Thursday, December 25, 2003

Old Christmas Chair, Old Christmas Chair...

the prizes were stacked neatly, one on top of the other, on the tiny little wooden folding chair that this year took the place of a tree. No ornaments, no decorations, not even a wreath.

Santa stopped by Tiffany for zippy this year. What a sweet old fella he is. zippy stopped by the antique book shop and retrieved three first editions for Santa. Among all the prizes we shared, this was his favorite.

Santa also stopped by the local vineyard and brought to us a good set of stemware that makes us realize the importance of proper stemware with proper wines. The same vintage in this stemware versus the simple tall glass and there is no comparison. One has is a bouquet, the other is vinegar.

To my delight and surprise, he also made a visit to the Virginia area and retrieved a package from a person I have only "met" online. From her he brought thoughtful gifts of kibble for the critters, coffee for the morning, and Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner for me.

What an amazing thing, the human heart is. It has connected me to places I may never set foot in, and to souls I may only ever psychically touch.

She remembered I had never read "The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe". She remembered I had only seen bits and pieces of the televised production. Now I have them both to read and view at my leisure. What a splendid prize!

I love people. They're the greatest gift of all.


Wednesday, December 24, 2003

A couple of years ago, in the search for comprehending all things Mulholland Drive, I met online a young Portuguese man who spoke in terms of smoke and fire, of spirits unbound and yet tethered to the pulse of the earth. How very Lynchian he was. We embarked on a very serious and thought-provoking dialogue, educating each other and ourselves on the perspective seen by the other side of the world. We know of each other's loves, and losses, and quests, and desires. We have shared words and photographs and books and politics and paintings and movies, ad nauseum.

Then we shared nothing.

Our dialogue came to an abrupt halt for no apparent reason. Life intervened. We got busy and pulled away from our keyboards. Perhaps our spouses wanted more of us than we were giving to them at the time.

mr. zippy does not understand how I can call someone I have never physically met "friend." but mr. zippy is an atheist, and does not believe he has a soul that reaches out to other souls even when he is unsuspecting.

"Don't you believe in soul mates?" I ask him.

"What does that mean?"

And I cannot explain.



everything happens for a reason.

every person has a purpose.

I have just received a package from Portugal, a bottle of Porto's finest vintage, commemorative stemware and The Gospel According to Jesus Christ by Jose Saramago. Rui has thankfully sent me the English language translation of this 1998 Nobel Prize winner, as my education in Portuguese is about as expansive as my French and Spanish.

Small steps.

On his note, Rui has simply said "Dear zippy ... yes, I remember."

And I think "What? What does he remember?"

He remembers the port because of our conversation and my ignorance of quality and his national pride boasting of Oporto's vineyards and history and culture.

He remembers Jesus because ... it's Christmas, I expect. Jose Saramago because he is a Portuguese prize, a regarded man from a small country.

He remembers me, after a long absence, because we may have not yet met, but we have touched each other across the vast expanse of the universe.

I love the internet.

Tuesday, December 23, 2003

Angels in America.

I think Tony Kushner must have purged his soul when he wrote this masterpiece. This script reaches out to such a diverse arena that one can't watch it without somehow being moved by it. All the characters are flawed, all of them, and yet (save one) each of them strives for more of this thing called life, in all its wholeness, from the most remote element to the seemingly out of reach - even when the angels themselves appear to be hopeless, the humanity there insists it goes on.

T hat actually made me weep.

I suppose we'll be confounding the angels until we cease to exist.

I remember when AZT was first introduced. My good friend David was HIV positive and one of the first people I knew to get the drug. The only person for a n umber of years. The others I knew who were positive didn't have the luxury of his income and, as the script represented, had no access to the expensive pharmaceuticals. David found out he was positive thru a fluke. While in college, he'd participated i n a study one of his fellow students was working on, but then lost funding for, so all the lab samples went on ice. The student died (of cancer) and his work was later resurrected by another student, this time w/ full funding, and more specifically ge are d toward HIV (the original study was not). David proved positive. Happily, he is alive and thriving. Loves a man in Utah - yep, St. Lake City - and they see each other long-distance. No one's closeted, but they both have lives they are unwilling t o gi ve up. So they make the most of it.

So, was it the Angel's kiss that made Peter's Mama soften her Mormon heart?

I noted most of the cast were nominated for Golden Globes. I'm quite pleased with that.

Peter represented the homo who uses the hete ro to hide his reality. Sad for his wife that she actually loved him. It was with vicious glee that she took his credit card in exchange for a handful of pills. Must be pure hell for a straight person to be in love with a gay person. But what if there's no secret between them? What if what they are doing somehow satisfies a need for their lives? And they use each other openly?

I would have married David years and years ago if he needed a "beard." I would have done anything for him - I even went to his high school reunion, as his long-time girlfriend. He was so determined to make us a hit couple that before the reunion weekend we went shopping for matching outfits. That was pretty gay, but we did look good. I remember dancing together and whispe ring "Are we a success?" He said, "Honey, we're a hit! Thank you so much!" And as we smiled and hugged each other close, all eyes were upon us, presumably thinking what a romantic couple we were.

For years, his family and (small Texas) home town friends ask ed about me and when we'd be getting hitched. But his family surprised him with acceptance when he finally came out to them. Sadly, he may never have come out to them had he not developed HIV. But he wanted to give them ample time to prepare for his death. That was nearly 20 years ago, I am happy to say. 20 years ago, HIV meant death. Clearly, it no longer does, although there is a long way to go yet to find a cure.

I once met a lesbian who was happily married to a wealthy Swiss boy. He wa s gay and needed a wife to keep his inheritence. Surprisingly, babies weren't required, just marriage. So, they lied to his family throughout the year, and spent one month out of twelve at his family's estate. That was her prize for helping him: an all expen ses paid month's vacation every year in the Swiss Alps. Otherwise, they spoke on the phone but never saw each other. She really liked him. They liked each other's lovers, too.

Prophet reminded me of Chris Janowski. Chris is no longer with us, but I s uspect he would have been quite handsome in his prime.

I am grateful for materials like this play, Angels in America, for reminding us why art exists in the first place -- to marry our sensitivities with our society, to merge our culture with our commerce, to somehow bring the ethereal to the earthly, and hopefully, with good fortune, make us think about our lives and the world we live in.

Reagan's America left so many behind in its quest for global dominance and elevation of the wealthy and the elite. Clinton's America opened our social awareness but brazenly lost its touch with Everyman, splitting our public directly in half between those who view presidential sex as a private matter, and those who see only the lies he told to protect its discovery. Now Dubya seems perched for a dismantling of human rights, reproductive rights, civil rights ... and yet we find ourselves sleeping through it all because most of us in Dubya's America are not actively involved in the matters that make our psyche's actually work. We'd rather hear about his daughters' drinking habits and anxiously await the scandalous video tape of their sorority sister antics.

All these years after it was written, Angels in America asks of us

Where are we now?

and

Where are we going?

and

Will our humanity be in tact when we get there?

Sunday, December 21, 2003

The final results are in: zippy's got a 3.92 GPA.
PREEN!

The doc gave me good drugs and they're kicking this sickness back into its dormant cells. For now at least. I'm not healthy, but I'm better. Closer to healthy than dead, and that's not where I was a week ago.

Christmas is in boxes all about the house, some wrapped, some not. So long as I don't open the ones I know he has for me, and he doesn't notice the one huge box for us from me, we'll be fine. Why do we leave our prizes sitting around unwrapped? Who knows. It's passive- aggressive gift giving. Santa Clause sans prozac.

This year we decided to do without all the decorations and cheer. No lights, no tree, no wreath. The bells hanging on the front door are the same bells that hang there all year 'round - jingle jingle all the way - just below the chorus to "I'd Melt With You" printed in Japanese. Our small gifts that are wrapped have found their place neatly on the antique, children's wooden folding chair that had previously served as a towel holder in our Colorado home (w/ a 1903 bath that had no closet space). Old Christmas Chair... Old Christmas Chair... everybody sing!

Speaking of nuts, mr. zippy successfully roasted this year's batch of chestnuts without ruining the microwave oven. Some of you may remember from last year that, in his enterprising way, mr. zippy decided he could zap the chestnuts rather than go thru the trouble of turning on the real oven. Sadly, that was the last we knew of the old microwave. It would never be the same again. Thankfully, that lesson was not lost on mr. zippy, for this year he did the chestnuts the old fashioned way. And they were fab.

But at some point during the feast my fertive mind took hold and I wondered how akin chestnuts are to grub worms. They're both white and meaty, lots of protein and few carbs, a full-meal deal ... and then, of course, I stopped eating.

Well, wouldn't you?


Merry Christmas, Happy Chanuka, and all that jazz.




Monday, December 15, 2003

I just did a google for 'zippy'.

There are some 323,000 hits for 'zippy'.

There's zippy gel toys. zippy space glider. zippy "Hi! My name is BLOW ME and I'm the youngest of all my friends. All my friends call me 'zippy' because I'm always 'zipping' around!"

There's even a zippy tuna sandwich.

But I'm not giving out the ingredients.

What I will tell you is netflix is a cool way of getting movies while you're sick in bed. They come right to your door. No human interaction required.

Pretty good when a girl's not feeling so zippy after all.

Thursday, December 11, 2003

Greetings fellow earthlings.

I've always wanted to say that.

The semester's over and I made pretty good grades in the long run. And I'm out of remedial math. Can I get a HELL YEAH!!!


conversation in zippy's world last night:

me: "How do you figure your GPA?"

him: "Take the number of points you have and divide it by the number of classes."

me: "That's not working."

him: "You tested out of remedial math, right?"


conversation in zippy's world today:

me: "Ok, I had the flu shot this morning, just like you asked. But I want you to know it cost $122.00."

him: "You'll be happy you did when you don't get sick."

me: "I don't think I'll be getting sick anyway. I think it's all hype."

him: "You really think so?"

me: "Yes."

him: "Well, think of it this way... you may want to write this down... count all the days you aren't sick and missing work and divide the cost of that shot by that number. You'll be thrilled by the amount of money you have just saved! You can use this as your math project next semester!"

me: "I married you why?"



Tuesday, December 09, 2003

WOO HOOOOOOOO!


SCHOOOOOOOOLZZZZZZZ OUT FOR WINTER!!!!!!

anyone reading the previous sentence w/ an Alice Cooper ditty playing in their heads is WAY DATED.

WAY.

WOO HOOOOOOOO!

Three A's one B - not bad for a high school drop out, eh?

PREEN!

:-)
a