Let us take a pause from my PORTRAIT story.

It is monday again. I sit in my journalism class again. The Bubble Yum Imac sits temptingly in front of me.

I can type. It is amazing how very little effort this class is taking. Most of the time I forget that I am in school.

It’s pretty great. A class that requires very little attention.

I now have a reason to be glad I’m taking the class, though. I have gotten a gig!
I met a woman on craig’s list who is starting a community paper. And she looks at my writing from my blog

YES, THIS VERY SAME BLOG

and agreed to let me be a writer. For free.

We are both getting something out of this.

I did my first interview on Saturday. Stay tuned for the article. I’ll post it here after I have completed it.

Driving around my new city last friday night, I stumbled upon a Peace demonstration. Lots of people in Hollywood were standing in the warm night, holding signs and chanting things: PEACE!

There were quiet a lot of people. I thought it was a very nice night for a protest. It really was quite warm and pleasant. There were a lot of kids out.

As I was waiting at a red light, I saw a man dressed as the grim reaper, propping up a protest sign and a scythe.

He had a frightening yellow skull mask over his face: the reaper wants peace!

While I watched him, he brought a lighted cigarette to the mouth hole of his mask and took some long drags.

The irony is unbelievable.

I am inadvertently in the middle of a cat fight here at work. My job deals a lot with Administrators, Receptionists and Secretaries.
Maybe this place is sexist…They all seem to be women.

Anyway, some woman told another woman that something was cancelled, and the second woman told the first woman that she had no right to cancel anything, and then SHE told HER that MURPHY said to, so there!

Whoops.

It was all a silly misunderstanding, but now these women are threatening to not speak to one another.

Goodness.

Some people here, certainly none of them my direct superiors, are under the impression that I am important. Therefore, when such an important person as myself says something, IT IS TO BE OBEYED.

I am still curious where they are getting that “important” vibe. I don’t feel important. Right now, I just feel busy.

Is that what being important feels like? Maybe I’m more important than I thought.

There is a Dock strike in LA.

My sweet boyfriend, known for his unfailing foresight, asked me if I’d heard about it.

I had.

NPR was talking about how it was affecting truckers, and I was thinking about my friend Karen’s dad, who is a trucker. But Chris said, “You’d better do your Christmas shopping early this year.”

“Really? Why?”

“All those cheap christmas gifts come from Asia. And we’re going to run out of cheap stuff from Asia or it’s going to get really expensive really quick if this strike lasts any length of time.”

Good point. Now all you readers can be prepared.

But this makes me feel sad, too. China has such a terrible human rights and labor rights record. I can just picture all the little child workers, making assembly line Santa Clauses for Americans, and they don’t even have enough money to buy themselves decent toys, let alone get presents for Christmas.

It’s just wrong.

I went to the Fair this saturday. Los Angeles County has quite a few redneck-type farmers. It was just like county fairs are supposed to be.

Except they had a Hollywood Section, where you got to meet stars of shows that you’ve never heard of.

But they had all kinds of animals. Goats and Pigs and Sheep and Cows and rabbits and chickens and everything!

The pigs were my favorite. I may have to tell a few pig stories later. I got to pet their hairy sides and wiggle the little piglets’ nose..They are so wonderful!

It was somewhat of a shock to pass an entire pig spitted and roasting at one of the BBQ stands. I had just been petting the little guys!

It made me wonder how they shave the pig before they roast it.

But there were a lot of interesting food items for sale. The usual caramel apples and popcorn and cotton candy were there. Also, Funnel cake and Pink’s hot dogs. The specialty this year was deep friend twinkies.

I abstained.

Of all the crazy things, East Timor appears to have chosen a new national language. Finnish.

I am thinking of The Swedish Chef, and I am thinking of Garrison Kiellor and the Prairie Home Companion. Finnish is a strange-sounding language, and it has no association with East Timor at all.

That is the point. It has no association with East Timor. I guess, from my broad base of ignorance about Finland, the Finns have had a history of minding their own business, and not raging about the world conquering things.

East Timor has a history of other people minding THEIR business and conquering THEM. They are tired of it. So many terrible things have been done to them, a quick glance through the web pages about East Timor shows up sites all about “help them!”

They’ve been trampled on by a lot of colonizing countries, and none of the world’s major languages hold good memories for them. Newly their own country, the officials are making decisions about what language to use, and they do not choose to use the language of their oppressor.

Their own language has become fragmented. They have not had the chance to cohese, under the dividing forces of colonialism.

They chose Finnish.

I see a kind of tragedy in their choice, and a heroism, too. They’ve been mistreated, and they choose to step away from those atrocities.

Language is incredibly important; it is the bearer of culture. If they chose the language of their oppressors, they are choosing also the culture that fostered that oppression. But the East Timorese say: no! no more and not for us. we will be something other than that.

Colonialism is a force and an influence which is hard to understand, especially if you are on the colonizers side. We Americans are a colonial power. We were not the first, there are many. So many, that the shadow of colonialism is cast over the whole globe.

It is time to realize it, and begin to come to terms with recctifying the situation. We must examine our heart and our attitudes to purge hurtful assumptions about others and ourselves.

I don’t know if the East Timorese will stay with their Finnish language program, but I admire their choice. They have chosen the language, and therefore the culture of a non-colonial power. They know the harm colonialism can bring, and they want out. More power to them.