Here's one for old Warren Buffet

My dear fellow, I tip a Miller High Life to Thee:

For making the act of donatinginsane amounts of money for philanthropic causes (read: Not Ralph Reed) Rockafeller-sexy again. (Although, seeing the sum of $31 billion dollars attached to any person did make my eyeballs twitch.)

And for being a Life Member of the Grinnell Board of Trustees, so that while Grinnell did raise my tuition every year, I got to enjoy free printing and all the Dismemberment Plan and Mates of State concerts I could handle as part of the Billion Dollar Endowment Perks Program.

I'm sure that Warren Buffet has done some shady dealing and maybe eaten up a few companies or two in his time. Some blogs and papers seemed to have been ready to rip his actions to shreads before he even posed for the photo ops. Regardless, he's using his rogue-financial advisor street cred to publically flaunt the idea of "You can't take it with you" and give a crapload of money to a decent, internationally-viable foundation that actually supports condoms, sexual education and antiretroviral treatment as necessary artillery in the fight against AIDS. The NGO I worked for in Russia, one of the few working on the problem of HIV/AIDS in Russia and Ukraine, received funding from the Gates Foundation. These guys pack such a monetary punch that governments, pharmaceutical companies, and other international organizations scramble to court their large grant monies. While the US is busy sticking its thumbs in Africa's pies, the Gates Foundation is providing much-needed funding to the Eurasian epidemic, where the epidemic is gaining the fastest ground.

Sorry for the long commendation on the part of AIDS work, but man, this is important. And people standing up and supporting organizations that provide many to promote sexual education and protect vulnerable groups is just so crucial. And you know what? It's nice to feel that sense of heroism. That some super-duper rich guy, with billions and billions of dollars, didn't fork over a couple hundred million to launch his oldself into space or build an underwater vacation home. He gave it back. To a foundation I can get behind. And hopefully inspired a few generations of upper crust moguls to quit screwing around with buying Batmobiles and Bragelina Namibian vacation packages. GIVE IT BACK.

So I'll pour one out for Warren B.

The New Digs

We've moved into a new apartment. I officially live in Seattle, and not just in the general suburban vincinity. Unlike my friend Jake, my apartment is decked out in early nineties aesthetic unoffensiveness. Seattle apartments seem to often lack the toasty brown seventies vibe because the city was purchased from the Canadians by Boeing in the late 1970s, and later acquired in a friendly takeover by Microsoft. The walls are white, the carpet khaki, and the faucets water-conserving. The walls are lined with thin windows designed to suck in all possible morning partly-cloudiness, and my kitchen ledge appears to be specifically designed to house ripening avocados. My books are sitting on semi-wood Ikea shelves. It's tiny, airy, relaxed and unpretentious, ironically or otherwise. I like it.

I even like the views. To the east, it's the sprawling side of a four-story Target/Ross complex, the tops of nearby two-story apartment buildings, and our complex's heated outdoor pool (sounds swank, but it's realistically Motel 6). Someone has take the time to plant many deciduous trees on the property, so we will be treated to the changing of the seasons. To the west, approximately 150 yards away, is Interstate 5, rambling on to Vancouver. Some people might hate the sounds of a highway nearby, but it isn't like stop-and-go suburban thoroughfares. It produces a constant, lulling hum that sounds like a constant stream of water and wind lapping against our basement. It reminds me of living on the corner of Lawrence and Western in Chicago. Constant noise, if not grating and irratic, can feel like evening company...quiet is much more isolating.

I had an amazing time in Iowa and Chicago...so much so the return to Seattle was really discumbobulating, as if months had been forgotten and needed to be relearned. It was a gentle learning curve though. I'm already popping into the 156th Ave. (Microserf's fans, take note) Trader Joes and filling my kitchen with polenta and steamed artichokes. I'm making plans to paint, and to have parties. To tuck in.

I am turning 26 in...approximately 57 minutes.

Less, actually. It will take more minutes to write this. But whatever...in my mind...it's my birfday!

I love birthdays, and here's why. Every other day of the year, I should be lamenting my gradual getting-older-ness. My size 8 jeans that ain't a size 4. My heart palpitations that are probably just anxiety but maybe its heart disease!!! But on my birthday, it's no holds bar. Bring on the cake and cheap wine. I just lived another goddamn year on this beautiful, smelly earth and woooo! I'm feeling saucy! There are many havenots, but I have a lovely boyfriend, a good family and family-in-law, avocados, dreams left to realize, and a new hairdo. A beautiful sunny day and a good tune to listen to. And in one day, I board a Southwest Airlines flight to Chicago to hang out with some of my favorite people in the world, the kind that fill me with warm, soft affectionate feelings even thinking about them.

Bring on 26! May it be a year with and without fear, with and without regret, with and only with unabashed love.

Happy Birthday me!