Chicken Little

I had the curious thought this weekend about the Iraq War… what if we were winning? Would George Bush be so despised? I have a theory that the reason Americans are turning away from him in such droves is not because he is an incompetent, piece-of shit, liar but because he is a loser. We hate losers and we hate losing; it goes against our mythology and it contradicts our status as the world’s last remaining hyper-power. Scary to think that if we were winning Karl Rove really would have crowned the Emperor and the Republicans would, indeed, be solidifying their plans for a fifty-year reign.

I had this thought because I think about the Iraq war everyday . The news out of Baghdad and beyond reinforces the disparity at play in the world still I move along with my life: I shop, I rehearse, I pursue my goals, I read US Weekly, I party, I even hope but there is a sense of unease about how world events are playing out around me. I am often accused of being a “Debbie Downer” because I can’t quite divorce myself from the fact that much of the world seems to be spinning into ever greater chaos and barbarism by the day.

Chalk it up to listening to too much NPR.

Needless to say, I spend a fair amount of time feeling guilty. Sure, I have had my share of hardships but none of them involve a roadside bomb or death in crowded marketplace because I needed to get some rice. I am not exactly sure how to turn my guilt, my frustration, my rage really, into meaningful action. I suspect that there are a fair amount of Americans who feel as I do and I hope (yes, this is where hope comes in) we collectively put down our credit cards and shopping bags, turn off the tv’s and do something about it one day. Till then I will try and temper my chicken-little speech and live my life as honorably as I can, silently honoring those suffering at home and away.

BRINGING SEXY BACK.

I haven’t blogged in a year. At least.

Why?

I lost my taste for it and, more to the point, life took over – it took over in that nagging, kind-of “oh god, where did my day go?” and “when will I have time to do my laundry” kind of way. Oh yeah, and I really committed to being part of a theater company which is the equivalent of getting married and having a baby. Seriously. It’s a commitment only you’re married to, about, five other people and there’s no sex. More like plural marriage. Think “Big Love” without the Mormonism.

So for all of you reading this who I don’t see on a daily basis which is to say, no one, I am still trucking along (as R. Crumb would say). Still doing the office monkey thing and, yes, still acting despite the protestations of my mother. My sweet mother (I love her and that is said without irony or snarkiness) who is merely worried and can’t understand why I keep shrugging off permanent jobs that offer the promise of health care and a 401K, for the chance to runoff with the gypsies because they have offered me a spot in the circus.

And speaking of running off with gypsies… I am about to. In about two weeks I am off to the Edinburgh Fringe for a month. Shalimar (said, theater company/plural marriage, I mentioned) is off to Scotland to show our wares, our latest show, our, yes, screaming baby (I am never one to let go of a metaphor even a bad, cliché-ridden one). And…that is, in part, why, folks, I decided it was time to blog again –to document life for the next month in the thieves’ den.

I’ll get a 401K when I’m forty (sorry, Mom!).