Dear Young Woman Voter,

I  am sitting amidst boxes, paper piles and a thing-to-do-list that stretches the length of three pages to take a break and write to you.

I am both filled with hope and raked with fear about the impending results of the remainder of these primaries. Though Obama promises a change that is thorough and idealistic, I feel Hillary if elected will make the most palpable change in our lives, in the near future,  and here is why:

Women have made so many incredible strides over the past few decades that gender bias is hardly noticable in early adulthood.  If you go to college, you are rewarded equally to your male students for studying and scoring well on tests.  Your are educated by female and male professors alike, and in sheer numbers, sometimes you may outnumber male students on co-ed campuses.

If you decided you want to work instead of continue your education, the early years are a struggle for young men and women alike, with grunt work being assigned to you and promotions and decent salaries reserved for those a bit older.

Trust me when I say that a few years from now, the symptoms of this long standing inequality will slowly bare its teeth. To this day, almost a decade after the millenium, we still make 70% on every dollar a man does.  You can only imagine what that feels like, young woman voter, but when you are working ambitiously it is no less painful than a physical gash.  And the job opportunities may be rife on the bottom, or even as high as mid-level management, but if you consider yourself a go getter, young woman voter, i hope your not disappointed to learn that there are less than 10 CEO of major fortune 500 companies right now.

And if you feel this doesn't apply to you, because you are independent, and you will run your own company one day, as I now finally do, imagine this:
You cannot get a problem resolved with say, an internet company you hired out.  You try to get a supervisor on the phone to get the computer glitch fixed, but they refuse ("he's not in today") and make you feel like it must be something you're doing wrong on your end.  So you have a male call back, who doesn't even understand what's going on, but simply parrots word for word what you're whispering in his non-phone holding ear.  Alas, the company is compleletly co-operative, summonses their more talented specialists, and the problem is solved.  Imagine, young woman voter, the humiliation and disrespect you must endure!

And just observe now, in your young adulthood, the social injustice!  On my commute to work, I heard the college basketball scores on the news radio. The coverage was exlusive to male sports.  Normally, I might not have noticed, because  it's often harder to notice what's MISSING than something blatantly wrong.  But this time, I knew the difference.  The night before I watched the most hair raising, nail biting game when Rutgers advanced to play Tenessee in the finals.  The media didn't notice.  That is, the media didn't notice until some man with a radio show called them "Nappy Headed Hos".

I must wrap up and run now, because the server expert is here to fix the machine, the packaging company is outside with a delivery, one of my staff has a customer service question,  and gosh darn i need to make myself a cup of coffee.

I will leave on this note:  Obama is charasmatic.  He believes it when he promises "change" and bears no ill intention.  But although a nationwide equal salary enforcement may be near impossible at this time,  HILLARY is going to deliver the respect you deserve to your personal everyday life and level the playing field just that little bit more.

so if, young woman voter, you are swept up in a wave of enthusiasm with your friends, and every Obama victory makes your blood bubble, please take a second to ponder what it would mean if you did change your mind.  Put aside the myths that Hillary is divisive (yes, this is slander which is another story).  Knowing that she can heal the economy and health care, and all other things being equal, who would be the right leader for you???

Bea Friday

I had the most lovely Christmas holiday, I must say.  While it is a religious and spiritual reflection for most, the word "atheist" came up quite a few times amongst my relatives and friends.  Some of my favorite people, it seems, do not believe in God.  What a relief!  To be celebrating such a holiday without faith in its origins.  After all, we don't have a choice but to celebrate xmas in the US.  People buy us gifts regardless of our orientation.  They want to visit, call, catch up.  Everything just about is closed.  We cannot engage in any significant amount of business or commerce.  We crave the comfort of those sparkly, dangly colorful lights all over our homes.  The infectious songs warm the air with tales of good will.  Gosh, for humanity sake, christmas is a lovely time.  Yet without the guilt or judgement of God!!!!  Perfect!

Today, the persistant inability of 2 databases to synchronize nearly gave me a myocardial infarction.

Breath deep.

Remember the world to come.  2008.  What prospects!

All the dyi movie ideas, like "Octogenarians Gone Wild".  The 10 songs which i have started these past 2 months.  Ah, even if they don't materialize just the idea tickles me out of this technology induced rage!

Strange, I can feel depression set in this time of year, even though i am so lucky this year to have love and terrible finances.  Even though i have the freedom of never having been a celebrity so I can blog freely here!  Imagine how those less fortunate that I must feel:(  Well, if you are one of those, and you have in the past had a lucky year, imagine that this can never be taken away.  Ever.  Like a mother's love which we will always know, take it with you and hope for better fortune next year.

Love, 
Bea

I am 80's girl
I grew up in the decade
where big belts and wide stripes 
were all the rage
and sometimes by default, 
my hair does funny things
it puffs and falls in side parts, 
frames my face in swooping rings
I am 80's girl
it's not that  i'm proud
i just can't change the decade 
that was etched beneath my brow
Yes, I am 80's girl
From the off-the-shoulder age,
and if you don't like it
 go hang out with
someone your own age.

I brushed my teeth with retin-A
it lie too close to the toothpaste
what a way to start my day
i brushed my teeth with retin-a

i poured spoiled milk on my Honey-Grahms,
 threw the carton in the garbage can
what a way to start my day
poured spoiled milk on my Honey-Grahams

i noticed my socks did not match
one was white, the other black
I was too far to turn back
to fix that my socks do not match.

I keep making mistakes at work
typos, oopsies, crashes, burns
If only my heart didn't hurt
I'd concentrate more on my work

I'll get a flat on my way home
drive too fast over a pot hole
what a way to end my day
i'll get a flat on my way home.

Current Mood: depressed

 "Rudy Doesn't Have My Vote Guliani".  The inverviewee laughed through the radio speakers.  What, he was asked, did he think of Rudy's rooting for the Red Sox in the world series?  The chewed up stretch of the Expressway jostled the old Nissan through the broadcast, tuned in specifically for the traffic report.  Inevitably we must sort through non-news,  picked up by media outlets for what is suspected policitcal reasons.

The opposite of green is yellow.  The presence of all colors white.  Delicious information spewed by the woman from Kansas at the front of the little hotel conference room.  A nun quickly scribbed on her workbook.  Gum  snap in the back.  The opposite of Red is Blue.  8 hours later, the women stopped talking, and the audience was free to leave with new materials and cranial sutures bursting from the swell of knowledge.  Pixels and pallettes.  How refreshingly non-political.

The opposite of pro is con.  All edges blurred by a storm, the ride home brought an opposite newscast.  The mob wanted to kill him, that ex mayor Guliani, back when he was a prosecutor, and now this evening he is a hero again, as the media picks up this news release of suspiciously policitcal timing.  

The car door slams, the sneakers squeak up the stairwell, and one more door will shut out that existence until dawn while sealing in soft steps,  waves of cinomman from the oven, soft blankets, and safety.

It's been so long since i've signed onto Livejournal.  I almost channelled the urge of writing a new entry into starting a completely new blog. BAby entries, a fresh alias, a life with no history, only a future of limitless direction. Yet I act like an infant brand spanking new to the world, sticking to the parents chosen by fate.   Here I am, writing. The same old blog.

As I work this through, I realize life has binding properties, a past, a present and a future. Not writing. Art can't be tied down. There's no publisher, record deal, or fan base waiting in the wings. Maybe this concept of having to "stick with what i started"  is the reason for the lack of entries here. So much has happened in the past 3 years, personally, career wise, physically. My life has been turned, or I have turned it, completely. I am unrecognizable, even to myself.

A new blog. embryonic being, the thrill of morphing, becoming.

disregard my decision NOT to abandon you, B. Friday. I may be back, but for now, artistic expression will be sought elswhere.

luv,
me

robbed my last hope, stole the embers

pour black paint over the room
drawer the curtains
cover the mirrors
light a candle
pour more black paint over the room
mourn the unborn

drape your body in dark cloth
look through fine thread lace
turn the headlights on
drive
drive
drive
a lonely procession
with no destination
there is no grave for what never was
mourn the unborn

What's up with this wait for marraige before you have sex stuff? Worse yet, many of these people are against using protection, most importantly condoms.

Can the conclusion safetly be drawn that sex is for babies only?

Then I challenge anyone who holds such a belief to eat for the sole purpose of sustaining life and all its physiological processes.

salads with no dressing.
Hamburgers with no filler or spice.
Chicken broiled with no extras.
Plain unflavored yogurt.
Kashi cereal with no sugar.
Bread with no butter.

If you don't eat like this, but maintain that sex is for babies and not for enjoyment, then you are a hypocrite.

I don't know why it started off with a fight. I wanted to run AND do yoga, which proceeded to near yelling volumes of how i'd be like an excercize a holic, to how running a measly 2 miles will ruin my knees, and make me too knocked out for yoga 2 hrs later, and waste my $15 yoga fee. Yoga. The peaceful sport.

Can't she see how fat my ass is getting? Maybe she closes her eyes every time i turn around.

We went to Terry's later, and Nichole was her first prodigee!! They recorded "In Between" on Pro Tools. What a voice, with a waver like the ocean, god i feel like i'm drowning every time i hear her sing..and Terry brought it out of her. A producer is born.

I cannot begin to tell you how much i love my cubase. And my piano. So far i have many clip-ettes that i hope to turn into pieces. To be able to burn cd's and listen to them while commuting is way exhilarating. The piano is helping me for the first time be able to visualize notes, something i was very resistant to. (or simply it hit my dislexic spot). And Nichole is rapidly becoming a bona fide songwriter..forget fledgeling..and self producer as well. Oh cubase, if i could i'd sit at your consule all day. But I can't. Because my ass is getting to fat and i must run and burn calories and do yoga.

And ...i must work. I spend half my working day following around septeganarian bosses and fixing their repeated mistakes because they refuse to, or simply cannot, understand the technological repurcussions of their actions. (Don't open the mail in Outlook Express because Express cannot handle macros and we'll have to type the same exact response over and over again to 40 different people). Well, at least there's the other half of the day.

ah..and..here's a writtin re-enactment of our Monday, the day after we went to fire island with the dogs.

"wow. look at that mole! it's so big and hairy. how did you grow that on your back so quickly.......oh my fucking god..where's the fucking tweezers! baby, don't move...you have a tick on your back"

true story!

not to toot my own horn, but call me miss tweezer-ay-tweez-eee-ay, i killed the mutha fucker and pulled out every last drop!

xox
friday

this is my favorite new band right now:

http://www.lavenderdiamond.com/shows.html

I was...I can't for the life of me remember...ah, wait..yes! We were trying to get out of the city after a shopping spree at Sephora and as we inched ever so slowly toward 7th ave, where a street festival was just breaking up, we spotted a very heavy 50ish blind woman being escorted against her will by a tall, bearded homeless man. She looked determined to get to the cab which was waiting for her more than she looked worried, but i'm sure it wasn't a welcome assistance as he kept his hand round her back and appeared to give her directions. "this way. now that way". She finally felt her way around to the front passenger door, which she could have well done without him. He opened the door. She did not flinch until the second it slammed her in the mouth. An audible "owww!" reached our car. Poor lady! I tried to watch her once she was in her seat, and thank god she didn't appear to be holding her mouth in agony. And the "helpful" man? He had the nerve to reach his head in the window, stretch across her and ask the cab driver something.

And in the news, George Bush is going to clog our tv airwaves like a fucking toilet filled with paper towels and devil dog sized dumps.

I have a big fat fucking radio gripe. What's new? It concerned the slamming of Rosie O'Donnel for being less than feminine. "The view is supposed to be a ladies show, but what are you supposed to be? You're not a lady. You're not a man. PLEASE!! You're something in between". Well, let me tell this dj, and i will figure out what station i heard you on....Rosie bleeds just like you. she has a bonzi, just like you. and Rosie can die from breast cancer, cervical cancer, ovary cancer, just as you, your mother, your sister, your aunt can. So take you're little fucking small minded stereotypes of what a woman is supposed to be and shove them up your big fat closet dyked ass before you air them on public radio and perpetuate gender freedom phobia as well as alienate fair minded folk, both straight and gay.

fuck you.

b. friday

Dear Hilary Clinton,

I go by the pen name B. Friday and I would like nothing more than to see you become the president of this country.

No one deserves it as much as you, no one will create a tidal wave of enthusiasm like you, and in truth, nobody but you will be able to beat the next republican candidate.

I don’t care what the polls say. I don’t care what my fellow supporters (friends and family say): “She has my vote, but there are a lot of people who don’t like her”.

There are a lot of people who don’t like George W. Bush. The dislike began way before the second election.

You NEED to run, Hilary. I can’t bear to imagine the inauguration of one Jeb Bush.

The polls are just that; they reflect the prejudiced and discontent with women in power. Perhaps they are unfair in order to propagate this prejudice and discontent. Regardless of what polls say now, in the hypothetical “if she runs”, the numbers will rise, rise, rise once you commit.

Of course I would feel vindicated to finally witness woman leading this country. Feminism aside (if this is possible) you need to run because you are the only PERSON capable of winning the next election. Please don’t let us down. Please don’t abandon us liberals, moderates, disgruntled republicans and anything non-conservative.

Yours truly,
B. Friday

Dm7
Am
G

Mas caliente que el sol
wherever it is
you go

five minutes after you leave the room
the air
is cold

shoulders shiver like a fault runs through
lips turn from red to blue
and our breath turns to smoke as we call after you

oh come back, come back, mas caliente que el sol.


....to be continued

6 am appointment
drill to the pulp quickly as you can
tremor hand
when i scream for mercy
you throw shots of whiskey
in my "ahhhhh"

this is what i see when i hear you through the wall

the molars in the back you slam Slam SLAM
hammer rams
when i scream for mercy
my tongue gets in your way
you sing "laaaaaaaaaa la La"
with a bloodbath on your crooked goggles.

this is what i feel when i hear you through the wall

you're the worst neighbor ever.

your sun is setting
your face turning into glass
colorless, with little blue lines underneath

the earth is pulling you toward it
height transformed to weight
the earth is pulling you
into it


when did it begin?
a walk from the front door to the curb is
draining you, bathing you in sweat, robbing your breath.

i don't like to drive with my headlights on unless it's night
stop it. stop it now. your face is made of glass.

i'm not looking
i'm not noticing
i'm not watching you fade.

i'm not looking
i'm not noticing
the glass that's now your face.

you heard it here first!

I have a purple room!!! (and hands, and overalls) Oh my god, what a job...not done yet..but will post pic soon. The world looks more colorful now. Or is it just that it's Spring?

xoxo
Friday