This is the Pacific Northwest

Note: This is a work of fiction.

We pointed to the map, landed on Portland, Oregon and got into the car after borrowing $3000 in drug money from the man I'd been naked with outside and inside half a week before. The bills were gummy and smelled like the inside of the shoebox they'd been kept in.
The next morning was foggy and tired as we crept up the spine of the country. The eucalyptus trees were just waking up as we sped past out of their long state and through the thick forests that hid the road north. There are walls of ferns on the I-5!
Breakfast in the bottom of the state: in Elmer's parking lot, "Obamanation" is not a compliment. Jesus will show you the way. The average age is old conservative and I want a bloody mary. We are a jean vest and nose ring in a sea of weekday dining senior citizens.
Supertramp and Springsteen blare into our heads as we slide into the Wal-Mart parking lot. Kelly rips some Sally's moustache-b-gone and Tom's toothpaste from the shelves and we dance out in front of the security cameras. Five minutes later, we're careening down the highway, white upper lips, mine burning and hers staring back in the rear view mirror and seventy miles an hour.
Soon, the afternoon sun soaks tall metal buildings and an unfamiliar river. We get a beer and some vegan food after falling in love with the way the sun hits the backyard of what might be our new house. Everyone here has tattooed hands. and loves Obama. Did I mention we spent 3% of our loan on tickets to our welcome party? TV on the Radio, Ratatat and the Fuck Buttons are coming.
The next night, we're at a community farm with babies about music about trees and love. There are acres of green and home brewed chai with goat's milk. The babies dance and goddesses bang on drums. The stars are out and I realize that this is not a "break"-- mothers with their eyebrows pierced and thoughtful-eyed children live here, together, listening to each others music and silence. I wonder if this is a new America forming, a new mode of being for our country, which designates the enjoyment of good company and nature as the primary goals of a successful life. Either way, the fire was hot and the stars were bright.

To a Child of Wonder

If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children, I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life.

-Rachel Carson

Happy Birthday e.j. may

guerilla girls

I never thought you'd be an activist

Because terrorism is so passe

But for those who want to know what's up, this is the most concise and informative piece on Al Qaida that I've read.

Games of the XXIX Olympiad

The Olympics…what’s not to love? The grandeur! The international community! Michael Phelps’s bod! As I watched the Beijing opening ceremonies on Friday, I could not help but be overtaken by China's organizational skills, for one, but moreover, as vast and diverse our world is, we really are all connected. To watch the Opening Ceremonies was to be reminded that, politics aside, we are all equals in our global community. I cry and I did so while watching the opening ceremonies. To watch Palestinians, Iraqis, Afghans, Sudanese, Zimbabweans march into The Bird's Nest arena, symbolizing hope, walking proud despite carrying the weight of their war-torn countries on their shoulders; to see Iranians and North Koreans march as athletes, not enemies or terrorists in the “Axis of Evil;" to see women in hijabs and women in pants, as athletes, not victims or objects; to see a Sudanese Lost Boy carrying the American flag and a 9-year old earthquake surviver carrying the Chinese flag was hopeful indeed.

Yes, China has massive human rights abuses. I want to cry “What about Tibet?” And while the Sudanese athletes marched so proudly, I am so ashamed at China and the international community for watching them march by while we watch systematic genocide march by. And don't get me started on NBC's perpetual boner for Michael Phelps and the Women's Gymnastics team.

There is still a place for this ancient athlete competition. Furthermore, there is a need for this athlete competition. While most Americans don't know Georgia is not home to Atlanta, we need to be reminded that everything is connected and we need compassion for each other.

My father said, "I hope these athletes from different nations have a beer together after the competition." Me too.

I Hope They Serve Rat Poison in Tucker Max's Beer

Stripy polos rejoice! Your favorite piece of literature, next to Maxim, is being adapted for the big screen! No need to breathlessly await The Wedding Crashers 2, the fine piece of literature “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell” is being turned into a movie. I guess Hollywood ran out of Jane Austen books to remake! Written by self-proclaimed (and actual) asshole Tucker Max, the totally INSANE piece of non-fiction chronicles Max banging a lot of chicks, bro.
Alas, I can’t say that I am surprised. We are the proud land of gender stereotypes. Being a white male is the greatest thing ever and in our fine country and being a frat-boy gives you literal presidential status.
The short of it is Max’s penis and, that he’s had sex with tons fuckin’ hot sluts and got a book deal because he went to a pseudo-Ivy. He probably didn’t get enough attention as a child, feels disenfranchised as a white male, blah, blah, yadda, yadda.
But seriously, who is this dude? I went to boarding school, so Tucker Max is my every-man: well-educated, boringly attractive, far superior to you. In Max’s world, all women are “bitches” and date-rape is sex. Mr. Max will marry at 30, when having sex with prostitutes becomes sad and all the good chicks have married. He’ll become an investment banker and screw some college interns at Goldman Sachs. He’ll have two blond children and see them once a week. And the cycle will continue with Tucker Max II.
Only in America could Tucker Max’s book be published and cherished. We love a “man’s man” (see: George Bush). White men have ruled this country for over two hundred years, Goddamn it! But wait, Barak Obama is the most important person in America right now. And didn’t a chick run for president and do pretty well? And isn’t a black woman the wealthiest and most well-known American? Is the apocalypse upon us? Are white men loosing control?!
No, of course they aren’t. It will take a long time for this country, rooted in racism, sexism, and class-ism (and some other “ism” to be sure) to be truly egalitarian. But in the meantime, minorities (read: not white men!) are making some headway. But instead of cheering this diversity, the media, controlled by who else?—white men! won’t let us forget who’s in charge. Why else would Askmen.com come up with a top-10 “Things Only Men Can Do”? It is almost as desperate as John McCain’s campaign.
But I am just a man-hating feminist, so of course I hate males! Alas, I don’t hate white males; I feel bad for them. In our culture, young men are marginalized just as much as young women. Girls are taught to be skinny and stupid—to attract men—and boys are taught to be uber-masculine—in the most contrived sense—and super-dominant. And while girls can never be pretty enough, boys can never be “manly” enough. In the game of gender-stereotypes, everyone looses!
Tucker Max, I do hate you. Max perpetuates a tired stereotype that no one benefits from. It’s time that we start holding men to higher standards—men aren’t Neanderthals, women aren’t sluts, but Tucker Max is a douche. To end on a positive note, I leave you with some real men.

CSN..C

Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Colbert
dedicated to my crush, Graham Nash