We won the Nobel peace prize!

I am taking a break to write this, joy joy, after having taken a break yesterday to go listen to our 2000 President, Mr. Al Gore, speak at a rally for Barbara Boxer's reelection to the Senate. I have too many deadlines today to go into great length and so will return to edit, but what jubilation! He was wonderful yesterday, taking the time out of a very busy schedule to come speak to us about his passion, the state of our imperiled planet and its environment. Al, the seals, polar bears, people in the rest of the world, and this one canosa grandmother who loves to raise hell, honor you!

Brown Bay/ la bahía de color

I was traveling on the Bart and I noticed, with great joy, that I was surrounded by people of color. In the station, on the seats all around me, walking up the stairs, enjoying their lattés amd their phos, and all the other good stuff that is so much a part of daily life, we were all united in not being any of the washed white waves of this continent. Indigenous, Asian, Latino, African-American, so much variety, so welcome to my eyes. Here no one has told me not to speak Spanish, no one has berated me because my hips are too large or my hair is not fashionably whatever. Here my differences are welcomed, my diversity is a matter of joy. When a local African-American representative from the utilities company visited to ask about things that I could put in my apartment for energy savings, when he asked what languages I spoke and I mentioned French among them, he immediately responded in French~ we became buddies, amies, a twinkle and a sourire...

Ah, my lovely Bay of the infinite spice of life...

Polvo/face powder

En el metro BART camino a la corte había una hermosa joven asiática con un compacto, poniéndose polvo en sus facciones perfectas. Excepto una vez que me maquillaron para una presentación en público, nunca he usado polvo... No sé por qué... era algo que todas las mujeres de la época de mi madre y mi abuela usaban, y de hechos los compactos eran hermosos...

Fue algo raro ver esta jovencita con aquello que me recuerda mi niñez. En cierto sentido, hemos logrado grandes cosas, y en otros, estamos en las mismas de siempre. Todavía se nos discrimina, se nos deja para plato de segunda mesa, se nos niegan los beneficios de nuestros compañeros que poseen penes en vez de vaginas. Pero todavía se usa el polvo en la cara... Y en una cara sin manchas, perfecta, por lo que pude ver...

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In the BART on my way to court there was beautiful young Asian woman with a compact, patting face power on her perfect features. Except for one time when I was made up for a public appearance, I never used powder... I don't really know why... it was something all the women in my mother's and grandmother's generation used, and the compacts were beautiful...

It was strange to see this young girl with something that so reminds me of my childhood. In some sense, we have come a long way, and in another, it's the same as always. We are still subject to discrimination, still left as second-rate fare, still denied the benefits afforded to those of our mates with penises instead of vaginas. But the face powder is still being used... and on a face without blemish, perfect, as far as I could see.

No adults allowed unless accompanied by children/No se permiten adultos sin no vienen acompañados de niños

As I crossed the park to reach the Court in San Francisco, there was one of those small urban parks, no greenery but some strange items which I suppose are swings, which reminded of the latest veto, done, he says, for the poor children, and because we should not be in the hands of socialized medicine but with private insurers. After all, it was going to add a 67 cent tax to each box of cigarettes... and the tobacco industry, long may they wave, immediately said no siree, so the children are proverbially fucked, but whoever cared about the poor anyway?

And I just finished reading The Mission Song, which has taken me very long; Sue gave it to me in April, and I had expected the knife in the bowels that LeCarré always delivers so well... the bad guys always win, and they get to keep their positions and their Mercedes, or whatever the luxury vehicle of choice. So depressing and so true... All of it business as usual, indeed.

I remember my now deceased cousin Ernesto, who was one of the little boys that became a terrorist during the last years of Batista's regime, when people disappeared to his torturers, and Ernesto, all of maybe 11 or 12, was one of the little boys learning to make Molotov cocktails for the 'revolution,' as did Armando, my lover, but there is a price to be paid for early involvement; you have a botched childhood and part of you never grows up...

Cidade de Deus, indeed...

I had fallen asleep during the Daily Show tonight, but LeCarré woke me up... and I am thinking of the man who set himself on fire for peace. And all the monks during the Vietnam war... part of it is that after so much hopelessness, you hope to go out in a flame of recrimination, hoping someone out there will finally wake up...

My Cuba, who was never allowed to be free, with the US dollars...

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Cruzando el parque para ir a la corte en San Francisco, había uno de esos parques urbanos pequeños, sin cosas verdes pero con esos aparatos extraños que me imagino que son columpios, y me acordé del último veto, que dice haber hecho 'por los niños pobres' y porque no deberíamos estar en las manos de la medicina socializada sino con los seguros privados. Después de todo, esto le añadiría un impuesto de 67 centavos a cada cajetilla de cigarrillos... y la industria tabacalera, en su inmensa gloria, inmediatamente le dio el no al proceso, de modo que se jodan los niños, pero ¿desde cuándo nos hemos preocupado de los pobres infelices?

Y acabo de terminar de leer la Canción de las Misiones, que me ha tomado muchísimo tiempo; Sue me la regaló en abril, y yo ya estaba esperando el cuchillo en las vísceras que LeCarré siempre logra tan bien... los malos siempre ganan, y se quedan con sus puestos y sus Mercedes, o el carro de luxo que sea. Tan deprimente y tan verdadero... Todo siempre lo mismo de siempre, de hecho.

Me acuerdo de mi difunto primo Ernesto, uno de los niñitos que se volvió terrorista durante los últimos años de la dictadura batistiana, cuando la gente desaparecía con tanta frecuencia a sus torturadores, y Ernesto, que tal vez tenía 11 o 12 años, era uno de los chiquilines que aprendió a hacer cocteles Molotov para la 'revolución,' como lo hizo Armando, mi amante, pero se paga un precio cuando se empieza tan temprano; se destruye la niñez, y hay una parte del ser humano que nunca crece...

Cidade de Deus, de hecho...

Esta noche me quedé dormida mirando el Daily Show, pero LeCarré me despertó... y estoy pensando en el hombre que se quemó vivo por la paz. Y todos los monjes que hicieron lo mismo durante la guerra en Vietnam... en parte es tanta desesperación... uno quisiera un acto final de recriminación, con la esperanza de que las llamas despierten a alguien..

Mi Cuba, que nunca pudo ser libre, con los dólares norteamericanos...