(L)one Wolf

Okay, this article tries to cover a lot of ground, and is kind of all over the place. Still, in my current state of prolonged singledom, it spoke to me. I don't think that most single people define their identities as strongly by being single, as coupled people tend to do by being in a couple--mainly because single people don't, generally, think that they'll always be single, but most people in committed relationships at least hope that things will work out. Anyway, this little quote also made me laugh:

Advertisers should increase the visibility of singles in their campaigns because unmarried people “are sensitive to couples-centric marketing efforts in much the same way that blacks are sensitive to all-white casting,” the Packaged Facts study concluded.

I'm completely 'sensitive to all-white casting,' but don't really care if the woman in a tampon commercial is presented as having a boyfriend. Maybe that's just me

Quincy Jones and The Gloved One Team Up to Stop Prison Violence

For a bit of much-needed levity . . . I find this clip is best enjoyed with a little "Jesus Juice," if you know what I'm saying. My question is, who is the balding, pre-op tranny playing the 'girlfriend' at the beginning? Filipino prisons, more or less entertaining than the 57th revival of 'Grease' on Broadway? Discuss.

Damn

I admit that I wasn't completely Team Bhutto, in terms of her return to Pakistan.  I guess I doubted whether the true motives for her return were particularly altruistic.  But, there's no way any of those misgivings matter now.  This is pure tragedy.  Hopefully, her death will help bring about some positive changes in the country.  There's no denying the woman had style

This is science?

Hey Guys! Guess what? Benedict Carey, intrepid New York Times science writer, has unearthed an amazing new study about this new type of interpersonal relationship the young people are calling "Friends with Benefits." At first, he thought it was the title to the DVD box set of the popular 90s sitcom, but no! The term actually refers to S-E-X. Kids today, huh? With their fancy lingo. Am I right? Anyway, a group of "researchers" at Michigan State blew the lid of the whole messy business, finding that:

"relationships in which close friends begin having sex come with their own brand of awkwardness, according to the first study to explore the dynamics of such pairs, often called friends with benefits, or F.W.B."

Who says the Big Ten is just about football? More importantly, who knew they don't get reruns of The Ricki Lake, because I'm pretty sure she handled this pretty thoroughly during the Fall of '98. Benedict even digs up some Arizona State "researcher" to give a shout out to his boys at MSU

"One of the most interesting things I get from it . . . is this sense that people in these relationships are afraid to develop feelings for the other person, because those feelings might be unreciprocated.”

HAHAHA!!! This is FANTASTIC! I honestly think this might be more significant than the discovery of a mathmatical formula to determine the existence and relative influence of beergoggling. Why didn't we think to apply for federal research grants in college. But, for real, do you think The Onion has hacked nytimes.com? Oh, and for

Mets Lose. Jesus Weeps.

As a lifelong Mets' fan, I understand that bad things happen to good people and, even worse, good things happen to bad people (I'm looking at you, Yankees' fans) but, I'm kind of in denial about the Mets' season being over. It's not that I don't believe it. It's just that . . I don't believe it. I mean, WTF??! It's over? Really? I thought the days of fielding teams stocked with self-annihilating head cases were in the past (I'm looking at you, Bobby Bonilla). This just seems so horribly, horribly wrong. Not just wrong, as in "unfortunate," but actually, like, a mistake of some kind. Are we sure that this is right? I mean, I'm not great with numbers, so could someone look into this? And, yeah, I'll admit that I cried a little last night before I went to bed, because . . . are you serious?! That's it?! In the immortal words of Florida Evans, Damn! DAMN! DAMN!!.

I'm This Sucker

Although, it's clear that Bruni isn't referring to the loverly sidewalk cafes that dot Brooklyn. I still happily identify with 90% of the ridiculous behavior he describes in this article.

Monkeyshines

I find it comforting to realize that we aren't the only nation in the world with batshit crazy religious fundamentalists running things. Well, maybe "comforting" isn't exactly the right word, but it does help to ameliorate the burning shame. So, according to Hindu religious lore, Lord Ram's wife was captured by some evil god Lanka, who kidnapped her and absconded to . . . Sri Lanka. Go figure. I guess he thought he was safe, Sri Lanka being an island, and all. But, Lord Ram was having none of it. He had his army of monkeys build a bridge from Tamil Nadu, in southern India, to Sri Lanka, where he promptly opened up an industrial size can of whoop ass. That's right. Monkeys. "Oh, what did you say, Lanka? 'Me and what army?' Me and my army of Monkeys! Me and my army of accomplished, structural engineering Monkeys. That's what army, bitch!" Anyway, that's how I imagine it went down in the way, way back. But, I digress. The current problem is that some economically minded folks would like to destroy this land bridge to improve shipping routes, but other people insist on the literal accuracy of Lord Ram and his monkey's. According to the stellar Herald Tribune article on this subject, [w]hether this account [from the Ramayana] is factually accurate might have remained a matter of debate among academics . . . Really? Academics from where? The Clown College? Also, some politician threatened to pay his weight in gold to anyone who went out and beheaded some opposing politician, but then he realized, "Shit, that's a lotta gold," and took it back. Good times.

If loving cupcakes is wrong, I don't want to be right.

I might not be motivated to go out and rally with the Develop Don't Destroy Brooklyn folks. On almost any given day, I will prioritize having a tasty meal out over donating to a inarguably worthy cause. I would never bother to attend the public hearings that proceed the latest MTA fare hike. Basically, I'm your typical, spoiled and apathetic member of the citizenry. But, by God, mess with my right to eat a cupcake, and there will be hell to pay! And, according to the NYT, we cupcake warriors are legion. The Texas Legislature, world-renowned for their commitment to fighting the good fight, passed a "Safe Cupcake Amendment." Who would want to imperil the nation's cupcakes, you ask? Communists. Communists and, apparently, the godless nutritionists.

Cupcakes: something else I'll eat when I get back to BK.

Psychotic Break

It was bound to happen sooner or later, and here it is, at long last. It looks like there will be another project, starting in about three weeks, that I’ll be expected to be in Hyderabad to manage. This means that if I want to spend any time stateside before Thanksgiving, I would need to leave early next week (it's a two day trip each way). I just want to spend a week at home. That’s all. I would consider this to be a modest expectation. I have a project manager on this current matter that could handle things for a week. All of our systems are in place. I don’t want to go to the moon; I want to go to New York. Specifically, Brooklyn, where we have email, telephones, you know, modern communication technology. When I expressed this desire to our COO, she said, “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.” Meaning, we don’t know for certain that this new project will start on October 15th, so let’s wait and see . . . uhhhh . . . Let’s not. Because, if I wait for those little chicks to hatch, IT WILL BE TOO LATE FOR ME TO GO HOME. Did I mention that I only want to go for, like, a week. That’s seven days. I’ve been wearing the same three pairs of pants for eight weeks and their starting to wear a little thin (in every sense).

A few of the things I would like to do in New York include: sleep in my own bed; talk to people on the phone; get from point A to point B out of doors . . . and on foot; watch NY1; watch Pardon the Interruption; go to a Mets game if, Pedro’s toe willing, they make the playoffs; drink water from the tap; have sushi; have pizza; have Korean; go to Saul, Henry’s End or Devin Tavern; not be besieged by the saccharine incompetence of Novotel’s staff; prepare a meal in my kitchen; buy skin care products that do not tout their “bleaching” effects; switch from oil to gas; buy tampons; buy dental floss; get my hair done; relish, like a pig in mud, the fact that along with the many unsavory habits New Yorkers have, they also, as a matter of course, tend to wear deodorant; shop at Whole Foods; read my mail; breath early fall air; get a pedicure; maybe make mulled wine . . .

Okay, I feel a little better. But not much.

Balm for the Seven Year Itch?

Germany's the new France! It looks like at least some of them hate marriage more than their cheese eating, surrender monkey neighbors to the West. Gabriele Pauli, who is running to be head of the Christian Social Union party in Bavaria, has proposed that civil marriages should be renewable seven year contracts. As a single lady, I can't really say if this is a good idea or not--on the face of it, it seems pretty reasonable. But, I wonder about the details. Would you have to wait seven years to renew? What if the contract expires during a week when you really can't stand the sight of each other? Of course, people could always enter into a new contract (it worked for Liz Taylor and Richard Burton). All so confusing. Of course, one of Pauli's opponents is under fire after getting busted for having a love child (never meant to be . . . Love Child! Societ-eee!) during his present marriage. This all makes me feel a little better about the current state of U.S. politics. Hypocritical sexual politics loves company.

Reason I'm Getting Fired, Number Three Hundred and Twelve

In keeping with my tradition of totally inappropriate and doomed crushes, I'm currently fixated on a ridiculous cutie in the office. Imagine a Wallace and Gromit character . . . but, really cute. Don't judge! I'm this guy's boss, and I am not at all interested in doing the Bollywood remake of "Disclosure." But, today he came to work wearing the most obscenely provocative garment possible, as far as I'm concerned. A sweater vest!! An adorable, apparently soft and cuddly pull-over sweater vest. Why am I being tested? First winelessness, now this. I'm only flesh and blood, people. Just. Flesh. And. Blood.

Avast ye Scurvy Land Lubbers . . . Aarrgh

There's a conjunctivitis epidemic sweeping through Hyderabad. As many as 30% of the population is expected to be hit. I guess a lot of people missed that day in 7th grade when the middle school assembly was devoted to the evils of sharing mascara. Of course, now all I want to do is obsessively rub my eyes. Apparently, Monsoon is, historically, pink-eye season here in the big H. It's harder to maintain proper hygiene, or something like that. Frankly, I'm not sure I get the correlation--I only play a doctor on the teevee. Actually, it's not "pink-eye," it's "Madras eye." This kind of seems like a gratuitous slur against a region that's given J.Crew a raison d'etre lo these many summers, and whose namesake drink has brought so much stealth drunkeness to the under-25 set, but what do I know. Maybe they had it coming. Damn you, Madras!

The Crimson Goes Green

Duckacide!

I know this is kind of old. It happened during my recent blog blackout. Still, it's worth sharing, because there are few things funnier in life than mascot-related shenanigans. Watch once to let the full absurdity of the smackdown wash over you (OMG, maybe stuffed ducks should wear pants!!) Watch again to enjoy the distress of the Houston cheerleaders, as they hesitate in their decision to come to the "cougar's" defense. Oh, and listen to the audio, if you can. It elevates the mood. Happy Tuesday!

It's The Little Things

It's strange the things that are making me feel homesick right now, are really not the things I would expect. I honestly think I would weep salty tears if I could get my hands on some dental floss (an affordable/palatable glass of pinot noir would probably induce a stroke). This weekend I went to the Q-Mart, a local supermarket-type place that caters to "expats." But, clearly, not U.S. expats. They did carry peanut butter, but that was my only good score (creamy Skippy). Not, only did they not have floss. They had non-alcoholic wine. Some crap called Billabong from Australia. Who would buy that?! And tampons . . . Good luck. I'm still trying to figure out the South Asian code of female modesty. The morning after pill is advertised on teevee here all day, every day. But, no tampons anywhere. I've resigned myself to feeling like a big diapered baby . . . a la David Vitter.

Holy Crap!

Amy, honey, they wanted you to go to rehab for a reason. Okay, she looks the teensiest bit like a trannie in 2004, but now she looks like the illegitimate, dope fiend love child of Jughead Jones and

Who You Callin' a Ho?!

I'd been feeling pretty good about myself the past few days. Currying some appreciative glances from the less fair sex. Scoring some flirtatious smiles. Clearly, I thought, the Indian subcontinent is the corner of the globe I've been looking for! Silly rabbit, it turns out tricks are for . . . well . . . tricks. My boss' wife, who is Indian and from Andhara Pradesh, generously explained to me last night that Indian men think all Western women are big scankalicious ho-bags. This is what happens when Paris Hilton and Britney Spears represent the women of America . . . During my last trip, we were playing charades in a "team building" exercise (dumb charades if you're Hyderabadi) folks here lurve that stuff. Anyway, someone acted out the following clues: white, house, woman. Eleanor Roosevelt? Nope. Hilary Clinton? Please. Jackie O? Who?! Monica Lewinsky? DING!! DING!! DING!! I mean . . . wow. Just. Wow.

Sadly, I now recognize those lingering looks as being, basically, leers. For this, I could have stayed in New York

It's Time to Party Like It's Lord Krishna's Birthday!

India Fashion II

The women I work with I repeatedly told me that the garment I need to rush out and buy, right now the Salwar Kameez, but I have to admit that I don't think this is a look that I just wouldn't really rock this look back home. This is what most people in my office wear to work everyday--with some wide variation. The set is always paired with a precisely matching dupatta (a long cotton or silk scarf). To my taste, I think it would translate as simultaneously frumpy and flashy. Which isn't to say I haven't seen some that are truly spectacular, and beautiful to behold. Possibly, I'm not as style-adventurous as I'd like to think, but the mental image of my non-South Asian self wearing one in NYC does not seem to jell.

Hyderbad Helter Skelter

Apparently, there was a bomb threat at my office building today. Not really much more to report than that. There were only about 12 of our employees there, since it's a Saturday. The building's been evacuated, and we may have to work from a different site on Monday. We shall see. That said, absolutely all is well.

Given recent events in the city, I feel a little reckless for going to the City Centre today (a mall . . . in the city's center) to look for a work friends housewarming gift. I'll post the pictures from that a bit later . . .

Indian Fashion I

Okay, I've been a little side-tracked but, as promised, here's a little India Style 101 (which is about as much as I can manage). Yesterday, was a big Kerala holiday called Onam All the women in our office from Kerala wore either Sarees or Set Mundus (pictured). They were all really simple, but beautiful--stiff monochoramatic cotton or silk with iridescent gold embroidery around the borders. Anyway, I made the mistake on complimenting someone on her saree, and she informed me that it was, actually, a Set Mundu (or, Set and Mundu). A handy-dandy two-piecer, which seems like it might have lots of Westernizing style possibilities . . . Set and jeans, anyone?

News Which Causes Me to Clap Gleefully while Eliciting Strange Looks from my Indian Co-Workers

Joy! Bliss! Ecstasy!! All of which sensations which will last until our Maniac in Chief nominates Robert Bork or
Donald Segretti to the post. But for now . . . YIPPEE!!!

Bomb Attacks in Hyderabad

Last night (Saturday)
two bombs went off in Hyderabad, killing 36 people (reports are ranging from 35 to 45). It didn't happen anywhere near the hotel where I'm staying, and I didn't know about it until I got back to my room after dinner, and it was all over the local newscasts. I'm not sure if it's ranking much coverage at home. It doesn't seem like it. Anyway, the lights went out a couple of times at the restaurant but, frankly, sometimes the lights just go out here, and I don't know if had anything to do with disruptions caused by the explosions.

Hyderabad is about 50/50 Muslim and Hindu, and there's a pretty full history of public violence. But, the recent attacks are viewed as meant to incite inter-faith tensions, with the aim of derailing India-Pakistan peace talks. Thankfully, so far it's been no dice.

Why Water Buffaloes Rule

Every morning on my way to work I see water buffaloes, pretty much just maxing and relaxing along the side of the road. People don't take much notice of them, and they don't seem to take much notice of people. Courtesy of our non-existent drainage, there are some very, very large "puddles" that emerge after the late monsoon rains. So, just yesterday I noticed that a few water buffalo had taken over one of these wholes and were submerged up to their heads . . . and this is in the middle of the morning rush, at a busy intersection with people and stray dogs weaving around mopeds, cars and mini-cabs. Unfortunately for the buffalo, they don't share the same sacred status as the cows . . . they often turn up in the hotel's buffet selection. Tasty.

Outbreak!

I guess that's what I get for cavorting with children. It was fun while it lasted, since then I've been afflicted by a pretty hideous case of "Delhi Belly." (And, yes, I know I'm actually in Hyderabad, but "Hyderabad Amoebic Bacterial Infection" doesn't really have the same ring.) So, I've been spending a lot of time on the toilet, and . . . we're all friends here, right? . . . not always making it in time. Tragic. But, the truth is, I can't really blame the children. The culprit is just as likely to have been on of the sweaty Deloitte consultants pawing over the dinner buffet.

The Best Children's Birthday Party Magician in All of Hyderabad

My boss' daughter celebrated her fifth birthday today at a princess themed outdoor extravaganza. To wit: there were two moonwalks . . . one shaped like a giraffe. There was a stilt walker and two Laurel and Hardy inspired clowns (kinda scary, but I managed not to freak out in front of the kids). Pin the tail on the donkey and a toy rifle shooting range. Face painters and an actor in a Winnie the Pooh costume, who may have been drunk (at least, I like to think so). There was a chocolate fountain and a cotton candy spinner--the humidity made the cotton candy seem as though someone had licked it all over. Still delicious. Oh, and a magician! A magician whose "disappearing" scarves I more than once spied poking through his clenched fist. As far as I was concerned his best trick was convincing a series of children to eat colored bits of paper. Don't ask. His next best trick was causing a series of multi-colored, mylar shapes to erupt from a round tin. This trick caused a veritable melee, with children charging the stage to grab the shiny interlocking discs. But, none of that was as enjoyable as watching the bedraggled magician's assistant then rush into the crowd to snatch the mylar from the, uh, reluctant children. Apparently, metallic doodads are harder to come by than one would think. He only managed to get about half of them back, because once the kids realized what was happening they demonstrated evasive maneuvers worthy of Colombian drug smugglers. A mutual animus colored the rest of the performance. Needless to say, I enjoyed myself tremendously.

Pardon the Interruption . . . Fool!

I just realized that Pardon the Interruption (the best sports show on television) does an audio podcast on iTunes. Joy! JOY! JOY!! This will go a very long way towards staving off homesickness. When I was 19, hearing Please Don't Go Girl in an El Corte Ingles, in Santander, warmed the wee little cockles of my heart. Now I'm gladdened by hearing Michael Wilbon call punk-ass golfer Woody Austin a fool (repeatedly!) I guess I'm becoming more sentimental in my old age.

High Culture in Hyderabad

I spent the day engaging in the time-honored tourist activity of museum going. Nearly everyone I work with has told me that I must go to the Salar Jung Museum. So, in the interest of shutting everybody up, I drove more than an hour across Hyderabad, in the typically insane traffic, to check it out. I had especially heard a lot about the "Veiled Rebecca" by Giovanni Maria Benzoni (1809-1873) and I have to give it up; it was truly remarkable. The figure appears to be entirely covered by a diaphanous, delicately tassled veil. It's really a marvel of patience, as much as anything else--but, that's just the perspective of someone who's attention span can be measured in nanoseconds. [OMG!! Jaws is on Hyderabad teevee and they just finished the whole "shark in the water" exchange. Fantastic!--Sorry, there goes that attention span again]

Okay, so aside from the "Veiled Rebecca," which was pretty cool, the Salar Jung was not really what I expected. It honestly never occurred to me that there could be a Western standard for museums, but I guess there is, because I couldn't help but notice that the Salar Jung was dark and dusty. Most of the exhibit spaces were lit with florescent lights. It was raining outside, and the ceiling leaked at various points throughout the building. All of the artwork in the Modern Indian Painting exhibit was mounted in the college dorm style. I could definitely go on, but I was actually okay with most of that (it's not like I'm some fancypants arts-appreciater) until I got to the Western Painting exhibit which was brightly lit, freshly painted and velvet rope bedecked. It seemed like the Indo-Asian art was really getting short shrift . . . Dear God, as I'm writing this an ad for a product called "Fair and Handsome," a skin bleaching cream just came on. I swear I am not making this up. Right . . . so, what was I saying about Western art seemingly be valued over indigenous work? [sigh]

What Posh Has Wrought

I really tried to get into Footballers' Wives on BBC America, because I really and truly love trashy television. But, I just couldn't do it, and I think this part of the reason. British jocks are, apparently, completely whipped!! Granted, American jocks seem to consider domestic violence to be part of their off season training routine, and obviously, if forced to choose between the two extremes, I'm all about the former . . . but, that doesn't mean these chuckleheads aren't mockworthy.

60 Years, 60 Great Books . . .

Not a bad batting average, at least according to the The Hindustan Times I've read three of the books they list: The God of Small Things, The Interpreter of Maladies, and A House for Mr. Biswas.

I noticed they left off A Fine Balance, by Rohinton Mistry, and The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiri. But, other books by Mistry and Lahiri make the list. Anyway, maybe the fair minded folks at The Hindustan Times figure that books featured in Oprah's Book Club and made into big budget Hollywood movies, respectively, have already gotten enough press.

Legacy of Partition

Funny that India and Pakistan are always cited as a positive model for a post war Iraq. In reality, partition was pretty much executed with the same praiseworthy combination of hubris and ignorance--resulting, natch, in vast numbers of people being killed, maimed and displaced--that we see today.

But, those bad old days are so in the past, and anyone who dwells on or, like, wants to learn from them is just a lame sucker dwelling in the totally uncool reality-based community (which, I hear, is a lot like your grandparents' "assisted living" facility outside Boca, only without the tricked out golf carts). Because, guess what?! India and Pakistan have such an amazingly strong, and totally stable relationship today. It is completely based on trust and mutual respect. Kind of like Amy Winehouse and that weird, androgynous guy she married . . . only with nukes instead of smack. So you can just stop hatin', Haters!!

Independence Day!

Today India is celebrating is 60th year of independence from British colonial rule. Pakistan celebrated yesterday. The tri-colors are everywhere around Hyderabad. Of course, the whole city is pretty much shut down, and there are supposed to be parades throughout the day, and fireworks tonight. Plus, I've been assured that the streets will be filled with drunken knuckleheads fomenting mischief . . . I guess that means I should keep an eye out for Jenna Bush. Good times!

For Miss D

I'm prepared to accept that some of you might find these hideous, but this curve-heeled pump/multi-colored, footless knee-high combo makes me salivate. I guess psychosis appeals to me as a fashion aesthetic . . . doesn't that come with being a "child of the 80s"? If only I had gone into street pharmacology, and not misspent my youth on books n' crap, maybe I could afford to adorn my feet like a color blind hobo. Really, I love this look.

Auf Wiedersehen, Turd Blossom!

I know that he will continue to work his evil from whatever dark slimy hole he slithers into, but I have to feel some joy about the purported demise of Turd Blossom--W's most apt nickname to date. Like so many members of this administration, he makes me wish I believed in hell.

Wine for the Weary?

I guess it more naissance than renaissance. Either way, the good news is that India is finally getting on board the wine caravan. After my trip in June, I complained to everyone who would listen (or graciously feign interest) about the ridiculous cost of wine in India. A middling glass of French table wine ran $30. The good news is that, after three weeks, I was a VERY cheap date when I came back to Brooklyn. But, let's not kid ourselves . . . I've always been a cheap date. So, the news wasn't really that good.

According to this article, complaints from the US and EU have caused India to reduce their tariffs on imported wine, starting in July. Fingers crossed, these reduced costs will trickle down. Finally, the existence of the WTO actually makes a difference in my life!

Fashion Imperialism

About a week before I left for India, I stopped by Henri Bendel to do some quality just-looking-thanks and no buying. [Quick aside: what's happened to that store?! It used to be comparable to Barney's, but now it's gone all Soho Bloomingdale's on me. Why, Henri? Why?!] I tried on a cute little sequined dress by Ashish--not the one in the picture, but that on'e cute too, no?--which I noted was made in India. So, I had the brainstorm that I would investigate shopping for Ashish clothing while I'm in Hyderabad. Maybe a wider selection, I thought. Or maybe just different offerings . . . who knows. Well, I contacted a rep for Ashish today and, if you can believe it, they don't have a stockist (that's the Ashish rep's, Nadine, word) in India! How sad is that? The clothes are made here, and there's not a single retail outlet in the entire country. The whole thing smacks of Irish Potato Famine . . . just on a much more shamefully superficial, non-life-threatening and trivial scale. But, still.

Elvis and Racism via the NY Times

This article, basically, encapsulates a running debate I've been having in my own head for about 20 years. I've always loved Elvis' music. But, then Chuck D said it was wrong . . . what's a "Little Sister"-lovin' girl to do? So, I admit to being a little relieved that he seems to have revised his position. I still get his underlying point, though.

Hyderabad Redux

I've just come back to India, after spending about three weeks here in June. The flights from Europe all seem to arrive/depart between 1:00 and 3:00 in the morning. Frustrating, because it means I might never get a proper daytime view of Hyderabad from the air. I'm still a bit disoriented, but I was pleasantly surprised to realize how many landmarks I recognized, even in the dark--especially, once we got near the office, natch.

This time around, I plan to be on for two months. Hopefully, I'll be able to travel some this go 'round. I'm still dying to go to Goa . . . maybe Jaipur?

An Absence of Empathy

Empathy is defined as: the ability to understand and share the feelings of others.

What's so disturbing about the current public debate is that there seems to be a complete inability to demonstrate true empathy. Instead we have tortured, circuitous narratives to show that "your story" is really "my story." We're meant to recognize that the life experience of Hillary Clinton, a 60 year old, upper middle class (now rich) white woman from Illinois, is somehow intimately tied to that of 60 year black children of share croppers from Alabama. The dehumanizing mantra is, "We are all the same." But, we are NOT the same. To assert otherwise, not only annihilates the power of our individual experiences, but it diminishes to nothing the moral significance of helping others. It says, I care about this issue, because your issues are my issues, and ultimately, to help you is to help myself. But, this is not empathy. In fact, these sorts of political gestures seem to cynically reject the very possibility of empathy in American public life. Maybe rightly so. Empathy is caring about what happens to your neighbor, or someone on the other side of the world, not because their fate is your fate, in some literal-minded way, but because you recognize that person's humanity, and you relate to them on that basis alone. Because what happens when we CAN'T make those acrobatic, a-butterfly-bats-its-wings-in-the-Amazon connections? What happens when the people we need to reach out to are truly and utterly different from us in terms of their cultural, political, and religious experiences? Jim Crow happens. Abu Ghraib happens. Darfur happens. And, yes, September 11 happens.

Hillary to Selma Marchers: Thanks for Giving Us . . . Jimmy Carter?

She can't really be as desperate as she seems, can she? Watching her speech today I felt like I was being subjected to the recitation of a winning entry in some social studies essay contest . . . make that the runner's up entry. It was painful to watch. Actually cringe-inducing at times. Especially, when she broke out the Evita on the balcony of the Casa Rosada blocking. What was with all of the awkward outstretched arms gesturing? Oh Hillary. Buy a clue.

But, aside from being slightly embarrassed by her delivery, I was also baffled by some of the content. I can't believe she got up there, on a day commemorating the bloody repression of a peaceful march calling attention to the denial African-American voting rights in this country, and had the balls out 'audacity' (no credit to Barack there) to say that those sacrifices were validated by the election of a couple of white Southern males to the White House!! CRACKA SAY WHAT?! Hey, John Lewis, thanks for getting your head bashed in 42 years ago, so that we could get some GEOGRAPHIC diversity back in the Presidency. After all, it had been two whole terms between the last Southern male to hold the office and Carter making that giant leap for mankind. And, Lord knows, ever since the Constitutional Convention the interests of white Southerners have been soooo underrepresented in our national political discourse. Wow, Hillary. Just . . . wow.