POLITICALWIRE.COM - The Perez Hilton of Politics

With the 2008 race to the White House in full swing and with the international integrity of this nation at stake, now more than ever is the time to pay attention to politics. I’m making it my business to stay informed.

Now people have asked me where did I get that link to the fact sheet for the 2007 State of the Union Address?

How did I know that Minnesota Senator Norm Coleman (R), was nearly knocked unconscious while dumpster diving?

Or that President Bush just hired a new executive pastry chef, who, quite apropos, is also the author of Desserts for Dummies?

There’s only one place, folks:

TAEGAN GODDARD’S POLITICAL WIRE – politcalwire.com

Before Political Wire, I was forced to sit through the pathetic dating stories of my ex-boyfriend (working in DC) just so I could get the latest gossip scoop from The Hill. Now with PW, I can scan the most important developing political stories before finishing my morning bagel.

Why Choose Political Wire:
- Non-partisan state and national news coverage
- Latest polls comparing the potential 2008 presidential match-ups
- Random factoids that make you the envy of the water cooler
- Quote of the Day and Bizarre Injury of the Day
- Nice, clean web layout with nondescript ads for easy browsing

Is there anything not to like?

As far as keeping a finger on the political pulse, not really, but I do have one humble suggestion. I think along with a Quote of the Day, it would be good fun to have a Political Photo of the Day – whether the subject matter is amusing, shocking, or historical in importance. I’m not asking for snarky Microsoft Paint commentary, just an insightful little tagline.

As the 2008 White House race continues to heat up, make Taegan Goddard part of your morning internet browsing routine. There’s nothing wrong with ogling the latest pictures of Britney Spears stuffing her face with fast food, but balancing your news diet couldn’t be easier with Political Wire.


My belief in God may be shaky, but for the latest political buzz,
in Goddard I trust.

Classy Porn & Coochie Documentaries

I’ve been currently engrossed in the erotic fiction of Anaïs Nin. The collection of stories, Delta of Venus, is all at once imaginatively sexy, disturbingly violent and sometimes perverse. Nonetheless, reading about sexual escapades raises the question of what names to give our private parts to preserve a mood of sexiness without sounding cheesy.

Now, as women, we all have our own opinion on what to call our vagina. I have heard a lot of women say they do not like the word ‘vagina.’ Many of my friends have also mentioned a distaste for the word ‘pussy,’ although I find to be acceptable in occasional bedtime commentary.

I found it interesting that Ms. Nin refers to both the male and female genitalia as his/her 'sex.'

I think I might start calling mine a titillating taco.
Or maybe a yo-yo smuggler.

One of Nin’s stories describes a girl who painted her vulva red with lipstick instead of her own mouth. Sure she was a whore and an opium addict, but nonetheless the image itself kind of fascinated me...

It reminded me of how that new movie at Sundance, Teeth, quite literally about vagina dentata, was getting rave reviews and will be most likely hitting independent theatres in the spring. Will the movie be empowering the hoo-ha or will it simply add a horrible visual to the Freudian fear of a kooter with chompers?

Speaking of movies about honey pots: This spring, the BBC is planning to show a documentary about the history of the word ‘cunt,’ tentative titled “I Love the C-Word.”

Most people are familiar with Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues and the little rant about reclaiming the word “cunt” for women, thus stripping it of its negative connotations. I’d like to say that I’m progressive enough to embrace that idea, but the last time some one called me a cunt, I lost my temper. An ex-bf, let’s call him Mr. Speaker, once tossed the C-word at me in a malicious way, then nonchalantly went to refill his coffee. Upon his return, I kicked the chair out from underneath him, spilling his scalding coffee upon his ‘sex’ and sending him tumbling to the floor in front of 100 or so college peers. It will be interesting to hear what the BBC special has to say about such a charged word.

So my question for you, both my male and female readers, is what do you like to call it?

For an inspirational list click here: 1,500 Words for Vagina

And be sure leave your favorite name in my comment box — pun intended.

If my grandmother came back from the grave, I'd happily help dye her hair.

What system of philosophy you hold depends wholly upon what manner of man you are." -Johann Fichte

Last weekend Señor Sexy (my bf’s Spanglish speaking alter ego) and I watched Volver together. The movie prompted our first discussion about death, religion and finally a brief flirtation with philosophy. Señor Sexy was a bit perplexed at my surprise over one of the movie's plot elements (don't worry this doesn't spoil the flick). Basically, the mother figure that seemingly "returned" from the dead as a ghost is revealed to have never died in the fire that burned down her home 4 years earlier:

Salds: Wait, she's alive? She's not a ghost?

Señor Sexy: Are you serious? I thought it was obvious all along.

Salds: I dunno, culturally it seems plausible. I thought it was just a little Magical Realism.

Señor Sexy: If your grandmother had supposedly died in a fire, then showed up years later, your first thought upon seeing her would be, 'she's a ghost,' and not that perhaps she never died in the first place?

Salds: I'd think…spirit. Especially if she said she returned to take care of me [as the mother did in the movie].

Now, Señor Sexy is a Nihilist and I would have to define myself as generically non-religious. I'm not very well read in the various philosophical movements, but like the sight of Señor Sexy's ass making its way across a room, his impressive bookshelf piqued my interest. His library is peppered with philosophical works which inspired me to ask myself, what exactly do I believe in?

I plan to keep adding to this as I further educate myself, but for now, here is the basic framework I’ve come up with:

1. I do not believe in God –

Boy, do I wish I did. I admit, I’m jealous of people who find comfort in their religious beliefs. Señor Sexy pointed out that if I didn’t believe in their God, why should I care about how others experience their belief? Well, it’s their comfort that I’m envious of. It also saddens me that this disbelief isolates me from my immediate family. My mother would be guilt-ridden if I ever mentioned this to her, and that is a consequence I would regret far more than missing out on a paradise I don’t believe in.


2. I do not believe in an afterlife and death terrifies me because I am selfish –

I’m terrified of death because I do believe that one day I will cease to exist and that will be all. There is no theory about the greater universe or collective or whatever that lessens this fear. The only truth I could find in myself is that I like being part if this reality (sure, sure, what is reality, blah, blah). I’m still working this one out – but despite all rationalization – I am not at peace with my own mortality.


3. My “spiritual” beliefs are more a consequence of culture than religion –

My mother was raised in a very strict Baptist household. She was dunked in an actual river, entered in Bible quoting contests, told the Stones were evil, and dragged off to church multiple times a week. As she grew older, and more importantly, as she begin her college studies (including philosophy) she started to question the institution of religion. However, despite all the Nietzsche she read, nothing could shake her belief in a higher being; the existence of a soul and some sort of afterlife; and a general belief she defines as spirituality.

Not wanting to force me into an organized religion as she had experienced, she never required me to attend church but remained verbal about these “spiritual” beliefs and the existence of “something greater than myself.” Still, because of her own individual upbringing, her beliefs were rooted in a religious base. As a result of my own continued education and evaluation of my own thoughts, I begin to question these fragmented beliefs I had acquired. Only without a religious base, these fragmented ideas had assimilated with the historic stories, tall tales and superstitions of my ethnic heritage. The result is that these crumbs I picked up as a product of my environment were, for me, rooted in an overall cultural identity.

So what do I believe?

I do believe in my grandmother’s spirit visiting me, in the Evil Eye, in “everything happens for a reason” (but I don’t think that reason is God), in feeling another person’s pain across distances, in tossing spilt salt over your shoulder, in wishes made when driving through tunnels coming true, in voodoo, in your emotions reflected in the food you cook, in the possibility of something actually being in the closet, and in crossing your fingers.

Many of these beliefs I listed can be defined as Magical Thinking. Although I find it interesting that these examples of Magical Thinking could be a place holder for when religion should have entered my life, I don’t believe that it’s as simple as (like the linked article suggests) “the brain making snap judgments about causation, and leaping to conclusions well before logic can be applied.” Perhaps this is true for the origin of such beliefs, but I am not creating new causations for every coincidental occurrence. Frankly, I’m busy enough with the old ones. At least in my own examination I think these are culturally ingrained, passed down and executed through generations, like family recipes.

Now the blaring question in that list of things I believe in (and the connection to this whole Volver movie) is: If I don’t believe in an afterlife, then how can I believe in the spirit/ghost of my grandmother visiting me?

My explanation is that I believe her spirit is something within my own reality. A blood-bond of sorts, a lingering presence of her existence resulting from a connection that like memories of her does not die with her physical body. I believe her spirit is now harbored within my own existence, and bubbles up to the surface at times, manifesting in my reality as a spirit of my waking dreams.




Oh, and I also believe in Chupacabras.

WELCOME

Although recently I have been relatively productive in my creative writing, I have noticed that my habit of journaling as almost completely stagnated. This is my attempt to pick that up again.

Why a public journal? If you have to ask, you obviously haven’t met me before.

If you feel it’s overly indulgent, then no need to read on, but I will be posting (almost) daily links to interesting articles, books and blogs that might catch your interest.

And for my loyal readers who have supporting my writing endeavors throughout the years – there will be plenty of sexy gossip, wild adventures and crazy commentary that comes with every Saldy Story.