would possibly let me take a test that I would possibly pass, leading to a possible interview and a possible post-interview interview.  Apparently, Chicagoland trivia enthusiasts are a little more chill than I am regarding game shows, because I got one of the first few numbers without waiting in line at all.  In fact, there was a bigger line of people queuing up to enter the casino when it opened at 9am.  Daygambling...it's the new daydrinking.

Waiting for my number to be called, I struck up a conversation with the most delightful Victorian-era re-enactor who was sporting a straw boater and bow tie.  I guess when your job requires you to be in Victorian dress, updating your casual attire to the 1910's is like a vacation. We wished each other luck, not knowing if we'd see each other again.  But he was in my testing group.  And after they graded our tests, he was in my interview group.  And then, after the initial interview, both he and I got a chance to do a video interview.  It was truly pleasant to see a friendly face and have someone to wish 'good luck' if only to calm my own nerves.  I hope I calmed his, too.  While waiting for one of the interviews, I also met a travel professional who just happens to be visiting my home county next week and a former college basketball ref that shared lively conversation with me.  They say there are no atheists in foxholes, but I think you can also say that there are no enemies in open calls for game shows, too.

A little history: In 19mumblemumble, there was a call out in New England for people to try out for Jeopardy as they were planning on doing a week of shows in Boston celebrating the 13 colonies.  I figured I had a shot, so I sent in a request and waited.  I got picked for the test and a couple of weeks later, found out that I would be representing the great state of New Hampshire on the show.  Long story short, I kicked ass for most of the game, screwed up a little in Double Jeopardy, then wound up coming in third and no, Alex Trebek is not a dick.  He's a very nice man.  About two years later, I tried out for The Weakest Link and was asked to tape the show but wound up having my shot at THAT show nixed when the show got cancelled.  Going to the tryouts today (I REFUSE to call them an 'audition.') was a no-brainer.

There are a lot of things I'm good to really good at...  Improv, Acting, Writing, Teaching...  But the thing I am excellent at, the thing I will never, EVER be humble about is my absolute trivia dominance.  I will kick your ass.  Every day of the week. Twice on Sunday.  I once won a game of Trivial Pursuit in under 15 minutes.  My husband and I have never placed lower than 3rd in any pub trivia we've attended.  In fact, one summer we supplemented our food budget solely through winning restaurant gift cards on trivia nights.  Our last two trivia night wins fed us for four months.  Disclaimer: you don't have to be smart to be good at trivia.  You just have to have a lot of disparate enthusiasms and read absolutely everything.

So, even if I don't make it on the show, I got to do something I loved today: remember weird shit that very few other people care about.  And, on the way out, I won $40 on roulette. I may not be a millionaire (YET!  YET, DAMN IT!), but I already won big.

Dreams

I just got back from a two month stay in Cincinnati...  Prior to this visit, I had only been to Cincinnati once, and that was for the world's worst wedding, which left an understandably bad taste in my mouth. Literally.  The food at the reception was a build your own sandwich stand with only the finest of Oscar Meyer products.  Moreover, the wedding service was two hours long, the bride had found out about the groom's infidelities the day before the wedding and was still pissed, six of us were jammed into a dusty room at the Red Roof Inn for two days and the bride actually set herself on fire during the ceremony. I later found out that an anonymous "someone" sent one of the bridesmaids unflattering photos of herself, each bearing the caption "Ugliest bridesmaid ever."  Moreover, the drive to the foreboding church took us through an epic cemetery, and both church and cemetery have figured in my most hellish nightmares since that time.  So, yeah...  Up until two months ago, that was what I knew of Cincinnati.  Horrors, self-immolation and salty lunch meat.

Then, I took this job, doing 8 shows a week at Cincinnati's Playhouse in the Park.  I could document every lovely moment, every thing that made me supremely grateful to be able to wake up and go to work each day, every single delightful reason I adored the rest of the cast and crew, but that would lean dangerously to the saccharine, though I'd mean every syrupy word. Suffice it to say, it was a dream job.  And Cincinnati was astonishingly lovely, fun and full of surprises.

When I got home, I found a couple of souvenirs that I didn't want to just paste into an album.  The memories that they invoke were just too wonderful not to be reminded of every day.  So, I put them into a bottle that I call my "Bottle of dreams I never knew I had that came true."  And here it is:

Inside is a ticket from a baseball game where I got to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" with the rest of the cast, standing on top of the Reds' dugout.  At the bottom is a layer of penguin feathers from when we had a behind the scenes tour of the zoo and met Charlie the penguin.  I have been obsessed with penguins since I had a dream a few years ago that I a penguin jumped into my arms and someone said "This is your new daughter!"  Much better than nightmares of churches and graveyards...  At any rate, when Charlie walked in the room, I burst into noisy, joyful tears.  The zookeeper left the room for a minute and when she came back in, she handed me a paper cup full of penguin feathers. "Take this, please," she said, "I've never in my life seen anyone react like that.  You just made my day." I tickled Charlie's stomach and cried some more.

Dreams come true, people.  And sometimes the best dream come true moments are the ones that take you by surprise.