Where Are They Now? Out of the Pocket's Carrie

We recently caught up with Carrie Conway, best known as Bobby Framingham's "Friend who is a Girl" in the well-loved novel "Out of the Pocket."

Her hair now a shade of red-orange usually reserved for forest blazes, her lips a shade of purple usually seen in slurpie cups, Carrie was at a frat party at Cal State Northridge, a plastic red cup in her hand. She was wearing a black and white print Kimono, and she had chopsticks in her hair. The party was not a costume party. No mention was made about why Carrie was now Asian, nor did she try to explain during our quick chat.

Q: Carrie Conway! You've really done quite a marvelous job of staying out of the media this past year and a half. How've you done it? How are you? What are you up to?

A: Um, one question at a time, please. How many things do you think I can hold in my head at one time? I'm kidding. I'm being weird. There is not NEARLY enough odd at Northridge, believe me you. Okay. So, I guess I'm fine, I mean, yeah. I'm good. (Sips her beer) For the record, I am not drinking beer. (Sips again, foam forms on her purple lips). Because. That would be. Wrong. Oh stop looking at me like that, Renee! I do not have a problem! So what was the question?

Q: What are you up to?

A: Oh, you know. This and that. Spring semester at Durango was tragic! I mean, lame to a significant, you know, extent. I dated this baseball player, and found, you know, that ACTUALLY dating an athlete is a whole lot less enjoyable that kind of dating a closeted gay football player who won't touch your boobies or even kiss you. (Laughs, rolls her eyes). Yeah, being known for that has really been fabulous for my social life. (Motions to the non-existent crowd around her). Sorry, Renee. We all love you. We meaning me. So yeah, dating a baseball player. A lot less irony in the conversation, if you know what I mean. So anyway, I'm now a freshman, in case you can't do the math. Northridge is, wow, how do I even describe this place? (Sips beer, ponders). A school.

Q: Are you in touch with Bobby?

A: Skype. We have our Sunday morning skype sessions, which are perfect because my JESUS LOVING ROOMMATE is out sacrificing small babies, or whatever it is that those people do on Sunday morning.

Q: Go to church?

A: Yeah, I guess, whatever. So Bobby and I skype. He's LOVING Stanford, which makes me want to rip my eyes out of my socket. Because it is possible, if I were brighter or at least more studious or my parents were richer or maybe all three I could be at a school like that and not HERE where nobody FREAKING appreciates a good Kimono. God!

Q: Bitterness aside, how is he doing?

A: (Shrugs). You know Bobby. Always drama. He's playing football. He's not like a starter or anything, but he like is on the team. I think he didn't get out on the field this year. (Laughs). Which makes the whole 'I'm a football player' thing sort of existential, no? He's dating someone. Not that Bryan guy, but like a guy at Stanford. He's all shady about the whole thing, evasive. Which is SO DIFFERENT than the Bobby I knew for three-and-a-half years, right? I mean, come on, Dude. You came out. Stop with the evasion. Is that a word?

Q: Are you dating?

A: Well, glad you asked. There are like a bunch of gay guys who major in drama here, so yeah, the field is definitely WIDE OPEN. No. I mean, I don't date, exactly. I will sometimes eat a meal with a guy. And if he pleases me, I will allow him to touch my boobies. Not directly, but like, over the sweater, you know. Can I go now? I mean, aren't you a little old to be at this party, perv?

Q: It was nice talking to you, Carrie.

A: The pleasure was all yours. Kidding! I'm kidding. Nice talking to you. If you see anyone with even a SPARK of creativity about them, or like a guy with nice pecs and cute dimples, would you, like, send them over here? I'm literally dying.

Times blogger gets stupid

I was surfing just now and came across something that simply shocked me: a blog entry for The New York Times called "Now Scrutinizing: A Rounder Golden Globes."

This is from last week, but I just saw it now. Blogger Andy Post comments that Jennifer Aniston, Courtney Cox and Kate Hudson all looked like they'd put on weight at the Golden Globes.

I think Post may have thought that since his piece lacked a "value judgment" about weight gain (he spoke of 'sexier curves' and said they were 'more Marilyn than Twiggy') that this sort of speculation was less damaging.

Of course, it's this very sort of objectifying of bodies that leads women (and men, I might add) to eating disorders and other vastly unhealthy practices that stem from obsession over physique. I mean, if those women are round, I'm a balloon, and so are most humans.

This seems to me to be an example of good intentions gone awry. I can tell from his piece that he means to nuance this sort of body image discussion by not showing a preference for the unhealthy, zero-size aspirations that the tabloids seem to consider ideal. But instead, it's just another crap piece with an unhealthy focus on exterior. How about a piece about what an unheralded great actress Courtney Cox is? What's Kate Hudson like as a person?

Why is The Times involved in this sort of journalism in the first place? Why do we continually set the bar for discourse at the lowest possible level? Let's raise the bar. Significantly.

Gout

I have gout. The worst case of it I've had in 15 years.

Not fun.

I woke up with it on Friday morning, not too bad but I could tell it was there. I rested Friday and ate well, and by Saturday morning, I seemed to be better. I went out and took a walk in the snow with Chuck (okay, a hobble), and even shoveled some of the driveway.

I guess I overdid it. By last night, I was incapacitated, and all day today. It's hugely sore and very painful, and I'm in a bad mood.

A big part of the problem is that I've now been laid up for the better part of 10 days. I got back from Florida last Tuesday, and by Friday I had a nasty cold. That kept me home for six days. I was better by Thursday of this past week, and was just getting my life back when this hit.

So mostly I feel bad for Chuck. I've now wasted two straight weekends of his being sick or in pain. He's been a good sport, but mostly I feel bad that he's been busy taking care of me.

I just hope I can get back to my life soon.

Blogging Guilt

I have been so bad about blogging recently. It's been, gulp, 10 days since my last post, and I have no real excuse. I mean, I've been sick, but that's not really an excuse. I was away for three weeks until Jan. 12, but that's not so much of an excuse, either.

So there it is; I have nothing. I suppose my lack of blogging has to do with the fact that I can't discuss one of the main things going on in my life that is blog-worthy. I have been reading tons of books that I'd love to discuss, but since it's part of a contest I'm judging, I can't talk about that.

I'd love to talk about my writing, but I am currently in edit mode, and I haven't had anything terribly exciting to share in terms of my process.

I am taking a political sabbatical. I simply don't want to discuss anything political, because when I take politics too seriously, it's not good for my own sanity. The personal is political and the political is personal, yes, but I find that I get exhausted when I practice that in my life. Better to focus on my own life, and not things I cannot control.

So that leaves me with nothing. Another Adam Lambert blog? Nah. Long descriptions of the cold I had? No thanks. I promise I'll try to come up with things to write. Until I start doing better, though, feel free to suggest stuff that you'd like to read. If you want to read it, I'll write it!

U.S. aid to Uganda? Let's up the pressure.

I felt compelled to add my two cents about something that occurred at the White House briefing on Friday. Apparently, White House Secretary Robert Gibbs was asked if the U.S. would continue to give more than $300 million in aid to Uganda if the "Kill the Gays" bill passes there. That bill includes life imprisonment and capital penalties for "aggravated" homosexuality. Other countries have already vowed to stop giving aid if the bill passes.

Here is Gates' answer:
"I will check on, prospectively, in the event that something like that passes, I would say that that type of -- that type of legislation would certainly not live up to any record of universal rights and universal values that I think anybody would see in this country."

Such a shockingly weak answer. And apparently, it's a lot like the answer he gave when asked about DOMA (Defense of Marraige Act). This is an administration that promised to be inclusive of the LGBT community and reactive to our concerns. Instead, they have continually sidestepped issues. Obama's speech in Washington to HRC was one shining moment, but he hasn't followed up his rhetoric with anything meaningful.

If they take this lack of interest a step further and continue to aid a country that kills gay people, we need to take our opposition a step further.

If there is no vow to end aid to Uganda, we need to actively end LGBT support for this administration, and for the Democratic party. Enough is enough. A wolf in sheep's clothing is still a wolf. Obama needs to show he's not George Bush, and this would be a good time to do it.

In My Room

Back in New York for the holidays, and that means being back in my old room.

It's especially tough now, because the room is not only filled with tough memories of being an isolated teenager, but it's also the place where my beloved stepfather breathed his last breath, seven years ago.

I always struggle to fall asleep my first few nights back at home. Sleeping in my childhood room with my husband is also a strange experience.

This afternoon, I was sitting in bed reading when someone across the air shaft from me started blaring their radio. It was Father Figure, by George Michael. I put down my book and allowed myself to be transported to any number of afternoons during high school, when I decided I was "too sick" to go to classes. I'd sit on the covered radiator by the window and play records, staring into mostly covered windows across the way, daydreaming about what it would be like to be an adult, free, on my own.

It was a very gratifying few minutes, and I couldn't stop smiling even after the song ended.

Being an adult is every bit as challenging, and rewarding, as I could have imagined in my wildest dreams back then. I hoped, prayed, that life would be different than it was back then, when I felt chained up by labels, and a cruel world, and a society that didn't seem to understand who I was.

It is different. It is better.

Just hold on. Time does amazing things, if you just hold on and let it happen.

Dear Mr. Rove

I am sorry to hear your second marriage hasn't been working out.

However, I'm sorry to tell you that you will not be able to get divorced.

Divorce is the Number Two enemy of Traditional Marriage (I know I don't need to tell you what Number One is), and by divorcing, you are undermining the sanctity of the instituation, and destorying the instituation of marriage is tantamount to destroying this country.

And I know you wouldn't want to do that, would you?

I have to wonder if your marriage failed because of someone's successful gay marriage? Mine, perhaps? (Oh, right. I have a Civil Union, aka Starter Marriage). I have been hearing for some time that gay marriage is a threat. If so, I'm really, really sorry.

I only hope that society doesn't crumble because of what you do in your personal life. I am sure this is your biggest concern, too, and I'm sure you're right now working up some good ole' legislation to ban divorce.

Jackass.