Drawing Happiness from My Home?

So I’m homeless. No address. Tomorrow I will fly from Aspen to Washington, D.C. and go to… A couch? Friend’s house? Shelter? I haven’t really worked out the details, but I did cry hysterically about it last night.

I know what you’re thinking, “What the hell does being homeless and overly emotional have to do with finding out more about your Mama?” How astute of you, and by the way, thanks for kicking me when I’m down. Since your judgment is likely only in my head, I’ll move on.

My mother made me this over-emotional being, who wants to learn, and longs for stability but pretty much does a piss poor job of showing it. She steered me down a path of never being satisfied, and even worse associating with these upper middle class lefties. The Aspenites I’ve had the pleasure of meeting have been less than impressive.

I’ve been attending the Aspen Ideas Festival (rich, lefty Mecca, Colo.) for what feels like one hundred years. It has been enlightening. I found out that liberal people litter. Liberal rich people are in no way opposed to plastic surgery, or large diamonds. They love tote bags, especially ones that say things like the ‘Dalai Lama.’ I wonder if the Dalia Lama commissions this type of paraphernalia. I can only imagine Ghandi sitting around saying, ‘The Dalia fuckin’ Lama is cleaning up in the tote bag market.’ Personally, I feel my Deepak Chopra carryall is where it’s at.

Most of the sessions have proven that left or right, the upper middle class and above have pillaged our country and failed to advocate (demand!) for equality. We’re just in denial, which brought me to Michael Spekter’s Denialism lecture. I may be biased because my boyfriend is such an amazing speaker so I automatically compare others to him–no one lives up. Yes Spekter was clearly a smart guy, his talk lacked a decipherable solution.

One of the topics he rambled about was the anti-vaccine movement. He stated that these radical anti-vacciners (they need a catchy name like teabaggers) are irrational and need to look at the facts, or they are going to be responsible for a pandemic. Most of these people probably merely want to know why their little baby was diagnosed with autism.

After the lecture I went up to ask a few questions. I heard him exclaim, “You should see these lunatics I have to deal with, they are just wrong.” How nice! Your 2-year-old son is autistic and you’re a moron! That old wives tale is true — liberals can only be so understanding before they exercise their right to bare arms.

To clarify, I am in no way anti-vaccine. I almost died of an allergy to the whooping cough vaccine. Then I muddled through whooping cough at 14, which I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I had trouble breathing, concentrating, and in no way was dating an option. That experience makes me feel for the child victims of the California whooping cough outbreak. The outbreak to me seems like an opportunity to work with the anti-vacciners, not blame them. If #aif2010 scholars taught me anything it’s ‘shame, don’t blame.’

While I waited for Scholar Spekter, I did speak with this democratic, Sarah Palinesk character. Sarah wanted to plot the extinction of the anti-vacciners, which is funny because I’m a strong believer in killing people who are wrong about stuff too. Tolerance is too time consuming when I have a hazelnut soy latte to drink, a vacation home to save for and a gulag to open! Don’t worry even though Brother Bill has aspergers, he can still come to my gulag-funded vacation home, but I’m going to have a strict no-cane policy!

When I stopped daydreaming of all that solar-powered square footage, I said, “Sarah, what do you say to people who swear their 3-year-old son was speaking French, received a vaccine and was never the same again. I’m not saying these people are right, but they need a voice and sympathy.” Frosted Sarah said, “These people need the facts. They are being too emotional!”

Frosted Sarah brings up a good point that I overlooked. My mom died of cancer and I am quite sad about it, even though it’s been a while I get the sense that it’s a hole I will need to work very hard to fill. But now I see I have been thinking about it all wrong. Sarah is alive and old enough to be my mother. I should be thanking God I grew up with a mom who read me Sandra Day O’Connor’s autobiography when I was 6! Even better…

Thanks, Mama for teaching me about tolerance, compassion, Bob Dylan and how to double up on Filene’s coupons. Twenty years was not enough, but I am grateful for the time we did have. Just think, I could have been roaming a department store, paying full price and thinking Blood on the Tracks was an Amtrak accident.

And now a song dedication.

Discovery #6 Be grateful for the time you did have together, and respect it.


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Filed under Brother Bill, Discoveries, Song Dedications

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