Glory Ho

“But we must think of the long-term results,” I insisted. “Even if they’re not informed, they will serve as a model for the future leaders of America, encouraging them to think about their responsibility to vote and prompting more CNN and less VH1.”

“No,” says Michael. “I can’t support this. Why would I want people who aren’t paying attention to go and push a few buttons so some crusader can be proud of them? They’re only diluting my informed vote.”

We’ve never agreed about Get Out the Vote (GOTV). That was three years ago.

But recently, Michael handed me an article in the Economist, dissecting the arguments of economics professor Bryan Caplan in his book “The Myth of the Rational Voter.” In it, he explains how many election issues are too complicated for the average voter. And that the resulting misunderstandings (the illusion that private profits don’t yield public benefits, the equation of prosperity with employment instead of production and the tendency to consider economic conditions worse than they are) lead candidates to exaggerate the issues and voters to unintentionally cast a ballot against their true convictions.

A disappointing devil in the details of democracy. What a mess, eh?

So where does that leave us? Who should vote? Only the intelligentsia of us all? Should I vote? But when I discovered (according to the Economist) that only 15% of Americans know who Harry Reid is, I shook my head in disgust. I’m no political junkie, but Harry Reid. Wow. For a moment I did wonder if perhaps only 15% of Americans should vote.

Of course, as my good friend Erin has just pointed out, who am I to judge? What qualified someone as “informed”? I don’t know. I just know that I’m thinking a bit differently from half a decade ago. . . Continue reading ‘GOTV’

Sunday Scribblings prompts writers all over the universe every Saturday on a particular topic. Then you post your passage. This time, the prompt was: “Slippery”. That’s all they wrote. So I did what’s called a Freewrite. . .be warned. We are talking very random here.

Slippery

First thing I think of is a Slip n’ Slide, you know one of those big yellow rubber pieces of whatever they somehow passed off as an outdoor summer toy and marketed to children!? What a blast. Just hook up the hose and away you go slipping and sliding across the grass. Then I think of. . .
Continue reading ‘Sunday Scribblings: Slippery’

The other day, Michael said to me:

“Who are you and what are you still doing here?” Like he remembered me from a party back in 1998 and just realized I’d never gone home.

He was kidding, of course. But metaphorically, he was catching a glimpse of me from another angle, almost as if he was looking at me for the first time.

When I was young, I used to redecorate my room, rearranging my figurines, carefully securing my latest Sassy magazine collage to a massive bulletin board. Then, I would leave my room and walk back in, attempting to view it through the eyes of a stranger. It’s not an easy perspective to achieve. A little like your dreams, just when you find the edge, the opening, whatever you’re looking for begins leaking, faster and faster from some invisible hole in your head.

But I found it from time to time. And the difference was dramatic. It felt powerful.

Have you ever looked at someone, something from a new perspective and felt like you were meeting it for the first time?

I’ve been trying to stop biting my fingernails for oh, I don’t know, about 27 years now. I suppose the habit began when I stopped sucking my thumb. At age five. Obviously an oral fixation of sorts . . It’s not a nerve thing. I don’t discriminate. I will bite at any time, in any room, in front of anyone. I search for the white and eliminate. Needless to say, my attempts at quitting have been unsuccessful. Nearly poisonous polish, beautiful acrylics, exhaustive moral support–nothing works.

When they (no idea who they are) said the definition of insanity is something like attempting the same action again and again and expecting different results, I think they were talking about me and my nails.

I thought I’d take a photo of my fingernails for this blog, but after about 12 shots, I decided they were just too ugly to post.

Enter FutureMe. You write an email to yourself and Jay and Matt deliver it to you at some designate time in the future. In ten days. Ten months. Perhaps you wait ten years, at which point, I suppose email will be some antiquated form of communication, or your email address may have changed. . .

They’ve published a book called FutureMe, which details the anonymous letters of participants talking to their future selves. Some are light. Some are. . .not so light. You can imagine the possibilites.

My first letter will be delivered to me exactly one year from today and it will say:

Dear Me,

Congratulations on those fingernails. You finally did it! And guess what, I’m so glad you decided to go on that backpacking trip through Africa. You knew it wasn’t the most practical or financially sound idea, but following your instincts was still the right decision. Now you will never wonder what if. You will rest easy as an old woman, knowing that as a youngster, you leapt with faith that the net would appear.

Love, Me

Right now, Andrea might be writing a blog about how I never blog. Apparently it’s just the motivation I needed.  This is my preemptive strike, intended to make a liar out of her.
I tend to write like I speak.  Usually, I think carefully about what I want to say before I open my mouth.  I’ve been told that’s the difference between extroverts and introverts.  Introverts consider, Extroverts just talk.  I’m an introvert usually, but not at this very moment.

I have a never-ending intention to blog regularly.  I’ve rationalized not doing so for all sorts of reasons;  “I’m busy building the website” is my favorite.   I see myself as the man behind the curtain, orchestrating Oz for those either more erudite or creative than I.  But today I ramble, drinking beer on an empty stomach, getting ready to heat up the Mexican leftovers. (An amazing treat in Bulgaria. We finally broke out the canned green chili, refried beans and taco seasoning we’ve been saving for a rainy day).  I’ve learn while in Bulgaria how remarkable labor intensive it is to make a Mexican dinner from scratch.  Soaking, mashing, seasoning and refrying the pinto beans (when you can find them); mixing, frying and rolling tortillas; making a simple sugar solution for the homemade sweet and sour mix as an essential building block of margaritas; and all the regular vegetable prep.  Hours.  It takes hours.

OK Hunger calls.

Thanks for visiting the site, we’ve been working hard on it.

the graphically fabuloso work of my husband on our NEW MASTHEAD! Photos and fade-outs and maps and even navigation. I must admit, nobody would get to read my postings without his technical help. He has done it all. Set up this blog. Transferred our old posts. Organized a directory. Inserted Flickr photos. .and now this NEW MASTHEADS.

It’s similar to the whole “making dinner” thing in our house. How he’s at the stove and the cutting board, trying to balance the spice tray on his head while removing the enchilada’s from our ez-bake oven, while I just sort of wander around trying to look useful, but actually consume a lot of Tostitos and Stella Artois, like I’m doing now.

But I will say, that I tried to add a few photos on the sidebar of the blog today and OMG*, WTF* TBNT* and SMN* all rolled into one. People actually do this stuff for a living? See, it’s not really an exact science. You’re like: I want this picture of Neko Case to show up in the right column, and then after a 12 step process, you check to see if it worked and there is this big picture of a goat instead of the photo you chose. And it’s not even in the right column! So you have to go back and repeat the 12 step process.

Mwah! I bow to the blogoddesses out there.

From Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead.

“Jules Foulger said in last Sunday’s Banner (a newspaper) that in the world of the future, the theater will not be necessary at all. . that the daily life of the common man is as much a work of art in itself as the best Shakespeare tragedy. In the future there will be no need for a dramatist. The critic will simply observe the life of the masses and evaluate its artistic points for the public.”

Quite a prophecy, wouldn’t you say? Theater is still thriving, but between reality television and the blogosphere, she was right on the mark. . .

Of course, one of my favorite authors, Pam Houston, has always claimed that “fiction has nothing on real life.”

What do you think?

Happy Birthday America.

We’re happy to be your citizens.

Love,
Michael and Andrea

Last week, Traditzia held an event to unveil the results of their MATRA Project, an initiative funded by the Dutch Embassy.

The project, “Spreading Ideas, Creating Capabilities, Improving Lives,” has increased the capacity of 12 social NGOs through trainings on project design, budget development, skill-development and operational management for more marketable crafts. Basically, (a word I’ve often found difficult to define to Bulgarians, which makes me suspect its redundancy) Traditiza taught these organizations, who support mentally challenged or physically disabled individuals, to help their beneficiaries create marketable crafts and create their own income-generating products. Traditzia then sells these items in our gallery:I provided a session on marketing, organized the design of the leaflet, designed the invitation and helped to organize the event. Small potatoes compared to my colleagues efforts (a lot of training) and just a link to what these NGOs can do for these individual’s dignity and sense of pride.

Here, a photo from the “Women’s Heart” Association in Karnobat, some of the artisans responsible for such beautiful handmade products.