I need to say, first and foremost, that the Oscar sweep by LOTR is the most deserved ever. I obviously wished that Viggo Mortensen and Orlando Bloom had been on hand, but it was great to see the hobbits and the fabulous Peter Jackson all together, and to watch every facet of those movies honored over and over again. Just incredible. My kids are going to think that the only cool thing about their mom is that she witnessed these movies when they first came out, that she watched Peter Jackson win his Oscar. I’m so proud of all those folks, seemingly the entirety of New Zealand, and so thankful that they made these movies. I know it may be sad and weird, but the Lord of the Rings trilogy improved the last three years of my life.

I started my new job on Friday, went to a particularly raucous wine dinner Friday night, worked my last day at the winery on Saturday, and then attended the Frog’s Leap Year Party (or whatever the heck it was called) Saturday night well into Sunday morning. Needless to say, I have a cold. The party on Saturday was insane. The owner of Frog’s Leap Winery throws it every leap year, and it is treated like a New Year’s Eve. Clearly my New Year’s this year was pathetic, so I was ready to be amongst revelers, and my god did this party deliver. There were some 700 people there, a billion gallons of wine, great food, and one hell of a band. Elizabeth and I saw a lot of people we knew, and met a whole host of new friends. Near the end of the night, as I was busy destroying my feet on the dance floor, a short bald guy grabbed me and started swinging me around. He was incredible- in control but wild, such a good leader, so much fun. Perhaps it was the drink, but by the end of the dance I was a little bit in love. In the middle of a second dance, he begged his leave, saying he had to help his friend (who was, oddly, the tall and bald one). Something was going terribly wrong in their night, and I saw them leaving a few minutes later. “What’s your name? Where are you from?” I asked my dance partner. He told me his name and then said, “Washington. Washington D.C.” What do you do? “I work for the White House”.

“NOOOOO!” I cried. “Oh, yes!” he said. I turned and walked away, and remember thinking to myself, “I could almost fall in love with a Republican if he dances like that.” Clearly, that, if nothing else, is a sign that I’d had too much to drink.

I’m not entirely ready to write about my new job. There are politics involved that are almost overwhelming, and at this point I’m not entirely clear on what it is I’ll be doing. I start my first full week tomorrow, and I hope to have a better sense of it by week’s end. I hope I like it.

What do you do when smart people have confusing politics? This is a question that plagues me only occasionally, but when it hits, I am beside myself. Ian wrote in yesterday’s blog that 69% of Americans are against gay marriage. How many of that 69% are friends of mine? Not too many. In fact, I can name only one Republican among the people I talk to every week, and he drives me way up the forkin’ wall the second he gets political. I’ve largely surrounded myself with like-minded folks, and while that makes for fewer arguments at dinner, it also does little to change, you know, ahem, “the world”. My way of changing the world, I’ve always claimed, is one person at a time. And yet I spend vast amounts of time talking about really important stuff with people who agree with me totally.

But once in a rare moon I’ll find myself in company that disagrees. Conservative, Republican, and even worse, specifically anti-gay or anti-choice. These are thinking, intelligent people, in any other arena of conversation, so when they come out in defense of Bush, using Bush’s own poop-filled propaganda, I just don’t know what to do with myself. I know this is going to sound a little extreme, but I have a hard time thinking that someone who supports Bush is smart, or that someone who opposes gay marriage is kind, or that someone who is pro-life is thoughtful. Okay, okay, I know, I KNOW but I have a hard time with it. I have known examples in my life of smart Republicans and loving homophobes and caring pro-lifers, but it’s simply hard for me to swallow. They seem such contradictions in terms.

I used to say to Sean all the time when we were growing up that “everyone is entitled to their opinion”. I don’t know if I always believe that anymore. It was that psychopath’s opinion that he should gun down a doctor who performed abortions. It is our president’s opinion that certain people should be denied human rights because those people are biologically hard-wired to love others within the same gender. These opinions are so ugly, so perverse, so awful that I sometimes wish I could take that choice, that opportunity to have an opinion, and make it disappear. Irrational, I know. I want Gandhi’s opinion, and John Lennon’s, but I don’t want Bush’s or Powell’s or… or even the opinion of a friend from my trek of two summers ago.

I spent three months with a band of strangers during the summer of 2002. We hiked the American wilderness, highlighting public lands and encouraging a dialogue between different user groups of those lands. The majority of us leaned left; liberal and socially conscious as our days were long. But there were two major right-wingers, and we got into hairy, ugly, angry political debates. We are all still in touch via and email list, and I got an email from one of the two conservatives today that has left me sad. He is in his first years of college, very bright and well schooled. He was catching us up on his last year:

“Started up a new conservative magazine on campus,” his email began. Apparently the only problem with this new magazine is that a different, even more right-wing group started a mag at the same time. He wants his to be the most right-wing publication the students will read. His email continues: “Ran a fundraising letter drive for (name deleted) Students for

Life, the campus pro-life group, and netted almost $1,000. That was a fun time.”

What do I do with this information? This 20-year-old kid is raising money for pro-lifers? What could I possibly say to him. I can’t even write back, because all I would say is please. Please, please, please think about what you are doing. Think about what is important to you, in nature, in each other, in goodness. And as smart as he is, he would have no interest in talking to me about any of it. His type feels like a lost cause, even though he is a decade younger than I am. But at the same time, I don’t want to be friends with people who hate gay people. I don’t want to be friends with people who don’t care about utterly destroying what little natural, wild world we have left.

Anyway. I’m back in California, and the wind is howling, and all I really need is about 14 hours of sleep.

Ah, cheese and rice, when I spend an hour fifteen on an email, I just don’t have any juice left.

If I had a digital camera, I’d just post a picture.

Hmmm… let me see if I can just post a picture…

Okay, we’ll see if that works. It’s the first picture of me I’ve posted on this blog. Let’s see what else I can come up with…

Match made in heaven, no? A perfect couple, he and I, wouldn’t you say?

*sigh*

I may have effectively ended a friendship tonight.

I have (or had, we’ll see) a friend in my life whose half truths finally added up to a level of ugliness that I am no longer able to ignore. Everyone tells these little white lies, or lies of omission- I mean, most people do, even if it is to telemarketers when you fib about having to run out the door at the very moment they call. I do it, I know I do. But there are lies to salespeople and then there are lies to those you love. This friend is so charming, so eloquent, so articulate that his lies are prettier than other people’s truths, and while I didn’t choose to believe him, neither did I contradict him. I just let his honeyed words work their way through the room.

But now, surrounded by good people, and loving lots of good people, I don’t want to bother with him anymore. Rather than not returning his phone calls I wrote him a detailed email, complete with examples and dates (if you can believe that) to support my belief that he not thoroughly honest. It would be terrific if he takes responsibilty for any of it. I actually hate to lose him as a friend. But the way things are, I could never talk to him again and I’d be largely okay about it.

In other news, I’m still in New York as the start date for my new job has suddenly become elastic. It’s currently still stretching, and I have no exact idea when this will all begin. So I’m here until Wednesday, and what a wonderful, wonderful trip it has been. I had a terrific time in some of my favorite East Village haunts last night, including the infamous “Sleep Late” bar where my companion of the evening whipped my butt at darts. Considering I was never in a frat, and thusly never had a dart board in my bedroom hanging from a closet door, I held my own. I didn’t win a game, but nor were my losses really ugly. At least, if memory serves. And tonight my mom and I saw Sean and Jordi in another show. They were brilliant, and like my dad says, clearly belong in a different league of tennis players.

Only two more days here, and I don’t know how I want to fill them. I’m hoping to finally see Ian and Tess. I’m hoping to actually get my incredibly chubby butt to the gym. But maybe I’ll just stay in Queens all day and beg Sean to make omeletes and french toast. Man, can that guy make french toast.

If you say ANYTHING about “freedom” toast, you are univited to my blog.

I had a hundred things to write about today- the pictures at yahoo.com of the marriages in San Francisco, the greatness of the Indiana Jones series, the strange pain deep in my left shoulder blade, my lack of understanding for people who hate gay people, the terrific loaf of bread we bought today, you know, all the major events in my life, but I’ve just received an email from my friend Mike in Hollywood. Mike was robbed at gunpoint tonight, with several of his friends. None of them were hurt- that is, no one got shot. But Mike puts the rest of us to shame with his goodness, his kindness, his humor, and his ridiculous good looks. Sometimes I can’t bear to look at him because his beauty almost hurts. And someone pointed a gun into his face tonight, seemingly ready to end his life if he didn’t hand over his wallet and UNC watch.

I know this kind of stuff happens every day to people all over the world. Whatever. This simply should not, could not happen to Mike. I can’t allow it, can’t allow for it in my head.

I have to say that I sympathize with Bud in his lack of time for blogging. I’d love to have time to do it every night, but sometimes when it’s 4 AM and you have to wake up at 9, you simply choose sleep.

I’m in New York, and have had a strange experience so far. My flight here was a blast- my mom decided at the last minute to fly with me, so she met me at the airport and we drank beer and watched DVDs on my laptop as we sailed above the country. In fact, we inspired our whole row to drink beer with us and our terribly nice and extraordinarly gay flight attendant was our sweet, sweet bartender.

I didn’t plan this trip, and therefore missed out on an important opportunity: looking forward to it. I wasn’t really prepared to be here, prepared to see my friends and family, prepared to leave my little life in St Helena. My first steps onto Union Square, usually filled with wonder and joy, were instead a little confused and almost odd. Rather than feeling like home, the very buildings reminded me of the naysayers, the fuglies, the unfortunates who decided to make me feel unwelcome in this city. There have always been those who persecuted me for who I am: not jaded, not bitter, and although frequently conflicted or sad, unwilling to bleed said sadness all over my co-workers. In Hollywood, the joke was I that I must have been totally hopped up on Prozac. In New York, the few arseholes decided I was only half a person. What only a precious few noticed was that I actually know the meaning of professionalism in the workplace, and also a sense of decorum and privacy. I was persecuted by most because I didn’t lay my faults and problems bare the minute I walked in the door every day.

I was left to wonder, however briefly, how many friends I actually have in this city. And is this really my home?

But then I remembered that I spent yesterday with the beautiful and wonderful Kellie, and then today was blessed with a few hours of Mollie (who may live in Napa but is from New York, so she counts) followed by dinner with Damon and drinks with Ms. B and Megan. It’s too easy to be overwhelmed with the folks from the Dark Side, too easy to forget about the ones who’ve been nothing but good from the day I met them. I’ve got these folks, and Hayley, and all in her clan, all of whom are, in every way, as good as it gets.

It feels strange not be torn. I realize now that I will hang on to these few people here, as I know I’ll hang on to my newer friends in Napa. There is room, so much more room now in my heart for all of them now that I stopped waiting tables, now that I have a ton more juice in my caregiving psyche. Now I have room to try to be a good daughter and a good friend and I find it to be a negotiable challenge. But I’m not here wishing that I could stay forever. I am here, enjoying myself, and when it’s time to go back to California I’ll be excited and ready for my new job. That is, if this job ever gets off the ground. But that’s a whole nother story.

But… it’s all good, and for various reasons I’ve extended my stay here until a week from today. I just hope there’s enough eggs in the fridge cuz my wallet is suddenly filled with cobwebs and a painted wooden sign saying “GO AWAY”.

I am writing under the influence of much Grenache, Chateneuf-de-Pape, T-Vine, Alban, et al, so I will not be clear. Be clear on that at least.

Yet another great night, but I have to get up to pack and get on a flight.

More importantly, the goodness emanating from the steps of city hall in San Francisco is enough to make everthing okay.

I was at yet another wine dinner tonight, but only three of the five of us could attend, and still we spent well over three hours cooking, and what a night, what a night. The last hour I spent playing “Michelle’s Favorite Hits from Whenever” including Nickel Creek, Alanis Morisette (a song you’ve never heard), Billy Joel, Barenaked Ladies, Seal, and many others. Currently we are drinking sherry and I’m considering Lyfe in Genral.

Love to all who stood in the rain and sun to get married this weekend.

It’s amazing to me, the phenomenon of turning on your light when a nightmare wakes you in the dark. Suddenly the nightmare is clearly just imagination. It seems to be the same of what I think might be really good in my life. All I need to do is turn a spotlight onto it and I realize that it’s not necessarily really good, it just is what it is.

This Valentine’s day was three years single for me. Three years is a long, long, long forkin’ time. It makes me think, is all. I’ve not been without dates, not been without the company of men, but I’ve chosen to not fall in love. Interesting choice, isn’t it? I mean, why? It’s worth exploring, and also worth exploring what it is that I want now. I have had moments of thinking, AHA! THIS is what I want. And then I shine a light on it and I realize that it just isn’t. It just isn’t what I want.

I knew I wanted two things: a good group of friends and a job I liked. I’ve found the former and I’m working really hard on the latter. I’m moving forwards in that arena, and only time will tell if this new job is going to make me happy.

I’m off to New York in two days, and strangely, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to miss what will be happening here while I was gone. What would be happening in my life here. My life here. (I have a life?!)

Clearly I’m not tracking. I’m thinking about dooce’s new baby (dooce.com- if you haven’t checked it out, you are missing out on one of the best writers of my lifetime) and about waking up at 6:15 to sear off some of my new chub (incurred while not being able to walk on my poor little sick feet). So I am off to bed, with nothing more than these random, silly, but slightly contented thoughts.

So the thing I’ve been waiting for? It happened. I have a new job. I’ll get in to that later.

On my mind currently: all my new friends are falling in love, and maybe I won’t like them so much anymore

2) people who say they turn their ringer off every night should actually turn them off or don’t be mad when I call at 3:30 AM

3) I might be back in NY this coming Tuesday

4) two quotes followed me tonight:

and you can dance for inspiration

the beautiful ones always smash the picture

No one I was with got the second one.

I can’t explain it, really.

Boy oh boy oh boy is work gonna suck tomorrow. But… it’s my last Saturday there.

I’m still waiting for the final word on this mysterious new opportunity that might fall into my life, so I still cannot share. Hopefully I will know by Friday, and then maybe I’ll buy a digital camera and expose you folks out there in cyber-space to the wonders and beauties of Napa Valley in the spring. How these two- my new whatever and a camera- are related, I don’t know, except that maybe I’ll eventually be able to afford said camera, but still, this spring is not to be missed. Yes- SPRING. Today was 68 degrees and my car was too hot when I climbed in it at 2 in the afternoon. I had to open the windows and the sunroof. And the mustard- god, the mustard- not to be believed. There is a field just past the CIA on Highway 29 that looks as though Minas passed his hand over every blade. It simply has to be seen to be believed. The mustard grows with such abandon, such rich, sunny health, that I almost believe it could cure everything that ails me. Almost.

A group of my friends here and I have started a tasting group. Once a week we get together, having decided on a varietal and a menu the week before, and we spend the afternoon and evening cooking, drinking, and talking, first about wine and then about everything. They have been wonderful nights, long and funny and so worth it. And suddenly I realize that I love my friends here. There are four of us, with a possible addition of a fifth, and we are perfectly matched. Our childhoods were alike only by being ridiculous, our younger adult years matched only by wanderlust, and now we are here, together, sometimes in my own home, and I have moments of not wanting to be anywhere else. Clearly these are the salad days but I don’t want them to end. I don’t want any of my friends to leave. I want this to go on and on and on. I’m scared even to acknowledge them, my circle of Elizabeth, Jon, and Mollie, my wine coven, because if I call it by name maybe it will leave me. But I can’t help but yell this from the rafters, even if I’m the only one hearing. I love my friends here. I want to keep them.

I have a ticket to fly to New York on the 19th to see Sean and Jordi’s show. I won’t know until Friday if I can go. But- well. I can name three things in my life that leave me vexed- three things, three possibilities, black and white decisions, and I just don’t know which way to go. Some of them will be decided for me, some I’ll just forget about and passive aggressively ignore, but maybe I’ll actually make a choice. Ugh. Who knows.

Why do I love sugar so much?

*sigh*