Drop Edge of Yonder

Bold the ones you’ve done, and add one at the end.

I turned 18 in January 1992.  In May of that year my boss — a small business owner in small-town Arkansas — took her daughter (who had recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday) and me to our county courthouse to register to vote.

In November of that year I cast my first vote in my first ever election for Bill Clinton — a man I’d met a number of times and whom I trusted to lead my country despite his obvious faults.  I watched his televised acceptance speech on the steps of Arkansas’ Old Statehouse — a place I’d walked past dozens of times — and marveled that I had played some teensy-tiny role in bringing to be this moment in history, when a man from a place called Hope (better known in Arkansas as “the place with all the watermelons”) was elected leader of the free world.

*****

Is there anything noteworthy about the 1996 Presidential campaign?  Not in my memory, no.

*****

I remember the 2000 election almost as clearly as I remember the one in 1992 — unfortunately.  I was on a trip to an invitational tournament with the high school quiz bowl team I coached.  It was one of those rare trips where we were traveling so far that we had to drive up the night prior to the tourney and stay in a motel to ensure we would arrive on time for our first game the following morning.  My team was an interesting — and evenly divided — mix of conservatives and liberals, Republicans and Democrats.  (Even though, you know, none of them could technically vote due to their age.)  But they were whip-smart kids, and they possessed firmly held political ideals.  I remember this night distinctly for two reasons.

First, two of my female team members explained to me how wearing thong undergarments meant one didn’t have panty lines.  This discussion occurred as we walked to a gas station late that evening for caffeine so we could study a bit longer than usual.  (“You just have to accept that the thong is going to go up your ass crack, and then you’ll be fine,” they assured me.  They were right; I started wearing thongs within the month, and before the end of the first year of the new president’s term I was going commando.  [Still am, if you're interested.])

The second thing I clearly remember is going to bed that night knowing Gore was firmly in the lead.  But when the team gathered on the bus the following morning, we learned that Gore had not, in fact, definitively won.  (I always found it amusing that the person who delivered this news was the lone pagan on the team, who stayed up to follow the incoming returns when the rest of us had gone to bed assuming our political fates were sealed.)  You can imagine, then, the good-natured ribbing on the bus that morning en route to the quiz bowl tournament.  I seem to remember McDonald’s — our traditional breakfast stop when a Cracker Barrell wasn’t available — was selling/giving away cheap, plush donkeys and elephants as some sort of political tie-in campaign.  After devouring my Egg McSomething, I clearly remember returning to the bus to find a stuffed donkey hung by noose from the ceiling of the bus by the more conservative team members.

*****

Ah, the Kerry Campaign.  I can’t say I was necessarily excited, but I was hopeful that the country wouldn’t, as a whole, be stupid again.  Because, really?  BUSH?  I was in seminary (Yes, seminary.  You know — Jesus school?) at the time and living with my parents.  (Shut up!)  I remember staying up almost all night monitoring the WD and NPR.org* on Monday, then walking to my polling station (less than 1/4 mile away) at 8 a.m. on Election Day.  (Here’s where I have to admit that I was somewhere between tipsy and morning-after drunk at the time.)  I even remember what I was wearing that day.  (Those jeans?  Wore them at Cassy’s a couple of weeks ago.  I am not one much for fashion.)  And I guess I’d been in serious denial, because I was somewhat devastated that Bush prevailed.  AGAIN.  I mean, seriously, America?  Had you not been paying attention?  Because I’ll vote for boring over stupid any day.

*****

Some time ago — probably a year or more? — someone on the WD (not from the U.S.) posed the possibility of either Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama becoming the Democratic nominee in the 2008 election.  Although I never responded to that post, I dismissed either of these possibilities out of hand with an inner eye roll.  A woman or a black man as the Democratic nominee?  Ha!  No fucking way!  Now, I certainly don’t like to think of myself as a product of my racist, sexist, poverty-stricken state, but I am not stupid, either.  I know how conservative middle America works, and I knew that neither a woman nor a racial minority had a snowball’s chance at being a presidential candidate.

Okay, well, I was totally (read: thankfully) wrong.  (I, for one, was completely enthralled when the Democratic nomination came down to Clinton and Obama.  And I’ll admit that I supported Clinton at that point; this was due in part to the fact that I knew what a force H. Clinton would be due to my being an Arkansan — and, of course, my belief that all Southern states would be more likely to elect a woman before an African American.)

When it became apparent that Obama would be the Democratic nominee, I momentarily freaked out and had a spell of about two weeks wherein I leaned more toward McCain.  This was odd, because I felt like a traitor of sorts.  But I was basing my vote on looking for the most qualified candidate, and I felt Obama was rather inexperienced; moreoever, I didn’t find McCain completely and totally terrifying.  (As opposed to, you know, BUSH.)  And then a friend put it to me straight: “So, Bradi, you don’t think Obama is smart enough to recognize his limitations and select and appoint people who will fill in those gaps?”

Huh.

*****

When Jon Stewart announced Obama’s win on Indecision ’08, I freaked out.  I threw my Entertainment Weekly in the air and clapped my hands and whooped.  Then I grabbed my dog around the neck, hugging her tightly while screaming, “We did it!  We did it!”  I smiled fondly and appreciatively at McCain during his concession speech, and I cried right along with Oprah and Jesse during Obama’s acceptance speech.  And then I stayed up half the night writing this, which surely must be my longest post ever.

*****

Millions of other bloggers will be telling their stories today.  Mine is not particularly interesting or insightful.  But I won’t not post this, because this post tells an important part of the story of who I am: a politically active, involved and aware person who doesn’t dismiss a candidate out of hand based on party lines or religious beliefs.  A person who grew up in a place where it was an (mostly) unspoken given that minorities have no place in leadership or politics.  A person who still feels as though her vote counts, even when her state bleeds red and passes unconscionable measures.

A person who hugged her dog tonight and yelled, “We did it!” and thought, “Yes, we can.”

* That actually pretty much explains everything about how I get my information.

I am completely, totally, and utterly wiped out after spending my weekend at a yoga workshop that kicked every single square inch of my ass — as well as the rest of my body.

The yoga studio where I practice brought in the incomparable Meg Byerlein, an Anusara instructor with shitloads of experience and expertise.  Saturday’s instruction included a combined 5.5 hours of asana that focused on backbends, hip openers, forward bends, and twists.  Today’s morning Ayurveda session was absolutely fascinating and insightful; however, I learned that I should consume many of the things I love most (namely, vinegar and garlic) in extreme moderation.  (Honestly, I’m not sure I’m willing to do that.  What will I do without my homemade kimchi?)  We finished today off with some incredible stretches and a couple of bends and inversions.

This is the part of the post where I’m totally going to brag on myself.  I mentioned a couple of months ago that my ultimate yoga goal is to be able to do monkey pose.  And while I did not manage (nor did I even attempt) that particular pose during this workshop, I managed to do Feathered Peacock two times!  I was so excited the first time that I actually squealed and yelled for everybody to look at me.  (Bad form, I know.  But I was so surprised and needed confirmation that I was actually doing it!)  I also did handstand twice — albeit with wall support.  (I’m neither brave nor strong enough to do it otherwise — yet, anyway.)

Another highlight of the weekend is that Ms. Byerlein stayed at my house rather than at a hotel.  So while we were both rather exhausted throughout the weekend, it was nice to have company — as well as a calming, serene presence — in the house.

In related news, I’m taking a cue from the incomparable Miss Vicki and adding another NaMo to my BloPo effort.  Specifically, I’ve committed myself to a minimum of 30 minutes of asana yoga practice every day for the month of November.  I typically attend classes Monday through Thursday, and I do a little something (emphasis on “little”) on the weekends.  But for the month of November I’m shooting for at least a half hour on Friday, Saturday and Sunday as well.  This will likely be more difficult than posting.  While I lurve yoga, it’s more difficult for me to remain focused and intentional when I practice alone rather than with others.

Note:  I just noticed that my posts are showing up with the wrong date and time.  While I’d like to blame this on the end of Daylight Saving Time, it’s probably because my WordPress account is set up for another time zone.  I, of course, have no idea how to change this without imploding Miss Vicki’s careful work.  I’ve edited the time and date to reflect the accurate time/date stamp information for yesterday’s and today’s posts. I promise I’m not lying; after all, there’s no way I was awake after midnight Saturday because I was dead to the world after the yoga workshop.

• Grits
• Creamed spinach
• Brussels sprouts
• Chicken livers
• Chicken gizzards
• Oysters from a tin
• Buttermilk
• Peanut butter, dill pickle, and Miracle Whip sandwiches
• Corned beef hash (with egg and cheese)
• Vienna sausages with mustard (or, as I call them, “vi-ee-nee weenies”)

The idiot in me has decided to participate in NaBloPoMo again this year.  I don’t even know where to sign up, but I’m in.  This, of course, is an incredibly brave venture on my part; at least last year I had Rocco.  AND A JOB. (Fodder, people.  I need fodder.)

• Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
• Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
• Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
• Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes (muscadine, strawberry)
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

via Violet

There are people whom I know in an Internet Only way who must think I suffer from some sort of multiple personality disorder because of all the email addresses they have for me. A quick count shows that I have eight active email addresses. Eight.

There’s the standard personal account, the business account, the WD/MN identity account, the old blog account, the new blog account, the old hotel account, and two ancient Hotmail accounts. Except for the last two, I send and receive items from each of these accounts every single day.

This is part of my whole obsession with organizing; even the junk drawer in my kitchen has everything separated into different sections and held in little Ziplocs. I like to compartmentalize, I guess, because it’s efficient. And I especially like thinking, “I know so-and-so from XYZ, so he’ll be in the 123 account.”

But some of you people are starting to cross lines, and now you have, like, four email addresses for me. Is it making you as crazy as it’s making yours truly?

This whole compartmentalizing thing is about to blow up in my face, though, because in a few months a whole slew of you will get added to the Real Life List.

And then the Internets will explode.

I’m so excited about my upcoming trip out West where I’ll meet a gaggle of Internet Only people that I honestly can’t even think about it. Because if I think about it, I’ll start fantasizing about it. And if I start fantasizing about it, pretty soon there will be this whole thing where we’re all trapped on a deserted island together. (I have already gone through this with Aunt Doodie,* Spike,** Zach Galifianakis and Nathan Fillion. And Neil Patrick Harris better stop being such a kick-ass, adorable, singing machine unless he wants to play Robinson Crusoe to my Friday.***) If a whole bunch of you show up on my own personal Fantasy Island at the same time, it’s going to turn into Bizarro Lost. Then I’ll have to figure out which of you are Kate and Jack. And then I’ll hate the two of you, whoever the two of you may be. Which would suck, because I like you right now.

And what will happen if I’m not the same person there that I am here in cyberspace? I think I’m the same person. Well, except for the contractions; I use far fewer contractions online than I do in real life. (I think this is a WD influence, because in Arkansas we have more contractions than the rest of the country combined. And I know them all.)

But the question remains: will I be more or less in person? And while I mean “less” in the “nice and interesting” way rather than the “human worth” way, it’s still something I think about. What if my vocabulary isn’t big enough? What if I can’t understand the British or the Northeners**** because they talk too fast? What if I’m boring as all get out? What if we don’t actually watch Buffy at some point and I panic in the face of withdrawal? What if I fart in front of everybody? What if my hair frizzes out super bad and they all taunt me into singing selections from Annie?

What if all or part of that comes to pass and I can’t get by on my tits and charming accent?

God. This is just like seminary all over again.

*Not that way.
**Spike. Not James Marsters. Because he is a doofus.
***Please note that I am not the protagonist in my own fantasy. I am lazy everywhere.
****I still can’t watch The Fully Monty or Fargo without subtitles.

I love cats, but Wilford Brimley pisses me off.  As such, I can’t quite decide what to make of this.

This is what I did during my blogging hiatus, in no particular order:

• Kicked Rocco out
• Got fired
• Decided to write, organize and produce my own version of Food Court Musical
• Learned how to make homemade candy bars
• Signed up for unemployment
• Worked my way up to the number one and number five spots, respectively, on Facebook’s “Addicted to Angel” and “Addicted to Buffy” trivia applications
• Gave up my dream of being in the roller derby
• Realized unemployment will not keep me from being homeless…
• …Began bathing dogs for Aunt Doodie in exchange for her paying my rent
• Started taking a yoga class
• Got cable TV with a DVR
• Spent a lot of time with Aunt Doodie musing about how we would survive on a deserted island
• Started working on building a freelance career, which will theoretically enable me to stay home so I can play “Addicted to Angel/Buffy” Facebook applications and watch the DVR all day long
• Successfully completed a ten-day cleansing fast
• Entertained at my home twice in one week — a record!
• Found out my Aunt Shelley has cancer
• Realized I am not equipped to write, organize and produce my own version of Food Court Musical, so enlisted the help of my friends
• Became obsessed with sushi and ate it almost every day for two weeks
• Lost nine pounds
• Spent a lot of time daydreaming about how Nathan Fillion and I would live on a deserted island, using Aunt Doodie’s survival ideas and my “tons of free time” ideas
• Attended the Slayage Conference, where Rhonda Wilcox saw my name tag, remembered me, and asked why I never formally submitted my paper
• Made my home almost totally chemical free
• Became disgusted by sushi and vowed to never eat it again
• Found out my cousin Bailey is having another baby
• Learned how to fry an egg perfectly
• Bought a plane ticket to LA for the WD party in October
• Twisted Cindy’s arm until she agreed to visit me this summer
• Ate more sushi
• Found, loved and lost my precious Dr. Horrible
• Lost a toenail

Would you please stop moving things around in Gmail? It’s driving me nuts. One day I can’t find the Reader link in the usual drop-down menu, and the next day you’ve moved the Blogger link to an entirely different page.

I know that technology changes rapidly; I learned about that from The Sarah Connor Chronicles earlier this year and from WarGames way back in the ’80s. But I just got a DVR and a new website, and that’s plenty enough new techy stuff to keep me busy for months. So please stop moving things around!