Between the Moon and the Sun: The Art of Knowing What is Possible

Not long ago, I asked this guy who knew a great deal about power plants whether "clean coal" was possible. He reminded me that once, a trip to the Moon was science fiction and now it's history.
Perhaps clean coal technology, today's science fiction, will be tomorrow's boon. Perhaps not.

Okay, so a manned voyage to the Moon was a long shot, but it was obviously doable, but that doesn't mean everything is possible. How about sending people on a trip to the Sun? I'm going to bet that a trip to the Sun is humanly impossible. Physics--let alone economics--is just against it. When you dream big, how do you know if your shooting for the Moon or flying into the Sun?

The Slog

In many ways this has been the summer of slog. This morning I read an interesting op-ed in The Guardian about political slog and health care reform:

It isn't fun. It isn't something Will.i.am is going to make a clever and moving video about, and it offers precious few moments for YouTube. It takes years, which is a bummer, in a political culture that measures success and failure by the hour. The end of euphoria should lead not to disillusionment, but to seriousness of purpose.

Then there is the personal slog. In all of this slogging, it's difficult to know what is working and to keep sight of purpose. I am always tacking against forces beyond my control, sometimes fighting them, sometimes riding them. Wisdom does not eliminate the desire for clear, straight signs of progress. Sometimes, that desire is good for me. Sometimes, if something ain't working, it ain't working.

I Don't Know If I Am Blessed, Thank You.

I don't attend church. I don't pretend to attend church. I can't remember the last time I actually prayed. I did say "om" in my last yoga class, but I don't think that counts. When a neighbor asks how I'm doing, I do not say, "I am blessed, thank you."
This shouldn't be a problem, but as a woman of color, I think my lack of religion is really killing my sex life.

Of course, Mr. and Miss Too Blessed to Be Stressed are getting some. What's a better stress reliever than sex, a reading from the Daily Word? If you've ever listened to the Purple Rain soundtrack, you know that African Americans don't necessarily have a problem mixing sexuality with Christianity. I don't believe that being an agnostic or atheist is a necessarily a problem for African Americans, either. It's coming right out and saying than you are not part of an organized religion or even "spiritual" that freaks a lot of people out. And I've had conversations with non white people of different backgrounds that address similar attitudes.

Perhaps ethnicity doesn't play as big a role in this as I suspect. Still, by being honest about my beliefs, I am limiting my dating options and that has different implications for me than it does for people who aren't black. Eliminating people from the potential date pool might sound like a good thing to those of you who are bombarded with offers, but I'm not so sure it's a wise move for me. I wonder how many more responses I would get if I checked off Christian instead of agnostic on my online dating profile? Of course, I don't want to get involved with any holy rollers, but what would be wrong with an Episcopalian, for example? I am not opposed to all religion. It just doesn't do much for me. One of my biggest fears in dealing with the faithful is that I will offend them, that I will roll my eyes or smirk once too often at their blessings and testimonies. I've put up with worse guy behavior than going to church or saying grace at dinner. Could a faithful man put up with my irreverence and skepticism?

If only there was a dating club or website for black agnostics. BlagnosticDate.com?

That's Funny, I Do Look Jewish

Something about my online behavior seems to attract a lot of ads for Jewish products. I first noticed this on facebook a few months ago. Now I see the same thing on one of my webmail accounts.

Just a Bunch of Stuff that Happened

It may be true that life is pretty much, to paraphrase Homer Simpson, just a bunch of stuff that happens. Still, I would like my days in this world to at least seem like something more.

After finishing Cormac McCarthy's The Road, the mental equivalent of eating a bushel of raw kale, it once again occurred to me that I might want to do something with myself. Unlike The Man and The Boy, I am not forced to wander around an ashen landscape in search of canned goods and potable water, so a life that is just a bunch of stuff will not do.

My past attempts to do something with myself didn't turn out very well. I know I have poked at those ruins and ashes long enough, but they are so familiar to me that it's hard to leave them behind. If The Boy were to ask me about my "long term goals" I would hesitate to answer. At this moment, anything beyond getting a hamster or sewing a bolster pillow seems about as attainable as becoming the Pope. Home ownership? A life partner? Parenthood? A career? These sound desirable, but very strange to me right now, like faded illustrations from an old children's book. I suppose I am choosing not to make enough money to purchase a home in a place I would actually want to live. I don't remember choosing not to have a husband and children. I could try to chose a career again. So many of these things are tied to the perceptions and desires of other people. The trick is to behave as though my choices are more important than that, and that my choices can bring me to the right people, even if they haven't in the past.

A Chat with Leonid

Last week I took a regrettable scrape at the dregs of OKCupid. I try to walk the line between the optimistic and the realistic. Tilting toward optimism, I actually phoned a man who I strongly suspected would not be right for me.

During our phone call, this guy threw up so many red flags that I thought I was watching a May Day parade with Leonid Brezhnev.

At this point, I have come to the conclusion that any guy I date is going to have issues. It's only a matter of what the issues are and whether or not I feel like dealing with them. I will not deal with Leonid and his chemical problems. If the red phone rings, I will refuse to answer.

Not Perimenopausal, Actually Adolescent

Yesterday, I went to my gynecologist to get the low down on the state of my nether regions and he clarified his earlier statement that my parts are pretty much okay and that, in fact, if I wanted to get knocked up, he knew just the person for the job (an endocrinologist, don't get too excited.) I have to hand it to my gynecologist for being non-judgmental.

That night, I stayed up late writing lyrics to a non-existent song. I haven't done anything like that since 9th grade.