Just bought another year for this journal - guess that means I should write more.

I have become scarily addicted to political blogs.  I hate them, and yet I love them.  They all cover the exact same stories and issues.  They refer to each other constantly.  Basically their whole purpose for existing is to refer to each other.  They repeat themselves.  They blow everything out of proportion.  They bicker like children.  They are ruining American democracy, and maybe saving it too: at least they are talking about the issues, sometimes.  Good or bad, I am addicted. 

Another new addiction: the Sweeney Todd soundtrack.  Can it really be healthy to spend an hour every day in my car singing about cannibalism?

I signed up to be an Obama precinct captain, as I may have mentioned, which means that I am responsible for contacting likely Democratic and independent voters in a couple-block radius to see who they are planning to vote for, and as election day nears, to get Obama supporters to the polls.  Only my precinct is not actually near my house.  Also, 80% of the people in it are over the age of 80 (there's an assisted living center smack dab in the middle).  I

 tried to make calls tonight after I got home and had dinner, but it was 8:30 so I didn't want to call any older people who might be asleep already.  Calling only people under 65 meant I could call 1-3 people per page (18 to a page).  I do not have a good work schedule for this.  But I will try to devote myself to it this weekend. 

One of the women I talked to said that she was undecided, even though she lived Obama better, because she did not want to get too attached to a candidate and be disappointed.  I laughed, sadly, and said, "I'm bad at that."  I really hope I am not disappointed this time.  The Clinton machine is on the attack, and that scares me.  Why does the lowest common denominator always win?  (but it hasn't won yet - and I am going to tell myself, at least for the next 12 days, that it won't win this time)

Other than that, I am taking a newswriting class at City College of San Francisco, one night a week.  The teacher has been in journalism and editing for over 20 years, and he has lots of good stories.  His experience is both an asset and a drawback.  He knows all of the reporters in SF, and at the San Francisco Chronicle - which is cool because he has the inside scoop, but unfortunate because he is unable to separate himself from them or be critical of their work.  We were discussing an article in class yesterday, and he seemed to take criticism of it personally, and rather than admit it might not be perfect, he finally suggested that an editor might have changed it - as if we were criticizing the reporter and not the work.  Institutional thinking - the press defends itself.  I'm interested to see how he critiques our writing, as that is the real test.  I hope he can teach me to be clear and concise.  Obviously, my conciseness needs some work.

Tomorrow a thoroughly San Francisco juxtaposition of events will take place in Dolores Park.

First event: The culmination of an anti-war march.  Marchers will have a “die-in” (I believe this involves lying on the ground in the park and pretending to be dead) to remind apathetic citizens of those who have died in Iraq.  The protest is time to coincide with protests across the country (and perhaps the world?)

Second event: A re-enactment of the dance from “Thriller” (Michael’ Jackson’s epic zombie/werewolf/whatever battle), timed to coincide with “Thriller” re-enactments all over the planet (and thus break the World Record for most people re-enacting “Thriller” at one time).

On one side of the park: committed activists still willing to lie their bodies on the ground (granted, there will be no tanks) to protest an unjust and unnecessary war, even though they (and everyone else) knows they will probably not make any difference.  On the other side: a bunch of hipsters who have watched the Thai prison re-enactment of the “Thriller” dance one too many times, most of whom cannot remember when Michael Jackson was not scary.  In all: a lot of privileged white people with too much time on their hands?

I am feeling cynical, and a little guilty.  I want to protest the war, and believe that it will make a difference; but the “die-in” feels like a stunt, the ridiculous name feels like mockery rather than reverence.  I want to join in the “Thriller” dance because it is ridiculous, and funny, and why not spend a Saturday afternoon laughing in the park, coming together with hundreds of strangers to be publically weird; but juxtaposed against something serious the ridiculousness loses some of its appeal, I am reminded of why older people rant about my generation.

This could end up being a really long post.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this, given what feels like a constant bombardment of Baby Boomers declaring that the “problem with the ___ generation” (they all have different names, but they basically mean 18-29 year olds today) is that we aren’t angry enough, we aren’t out on the streets protesting, we are too quiet, we are too distracted, we are too cynical, we are too complicit with the system, we are too accepting of authority: we are too content.  This argument makes me angry, because all the things that we are supposed to be angry about are things created by the Baby Boomers.  They have the money and the numbers and the power; why don’t they stop the war?  I also feel (as others have said before me) that it misses a fundamental point about the modern world, and political change: things are different now than they were in the ‘60s.  What worked then won’t necessarily work now.  We have to try things our own way.

So what’s our way?  That’s where I get stuck railing against Baby Boomer commentators.  Because I don’t have an answer.  Protesting the war doesn’t help?  Well should we all go dance “Thriller” instead?  Hmm, maybe not.  The old paradigm for youth movements feels broken and useless.  So what’s the new one?  The typical answer is the internet.  But I have yet to see internet political organizing accomplish anything of significance.  Mostly what I see online is a lot of in-fighting, a lot of obsession with scoring points off the other side, a lot of recrimination, and attention to things no one outside the Beltway could possibly care about.

Maybe the truth is that our generation is not politically mobilized.  Maybe it’s because we have to fight so hard just to get by, to get a job, to get ahead, that we don’t have time.  Maybe it’s because despite everything truly frightening happening in the world right now, none of it hits close to home for most young people; the Baby Boomers reacted to the imminent threat of being shipped off to Vietnam; to police beating black people in the streets; to women being raped and prosecuted for making decisions about their own bodies.  Maybe our lives are actually too comfortable.  What did the Baby Boomers really win?  They ended the draft, so that the children of middle class white parents no longer get shipped overseas.  They ended overt, brutal discrimination, so now minority groups have only the shadows of structures to swing at.  In short, they made the problems invisible.  And now they yell that we don’t see them.

This does not really serve as a valid excuse to dance to “Thriller” in the park tomorrow, because I do see the problems and I still don’t know what to do to fix them.  Most likely, I’ll just lurk around the edges, take a few pictures to illustrate the weird wonderfulness of this city, feel guilty, laugh, and then go home.

An article by Gary Kamiya that expresses and elaborates upon much of what I was thinking about Virginia Tech and Iraq.  Go read it.

Life continues on, apace.  No final life decisions have been made yet.  We are submitting a proposal for a project that would involve reforming the San Francisco juvenile probation department.  If we get it, I will quite likely stay for a while.  I won't know until June, probably.

I have been studying for the GREs, regardless.  I signed up and paid for the test, so now I am committed to taking it, and I would like to do well.  I expect I will go to grad school someday, even if not next year.  It is frustrating to remember that I was once good at math, and not to be good at it anymore; not only have I forgotten the formulas, but my brain does not seem to work that way anymore.  In contrast, I rather like studying for the verbal ability section; mostly it involves reading lists of words, and occasionally rolling my eyes at the "tips" (for instance, one of the tips for the reading comprehension section is, when they ask you to draw an inference, the answer should not be directly stated in the passage, it should be inferred from something in the passage.  In other words, if they ask you to draw an inference, draw an inference.)

I saw the San Francisco Choral Society perform Bach's Mass in B Minor on Sunday afternoon, in a large, white church.  I liked the Gloria, the Counter-Tenor, the final prayer for peace, very much.  I thought about this article, for which the Washington Post conducted an experiment, and placed Joshua Bell (one of the foremost violinists in the world) outside a Metro stop on a weekday morning, and watched to see if people could appreciate True Beauty while on their way to work; and what is True Beauty anyway, if no one stops to notice it?

This is in no way meant to take away from the horror of what happened at Virginia Tech yesterday, which makes me sick to my stomach, which makes my throat close up and my eyes ache.

And yet.

51 civilians died violently in Iraq yesterday (that were reported in the BBC news; there could be more.)  This is not an astounding figure for the country, which is about the size of the state of California.

I know there is a difference, in intent.  Lining people up against walls and shooting them offends our sense of humanity even more than exploding a bomb in a market.  The hatred is more focused, despite being completely random.  Each death is meant by a man (a boy) with a handgun.  And yet.  The end result is the same.

Only in Iraq there is no end result.  No end.

I am not trying to say we should not mourn, with everything in us, what happened yesterday.  I am only saying: a human life is a human life, wherever it begins, wherever it ends, whatever language, whatever color, whatever cause of death.  We think this violence came out of nowhere, we are shocked and appalled, as we should be.  But many people around the world do not have the luxury of shock anymore.  They live every day waiting for a man (a boy) with a gun to come.

I just want us to notice our shock, and realize how lucky we are.  I just want us to think about living in a country where this happens every day.

Weirdest experience ever. Some lady just walked down the street and rang everybody's doorbells and started yelling at me through the window saying she smelled smoke, and there was a fire. So me and all of my neighbors were hanging out our windows, sniffing. And oh look, now there's a firetruck.

This made more interesting by the fact that we had an actual fire in my apartment yesterday. I wasn't here, but the firemen were. So ridiculous.

Oh, now there are four firetrucks outside. No fire, as of yet, just a strong smell of smoke. This is crazy.

Anyway, what I meant to post about was the election. Because we won! Both houses of Congress! Governorships! We won! And Rumsfeld is gone. Completely gone.

Tuesday night I went to an Election Night party at a bar, where we all crowded by the bar watching the TV, and yelled when they called good things, and counted the votes, "It's 2,000 now. Oh, up to 3,000, about, the margin's getting bigger!" and generally were giddy and young and happy. Wednesday morning our electricity went off, and I couldn't make breakfast, and was grouchy and had to go out of my way to get food and coffee... but then, in the car, I heard on the radio about Montana, and about Rumsfeld, and it was like an electric charge - I yelled "Hell yeah! Fuck yes!" and thumped the roof of my car, and did a little dance, and then I started singing, aloud, "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" and continued to sing/hum it the entire day. Because life is good. And Webb won, and we have the Senate, and life is good. Despite the firetrucks.

Our apartment though, kind of a mess. There was a fire. We have stuff everywhere because they stopped letting us store things in the garage. Turns out we're paying $500 more than the people downstairs, just because our landlord realized he could get away with charging us that. Our washer and dryer are on (temporary?) hiatus. Our cable stopped working, so no Grey's Anatomy. And now the DVD player hates me. Weird things going on.

But, it's okay. We have Congress. And tomorrow is Friday. And the firetrucks just left, so I guess I'm not going to die. And Saturday I am going to a picnic. Life is good.

I know there are people on my flist in (at least) Maryland, Virginia and Tennessee, all of which have very tight and very important Senate races. I suspect that I have other people who may live in other states or congressional districts with close races, all of which put together could determine the fate of our country, and, incidentally, the lives of thousands (or millions) of people around the world (as Americans, we have a ridiculous amount of power, even if we don't want to admit it, or care). So, this is my plea, to everyone who is over 18, and gives a damn about something besides themselves, to go to the polls tomorrow and vote. Please, please, please.

(And, really, vote for the Democrats. Because, despite popular opinion, they do have some plans, or at least some thoughts, which is more than the Republicans, who really could not have fucked things up more if they had been TRYING. Sometimes I think they have been trying. Pick your issue: the war in Iraq, gay marriage, stem cell research, the minimum wage, immigration (A WALL? THEIR SOLUTION IS A WALL? HAS ANYONE EVER HEARD OF BERLIN?) tax cuts (the enormous majority of which have gone to the very, very, very richest people), the environment, the Supreme Court, etc. etc. And consider this: if the Republicans win, it is quite likely that Bush will want to go to war with Iran. Because it worked so well in Iraq.)

I will, of course be voting, but thanks to our electoral system, my vote counts for very little, since I live in San Francisco. It will be cast though. And I beg you, especially if you live in an area with a tight race, but even if you don't, be a good citizen. Vote.

On the way home, it was sprinkling, and the water made streaks on my windshield when I tried to wipe it off. The lights from the southbound cars stretched into long vertical columns reaching to the sky. I felt like I was very high on something.

I've been making MoveOn calls to voters. I hate it, hate bothering people, hate sitting here monotonously dialing (it reminds me too much of that summer of telephone surveys). But I have to do it. I will not forgive myself next Wednesday if things don't go well, and I didn't do this. And also, it is nice to hear the voices of strangers who agree that something needs to change, and are willing to do something about it.

My voter registration card came today. On Tuesday, I am going to the polls (for the first time, literally - I have only voted absentee).

I have a desk chair now, which means I don't have to hunch over my computer, or carry it elsewhere.

I am tired, and sicksicksick.  (Actually, I don't deserve three sicks.  I am fine.  Just dry-throat-muffled-sinuses-tired.)

All week, I have been coming here and I have not been able to begin an entry.  Because too much has happened, and nothing has happened, and my brain or my spirit or something is on hold.

Last weekend a man followed me on the street, and touched me, and now my orange dress, that I love, is hanging in my room, mocking me, and I know I won't wear it, not even for Halloween.  And I was eating ice cream, and now I don't want to go to that ice cream place again; and, in short, I hate being a girl.

Last weekend I wore fairy wings and danced with Colin, and strangers: a college party, but not my college.  I was sore on Monday.

On Monday Alicia visited and we sat up talking, a group of people, and it was one of those good talks, those talks that feel solid, that make me miss people and places I have been, where I had those talks more often (or imagine that I did).

Besides that I have been sick.  And there have been envelopes.  And attempts, failures, to sleep.

I want the election to be now, so that nothing can happen between now and then.  Every day I am terrified that the news will deliver some coup, that Karl Rove will remember how to be an evil genius, and the change that I can feel solid in my hands will disappear as if it never was.  Which it wasn't, which is isn't, yet.  But it could come, it could come.  Eleven days.

I've been reading about the hurricane. I can't get my head around it. Snipers were shooting at a hospital as it was being evacuated. Why? Why would anyone do that? I can understand looting, sort of, I see why some people might imagine it to be a good idea (I'm not condoning obviously, just musing) but shooting people who have done absolutely nothing to you? It's not as if we're in Iraq, and the National Guard is a foreign occupying power (no, I'm not saying sniping is acceptable in Iraq, but again, I can understand people's motives... or at least see that they might have motives... here, no). Are these crazy people like Timothy McVeigh that figure now's their chance? Gun nuts who have just been waiting for a chance to use their high-powered rifles? (As a side note, I'd like to point out that if no one had guns on hand, there's probably be less shooting now). I don't get it, at all. It's horrific beyond my imagination.

I also don't understand people's responses. I went to http://www.nola.com/weblogs/nola/ where people are posting about their missing relatives, information they have on people trapped in the city needing help, etc. A couple people put up more philosophical ramblings, their thoughts on how the government is handling the situation and so on. One person began their post saying they were shocked by the violence in the city, which I agree with, but instead of talking about that, they went straight to chastising residents for not evacuating sooner and for complaining:

What part of ''You need to get out of town'' did these people not understand? Both the Gov. and mayor told the people that it was going to be a bad storm and they needed to leave. As I tell my children when they talk back to me, ''What part of NO do you not understand, and at 10 and 11 they know where the line is drawn. These people that decided to stay home put not just their lives, but the national guard and the coast guard who then had to go out and try to save them at what cost to the tax payer. Then when they do get picked up they complain about the ''service'' at the dome as if it a hotel. This is a deaster area, they don't get room service. Then when I see the people looting for TVs and racks of clothing I wonder, what are they doing, are they planning a yard sale? I saw a lady yesterday yelling at a newman, ''Its hot here in the projects, and I needs me some water and some food''....I really did expect her to complain about her power being off and her welfare check being late....Give me a break, It sad and its a mess and I will help the in the areas where I can see people trying to help themselves. But I will not help gang members be relocated to another city....If the shoot at a police officer they should be shoot, If they shoot at a gardsman the same.....There should be NO TOLERANCE for this trpe of behavior. I'd sound like a racist if I said this is WHY they needed a master....

This takes my breath away. The last sentence, in itself... well, I'll get there in a second. First off though, people have a lot of reasons for not evacuating. A lot of people specifically didn't leave because they have health issues which make it very difficult for them to just get up and go. This is specifically stated in many of the posts on the very same page, in which people were searching for elderly relatives who were unable to evacuate. Also, many people have limited incomes. Getting a hotel outside of town may just not be an option. People at the dome "complaining about the service" were trapped inside with 20,000 people with no sanitation, or electricity and a very limited supply of food and water for days. I don't think wanting water, or not to get sick from living in unsanitary conditions, is too much to ask from a government facility.

The real problem with this person's statement of course is that it is racist, blatantly racist. This individual addresses all people trapped in the city as if they are in cahoots with those committing violent acts, instead of the victims of this violence. After all "they" are all black. "They" can't possibly be civilized, or trapped by circumstances beyond their control. Obviously no white people got stuck in the city. Of course not. White people are smart enough to evacuate when they're told to! White people are never violent! To have the nerve not only to disparage the hell that people are living through right now, but to make it seem as if it's their fault...! And on a board where people are desperately trying to find their loved ones... The people who are going to read this bullshit are the people in the most pain right now. I think that shows an extreme lack of humanity. I find it just as incomprehensible as the shooters in the city. Why can't we support one another?

On the other side of the issue, people have been opening their homes to victims, which is pretty incredible. Someone posted on this same board to offer room for a family of five. Their teenage son was giving up his room. There's a whole website actually: http://www.hurricanehousing.org

What a lovely day. Lovely in an entirely different way than Italy was lovely, in this case involving excessive thrift store shopping and a trip to Whole Foods (plus sunshine and flowers and a visit to a very sweet 88 year old lady). Now I'm watching the Daily Show. Ahh how I missed the sarcasm, the carefully arched eyebrows, Ed Helms doing monkey impressions and mocking both Democrats and Republicans, as they all so richly deserve.

Since some very wonderful people bought me time on LJ, I shall endeavour to continue this journal, though I find I have little interesting to say. Travelling was a good excuse, I always had news.

A note on the Roberts nomination: he seems very benign, but I have a bad feeling. Bush (and Karl Rove, who by the way is now off the hook, what good timing!) are not risking another Souter. The general public doesn't know his views, the Senate doesn't know his views, but I am fairly confident that Bush knows them, and that they are fairly close to the extreme right wing evangelical views which Bush himself holds and which a small minority who happened to help get him elected hold. Most Americans do not agree with this views - but since Roberts can simply refuse to elaborate his own views and there's no obvious reason to fight against him, he'll be put on the bench, and then turn out to be another Scalia or Thomas. Okay, so I'm a politics nerd, but it's important. Really important. Roberts is 50, which means if he's put on the bench he'll probably be there for 25 years or more. A lot of damage can be done in 25 years.

Still, as the Daily Show pointed out, it's not like we could expect any differently. What I'm really mad about isn't that Bush picked a white conservative male, it's that he was elected at all, put in the position where he could appoint a justice who may affect my right to make choices about my body, my environment, my civil rights. I'm terrified that Bush and Rove and Cheney may accomplish exactly what they've set out to do - reshape the political institutions of this country, set up a conservative system that will last for 50 years.

But maybe they won't succeed. Maybe I'm being pessimistic. Cynical. I prefer to imagine the worst and be surprised when things turn out better than I thought. Otherwise you're constantly disappointed. It doesn't make me depressed or unhappy, I just think it's common sense.

Wow, this entry started in a really different place from where it ended.

Well here I am, home again. In the country anyway. In New Jersey. The trip home was long and exhausting, but I made it, and am now hiding in the one air-conditioned room in the house, catching up on everything.

I bought Harry Potter on Sunday - Rawaan and I went to town (by which I mean "Florence") to get it and then I took a train to Rome to catch my plane. I finished the book before I even boarded the plane to London. Loved it. Too lazy to cut for spoilers, but generally very satisfied with the book, despite the emotional upheavals.

I'm not sure what to do with this journal, since 1) it was meant to be for London, and now I am back for good, and 2) my paid account is expiring this week, and I'm broke. So in case I never make another entry, let me finish on a note about London.

Yesterday morning I took the train from Gatwick, where I slept Sunday night, into King's Cross. I had tea across from the British Library, and walked down Euston Road as I have so many times before, enjoying the familiarity, saying goodbye. I turned on Woburn, a block from my dorm, and was suddenly confronted by how much had changed while I was gone. The steps of St. Pancras Parish Church, a large white church on the corner of Euston and Woburn, were covered with flowers, notes, poems. Goodbyes. I walked slowly past, reading people's notes of sympathy, their declarations of strength, their letters to their loved ones gone. A sharp, clear pain on that sunny morning. Half a block later the street was blocked off around Tavistock Square. I had to go around. In Russell Square, police from other towns were stationed, trying to answer questions though they didn't know their own way around. More flowers in the square, set carefully around the lawn.

In one morning I had more conversations with random Londoners than I had in the whole semester. I spent twenty minutes talking to a policewoman. I chatted with the receptionist at the office when I picked up my luggage. I talked to the cab driver, to a sweet old woman on the bus. Maybe it was because I looked so overwhelmed, sleepless and surrounded by enormous bags, but maybe it was something more - people aware of those near them, the strangers they pass every day, on the street, on the bus. People reaching out to one another.

London was different, but it wasn't defeated at all. The cab drove down through Bloomsbury, Soho, Mayfair, and everywhere crowds of people, going about their lives. I can't wait to go back.

Strange to see the street I walked down every other day on the news, the blown-out bus. They don't show Tavistock Square: the trees, the statue of Gandhi.

We spent the day in Florence, paying too much to sit at a cafe, browsing in bookshops and drooling over paper (though not literally drooling). And writing of course! We did sit and write, so it wasn't a total waste of a day. We also had gelato, not as good as the gelato of yesterday though (avocado!)

We arrived back to news of the London bombings. It shook me more than September 11 in some ways, it feels closer to home. The Picadilly line, and Tavistock Square. I've adopted those places. I heard myself say "I live a block away from there," even though I don't, anymore. It hasn't been long. I find myself nervous about taking the tube two more times, to get into and out of town to collect my bags. What a horrible feeling to have. What a horrible place for this to happen - not that it's okay anywhere, but London is the most multicultural city in the world. Why target it? Why do anything like this, ever? Who is it helping?

I hate foreign transportation.

I'm on Hvar, an island about two hours from the Croatian mainland by ferry, which is the only way to get to and from the mainland... which is where my ferry to Italy is leaving from tonight. Only I won't be on it, because the ferry I was told to take from Hvar to the mainland doesn't run on Saturdays. I asked specifically for this day and the woman said specifically, the 5:30 ferry, thus causing me to ignore all earlier ferries. So now I'm stuck on this island, I have to find out if I can even get a bed at the hostel for another night, not to mention paying for it, I'm going to be a day late meeting Rawaan, and given that she's flying out of the US this morning, I'm not even sure I can contact her to tell her that. Grr.

In perspective, another day on an island in the Adriatic Sea does not seem like a problem. I'm having trouble with perspective at the moment however. I was really ready to just get on the ferry, really ready to get to Italy where I could stay put for a little while, and see Rawaan and not have to worry about food, and catch up on sleep. Really ready.

Also Sandra Day O'Connor is retiring, and that's really upsetting me.

Really the last few days have been good, it hasn't all been passport-loss-and-ferry-screwups. Lots of beaches and pretty old towns and cool people. There's just not a lot you can say about beaches, except how great they are to lie on, and how I've gotten sunburnt, again.

And my book is almost done, and now it has to last until tomorrow. Double grr.

In the UK, people run out and spray paint on a big white map on the floor when a constituency is called. The TV announcers illustrate their point with a swingometer and a graphic chart that rises from the floor and represents the "battlefield." Small strangely shaped figures face off on the battlefield, and invade each other's territories. Every ballot is counted by hand, and when the results are announced, they're given in exact numbers, including the number of ballots discarded. Parties running against Tony Blair included the Get Blair Out party and the Mad Looney Party. It's fabulous.

It's much more fun to watch someone else's election, especially when it's a foregone conclusion that some sort of left party (even one headed by someone I want to punch as much as Tony Blair) is going to win. Also, apparently Tony Blair is gone after the election - he's going to be replaced by Gordon Brown, who seems to be a better sort. We watched in the TV room with a crowd of people. The sole conservative was arguing her side, because at home her bus doesn't come enough. I wish we had their problems. Also, they have way better coverage here. No uber-shiny graphics - swingometers! Spray paint! Little figures on battlefields, which grow larger and pulse!

First of all, I want to give a huge shout out to my friend Laura, boyceterous, who is, along with other Princeton students, taking part in a filibuster in front of the First Campus Center at Princeton University. They're protesting the "nuclear option" - for anyone who is unaware of what that is, which hopefully is nobody, that's the Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist's plan to stop Senate Democrats from filibustering judicial nominations. The filibuster is the one of the few tools to prevent a tyranny of the majority in this country. Frist and Bush want to put extreme right wing judges who are against a woman's right to choose, against affirmative action, and against gay rights among MANY other issues on the federal benches and on the Supreme Court. These judges do not reflect the opinions of most Americans, they reflect the opinions of a small minority. That is not even the point though.

The point is Frist is trying to collapse the separation between the legislative and judicial branches, a separation explicitly laid out in the Constitution, and he is so desperate to do so that he is willing to undermine the rights of the minority party in the Senate, a move which will not only hurt Democrats, but hurts all people in the US, and hurts the functioning of a valid democracy. Students at Princeton are taking a stand against this - and not just Democrat partisans, students from across the political spectrum, as well as professors and other community members. Check it out at http://www.FilibusterFrist.com.

The night before last Lily and I told Amir about the irregularities with the election in Ohio and he looked at us as if we were insane. "That's not real," he said. "That can't be real. Why aren't people rioting?" I didn't have an answer. Why aren't people rioting? We don't care? None of us believe in democracy enough to defend it? We just don't know? I think the last is probably as likely as any of the others - but I also think we're tired and defeated. This filibuster is giving me a little hope - not that it will change things, but that not everyone is defeated. They've been going for 160+ hours now.

In other news, yesterday I walked to St. James' Park and read a historical novel about the Tudors. Anne Boleyn is evil. There are chairs laying around the lawn and I claimed one, moved it to face the lake. The willow trees were lit up by the sun, the waterfowl skimmed the surface of the lake. I closed my eyes and felt perfectly content. I was writing in my notebook about how the only thing left to complete the perfection was the unexpected approach of a handsome young British man ready to fall in love with me. As I wrote this I looked up and saw a (not particularly handsome, I admit) young British man walking up to me. Could it be? I waited, my breath held. He held out his hand... and asked if I had a ticket for the chair. I paid him 1.50 and returned to my daydreaming.

On the way home a woman stopped me, half hysterical, and told me she'd just gotten back into town and found out her family was in a car accident. Her father had a heart attack and her daughter had a broken arm, and she couldn't get ahold of anyone, she had to catch a bus. She had money in her hand, but needed 6.50 more. She showed me her passport, and kept drawing in her breath quickly, unbelieving, frantic. I gave her a 10 and my name and address, and took hers, plus her phone number. Probably I will never see that money again. Probably I am an idiot, and she laughed at me afterwards - but she said her daughter was seven, and she was clearly in pain, and it was only 10 pounds. I think the guilt if I had said no would have been enough to make the money worth it. Sometimes you just have to take a risk and believe people aren't all horrible.

Trading words back and forth, trading positions, ideas. We fight because there is nothing else to do. We fight because we have to. We will make a difference, in the long run. Nothing we do matters at all. Nothing matters at all. History is cyclical, we are pawns. Only through our small efforts does history change.

Lily and I in the TV room, our feet propped on chairs. Ashley asleep with her head on my lap. I stroke my fingers through loose pieces of her hair, work more strands loose from her French braid, pale gold, soft and straight. I am fatalistic, and Lily is optimistic, arguing that things get better over time. I am optimistic and Lily is fatalistic, pointing out that our generation has no story, no fight, no purpose, no effect. My fingers move through Ashley’s hair, constant motion. Conceptual complexity and intensity of belief; children’s literature corrupting the innocent mind; women who can tell other women how wonderful they are but can’t believe it of themselves; men who can tell women how wonderful they are and yet not be wholly accepted by those women as genuine, non-patronizing; how our children will dismiss our ingrained prejudices with a horrified look, someday, hopefully, or not hopefully; careers; making a difference; cultural programming; Jewish boys; the need for violence. On the television, BBC news: Iraq, and the Vietnam war, and the new movie version of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe. I want a guide.

Again, I can't possible tell about everything, so I'll just start with today. Right now Kate is writing a letter to a friend. We spent the day walking around mostly, and eating. We went to an art museum dedicated to Morandi, with two extremely interesting exhibits: one was photographs of a naked woman posed around and with art representing nudity. Apparently last year there was a large exhibit on the nude body, encompassing the last hundred years, and this photographer posed the woman in different places around the exhibit - mimicking the pose of Matisse's Blue Nude, laying stretched out beside a sculpture of a naked woman. The idea was very interesting, and some of the photos were really great. We also saw a Joseph Albers exhibit, large canvasses of squares within squares: teal and gold and red. Kate tried to explain his theories about color and how he played with individual perception, which I understood as far as it went, though obviously we both had a very surface comprehension. Then we had pizza and gelato.

Now gelato, there's a topic to dwell on. I have eaten at least one serving of gelato every day I've been in Italy, which I think makes perfect sense and is perhaps mandatory for a proper Italian vacation (there has also been a lot of pasta and cheese, also important). Today's gelato was my favorite however: incredibly rich flavor, the deepest chocolate, yet so soft and creamy, silky and literally shiny, unlike anything one can find in the United States. Incredible.

Finally we went to a beautiful church called Santo Stefano which is actually seven small linked churches. The oldest was built in the 4th century, in the site of a pagan temple, and it feels holy. An octagonal baptistry, old bricks, aging marble columns, cool and dark except for the tea lights flickering on their stand). Outside is a small courtyard, grassy stones, connected to two other churches and a cloister, where Dante stayed in the thirteenth century, the upper floors then and still reserved for monks. Hovering in the courtyard, we were just about to go inside when the bells began to ring, a scale followed by a melody, rising and falling, humming through the stone. It must have been a call to prayer, because when we went inside, the monks were kneeling at the altar, chanting, African men in white robes.

Yesterday I went to Ravenna, where I was blown away by the mosaics. I wish I could describe them: the intricacy, the detail, the domes covered with thousands of tiny richly colored stones and pieces of glass. The light catching the gold. They're illuminated artificially now, the windows all covered with opaque glass to protect them, I suppose, but it's sad - I could imagine the splendor of natural light, and in a way the art itself called out for it. When the door to the Mauseleo di Galla Placidia was propped open a few of the golden stars on the ceiling caught at the daylight eagerly, as if they were waiting, and sprang to life. (I had gelato there too, and communicated in gestures with a woman in a yarn store, and bought starfish earrings). When I came back to Bologna we went to a jazz club/restaurant where I had tortelloni (which was invented in Bologna!) and listened to a jazz trio, and drank wine.

A final note for the day: Even though we're no longer in Rome, it's interesting to be in Italy given what's happening there. Kate got a text message on her phone yesterday saying that if she was planning to go, she should know that the line would be long "but well managed" and that it would be hot during the day and cold at night. Her friend Adriana got the same message and thought it was from her cousin.

There is no way I can cover everything that's happened in the past week in the time between now and when Kate gets back with her dry cleaning (we're in Bologna now). Especially since most of that time is marked off for a shower, which I desperately need. Therefore, a few two moments still very fresh in my mind:

-Piazza di San Pietro, Saturday afternoon. We stumble into a group of people praying, Hail Marys and Our Fathers. Three nuns stand with their faces raised to the tiny window. Inside the pope is dying. Outside the sun is bright, the piazza is warm, tourists snap photographs, wait in line to climb the dome, monks walk around in faux-birkenstocks and everyone turns their faces up to the sky, to the sun, to the window. Waiting.

-The Roman Forum, Sunday midday. Kate and I sit on a grassy knoll (I sit, Kate lays on her stomach) writing. Words come and go diagonally across the unlined page. I attempt to sketch three columns, standing in relief against the blue sky. Remnants. We are surrounded by ancient bricks and slabs of stone, history. Our lives are small in comparison, but the ruins remind me of everything that came before and after, and even they seem small.

I would write more, and talk about Paris, but the shower needs to happen, so... someday. Perhaps.

I just titled my history essay, which must mean I’m done. I should edit, but I hate editing on the computer — I need it spread out before me, on paper, to make sense of the structure. Maybe tomorrow. I’m sort of apathetic about it being good. As Lily pointed out earlier, No one will ever know. (except me, I’ll know. sigh.)

But I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about yesterday.

Another beautiful day. But this day was especially beautiful, because we went to the anti-war demonstration in Trafalgar Square. We woke up too late to march (we thought, though it turns out there were so many people that the end of the march didn’t leave Hyde Park until 2:30), so we went straight to the square and arrived before the large mass of people, thereby securing seats on one of the fountains. The sun was shining, people were handing out leaflets and newspapers and stickers and chalk to draw on the sidewalk. Drums in the distance, and white 20-something monks with dreadlocks danced with old South Asian men, round and round, big smiles everywhere. Hearts light. Empowerment. I took about 80 pictures. Apparently there have been 11 demonstrations against the war in London, and every single one on a sunny day. Lily and I decided that nature, or some higher being, must like peace, which makes sense anyway. I wore a skirt and flip flops and felt home in my bones. Teenage girls with signs kept running by in clumps and making me happy. A Green party member who is actually in Parliament spoke. I wish we had a Green party member of Congress. I wish we were more like Britain all around really. Politically, at least. I felt guiltily American and shouted lots of encouragement for anti-Bush statements, and held up my bag (“Sorry world, we tried”) a lot. I also bought a poster that says “Make tea, not war” which makes me extremely happy. Across the street we went to grab something to eat and a woman saw Lily’s shirt and said “San Francisco Mime Troupe!” and we shared an Americans-abroad-and-politically-active-against-America-but-still-miss-the-West-Coast moment. Later Lily called her mother and found out she had protested against Vietnam in Trafalgar Square, many years ago. Yay for generations of hippies. Yay for the little kids dancing in the fountain while people spoke, and the kids on father’s shoulders, and in strollers and holding up signs that said “girls for peace” in bright, flowery letters. Hope for the future.

There were serious moments of course — families who had lost sons in the war, Muslims who had been harassed or imprisoned, people talking about poverty and structural needs lots of important, heavy things. But there was music too, and a sense of power and community. Police lined the very outer edges, but they don’t carry guns, and were wearing their normal funny hats, very different than America. It was quite incredibly to be standing in the middle of a square built to celebrate imperialism and military power, calling for peace and justice, taking back the space. And it was sunny, did I mention that?

Today it became gray again, which I suppose turned out to be a good thing for me personally. I’m not sure I would have written my paper otherwise. Besides some reading I can’t do because the stupid libraries are closed on Sundays, and a few hours of classtime, I am now done until Easter break. I have my ticket to Paris, tickets for Liz and I to Rome, and a ticket from here to Seattle and back. In three days Mark is visiting, in four days Rawaan will be here, and then Europe! The future is bright. At least, my future is bright. Hopefully, everyone’s.

I’m in a state of denial, because I’ve just written 2500 words about women in Nazi Germany, and I don’t want to think about it. I’m thinking about signs instead, and sun on water, and vacation.

EDIT: I put up old pictures from the opera, and then I realized I was running out of space and the LJ photo service is a pain to upload to anyway, so I'm putting my pictures from the demonstration at Snapfish - I don't know if you need an invite to see them, but you can try going to http://www.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=21138124/t_=7483192 and hopefully it'll let anyone see them...