Where I Stand.

Psalm 146

1 Praise the LORD. ^[a]

Praise the LORD, O my soul.

2 I will praise the LORD all my life;
I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.

3 Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortal men, who cannot save.

4 When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;
on that very day their plans come to nothing.

5 Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD his God,

6 the Maker of heaven and earth,
the sea, and everything in them—
the LORD, who remains faithful forever.

7 He upholds the cause of the oppressed
and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,

8 the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.

9 The LORD watches over the alien
and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

10 The LORD reigns forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the LORD.

The LORD. Still the only One worthy of our hope, our adoration, our praise.

***

My heartfelt congratulations to President-Elect Obama.

My prayers for him, his family and for our country as a whole will continue daily.

Seven Things I've Never Written About

1. In our old house, our beta fish, Boca, got used to sitting in the window all day long. He was perched there for over a year. And apparently, he loved it. But now that we're in our new place, his bowl is near the kitchen on our granite bar, all the way across the room from the nearest window. And now he wants to die. Seriously. He's been laying on his side on the glass beads at the bottom of his vase. It's pathetic. My friend Lauren told me that betas do that when they're cold. I moved him to the windowsill behind the couch today and he was happy and swimmy all day. Then the sun went down. He's back on the counter, all mopey and suicidal. We don't know what to do, except... leave him on the windowsill behind the couch??? Weird fish.

2. I've decided to try and connect my 7 things*. So... I did not listen to "cool music" when I was growing up. I wasn't really allowed to. I used to sneak and listen to KISS FM on my walkman when I woke up in the morning. Because of this, I did not really know ANYTHING about Radiohead until last year. It's not like they're my "#1 LA fave rave" but they are nice and moody sometimes and I've heard they're phenomenal in concert and I'm happy to not be ignorant of them anymore.

3. I love quoting lines from movies. A lot of times I'll do it even when nobody gets it. I taught my mother this game and she's actually become quite good at it. Once, she left the sink on in my bathroom and flooded the countertop but I forgave her immediately because she flipped a coin into my hands and said "Sorry bout the mess."

4. I am a huge Star Wars fan, but I do not own all six movies. In fact, I only own ONE on dvd. (And I have the 20th anniversary re-release of the original trilogy on VHS. In the gold Vader box.)  For the longest time, they were just too expensive. And then when the prequels were released, I figured I'd wait for the newfangled,  special-feature ridden set of six to come out. (And I think they're actually selling that now... as two sets? At Target? Maybe?) The past few years, if I feel like watching the movies when they aren't on tv, I borrow them from someone. I continue in this manner because I'm utterly convinced that my future husband already owns the movies. It would be pretty absurd if I married someone who didn't. It's a running joke now, but if you've known me for any grand length of time, this makes sense to you. In fact, you've probably heard me say it.

5. Lately, I'm pretty stressed out by the high numbers of engaged and married and pregnant people on my facebook list. It makes me feel like there's something wrong with me or like I'm running behind or something. I know that's not true on either count. Those people are just on a totally different track than I am right now. And most of the time I'm okay with that. But every now and then I find myself pausing to watch their race and wondering furiously... (furious like intense, not angry.)

6. Things that make me angry include: slow drivers, cigarette smoke in my face/lungs, drug abuse, child abuse, losing things, when people get so calloused that they're content to laugh at things that aren't funny, blinking lights in a room where I'm trying to sleep, Hummers, racism, "religious people", gum stuck to plates, cold dirty water, skanks who throw themselves at guys, parents who try to be bffs with their kids instead of parenting them, The Hills and other reality shows about rich people and most popular hip-hop music of the past 3 years.

7. I've lived in Nashville for three years this June. Annnnd I'm still figuring out what I'm supposed to be doing. Crazy. But I figure as long as I figure it out in 5 years, I'm okay.

Though it would be nice to begin my second quarter of life with some direction...

Dani tagged me. I tag Joey, Brandi and Annie.

* If you totally lost me in the first few connections: Weird Fish is on the Radiohead album "In Rainbows". "#1 LA fave rave" is a That Thing You Do! reference, and "Sorry bout the mess." is a Han Solo line from Episode 4.

Truth To Power

This ficticious newspaper article is the "prologue" of the graphic novel "The Dark Knight Returns". I like it so much, I wish it was real and I had written it for the Daily Planet myself. :) Enjoy!

---

TRUTH TO POWER
by James Olson

There's this little saloon you'll find up and running and packed with patrons before most of us are ready for our morning coffee.

The joint's two subway levels beneath the streets of downtown Metropolis.

Step out at the Schuster stop on the southbound side, take two lefts, walk maybe fifteen feet and you're right on top of it.

But you could just as easily walk right past it and never know it was there.

There's no sign up. Not even a door. Just a dark hallway that looks like a good place for a murder.

Take a breath. Follow the cigarette stink and the bluesy jukebox sounds inside.

It's a tolerable little gin mill. Get there before the morning rush and you're likely to find a stool.

Your first clue that something is wrong about the place is the bartender. You'll never forget his face. He's a hulk of a guy who's seen way too much. A broken man with laser-red eyes. His forehead's a fractured cantilever, an avalanche waiting to happen. His skin's gone a little gray from its natural chartreuse.

He's got a voice like Coke bottles getting ground up under a door.

His name is Jones.

He says he's from Mars.

And nobody tells him he's nuts, not one of these sad, old barflies. It's not that they're scared of him, either.

They've seen and done things that are supposed to be impossible.

They're not the kind to out-and-out brag about being able to bench-press cars or run faster than a speeding bullet of jump up into the air and stay there. Nah. Not these guys.

These guys, they've got nothing to prove. Been there. Done that.

Except for old "Snapper" always at the same stool at the end, living up to his nickname, snapping his fingers in time to the music and rattling on and on about mighty powers, globe-spanning adventures, nefarious world conquerors, you name it.

He never stops snapping his damn fingers. And he never stops sucking back the sauce and jabbering about the old days. The glory days.

The "Golden Age" he calls it.
The age of heroes.

And all the other old farts, they grunt and nod and grumble at each other, swapping old jokes they've swapped a thousand times. Even fat, beet-red old "Penguin" chirps out a curse or two before bursting into tears.

Then they get talking. And if you've got half a brain, you listen.

They talk about amazing adventures, sounding like a bunch of retired car mechanics the whole time.

They talk about a Man of Steel. An Amazon Princess.

But they never talk about the mean one. The cruel one. The one who couldn't fly or bend steel in his bare hands. The one who scared the crap out of everybody and laughed at all the rest of us for being the envious cowards we were.

No, they never talk about him. Say his name and watch Dibny's face sag so bad his jaw hits the bar.

Not a man among them wants to hear about Batman.

Was he quietly assassinated? Or did he just decide we weren't worth the grief? The question hangs in the air for a moment or two, then Jones springs for a round for everybody and himself.

They get talking again. About the old days. The glory days.

They remember.

They were right there. In the thick of it.

Back then.

It wasn't so long ago.

We had heroes.

####

Raaawr-publican. De-meh-crat.

Can I just say that it absolutely makes my skin crawl to think of being affiliated with a political party?

I want NOTHING to do with it. Either one.*

Let me clarify.

I'm still going to vote in a couple days. But I'm just saying that in terms of everyday life, I am not, nor will I ever be, a Republican OR a Democrat. I just-- I can't think of a worse way to define myself. I know for a lot of people their affiliation is very important to them, or it's at least a part of their life that they take some pride in or find at least a pinch of identity-- but for me it's just not. I'm sorry.

I mean, I'm not sorry. I just think the whole operation is vile. It has NOTHING to do with who I am.

I believe what I believe and behave how I behave because of Jesus in my life. And I don't think my personal convictions don't have anything to do with power struggles and peer-pressure and obscene amounts of money and grown men bashing each other like savage children. I do think it's important to know where you stand on major issues. I'm actually in the process of working out in detail my personal opinions on the major controversial issues, so I can contribute to the banter whenever I come upon it. But I have a feeling, that even when I come to the end of all my discovering and locate my X&Y on the conservative-to-liberal spectrum-- I will still not be able to classify myself as a donkey or an elephant.

I'm just...

(sigh)

I am a leaf on the wind.**

I'm kidding. But seriously... call me a woman. Call me a Texan (even though I'll fight you on it. Sometimes.). Call me a writer and a font snob. Call me a biracial person. Call me a single twenty-something. Call me a Christian! (Even though I really feel like even that term has become a problem and a just casual blanket word for both hardcore followers of God as well as the gross majority of the church-going or used to go to church community... but that's another blog.) Anyway, throw me in the club with the Tall People, the Daydreamers, the Chocolate Eaters, the Occasionally Unsafe Drivers, the Sci-Fi Nerds, the Restaurant Industry People, the Bondservants Of Sallie Mae and ACS, the Only Children or the Wannabe Broadway Showfolk.

I'll own all of that.

But do not call me a Republican.
And do not ask me to define myself as a Democrat.
It's just not me.


*I know there are more than those two. But really? Come on now. Let's be serious.

**Just watch from 1:50-2:50. Or the whole thing. There's actually no spoiler.

Adele Just Slapped Me In The Face With A Piano.

Oh my goodness.

First of all, God bless iTunes celebrity playlists. I got three songs from Alicia Keys' "Secret Life of Bees" playlist tonight and they are all phenomenal. A little haunting Nina Simone (and I though Feist was the original artist of See-Line Woman. Ha!) and a little Duffy (I want her whole album now!).

But the most astonishing is this girl ADELE. 

Holy. Cow.

Her album is called 19 because she's 19. It should be called 19 and genius. Her voice is a little Norah Jones and a little Amy Winehouse... maybe even a tic Lauryn Hill. But cleaner. Lovelier. Fuller. Heartbreakingly so.

I have not been so surprised by a song since I was driving in my car and first heard John Mayer's "Dreaming With A Broken Heart". Before the song was even over, I started it over just to hear him say "Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone..." again.

Even that was a different kind of move.

This? This... I can't talk about it yet. It's too new. I'm only listening to it the third time in my life as I type this.

Just go to iTunes right now and buy the song "Make You Feel My Love" by ADELE.

Then turn it up and just-- listen. 

So. Beautiful. On so many levels. Just let it hit you where ever you are.

p.s. also, she's apparently the musical guest on SNL this weekend.

Hopefully she'll play this song. I but recommend listening to the song first, without pic or video, no anything. Just music. Go. Now.

*Learned tonight that this song is a actually a Bob Dylan cover. Also, 2 country covers of  it were featured in the movie Hope Floats. Good on all that-- but I still like this one a LOT.

Seventeen-Year Old Angst Is So Hot Right Now...

I always liked this one.

Alone With Night

(written 6-26-2001)

For disenchanted lovers

Unresolved since a bitter fight

For shattered dream and broken hearts,

It's always worst at night.

There alone, you contemplate

The flaws of humankind

You foster fears and hopeless thoughts

In a weary, lonely mind.

Distractions are invaluable

When your head is doused with worry

Dear friends and soothing music

Cast out sadness in a hurry...

But close your eyes and there he is

Not far away, yet hazy

And once again you're solitary

Making yourself crazy.

He's the same and you remember

Whether you wish to or not

You agreed that things were gonna change

But they haven't... and he's still hot.

*sigh*

Distressed minds detest the dark

From Milwaukee to Dallas

And lonely hearts wish for nights

Under *Aurora Borealis

See with the moon, comes time to think

And musings drive out sleep

Imagination rides the sky

And quiet angst flows deep.

But never should you feel alone

When the sun has ceased to light

For all lovers know, that when lovers go--

It's always worst at night.

*I think at this time, I had also just discovered and fallen in love with the movie Frequency.

Vintage Poetry

I went and got a new driver's license today. It only took me about 45 minutes, which is definitely something I would toast to if I was holding a glass of wine.

In honor/commemoration of my new DL, I present to you some vintage poetry (I discovered a whole binder full yesterday) written in frustration on the day I got my very first license. I used to write poetry when I got upset. That muse has since abandoned me.

On Attempting To Obtain A Texas Driver's License (or Mos Eisley II)

Written August 8, 2001

The DMV, The DMV,

Wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Take a number, wait in line.

You're 85! They're on 39.

Plastic chairs that smell like-- plastic.

People's children running spastic

Bored of the colorless, dreary fort

Filled with drivers of every sort.

Or non-drivers, who long to be,

Waiting with members of their family,

But no one tells ME they had to come!

So I show up and wait and then feel dumb.

Anyway...

This place must have been here since Abe Lincoln.

Green chairs in the bathroom? What were they thinkin?

But the seats in the lobby are blueish-teal.

And connected together. So they're harder to steal?

The clerks have all been there three hours too long

They just stamp you and sign you and move you along

But there's always one chick who thinks she runs the place

And she's snippy and obnoxiously up in your face.

You think they'd hang a sign;

"Doesn't play well with others!

Keep out solo teens and expectant mothers!"

But that'd be too nice, so they let her run free

Chewing out poor civilians, who just want some ID.

Of the years in your life, waiting takes up three,

And I bet at least one's at the DMV.

The numbers glow on the talking sign;

"Now serving 46 at counter 9."

"Please watch for your number."

"An Army Of One."

A Wanted poster.

Oh wow, this is fun.

Cell phones are ringing.

Look, no more chairs!

"Join the "REAL" Texas Rangers."

NOBODY CARES!

We all just came by to get an ID,

And to take a bad picture that no one should see.

Just in case we get sirened for running a light

The cop will have proof that we wasted daylight

Standing here in this office,

the DMV,

Wretched hive of scum and villainy.