I know this is becoming Barack Obama central, but a lot of people are telling me they can't find these speeches, so I'm happy to help out. This was given yesterday in Fayetteville, North Carolina (I've been to the bus station there a bunch of times, not so nice). It's about the war in Iraq and what Pres. Obama would do differently with Afghanistan and Pakistan, foreign policy, and yes, he calls for the freedom of Tibet! He's getting the hang of presenting good detail with eloquence. He seems to get better with every challenge.

In case anyone missed this this morning, do watch the whole thing. Whatever happens in November, this is a historic moment, and a step forward in the evolution of our ever more perfect union.

I believe in this man, and what's more (and a bit miraculous), he makes me believe in the future of this country.

This is a story I wanted to share as a follow up to the "Charming Burqa" entry from earlier. I heard it on NPR's "Marketplace" just a minute ago and thank the stars at public radio the whole thing is available in audio and transcript on the webs:

Saudi boy meets girl -- via Bluetooth

[There was a picture here that came with the article, but a fleeting bit of feedback from some anonymous commentator asked me to take it down, as it was a picture of her friend who did not authorize the photograph to be used. I don't know if it's true, but I suppose I better respect her wishes just in case.]

This stuff fascinates me, technology as instrumental in identity formation and mutual understanding, limitations and advantages. I'm writing a paper on the North American and European feminist response to the hijab, and this almost makes me want to write another paper as an addendum.

It's been a while since the last substantive personal post to this thing, and I suppose there's several reasons for that, none of them important or interesting. I'm listening to the "I'm Not There" soundtrack (disk 1), drinking Negra Modelo, smoking, and freezing my ass off. I've had several near-death experiences lately, driving wise. Once I lost control of the car trying to pass an 18-wheeler and nearly fishtailed between the wheels. I hit the shoulder and couldn't even slow down for about 400 yards (a long distance at any rate, my distance estimates are notorious). Another time , I watched a guy in a souped-up sports car lose control just as he was passing me and spin through the dividing ditch and across the oncoming lanes of traffic. As far as I could tell his dumb ass didn't hit anybody, but I saw people slow down for him and I imagine he'll live to drive less stupidly in the future. I've never driven extensively in bad weather, and for various reasons I'm doing it a lot lately and I think it's made me pretty paranoid. I'm perfectly comfortable putting on my hazards and going 45 in a 65, watching the douchebags whiz past me, risking their lives for a little machismo, it's effing stupid.

Anyway, I've been distracted lately waiting for other shoes to drop. Up until this point you'd think I was dealing with amputees, everyone seems to be really good at standing on one leg. On the school front I seem to be pushing the envelope, seeing how much apathy I can get away with. Apparently, a lot. Not where it counts of course, but to be honest the day to day responsibilities of this "job" I couldn't care less about. I'm not maintaining my everyday academic life. When have I ever? Even when I'm in the process of working myself into the ground? I've never felt genuinely prepared, so I guess I'm learning there's a more relaxed way to go about this. Looking back I feel a little bit like a robot, a pavlovian anxiety machine of some kind. Cue: I have things to do. Response: Freak out!! After a while I can't even take myself seriously anymore. Thank goodness for journals and blogs. In the absence of a good memory, they're the best thing for self-analysis.

Which brings me to my sand-grain of the month. A very dear friend, who's known me for a long time recently commented on my journaling in public. The comment was something to the effect of: "You're one of those girls," he smiles, "scary." "Oh yes," I respond, "they run for the hills." Who they are should mystify no one, and his comment in that sense was truer than he knows. Far be it for me to point out that he himself was a case in point. It's not a matter of writing in public, that's not the issue. A lot of people think I'm writing for some paper or working on a novel or something. What really makes the difference is the eyes I turn on people when they ask me. I have a knack for making people instantly uncomfortable, even though I can work a room when I want to. If I'm in the middle of searching for something, whether it be some psychological trifle in a previous entry or the precise line that will capture the particular oddity of the moment, if I suddenly look at another person's face I'll have those same eyes, and a lot of people get almost offended, like I'm trying to deprive them of the security of the usual social rituals. Some people like it, of course, and they find me charming in a collector's item kind of way until I ask the wrong question or am too direct about something they either haven't considered or are unwilling to admit. At any rate, as one might imagine, a "girl" sitting alone in a bar writing in a notebook attracts a particular kind of attention, and most of the time the awkwardness of my social naivete is enough to scare off the drunk, the predatory and the stupid. The rest I'm happy to have a beer with.

I suppose it pisses me off because in a lot of cases I feel like I go to a lot of trouble to make people feel comfortable and in the process I contort myself into this insincere socialite (and not a very good one at that), or I convert myself into this collector's item mentality and try to match whatever expectations I can read from their faces. If I let all this pretending slip, I'm left with the usual (and perfectly understandable) rejections of the introverted, moody, self-analyzing neurotic I truly am. I guess I'm starting to wonder what the point of all this ingratiating is, ultimately. Sure, it's deeply rooted in my ever-present insecurities, I want to be liked by everyone, but I'm starting to wear through the illusion that just because I can make people like me I'll be able to maintain the pretense forever without expecting something in return. Of course the other person can't possibly know I'm doing all this work on "our" behalf, so no wonder they react defensively and tell me to go eff myself. Never in so many words of course, such straight-forwardness is not to be expected.

In any case, it's mostly a guessing game. Trial and error, my favorite...

I hope you're all well!