ISleepInADrawer.com

Head of State

I was conceived some 11 months before Governor Reagan won over 91% of the electoral college votes in the 1980 election, soundly silencing President Carter's aspirations for a second term. I spent the first few months of my life in the lame duck portion of the latter's sole term. I learned to talk, walk, and use the potty in President Reagan's first term. I also got my first case of chicken pox, and learned what-to-do with the tornado sirens went off in our northeastern Arkansas town. Once, sometime after he was shot ("Honey, I forgot to duck."), I was left unsupervised with a bucked of fried chicken, and ate the skin off of every piece. In his second term, I got the chicken pox again, acted rather girly, avoided sports, told my parents I want to marry a woman and have 100 kids, built structurally unsound sand castles, and watched cartoons a lot. My parents also tried to teach me to show respect for the titles men and women have earned. I was to address people as "Doctor So-and-So," for M.D. and Ph.D. folk. I also first learned to address politicians by the titles they earned in the system we (the people) set up. Early in his second term, we moved to southern Florida. When the American flag that would hang on our school's flagpole got tattered and torn during a storm, they burned it as a sign of respect. Something called Challenger blew up one day - my sister saw it live on TV... or maybe she was outside. Anyway, I was too young to understand.

After all the potty training, chicken pox, flag burning, and that unfortunate fried chicken episode, Vice President Bush ran against Governor Dukakis for the presidency, and I was chased savagely across the playground daily for telling my schoolmates that my folks (proud Southern Democrats) were voting for Governor Dukakis over Vice President Bush. I'd never heard the term "dirty pinko" before, and didn't know it was an insult. I thought it had something to do with liking the color pink (which, back then, I didn't really object to). Later, in class, one of them told me that his folks had told him to make fun of kids who had parents who supported Governor Dukakis. I felt rage and told him I wanted to go live in Alaska, where it snowed. During the sole term of our 41st President, I got to move to a place where there was snow, though it wasn't Alaska. My third grade teacher told me once that I had to quit talking so fast with an accent, because sometimes my classmates had trouble understanding me. For a few months there, I was annoyed that my Saturday morning cartoons were persistently interrupted so we could see Baghdad being shelled, or hear reports that something called "Scud Missiles" were being fired into some place called Tel Aviv. They showed kids in that place - kids my age - hiding in shelters. The kids weren't watching Saturday morning cartoons, either. I asked my parents where Tel Aviv and Baghdad were. They told me to look it up for myself, and so I did. I kept acting girly, and enjoyed it. I was called "faggot" and "liberal" at school, and didn't know that both were supposed to be insults. When our household copy of Newsweek would arrive, I'd look at the political comics in the front and try to understand them. They were comics, after all - so, shouldn't they be for kids? In 1992, my parents were gleeful. The governor of my home state was going to beat the odds and win the presidency.

After he took the oath of office, I remember thinking that President Clinton's daughter looked as awkward and awful as I felt - and likely looked. One day, I became disgusted when I realized I had hair growing on my legs. The peach fuzz on my face became so awful to look at that my folks - abandoning the subtle tone that had thus far defined their roles as parents - bought me a razor for my birthday or Christmas (I forget which). I got braces, acne, and body hair. I felt insecure, awkward, ugly, and greasy. I began watching CNN when "there was nothing else on," since that's what my parents did. My childhood ritual of watching the State of the Union address became less of a chore, and more of a moment to celebrate "the Office of the President, James... not the President himself." Especially when they'd all jump up (Supreme Court justices, too!) when the clerk would say, "Mister Speaker, the President of the United States!" I remember thinking it awkward that I was supposed to respect the office itself, but ignore the man's obvious personal shortcomings, especially considering his so-rumored-it-must-be-true infidelities. I felt bad for his wife. Once, when I was home sick for a few days, I happen to see all these black South Africans standing in line to vote, and the reporters were treating it like it was a huge deal. I asked my mom what "apartheid" was, and she told me to look it up, which I did. Around that time, I was on a field trip to a planetarium when a big building in Oklahoma City was bombed. They sent us home early, and I saw a picture of a dying toddler being carried out by a weeping fireman. The 1994 midterm elections were tough to swallow in our household, for reasons I didn't fully understand at the time. Sometimes, I'd catch myself thinking about some of my male classmates in a way that made my heart beat quickly - passionately. One day, when I was watching CNN ("'Cause there'd nothing else on..."), they had breaking news: the Prime Minister of Israel has just been shot and killed. I figured it was important and that I should tell mom, who was outside in the yard. She became very upset. I wanted to know why and I wanted to ask her, but I knew she'd just tell me to look it up - so, I looked it up on my own. One dark and lonely night, I realized I was gay. I started high school, and Senator Dole announced that he would deny President Clinton a second term.

Sometimes, I'd wonder what Senator Dole - as President Dole - would do to me if he found out I was gay. Republicans didn't seem to like us, after all. Then again, many Democrats didn't like us much, either. I learned then that, previously, President Clinton started this military policy called "Don't ask, don't tell." It made no sense to me, as I knew I could never change my pronouns that effectively. Somewhere in there, this odd "Defense of Marriage" Act went through Congress. I remember being shocked - I'd never before realized that the government could let gay people get married... and here they are making sure I'll never get the chance. I decided that I shouldn't tell anyone I'm gay... I mean, I already knew how my peers would react (or were reacting already?), but I figured it must be doubly bad if Congress and President Clinton didn't like us. My voice took a long time to change. President Clinton won re-election. I went to the library to read more about apartheid and Israel. I began to read about other countries as well, as international politics became more and more interesting to me. I kept wishing we'd talk more about that kind of stuff in school, and biology. I remembered how my folks told me to separate the man (Clinton) from the office (President), and I wondered why he was being impeached. Somewhere in there, I kissed a boy (a lot), and told my parents I was gay. People at school found out, and some took it better than others. The day O.J. Simpson was found "not guilty," someone ran into the cafeteria to tell us during lunch. I played bass and piano a lot. My acne began to go away, and got used to the body hair. I became convinced that the Warren Comission was full of crap. On Valentine's Day one year, I stood in line for an hour to get my driver's license. I was a teacher's pet, and didn't know how to pick a college - so, I chose the one that was most convenient. One night, I backed into a street light with my car and knocked it clean over into some woman's front yard... the cops couldn't stop laughing.

In college, I argued with friends who wore green "Vote Nader" shirts, telling them they were handing the election to the Republicans on a sliver plate. They told me that it's not a matter of manipulating the system - it's a matter of choice. If "the people" wanted to put Governor Bush on the ticket - even after those tasteless rumors about Senator McCain's adopted daugther being his "half-black love child" - and even after Governor Bush couldn't name the President of Pakistan - well, then that was our choice. And if the people wanted Governor Bush to be President Bush, then that's our choice, too. It took me another four years to understand what they were trying to say. In that interim, I lost my virginity. I began to oppose the death penalty. I also saw planes fly into buildings, and for some reason, I thought it was a good idea to go running at the gym before the buildings-that-had-been-hit-by-planes fell to the ground. I still don't understand why my first instinct after seeing that was to go running. Once, when I mentioned that I'd been to an organized flag burning ceremony as a child, five of my peers berated me for "aiding and emboldening the enemy." I had many horrible first dates, and two great boyfriends. I got good grades, dug up fossil camel teeth in Nebraska, and saw my first volcano as the plane descended into Seattle one summer day. Columbia broke up on re-entry. I became alarmed at blind patriotism towards the head of government, and didn't understand why people looked confused when I said our patriotism should be directed to the President's role as head of state. Once, my boyfriend David told me he loved me, and I realized I loved him back. Six months after we broke up, I sold two ugly ties to Zach, a short lawyer from Davenport. He later tracked me down and tried to date me, all while I was planning on moving to Seattle for a job, and my folks separated. After Zach and I independently moved to Seattle, we became attached at the hip. When he said he loved me, I felt the same way I feld when David used to say it to me. He thought it was cute that I could name all the Prime Ministers of Israel, that I referred to elected officials by the title of the office they held, and that I'd been reading political cartoons in the front of Newsweek for a decade. He told me that I shouldn't sell myself short, and that I should believe in my abilities and apply to graduate school. I couldn't bring myself to caucus for Senator Kerry, so I chose "uncommitted." My neighbors, all gunning for Governer Dean and Congressman Kucinich, looked at me funny. Zach and I got a kick out of Indecision 2004 coverage on The Daily Show. I came out as a Trekkie. I wasn't surprised when President Bush was re-elected with an outright majority of over 3 million votes. "The people have spoken. He has his mandate now..." I sighed.

I entered graduate school, and stopped reading political cartoons. Zach and I moved in together, got a cat, and eventually became "domestic partners" under Washington law. I chastised people when they'd say we were "practically married," since filling out a form wasn't nearly the same as a wedding with all the trimmings and legal rights. The Iraq war got worse, much worse. Israel fought a war in Lebanon that was executed with such incompetence that I began to think the White House planned it. Speaking of Israel, a man who was "angry at Israel" walked into my boyfriend's office one day and began to shoot people, presumably to get back at "the Jews." Of the six people he shot, though, only three were Jews. Since then, I've stopped opposing the death penalty. In government matters, I was pleasantly surprised to discover my fiscally-conservative side. In social matters, I began to preach to my co-workers and classmates about "personal responsibility." Sometimes, when we didn't have anything better to do, my boyfriend and I would try to name all the members of the federal Senate. Once, someone accused me of being a "rightwing nut" for advocating a balanced budget, and I chuckled - remembering children chasing me across the playground shouting "Pinko!" At least twice, when I caught peers sniping about President Bush, I snapped back savagely: "Shut up. We the people elected him by a system of our choosing. This is us, this is how our system works. Deal, work to change it, or move." I became bitter when I realized that we torture suspects (but we don't call it torture). On the other hand, my patriotism swelled when I heard the words, "Madame Speaker, the President of the United States." I got my ears pierced. I encouraged my friends and peers to vote. One night, I shrugged in a rather uninterested manner when my boyfriend said, "2008 will be Hillary Clinton's race to lose!" Senator Clinton, I wanted to correct him. Instead, I talked to him about my discomfort with the notion of a democratic political dynasty.

This is what I've seen. This has been my political life. I've lived through five Presidents of the United States. For President Carter, I was too young to be aware of my own existence, let alone his. For President Reagan, I was too absorbed in my own selfish childhood. But, since then, I've lived through three Presidents who have all been excellent heads of government - excellent at pursuing the interests of themselves or their own party above all other roles of their lofty office. Think about it: almost twenty years of head-of-goverment stuff... partisan agendas rammed through a half-partisan institution. For myself and my peers, this is all we've known.

So, maybe that's why, for both major parties, these are my guys:

After all, I want to know what it's like to have a real Head of State.

Closing Time

I've spent most of this weekend preparing the written portion of my exam. Since I've discovered that I'm not an effective writer at home (too many DVDs and cheap bottles of wine around), I've spent most of the past few days moving back-and-forth between two coffee shops in northern Greenwood - drinking, snacking, writing, and occasionally freaking out.

Yesterday, however, I noticed that a store near both coffee shops is going out of business. It's a local CD store (new and used). I'm sad to see it go - not because I was a frequent customer (I never set foot in there)... but, because the name of this particular establishment, I think, gave this neighborhood ("old white-bread-and-mayonnaise" Greenwood) just a hint of much-needed pizzazz:

Golden Shower of Hits

Yes, the sign was even in yellow. Seriously. And I don't think any of the many straight couples in Greenwood or nearby Licton Springs got the joke. I always told myself I'd bring a camera someday and take a picture of it, but I think I've now run out of time.

Ah, how I'll miss thee. My neighborhood just got a little less interesting.

Doubt and Dread

On my lengthy "To Do" list, somewhere below "pass general exam in March" and above "clean the apartment," I scribbled the following:
write a lengthy post about why I'm an enthusiastic supporter of Senator Obama and, despite being a lifelong Democrat, why I am not sure I could vote for Senator Clinton

But, I can cross that item off my list. I still support Senator Obama, but someone else has laid out the arguments - even the painfully obvious ones that political commentators have been ignoring for months - quite beautifully.

I look forward to a McCain-Obama race. I dread a McCain-Clinton race. And these days, my sense of dread is growing.

B Cells, T Cells by the Seashore

I'm sitting in a Greenwood coffeeshop trying to read as much as I can about sex chromosome evolution so I can pass flunk my general exam with dignity, a renewed caffeine addiction, and perhaps lots of drinking.

Sitting nearby are a group of nursing students, all nearing the end of their program. They appear to be cramming for some comprehensive exam, likely the culmination of years of classes, tests, and studying to learn all there is to learn about human biology and how to treat people with illnesses, diseases, and disorders. It sounds like, after this, they'll go out into the world and become professional, intelligent healers.

Except, ten minutes ago, I heard this exchange among them:
person 1: "Wait. Take a look at this sentence in the intro..."
person 2: "What?"
person 1: "It says here that there are lots of different types of white blood cells."
person 3: "There are?"
person 2: "Seriously?"
person 1: "Yeah. Something called lymphocytes... and things like neutrophils and mast cells and... and... My God, there are a lot of them."
person 4: "Oh no. Do you guys think that's important to know for the immunology exam?"

They all spent the last ten minutes ferociously pouring over that textbook (a book they were apparently supposed to have bought for a class years past, but they all decided they didn't need), trying to find out all the different types of white blood cells. One student had a near panic attack and ran home to order the book online after realizing that your tonsils are a part of your immune system.

One small part of me sympathizes with them. Only now, over two years into my graduate program and two months before taking an exam that will determine whether or not I'm allowed to continue in this program (or pack my bags and resume my career as a below-average cashier), do I realize how little I really know and understand the subject matter, theory, and previous research in my own field of study. But, then again, if I don't know every detail of sex chromosome evolution, no one's going to die in a hospital bed... while these nursing students just realized something I learned years ago in my sub-standard education: there are many types of white blood cells.

person 1: "Like, a lot of them."
person 5: "Oh, sh*t. I'm screwed."

I'm never going to a hospital again.

But Don't Burn It

The Dow is down some 200 points already, and it took me over an hour to get to lab thanks to a sheet of ice that blanketed Seattle last night, the Michigan primary is already under way, and I'm entirely unprepared for a poster session tonight... but, I can't seem to tear myself away from this dedicated person's attempt to grade the world's flags. I'm amused, and often bemused, by how some countries had their flags ranked so high (Vietnam?... Really?), while other quite nice flags were ranked so low (D- for Brazil?).

So, if burning the U.S. flag (C+) is unpatriotic, can I just burn the flags that received lower grades?

Now and Then

With my boyfriend leaving Seattle tomorrow for the legislative session in Olympia, and my general exam for school approaching in two months, expect posts to be even more infrequent than they already are. So, less posting... less socailizing... more drinking... and possibly the urge to take up smoking again.

But, thankfully, all are temporary. One way or another, it will be over on 20 March. (It's funny how life culminates in huge events occurring on single, otherwise insignificant dates.)

So, in the meantime, please enjoy this voting guide. Voters in Iowa and New Hampshire should disregard until November. Washington voters: we caucus on 9 February.

Snowflake

me: "You know, it's funny..."
Zach: "What's funny?"
me: "Well, I'm taking my general exam in March, and after that I'm attending three professional meetings."
Zach: "So?"
me: "Well, it's just funny because, when I look at myself in the mirror, I don't see a scientist."
Zach: "What do you see?"
me: "Well, I'm not quite sure. Not a scientist. But, at best, I guess I see a scientist-in-training..."
Zach: "Really? When I look at you, that's not what I see."
me: "Oh? What do you see when you look at me?"
Zach: "I see a 27 year old man in his snowflake sweatpants."
pause
me: "I like my snowflake pants."

Lucky for him, he bit his tongue after that.

Darwin

My cat is napping at my feet. She isn't napping at my feet for any feline feelings of affection, appreciation, or tenderness tossed in my direction. Long ago, in fact, we realized she had no warm feelings to direct to her primate keepers. Instead, she is napping at my feet because, throughout our apartment, we've placed blankets and other small items - here and there. They're items she enjoys lying on, or next to, and we placed them deliberately near locales where we're likely to plant our overfed butts.

My cat - plagued with two dads, an autoimmune disorder, a stressful (and constantly fluctuating) territory, dreary Seattle weather, very little brains, an abusive kittenhood, a forced hysterectomy, and a variety of other undiagnosed maladies - subscribes to the philosophy of any-old-port-in-a-storm. Thus, though every fiber of her (warped, asocial) being tells her to stay the hell away from Short Mom and Tall Dad, her need for comfort-kneading objects sends her to our proximity every evening. Tonight, with my boyfriend glued to C-SPAN coverage of one-day-until-the-Iowa-Caucus and unusually fidgety as a result, she fled to the bedroom to choose a blanket next to me.

Despite her misery, I think it's poetic justice that she's in our home. In the wild, she wouldn't have lasted five minutes. Two days after getting her at the Seattle Animal Shelter (where she'd been passed over for three weeks), she came down with the feline version of pink eye. Two months later, fluid filled her lungs due to undiagnosed, chronic asthma - and my boyfriend rang me in lab to tell me such after the vet diagnosed her sluggish, gasping breaths (me, on the phone: "What? You're kidding... I graduated college summa cum laude and phi beta kappa with a degree in biology and I had no F***ING CLUE cats could get asthma!!"). Two steroid-filled years later, we're told that, while her kidneys are fully functional (despite steroid abuse), she has what's called Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease. She's apparently had it since birth, which explains her occasional difficulty finding her litter box (which is why her original, abusive owners first dumped her in the animal shelter), and the Solution now is to Avoid Surgery as Much as Possible Through the Power of Prescription Food. So far, the high-protein, high-salt, high-moisture content canned food has been greeted by her as mana from heaven. This morning, just after the diagnosis was made formal at the vet's office (her second trip this week - she seems to save these bombshells for holidays), my boyfriend and I alternated our going-back-home-with-the-cat conversation with occasional utterances of (sympathetic) "Poor kitty" and (bitter) "F***ing cat."

But, of course, when I look at her - and reflect upon how we ended up with her - it seems entirely appropriate that we should end up with such a creature. After all, we're the house that Modern Medicine built. I was born a month late and barely survived infanthood. My boyfriend was born backwards, sees through glasses thicker than the Jovian atmosphere, and once got in a car accident in a mall parking lot. Plus, nothing on God's green Earth could get either of us to put our netherregions into a woman's netherregions and make a life. According to Darwin, we're not only dead ends, but we should have never been allowed to grow up to reach dead-endhood. Our existence is a monument to humanity's compassion for those-who-would-be-eaten-in-times-of-famine... or, more aptly, those-who-should-not-survive. And yet, here we are. My boyfriend was one of the first people in his family to go to college, and the first to get an advanced degree. I'm a ho-hum momma's boy of little talent and less greymatter who's pushing for a Ph.D., defying most standardized tests I've put my No. 2 pencil to. So, of course us evolutionary rejects should end up with a cat who not only enjoys running into walls, but who also has defective lungs and a defective bladder. All we're missing is a dodo, a Triceratops (my favorite), and a bathtub full of selections from the Ediacaran fauna, and our family will be complete.

Except that, with our luck, we'd get the diabetic Triceratops, and the cat would eat the dodo.

Still, so it goes. And the cat still sleeps at my feet.

Enter the Elephant

me: "Yay!"
co-worker: "What?"
me: "I've just set a date for my general exam!"
co-worker: "Oh... well, congratulations."
me: "Thanks. It feels good to know I've finally formalized it, and will take it soon."
pause
me: "Oh, SH*T!"
co-worker: "What?"
me, bawling: "I've just set a date for my general exam!..."

March suddenly seems much closer than it did two days ago.

The Beginning

me: "What are you smiling at?"
Zach: "Nothing. I just love you."
me: "Uh, sucks to be you, then."
Zach: "Well, some people could say that it sucks to be you, instead."
pause
me: "Hmmmm."