Social circles

This weekend was really busy. I had a birthday party on Saturday night, but that afternoon I had to go shopping for a function later in the month.

Then I had my writing group, which met on Sunday, and a coffee shop thing in the evening.

Busy busy.

Which is QUITE unusual for me. I have been here a year and a half, a littl more even, and I have been having trouble making friends. THis is not new. I am understanding the rhythm of friend-making after a move.

You know, friends are a tricky business. I think army brats, the ones that have to move every two to four years understand this. When you go to a new place, you have to find a way to connect with the people there.

Data, on Next Generation Star Trek, once had a line that said something to the effect that Frienship had much more to do with just being around each other than emotion.

I think there is a lot of truth to that. And I think that sometimes people you spend a lot of time with, such as co-workers or bar friends, can feel like friends when in actuality, they are merely co-existing in the same space.

A friend is someone who will make an effort to come see you or have you see them. Because they want to. That means taking time to talk on the phone or go do an activity or something. Something that is personally for you.

That personally bit is the part I’ve been missing. I haven’t done very many one-on-one things since I’ve been here. Very, very few.

I have book club, I have writing group, I have movie club. I have church, I have open mic night at the coffee shop. I have work, and I have my sweet boyfriend.

I am actually very busy and very seldom completely alone. And yet…I haven’t had the personal time with a friend very often.

It’s a tough leap, that from being a member of a group to being an individual personal friend. How do you really manage it? How do you know it’s okay to make a move.

I find it much more difficult than a date. Maybe I’m pretty good at dating. But just getting someone to go out and play…

I admit, I’m kind of shy. If someone is not willing to email me, it’s hard. Phones are a little scary to me. I don’t know exactly why. I get shy about calling someone on the phone.

So that’s probably a handicap on my part.

And then, I get very tired after work. I just want to sleep. So that makes me not want to get up and do things with friends that I feel nervous about calling.

But to make friends with someone, you have to be around them a certain amount of time. You have to make contact, and keep up the contact for a period of time so that you get to know each other’s lives. If you don’t do that, it falls flat.

It’s a little complicated.

Decisions

Valentine’s day and President’s day are very close to one another.

Chris was saying, “I wish they had left the President’s days separate.”

“You don’t like it being so generic? You mean we should not celebrate all Presidents?”

“Well! It doesn’t seem fair that the guy who caught the flu on his inauguration day and died two weeks in office should be celebrated as much as the other presidents”

Being president is something Americans are all supposed to be able to aspire to. How many American babies are cooed over in their cribs, and hear the pronouncement, “maybe this one will grow up to be president.”

Yes, This is america, the place where you can carve your own destiny. ANYONE can grow up to be president.

I wonder how many presidents aspired to the office? If they are like most people I know, the choice of becoming president was not really their own. They may have started along a political path and just sort of pushed, bumped, promoted along until they got to the White House.

Huge life decisions are not made that way. Decisions are made before you know you’ve made them. Swerve one way or the other, and your feet have changed paths.

The decision comes later. When it comes, it is less of a “will I go?” question, and more of a “Will I stop going?” question.

I think love is the same way. The small decisions are often unseen. Will you be my valentine? How often is that question asked when the answer is not known?

I think most decisions come after the fact. The momentous changes in direction are never recognized until they are past.

February rode in on an ambulance
I’ve been sick all week. Actually, I’ve been sick even last week.
I was feeling woozy, and extra tired. The bus ride made me especially ill, and then it seemed to last all day. Friday, I was feeling motion sick all day long. By the time I was ready to go home, I began to think, “something is not right. There is something wrong going on.”
I almost asked Chris to pick my up from work. But I hate to do that. Then i almost took a cab home.
Then I thought, “Maybe I’m jsut really hungry.”
So I ate something, and that made me feel better enough to take the bus home.
But saturday, I was supposed to go to Palm Springs. I just didn’t feel up to it. I felt like lying around and resting.
Sunday, I took myself to the doctor and got a prescription for antibiotics to cure a supposed sinus infection that was messing with my sense of equilibrium, and hence making me feel woozy, motion sick, all the time. I called in sick for Monday.l
But Monday, I dreamed that I had collapsed at the bus stop. I woke, and had to throw up. But while crawling to the toilet, I realized that I had no sense of balance whatsoever and that i was completely sick. The world would NOT stop spinning., The walls reached out and smacked me when I tried to move, because i didn’t know how to stay upright, even while crawling.
The sweat poured off me as I retched intot the toilet. I had to do something. This was bad. I needed help. But I couldn’t move! How would I get help?
I concentrated as hard as I knew how on believing that te world was not spinning. I closed my eyes and breathed very hard, pressing my head against something solid and immobile. “You are STILL, STILL, you are STILL”
Finally, I could gather my thoughts enough…i needed to get someone to help me. But I couldnn’t move at all without vomiting…
I made my plan. I would launch myself back to my bed, where my cordless phone was, and on the way I would grab the trash can to barf into. I would either call Chris or 911.

But I really wanted Chris. I would call Chris. He would help me.
I made it, with my eyes shut to keep the room from spinning. After throwing up for a while, I contemplated how to dial the phone with my eyes shut. I didn’t figure out a way, So I had to open them for a few moments.
I got Chris’s answering machine, like I knew I would. “Chris! Chris! Help! I need you help!”
He picked up right away. “Murphy!”
“Chris! I need you! Come help me!”
“I’ll be right there!”
“okay”
and then I sat there, dripping sweat and vomiting some more. But I was thinking. I had put the chain lock in place. Would chris be able to get in without my help? Is there a way to unlock a chain from the outside?
I decided that i had to go unlock it.
February rode in on an ambulance- CONTINUED
sorry everyone…I am having to tell this story in pieces, because I am remarkably weak still.
So I gathered all the strength I had, and propelled myself to the front door, dragging my trashcan behind me. I thought I was going straight down the hallways, but the wall came right at me again. I used all my strength to get to the door and flip out the chain lock.
Then I sat in spinning, sweat-soaking misery until Chris arrived. I was getting cold because I was so wet.
It wasn’t very long, but every moment took a lot of concentration. When I heard chris turning the lock I called out, “Watch out, I’m right here.”
I didn’t want him to hit me with the door. I needed to maitain my sense of space in order not to spin out again.
He stopped entirely. “It’s okay,” I said. “Just don’t hit me with the door.”
He came in carefully and leaned down over me. I tried to open my eyes. I really wanted to see his face; but the room started spinning again and i had to shut them again.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. He had no idea.
“Everything is spinning! It’s spinning and it won’t stop. It’s making me sick.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Umm…” It was hard for me to think. “I need to see a doctor. I need your help.”
“Yes, you need to see a doctor.”
I was shaking from cold and sickness at this point. He looked at me and said, “You need to get to bed.”
“I have to go to the bathroom.” It was true. I had had to go since I first woke up. But it didn’t seem possible. At the different stations of the apartment i had ended up in, I had contemplated this situation among the other dilemmas before me. How could I possibly take care of this? While vomiting, it’s hard to remain in control of my bodily functions. I contemplated going in my pants, but thought I should save that for a last resort.
Good thing. Chris helped me to the bathroom. He got me on my feet. At first I lurched way over to the side, but he got a firm hold on me, and helped me to the toilet. I pulled my pants down, sat down and vomited into my faithful trash can some more.
There is a lot of vomit in this story. I am sure it is not that much fun to read about but it was less fun to be the protagonist.
You can, in fact, relieve yourself and vomit at the same time. I gave myself fully over to being sick, but the other just sort of took care of itself. Then I breathed for a while. Breathing was a very deliberate activity.
Wiping myself seemed impossible. But I thought about it, and decided that I must. I could move my hand and feet slowly without disturbing the stillness. But my head couldn’t be moved. Raising myself up to complete this task took some courage. But in the end I leaned into the can again and simultaneously took care of my needs.
But puling my pants up again was realy beyond. As soon as I could talk, when the sickness subsided, I called for Chris. He helped me to my bed, although I collapsed half in and half out. I was shivering, and he immediately covered my with an extra blanket.
That bed felt so good, but I was cold. Chris was trying to call Kaiser, and was on hold for quite a while. He said I had to get under the blankets in bed, because I had to get warm. He helped push me in.
Even while I was being sick, the bed felt so good I never wanted to move again. The pillow was heaven, the blankets felt so good and warm. Still on hold, Chris stuck a thermometer in my mouth. “that can’t be right….”
He took my temp again…”94.7..This must be malfunctioning…”
I said, “I’m cold.”
He could see I was shivering.
He finally got through to the doctor. “Baby?” he said. “I’ve got an appointment for 45 minutes from now. Do you think you can make it if I drive you to the doctor’s in my car?”
There was a challenge. I didn’t know. This pillow felt very nice.”I don’t know.”
“What should I do baby?”
“I don’t know.” I thought some more. Maybe…”Go get the car ready, and I will see.”
I concentrated very hard. I had made it to the phone because I had to. I’d gotten to the chain lock because i had to. What would this involve? I would simply be sick the whole way. Could I throw up for the 15 mintes it would take to drive there? But what about in the waiting room? Doctors always made you wait. Did they give precedence to vomiting patients? i suspected not. How long would they make me wait?
Oh this pillow felt good.
I envisioned the path to the car. I would have to ride in the elevator. How would I do that? If I had to concentrate so hard on keeping a still room from moving, how would I do in a room that actually was moving?
It seemed unlikely that I would actually be able to do this.
Chris came back. He saw me with my eyes screwed shut, shaking with chills. “I don’t think you can make it in the car.”
“I think you’re right.”
“I’m gonna call 911. After all, they did say that I should do that if this was an emergency.”
He went into the other room to call 911. I lay there and imagined being magically whisked off to someplace that would make me feel better. I pictured a helicopter, with me being strapped into a bed and swaying at the end of a rope.
Swaying made me start to feel spinny again, so I concentrated on feeling still. No, there would not be a helicopter. There would be an ambulance, and a gurney. They would lift me onto the gurney.
Oooh…Moving. That would be bad. Riding in a car. Maybe they would give me morphine or something. What did they do, anyway?
Just breathe. THink of peace. Peace. Still. Still.
I heard the sirens. “Hear that baby? They are coming for you.” Chris was taking good care of me.
They were coming.

love talk

Chris came by to see me yesterday. I was having a rough day, and he was worried about me.

It wasn’t particularly difficult, I had just lost my sense of humor. You HAVE to have a sense of humor over here, or you grind out.

So, he helped me feel better, just by being there. As I was getting sleepy, we had this conversation:

“I have to be up very early in the morning. Tell me something.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Sleepy things. Tell me a story.”

“I don’t know any stories.”

“Well, tell me what happened in the world today.”

“Let’s see….Do you know about Skull and Bones?”

“…other than their literal meaning, I couldn’t tell you. What are Skull and Bones?”

“I was listening to the radio today, and this talk show guy was talking about Skull and Bones. They are a secret society at Yale; this guy claimed they controlled everything.”

“Oh yeah…I remember hearing about them. They control everything?”

“That’s what this guy said…”

“If they control everything, I want to talk with them. There are a few things that need some improvement. How do we get a hold of these people?”

“This guy was claiming that they orchestrated the Kennedy assasination, and the Mars landing.”

“We need to find these guys and put them to better use. If there is somebody controlling everything, I say good. Too many things are out of control.”

Pause

“Chris..You’re going to become that guy, aren’t you?”

“what guy?”

“That guy who works from his home and listens to talk radio all day and turns weird.”

“I do NOT listen to talk radio all day! I only listen to it in my car.”

“WHATever. Next thing you know, you’ll be staying up late listening to that one talk guy.”

“Oh…Yeah…that guy…But he’s not on anymore. You mean Art Bell. They have another guy doing his show now. He only comes on for special occasions.”

“See? This is what I’m talking about. You already know all this stuff. You are gonna be that weird extremist right-wing guy.”

“I am not. What about you? you listen to NPR all day. Are you gonna be a left-wing extremist?”

“NPR is not extremist anything. They are all about the money. Do you know they play different songs depending on how the market is doing?”

“They do?”

“Yeah. If the market is up they play, ‘da da dedada’.”

“‘We’re in the money’…”

“Yeah. I don’t remember what song they play if it’s down. I don’t pay attention to stocks.”

“Yes, you put your money into your condo.”

“Right. But that just shows how NPR is all about the money. Whenever they do bring up some social cause, it’s so far away you could never do anything about it, so you don’t have to be distracted from worrying about your stocks.”

“Well…What’s the left-wing equivalent of the talk shows?”

“Pacifica radio. They are the ones who incite the peace marchers.”

“oh yeah. They’re weird.”

“I don’t listen to them very often.”

Reaching Out

Those of you, and I am so grateful for you, who read my blog on a regular basis would be aware that I haven’t written very regularly this month.

Perhaps I have been extraordinarily busy with work.

But also, at the beginning of the month, I had my piano tuned. It’s needed it for some time. I just hadn’t gotten around to it. I was feeling a vague sense of guilt that I never play it, and then I realized that I didn’t like the way it sounded, all out of tune. So, I had it tuned.

I’ve been playing it madly ever since. I pass it, on the way to get something from the kitchen, and I can’t resist playing some tricky part of a song, some trilly part that’s hard to get right.

And I’m learning to play new songs. I was getting tired of all the old ones I knew. I have been trying to learn some old irish ballads, and some old jazz songs.

Ballads are so pretty; they tear my heart out. I will often cry as I play and sing them.

But jazz is another animal entirely. They seem so simple when you hear them, and somehow, they slip away. You try to sing them, and then find you can’t remember the words. What was that again? It just slips out of your mind.

It was surprising to me to realize that most of them were just two or three very simple verses. Why is that so hard to remember?

So when I sit down to play these simple songs, I also find they are not so simple to play. I learned to play piano by teaching myself. I learned to play melodies on my own, and then I pestered other people and read things until I got an understanding of how music works. For any song, there is a structure, a musical structure. It’s like a grid that you can place down over any song, and know how you can place the parts of the song in relation to itself and in relation to music as a concept.

Jazz does not fit the grid very well.

If you read about jazz, read what they said about it at the time, the people were freaking out at how innovative and weird and NEW it was. “Jungle music” they called it, among other things. Some people couldn’t get enough of it.

Since I’ve been so fascinated with my newly tuned piano, music has been on my mind, I found my harmonica, and I was trying to play some of the same songs on it as I was walking to the bus stop.

“Danny Boy” worked pretty well, but “Pennies from Heaven” was hopeless. I realized that the harmonica does not have all the notes that a piano has. There simply was nowhere to go, nowhere to reach for the notes I needed.

And it clicked with me. That is why Jazz was so exciting to these people when it was new. They had their minds in the grid. And when the jazz musicians reached out for a note that wasn’t in the grid, it was practicially like reaching into a fourth dimension. It was blowing their minds!

I am thinking of the novel by Sinclair Lewis, Flatland. New things are so hard for us to come to terms with.

So why does the piano keep me from writing? I don’t know. My mother raised me on theories of right-brain and left-brain functions. I will say that when I play the piano, my mind does not think in words very well. I don’t know why, but even the words in songs do not interrupt the flow of concentration created by my hands on the keys of the black and whites.

I am disappointed, because I do not play as well as I used to.

But even when I was as I used to be, I was not as good as I wanted to be. I feel a push to do more than I can, more than I even know how to do.

I am not writing as well as I wish, or as much as I wish. And I am not playing as well as I want.

I have been feeling a hunger for a sewing machine, lately. I want to make something, create something that has not been done before.

I haunt the craft shop, and I tell myself, “you can’t find the time to write, you can’t find the time to practice your piano enough, how are you going to have time to sew?”

But I can’t leave.

I feel the urge to reach out in a direction that has not been traveled before, or even discovered. And I fight myself all the time about it. I don’t know the way to start, or to find what I am looking for. What use would it be if I did? What would it matter? Who would care? How could I possibly succeed? What would good would it do if I even did?

But still I am haunting the craft stores, feeling the materials, and fantasizing about vagues shapes and colors and textures.

WORK

You know, I’ve been re-evaluating my life somewhat. I don’t know why I call it RE-evaluating. I seem to do it without pause, really.

I am increasingly tired of what I do to make money. I feel like I have a lot of other things I would prefer to spend my time on. For example, I recently got my piano tuned. I am really enjoying learning new songs, and playing old ones.

What is this job thing for, anyway? Yes, I have to have food, shelter and clothing. And don’t forget the mathoms, all the pretty little useless items that catch my fancy, that I just have to have.

or maybe I don’t. Maybe I can get along with a heck of a lot less than I think. I went out to a restaurant last night, because I was too tired to cook and I didn’t have much in the fridge anyway.

If I hadn’t been to busy to shop or too tired to cook, I could have saved a lot of money.

Maybe.

As I was driving back with Chris from Marie Callendar’s, he asked me about Christmas music. “What kinds of music means Christmas to you?” He was thinking of buying Christmas CDs.

Thinking about it, my family did not buy Christmas CDs. But every Christmas had music! We just made it ourselves. Either we had an instrument to accompany us or we didn’t, but we always sang together.

What a beautiful thing! Think about music, just for a minute, as a beautiful thing to collect. It doesn’t take up space, it doesnt’ cost money. All you have to do is remember to sing.

And it lasts! It’s not something you regret, like a too-rich dessert. But it makes you feel good for longer than it takes just to sing.

What else is like that? Maybe playing a game, and I mean a real game that you make up, like peekaboo, with a child or a friend. Doesn’t cost a thing, doesn’t take up space or clutter your life.

Spending some time giving love…kisses and hugs, the best things in life, really, are just the same.

I wonder if I could tip the balance, make my life full of the non-cluttery things, so full that I don’t have time or space for the physical things. That might eliminate the necessity for this daily pay for daily work stuff.

Maybe.

I Drather

It is getting dark, and I am still at work.

I woke up this morning to the sound of my cell phone ringing in the wee morning. Someone in a different time zone needed my help. I sprang out of bed to answer it, heading out of the bedroom and into more cell-friendly areas of the house.

But I immediately hit my head on the door.

I didn’t know I’d closed it.

And the man in Uraguay is telling me that he can’t make a connection because no one is there, and I am trying to ask him how he knows that no one is there if he hasn’t made the connection.

And I can’t seem to figure out how to open the door. Is it locked? I lock and unlock it several times before I realize that I can’t open it because I’m leaning against it.

But at that point, the cell reception fades entirely and the phone connection is lost.

I sit down on the couch and call the other person whose time zone it is and tell him what he needs to do to take care of Uruguay’s problem. Problem solved.

And I’m awake. And my head hurts a little. Might as well get over to the office.

I’ve got to find a better way to make a living.

creative

I am feeling the urge to spend most of my life energy on being creative. Most of my life energy right now is spent on my job, which is no longer creative.

I know that I should be practical, but I would rather be doing those things that burn in my breast. I am not excited by anything I do at work anymore. Challenged, just a little. It’s good to use the ol’ brain muscle every once in a while.

But there is a better use of my head than what these attorneys are using it for. I have my own ideas of how to use my head.

There are a number of creative types here. We all share that look-down-at-the-floor-and-raise-your-eyebrows-while-you-sigh realization that the bills come every month regardless of the burning in your bosom.

One guy is an actor, really with parts in things and stuff. He works early mornings and weekends. He has a SHIFT and does not have to stay beyond it.

One other guy is a musician. He was working and working so hard he finally put his foot down. He said, “I cannot work these hours. Change it or I’m leaving.”

He left.

But they negotiated, and he came back, part-time and paid hourly. But the hours are more and more not-so-part-time.

I am thinking of something like that too. Yes, lucky me, I am paid hourly. At least I am paid for every minute this job takes me away from myself.

But the hours are getting too long for doing something I don’t care about. 50+ hours a week. And with the bus strike, I am having to DRIVE to work. There is not enough head space to let my creativity reach critical mass and release itself.

It seems like I am gonna have to start getting creative about finding a way to get creative.

day two AWOL

So, there’s this new guy. He was hired a couple weeks ago and seems nice enough.

But he didn’t come in last friday. And he didn’t call to say why. And he’s not here today either and he hasn’t called.

Here’s a situation. What should we do?

It happens the boss was out last friday. He’s in today, and I’m the one that called attention to the absence. Boss knew nothing about it.

He starts asking everyone if they had heard anything.

Here’s the funny bit: The guys all start backpedalling and trying to cover for the new guy…”Oh he said he might not come in on friday”

funny. So the boss calls the home number.
“Oh, this is not really where he lives, I will try to find out a better number for you.”

wow. This is new.

Now, I hope nothing is wrong. I suspect nothing is wrong.

But if nothing indeed is wrong, then what’s up with all this helping the guy cover up?

My upbringing was NEVER lie, NEVER try to get away with anything, and NEVER help anyone who was doing the above.

Good little Christian school children are taught that if they do anything, even the SMALLEST thing wrong they are sinning and deserve to go to hell, in fact they WILL go to hell if they don’t repent and have Jesus in their heart.

And if you cover up for your friend, you are not being a true friend because you are just helping them GO TO HELL!

So pretty much, there was a mad dash to tell on anyone that did anything wrong.

This is yet another example of how Christian schools do not prepare you for the real world.

In this real world that I now inhabit, it seems that there is an unspoken understanding that you cover for the guy. I didn’t know that you could get people to cover for you under these kinds of circumstances. This means that I can be a lot more cavalier about my duties, should I ever decide to be cavalier.

But I wonder why people cover for other people? is it in the hope that they will in turn be covered?

I guess. You never know when you will screw up or slack off somehow and need people to help you out. I screw unintentionally sometimes, no way around it. But to intentionally screw up. Wow.

I have never trusted people to help me out. I always assumed there would be the mad dash to tell on me.

That’s what I was raised with.

Interesting.

Ideology and fires

You know, way back when Darwin first came up with the idea of survival of the fittest, he categorized humans as an animal like all the other animals. Bears, pigs, monkeys and humans. We all eat, breathe, sleep, defecate and scratch where we itch.

The idea was hugely controversial. The church of the time wanted to believe that man was only a little lower than the angels, that animals were completely different from us altogether.

Now, we say that man is an animal without thinking about it. Yes: primate, vertebrate, whatever you call it, that is us.

And this classification brings us into greater relationship with our surroundings, our environment. Like cows, we eat grain. Like tigers, we eat meat. At least some of us do. And we grow grain and meat, using our environment to create food and do all the things we do.

As the smoke builds up in my city, we are saddened by the destruction of our environment. For some people, it is their whole environment, their home, that is destroyed. For some, like me, it is the beautiful outdoors, the natural environment that has been destroyed.

The fire was set by human means, there was arson which involved matches, and also a flare set by a lost hunter.

But the reason the fire became so huge is because of some bark beetles that killed the trees. They were standing timber, just waiting to be ignited. And we knew about this, we knew this would happen when the beetles first infected the trees.

This fire was inevitable. Perhaps the vast destruction was not inevitable, but a fire had to happen. Nature was doing what it does.

And we as humans, were decided what we wanted to do about that nature. Mostly, the idea that we should leave it entirely alone was the prevailing ideology.

For many years, most of which are in living memory, America with it’s democratic capitalism fought a war of ideology with Communist Russia. This war was called the Cold War, but it was only cold inside the two countries. It was hot as hellfire in some places.

Because we were using our ideologies to justify various actions in different parts of the world. Like one side or the other would prove themselves more RIGHT by having more little countries pick their ideology to govern with.

Lots of countries got caught in the middle. Remember Vietnam? Cuba? Zimbabwe? Tanzania?

Well, not all Americans are capitalists. There were and are a lot of lefty-type americans who were rooting for the communists, or at least socialism abroad. They, and socialists from other countries, were happy to see the so-called 3rd world countries embrace socialism.

Alright. I would now like to present Tanzania. Tanzania tried socialism. It tried it really hard. Socialism didn’t work in Tanzania. Nyerere, the president of Tanzania, and seemingly a very nice guy, admitted that it did not work and that Tanzania was pretty much impoverished by the experiment.

Tanzania was trying something out. It didn’t work, so maybe they ought to try something different.

Russia, the motherland of communism, is also trying this ‘something different’ themselves. Smart. If it’s broken, fix it.

NOW,
back to the fires in Los Angeles.

These fires, as I said, were naturally ocurring. We kinda knew they were coming. Fires come every year.

There is an ideology of conservationism that says, “Don’t touch it! We have to pretend like we don’t exist! Humans should not touch nature, we’ll screw it up!”

Alright, I think the experiment of pretending that we are angels who float above the surface of the planet and don’t make any marks has come to a failed conclusion.

If we are indeed part of the ecological system that we inhabit, it is impossible not to interact with it. Denial is more than a river in Egypt. The time has come for the conservationists to realize that we should direct our interaction with the planet in a useful way.

Let’s use this human intelligence to choose wisely. Let’s cut down and use controlled fires to protect the environment, WHICH INCLUDES OURSELVES, from these kinds of uncontrolled acts of nature.

Let’s be wise and careful, and let’s use our smarts to protect the environment. This whole “Don’t touch it!” ideology has hurt my state.

It also hurt my home state Alaska, with people who want to treat the beautiful interior of Alaska as some kind of pinned-down insect. It’s not a dead, static thing. It’s a living place, and getting some people up there to get the oil out and spend a little attention on preservation will do a lot more to help the area than leaving it alone.

It’s time to change when we’ve been proven wrong. Don’t cling to outmoded ideas.