Merry Christmas. I don't believe Jesus was the son of God (though he did have a few badass ideas), but I do believe in the value of seasonal reflection, reuinion, and gift-giving. It's good shit.

However, living in secularized prolitical Friscoland as I do, my Xmas Eve might well have constisted of getting together with another moving/shaking organizer to plot a four-year takover of the Democratic party, followed by going to someone's house in the Haight to get drunk. There it's possible I might very briefly flirt with a half-Vietnamese girl -- who claims to be 17 but which I don't believe -- and then have to turn down mushky-poofky in the bathroom with a different girl, who's my own age, but who works at the same shoe store as the first girl and is from Los Angeles. After that I could settle into solid conversation about the Bush administration's media tactics and exactly how to start said takeover of the D-party. This is how is can happen on December 24th.

What of tradition? Time was me and the fam would settle around the tree in Oregon and open great presents, a whole pile garage sale packages come in the mail from Grandma Madeline. She understood kids; on some level at a certain age it's not at all about the quality of gift so much as about the quantity of boxes to unwrap. There's where a lot of the excitement generated from the experience. The frenzy of discovery.

But things change, you know. Family units are not, in this modern era, the stalwart social institutions they once were. That doesn't obliviate their invaluable status for developing humans or make them any less special and good, but it does mean there's no reason for people to stick together if they're interested in going separate ways once everyone's up and running. So my young life was built around this mass social ritual involving my Mom and Bill and my sister and me opening up presents together as a family on the eve of when most other people in our cultural world did the same. That doesn't happen anymore -- things have changed -- but I'm 25 so it's really not the end of the world. I still communicate with the people I love, and I have numerous other rituals that give my life meaning beyond what has become more and more a consumer holiday.

If I was going to ride saws about my family, I would rag on my father. He who narrowed our communications bandwidth and cut off the traditional meetup around the Summer and Turkey Day for unspecified reasions. I don't so much mind the cutoff as I do the lack of rationale. If there was a good reason, I'd respect, but the distressing thing to me is that cutting off talk with someone without giving a plausable reason is kind of... well.. bullshit. It violates my core principles, most notibly that the truth always feels better. So I don't cotton to the secrecy. It's unfortunate to think of your father as someone who does bullshit things, to loose a measure of respect.

But we move on. Life is the longest of all games and things can always come around. Consumer holidays are still an occasion for frame-breaking, which is why I really honestly respect the crooked-teethed girl who wanted to make out in the bathroom. That's goddamn honest Christmas Eve behavior. She wanted something, and she asked for it. Fuck yeah. That's how you live life as far as I'm concerned.

Not to say it's all about consumption, but the something we weirdo leftists have to realize is that sometimes it is. From time to time you just want to watch, to soak it in, to consume, to take what you want. This isn't evil or wrong, it's just not viable as an all-the-time thing; has to be balanced.

The philosophy will be a long time brewing. The point is I had a nice xmas eve. It was fun, and I met people and I talked to my sister on the phone and we'll do presents in January when she and ma and I are in Eugene together. It's all good.

Here's wishing for peace on earth. War is over if you want it.

Zack's got a link to a clip from the White Stripes concert DVD, which looks like a fun thing to do.

I also got to tell him that Jolene is a Dolly Parton song, which I think blew his mind a little.

It reminded me of this other incident; plus I watched "School of Rock" for the first time with Luke the other night, which is really awesome. Watching Jack Black build kickass rock songs with a bunch of musically talented tykes is tons of fun.

But the larger and more interesting thing is how cultural influences are like a network. The White Stripes do a great cover of Dolly Parton's Jolene; the casual observer may not know it's not an original song, but some people will find out, they'll check out Dolly. That might lead to other investigations, just like how a lot of hippies eventually got into roots music because the Greatful Dead leaned so much on country, bluegrass and blues (CBGB -- which is what that famous Punk place in NYC is named after) in creating their psychadellic supersets. It's a rich tapestry.

What would be interesting to know is when the Stripes started doing Jolene as part of their set. I know that about a year ago Dolly enjoying quite a comeback on the hip NYC girl circuit. Which was the chicken and which was the egg, and where did the egg come from anyway? How these things actually get passed around is fascinating.

So I met a girl, a young woman named Carrie. It was a couple of weeks ago and I was drunk, but not too drunk, and we were in the same social group at a place with dancing. We danced and kissed and I got her number and I went ahead and called her. Turns out she was even better than I remembered.

I had originally called her out of principle, but what I'd thought would be guilty thai food turned into a sexy sleepover. We've been meeting up twice a week since then. Assignations, but not without a good amount of romance and openness. That's what makes trysting with someone so excellent, so worthwhile.

I decided the best thing was to be totally honest about my situation. I told her up front that I wasn't going to be around very long, but that I'd like to see her again. She sounded dissappointed -- a downward turned, "oh" -- but wanted to go out anyway, so we made a date. Who knew.

It's been a real good thing, and it's gotten me thinking about myself and my own life in a way that I haven't done in well over a year.

A little history. After Sasha, I threw myself into politics. I remember the cheezy moment after our breakup where I stuck the "Vote Dean" pin on my bag. It was that clear. I'd just met the MFA kids when it happened, things were just getting started, so I made a leap. I sublimated. It wasn't 100% successful, but I got on with my life.

It took me a long time, more than six months of separation in addition to closure-sex to really get over her. Since then I've been in and out of bed with a few different women, not a bad thing, but nothing ever really clicked; emotionally, intellectually, or physically. The last pure good time I had with a girl was last New Years, getting the bhuddist makeout cure from Arielle (an old friend of Julia's from LA) in New York City. I've known her for a while, and she's always treated me exceptionally, lifted me up on more than one occasion. I owe her.

Anyway, since then, and especially as the election ramped up, bed-type things have been distracted, hectic, furtive, clandestine. My latest trip to New York after the election I took a quick cuddle with a half-Norwiegan/half-Greek actress from Canada -- Greta -- which was great, and reminded me that I was an attractive person with a lot to offer.

But this stuff with Carrie has been on the next level. It's been told to me by people I trust that I don't seem to do good things for myself, that I don't enjoy life enough. Well, I'm enjoying a torrid affair at the moment, and I feel very good about it. Please, be happy for me.

Getting back to it, this liaison has led, like I said, to some interesting opening ups on my part. For instance, I've suddenly started contemplating my long-term future. I talked to Luke a little bit ago, because I think he and I see eye to eye on eventually wanting to start families. That's a 20-year period of stability we're talking about undertaking. Not to be scoffed at.

He's all about the 35 to 55, a very academic answer, puts the settling period off for some time, though even taking that into account you've got to have met the woman by the time you're 32. I don't know if I'm that far off from zeroing in. I'm more with Frank in that if the right thing comes along I'll think about settling down. The massive energy savings from ceasing to chase tail are worth it, and the novelty of casual sex is more or less gone.

However, there remain some extremely nagging questions about what that all means. I think it means I'm getting close to being personally ready for partnership. However, looking at my life history, I don't know that I'm strongly inclined to monogamy. This disappoints me. I'd like to be Prince Charming, but I don't think that I am. At the same time, we don't live in a feudal class-segregated society -- which is what's required to be a prince, with or without the charming -- so I don't think it's the end of the world.

Seriously though, all the women I've ever been seriously interested in, I've never been 100% true to one of them. I don't think that makes it impossible, but I think it's something that I aught not to blithely ignore. While it's true that my own cheating has always come at the very beginning or end of a relationship, never interrupting the sweet spot of being in love, never breaking a spoken promise, it does reflect something.

It makes me wonder if there's a way to get more of what I want out of life without trying to cram my interests into one of these narrow identities society sets forth. it also makes me wonder if I just have to meet the right girl to tame me, to eliminate any thought of Others. Methinks that's awfully romantic, and realistically that I've got to want to be tamed for it to have half a chance.

Anyway, it all pertains. Regardless of the fact that I have the most sexual experience of my housemates, I'm not an incurable man-slut. I still shoot for the moon, it's just that this means different things at different times. Carrie's awakened whole parts of me that were totally dormant. It's been tingly and awkward at points, like a leg asleep, but oh so good once the ball gets rolling. I hope to keep up spending time with here while it's possible.

In the big picture, who knows where I'm headed. The open road, ok? I get the general sense that I'm not ready to settle down for a while yet, but that I'm really interested also in being real with people. Why bother otherwise, I say. That means openness, but it also means responsibility.

Much to think on.

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The Principle At Work: If You Take Her Number, You Must Call
If a prospective romantic partner gives you her phone number, and you accept it, you should call. This is part of being a man. It is accepting responsibility for the fact that this woman has invited you into her life. If you had to work for the number and she seemed to give it grudgingly, you can decide to make an exception; but in reality, you shouldn't ever work to get a phone number. There's no point in pushing it, in asking more than once. You should give her a chance to get to know you first -- e.g. don't jump the gun and ask right away -- but once you've done that, if she's willing to give you her number, she'll give it. And if you ask, and she gives it, you have to call her. If you don't, it's you hoarding five minutes of your life for a phone call while someone spends at least twice that amount of time wondering if/when you'll call.

This is part of a larger generalized principle which is about "not cutting off communications without explaining why." A principle I've at times failed to live up to, as most people do when it comes to larger generalized things. The overrarching is harder not to cross, but the point stands.

A Word On Euphemisms
I'll use purposefully vague terminology when describing my love life from time to time because describing the actual particulars is sometimes not something I'm particularly comfortable with. I'm not really into writing pornography, though I'd really like to, at some point, frankly discuss issues of sexuality. I feel the need to do so from some distance and without the knowledge that my mother will see it for certain, and possibly comment publicly.

Give this a listen and you will.

A lot of the current Masters of the Universe (Rumsfeld, Cheney, etc) made it to the big leagues in the Ford Administration. Most held lower-level positions under Nixon and took a step up when the house was cleaned. Ford also placed Bush Sr. at the CIA, though to what extent this played into his later political career is questionable.

Anyway, one has to wonder what would have happened had Nixon not been brought down by Watergate.