Saturday, May 28, 2005

I have a new hero.

Let's hear it for Andrew Goldstein.

As a gay-friendly male who also likes sports, I often get really really angry at the homophobia inherent in the sports community. I finally blew up at some guys in my fantasy baseball league for making homophobic comments this week, and then I find this article. Synchronicity is a wonderful thing.

In other news, I will be at Pagan Spirit Gathering this year after all. Apparently, the universe decided I need to be there...

Kinda weird.

Saturday, May 21, 2005

The "L" word.

Today, we're going to talk about love. Romance. You know, that...stuff that makes our lives overly complicated.

I'm coming up on a year being a great number of miles away from the woman I love. I can safely say, I think, that if I was going to forget about her I would have. (I have been known in the past to be 'out of sight, out of mind'). I'm not forgetting about her; on the contrary, things have to my perception gotten stronger.

On the other hand -- because there always is an other hand -- I'm damned hard to live with, and so is she. (My judgements, take 'em for what they're worth.) For us to make a life together again after our time apart would require a lot of compromise, work, and no little share of frustration, I suspect. When she and I are good, we're good, and when we're bad, entire city blocks disappear in a maelstrom of explosive emotion. (I joke. But only partially.) There are also physical considerations involving relocation, insurance, jobs, and all the ephemera that one nevertheless has to work with. (I wonder if Marlowe's Passionate Shepherd ever considered whether they'd both work and put the kids in daycare, and if so who would pay for the health insurance and the rent.)

So today's question is where and when do I give up on a dream because it's too damned hard to pull off? And if I don't give up on it -- and I really really really really repeatadnauseum don't want to give up on it -- where do I start?

Some of it's obvious. Filed for divorce -- done. Waiting. Find a job -- well, had one, that didn't work out, I'm working on other options. (And that's a second job, for those of you who know me well. My first job, editor of the amazing and award-nominated-for newWitch Magazine, is still just peachy and I love it. It just doesn't pay enough to live on. Attempt to get my own life in order -- work in progress, but I do work on it every day.

Remember that I love her.

And I do. I love the way she smiles, she looks, she moves, she thinks. I love the furrow in her brown when she's thinking. I love her laughter, which is really rare -- rarer than it used to be, and that's part my fault. I love the fact that she knows me. I even love the fact she left, because she was right to do so; that her leaving was the only chance we might have. I dream of her.

And that, faithful readers, may be today's definition of love. Love is when someone's absence is a palpable presence that affects you, every day. Love is measured by the amount of regret you spend on each moment you're not with someone, and the amount of sheer life-affirming joy you feel when you're with someone. Love is, in the end, the joy you feel in the moment. Romance is for movies, bad TV, and worse novels. I'll take love every time.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Accountability, or lack thereof.

Let's start today's post with a link that frankly makes me ill:

For starters, if you don't know who Augusto Pinochet is, you should. For those of my readers who are Americans, he's yet another person our lovely CIA put in power during the 'meddle everywhere and don't hide it very well' seventies and eighties. His junta overthrew the rightfully elected government of Salvador Allende, and then proceeded to make a lot of people disappear.

And he will never be punished for it. He's 'too old'. He's sick. As a complement to that, the United States Government will never be held accountable for the death of Allende and the death of all those Chileans who disappeared under Pinochet's rule.

I love my country. I love the United States. And I weep for the fact that we can't seem to grasp that to a lot of the rest of the world, we are the enemy. The big bully on the playground who makes you do stuff you don't want to do. The overbearing, neurotic, soon-appearing-on-Jerry-Springer mother who 'knows better'.

I have hope for the generation behind mine. They actually see some of this stuff, and are willing to do something about it. My generation's attempts at world understanding seem in my darkest hours limited to being able to repeat Monty Python scripts and collect anime.

We are not in a vacuum. What we do will come home to us, we will have to be accountable. Unlike Pinochet. I pray the gods are merciful when that happens.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

I don't feel like making sense today... I'm not going to. Here's some random stuff:

* People who can't read instructions bug me. I take submissions for a magazine; that's what I do for a living. The submission instructions, which I think are comprehensive to the point of neurosis, clearly say 'don't send me simultaneous submissions'. (That means don't submit stuff to my magazine and to someone else's.) Yet, somehow, I have ended up on several bulk submission lists, where some entity of dubious intelligence and talent has set up a bulk mailing list and is submitting anything they write to me and god knows who else. These get deleted without response, without comment, and with a certain amount of repressed desire for mayhem.

* I like some net comics. I like 9th Elsewhere. I snigger gleefully at Something Positive. I think that Pibgorn and 9 Chickweed Lane are brilliant. I like Two Lumps, because it's about real cats. A lot of people say net comics suck. I would like to amend that; some net comics suck, just like some of EVERY art form sucks. Some, on the other hand, are downright brilliant.

* My daughter's best friend's father died this weekend; it was either a suicide or as close to one as being no difference. We've been told by several people that my daughter has basically kept her friend going this week, going into full gonzo priestess mode. It's rather odd to think of my daughter -- who to part of me is still a rather angry baby with rock penguin hair -- is already acting as a priestess, even if she doesn't call it that. I'm old.

* I'm also dealing with my own life right now, and I can't pretend it's pretty. I'm finally coming to terms with my mother and how sad many of the the things she did made me. I hope that my kids won't feel the same way; I'm hoping that I've accomplished that.

* Oh, and finally, I do not care in the least that Everybody Loves Raymond is going off the air. The title should have been Everybody But One Fat Guy In Indianapolis Loves Raymond -- He Doesn't Give A Shit, Frankly, Despite The Presence Of Peter Boyle, Who Was Much Better In Young Frankenstein.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Every beginning... another beginning's end. Funny how that works out sometimes.

Hello to whomever is reading this, and welcome to my corner of the Internet, such as 'tis. I'm Duke, also known as Dag, also known as Daddy -- thus the D. (Convenient having the same initial no matter what one's name at the time.)

I am, in no particular order, a magazine editor (, writer, father, Wiccan priest, lover, friend, men's spirituality activist, Initiated Warrior of the Mankind Project (, gamer, musician, and all around jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none.

In past professional incarnations, I've been a wine geek, a marketing geek, and a radio geek. If you sense a common thread here, great.

I don't know what I'm going to do with this blog, exactly. I've resisted all blandishments up until now to do one of these, and I'm not quite sure why I changed my mind. Maybe it seemed like time. Dunno.

As for the title -- it is the Latin phrase on the family crest of the Foster family, who I am descended from. (My maternal great-grandfather, who was a huge influence on me growing up, was a Foster.) Roughly translated, it means 'what doesn't break me makes me stronger'. Rather a credo for my life right now.