Sweetie

Is it safer for gay men to act normal now? You don’t see many of those flaming, flamboyant men who call everyone “Sweetie” and swish about these days. The outrageous certainly has its charms, but I think I like it better now, where people are just people.

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What’s that smell?

Do you ever think about how much of your life is devoted to identifying smell? You walk in the kitchen after someone’s been cooking Brussels sprouts and ask, “What’s that smell?” You open the window early in the morning and wonder at the aroma of burning toast from some neighbor’s open window. You look for the source of phantom smells, like cigarette smoke, that don’t even exist in your house. You stick your nose in the washing machine to see if that vinegary smell comes out of it.

Do you smell that? What’s that smell?

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What’s On?

“What’s on?” People want to know what’s on your iPod, your TV, your stereo, your X Box, your bedside table, your car radio. They think it says something about you. It probably does. So you should know that I watched “Marcella” all weekend, I listened to Natalie Merchant and Al Jarreau in my car, keep my radio tuned to NPR and I finished reading “The Marriage of Opposites” this weekend. Now you know all my secrets.

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The Five Paragraph Essay

A few years back I worked as a contractor at IBM. One of the women I worked with had kids in middle school. One day she sent me an email about something. It was a perfect 5 paragraph essay. The opening paragraph with her 3 points, the 3 supporting paragraphs, and the summary. She’d been helping her kids with their homework, I’ll bet.

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Gnats

I think gnats are magic. You walk through them on the sidewalk like they weren’t there. If you see one in the house and slap at it, it simply disappears. Gone. Not on your hand, not in the air. Gone.

Wouldn’t it be nice if you could make the swarms of gnats you run into as you walk disappear with a slap of your hand?

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Antique

I have a lot of antiques in my house. Things that were handed down from my parents and grandparents. I often look around at my furniture, my belongings, and think, “I wonder what my house would look like if I picked out everything I have for myself?” It’s an idle thought, because that will never happen.

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45

Am I playing the woman card when I say that I’m kind of excited that a woman stands a really good chance of being the 45th President of the United States? I don’t want a political debate on the merits of anyone in the race, please. We’ve had 44 men in the job. Let’s give this a chance.

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Imagine

Imagine living on Mars or a moon of Jupiter. The conversation around moving out into the solar system has always been a lively one. Would you go? By choice? By necessity? We’re quickly making our own planet inhospitable to human life. Do you suppose we can pollute and corrupt our entire solar system before we become extinct as a species?

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Tangled

They were tangled, those neurons, those synapses. I tried every day to teach them to rearrange and retangle into some semblance of ukulele player. The eyes, the nerves, the muscles, the practice – finally it began to click, to happen automatically, habitually. Whew. Neurons are tough customers.

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Hate

I hate how hard it is to get up out of a chair. I hate how hard it is to walk long enough to buy groceries. Those are just physical things that life gives you as a gift of aging. I don’t hate transgender women who might want to enter the women’s bathroom at the same time as me. That kind of hate is vicious fear mongering harmful to everyone.

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