read this ....

I fondly recall, just before the tragic Bush/Kerry presidential election, an impassioned discussion I had with a family friend, a conservative Catholic mother of four and grandmother of six, headstrong, outspoken, hilarious, a real no-BS matriarch of her big crazy messy family and clearly the wearer of the pants in her marriage and a woman whom I always liked for her wit and her outsized personality, despite her unfortunate choice of religious and political affiliation, a woman who, it turned out in our discussion, absolutely hated — hated — John Kerry's wife, Teresa Heinz Kerry.

Remember her? Controversial. Fiery. A little weird, prickly, unpredictable. Also: headstrong and outspoken and didn't take any crap from any men, no matter how powerful.

Heinz is also rather amazing, in terms of sheer accomplishment and self-made acumen: world traveled, highly educated, spoke multiple languages (she was an interpreter for the United Nations, early on), took over the philanthropic arm of the Heinz empire when her husband died unexpectedly, almost ran for senate, raised her enormously accomplished, well-adjusted sons to adulthood by herself, and so on. I thought she was great.

And my friend hated her. And why? Well, ironically enough, for most of the reasons I list above. Apparently, Heinz had too much personality. She was too strong, too in your face, too fearless and outspoken, something was "just not right about that woman." All this, of course, made Heinz into "a total bitch."

(And yes, this completely echoes the right's hatred of Hillary Clinton during the Bill Clinton years and up through today, because she dared to be the opposite of meek and quiet, dared to try and actually do something progressive and radical as first lady. Yes, she botched it badly, overshot her abilities and overestimated her powers to revolutionize health care. But the real problem was how badly she underestimated the violent, inbred misogyny and anti-feminism of the old-boys network in Washington).

I was equal parts appalled and amused. And not only because my brash, blunt friend and Heinz obviously had far more in common, personality- and attitude- wise, than she cared to acknowledge. No, I was stunned because my friend far preferred, as the perfect counter to Heinz, as a role model and a woman and the ideal presidential wife, one tepid, timid, thoroughly useless Laura Bush.

Wait, what? You mean docile, prudish, former librarian Laura Bush, she of the nonexistent inspiration and dull-as-dishwater personality? Yes indeed, that Laura Bush. Here was my friend, brash and funny and who spoke her mind without the slightest reservation, and who could drink and think and opine with the strongest of men, and yet she admired this ... limp wallflower? I didn't get it. I still don't completely get it, to this very day.

All of this comes to mind as I see, skirting across the newswires, a handful of generic photos and sidebar stories of Laura Bush out on tour recently with her twin Styrofoam peanut daughters, Jenna and Barbara, promoting a new children's book they all apparently, and yeah right, wrote together and isn't that sweet.

There is Laura, looking exactly as she has looked for the past eight insufferable years. Prim, a bit glassy, reserved, her hair some sort of ironclad helmet of awkward architecture, the very epitome of nice, meek, domestic Republican female, not making the slightest wave and hoping no one really notices because, well, she's just a woman.

In fact, I challenge anyone reading this column right now to name one thing this woman has said or done in the past seven-plus years that shows her using her position as first lady to make any real difference. A single issue. A single notable appearance. A single daring, interesting, engaging ... anything.

Did you say, somewhat meekly, "children's literacy?" Ah, yes. Right you are, Laura has indeed taken on that wild 'n' wooly issue, fought valiantly to ensure lots of white children have enough access to "James and the Giant Peach." It's a hugely divisive, hot-button topic that's tearing the nation apart and really needs someone of her position and influence to step in and ... Oh, never mind.

Children's literacy. Yes. I believe that ranks No. 291 on the list of the Top 300 controversial issues facing the nation today, right behind overpriced lip balm but just ahead of the demise of "Cathy" cartoons in major American newspapers. Good choice.

I know. It's not exactly against the law to be docile and quiet. It's not exactly a crime to simply want to be a good mother and housewife (noble and under-respected callings, both), to not seek the spotlight and not hunger for power and influence. And besides, meek, shy girls who want nothing more than to marry the male equivalent of a tub of spackling paste at age 22 and never think for themselves and never inspire anyone to do anything need role models, too. Right?

Sure, eight years in one of the most high-profile positions in the world, a simply staggering opportunity to make use of that power and that "office" to take on at least one serious, needful issue (or 10), and you do not a single thing of interest or inspiration with it? You essentially get handed the keys to the kingdom and all you want to do is knit a nice key cozy for them? Fine.

But then again, no. For in choosing to be and do almost nothing at all for all these years, Laura has also come to epitomize the compliant, unobtrusive woman, the worst kind of example for modern young women today. This is, of course, why conservative Republicans and fundie Christians love her. They call her "classy." What they mean is: She knows her place, keeps her mouth shut, possesses exactly zero sexuality, speaks only when spoken to, lets the men do the "real" work, stays so far off in the background she might as well be wallpaper.

Here's the bottom line: I think Laura Bush has been bad for America. Not nearly as toxic as her husband, but bad enough.

Indeed, Teresa Heinz Kerry may've been weird and worldly, Hillary might be polarizing and opinionated and overly masculine, Barack Obama's wife, Michelle, appears to be outspoken and sarcastic and smart as hell. But oh my God, give me one of them any day over the docile doormat first lady. Hasn't the expiration date for that dangerous feminine cliche long since passed?

Mark Morford

three years later, this continues to be one of my favorites.

morford is magnificent:

Shut Up And Vibrate Already
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist Friday, May 2, 2003

So you look straight out into that winking sunset or up at that star-gashed sky or over at that frolicking goofy mutt in the park or at that funky yellow Mini Cooper or deep into the rich burgundy flesh of that goblet of wine or over at the soft gorgeous rhythmic rise and fall of your lover's chest as s/he sleeps and you think, this is proof, isn't it?

This is proof that there's something more, something richer and more divine and far, far more profound and enthralling and cosmic and worthy and wet and delicious about this damnable existence, right? You can just feel it, that divine kick, that lick, that juice? Of course you can.

You just know, in other words, that this can't be all there is.

Surely, you think, it's not all smirking inarticulate presidents and gutted economies and bogus wars and international resentment, factories belching venom into the sky and the oceans with decreasing federal restriction and increasing
corporate glee.

Surely it's not all rabid psychopatriots and fear-happy Bible huggers and homophobic Republican senators promoting their tyranny of sexless ignorance, garbage-food conglomerates consciously poisoning the population with toxic foodstuffs far more full of synthetic goo and Agent Orange by-products and bioengineered rat dung than actual food from which the body can draw life and energy and funk and satisfied karmic burps.

You think: No way can it be all about thuggish 8 MPG SUVs and inexplicably dying sea otters and 45 percent of the country actually believing Saddam Hussein was directly responsible for 9/11. Can it?

Millions of people invoking the name of God as justification for war and hate and death, more homeless, more poverty, more rampant population growth, more bitch-slapped civil rights, political corruption and bizarre viral disease and Dick Cheney making you question the very definition of sympathetic animate biped?

Because it's just so easy to forget. It's so easy to let the crush and rush and chain-saw babble of the world, of the major media's prepackaged hysteria, overwhelm your senses and numb your id and pile-drive your innate ability to look, really look at the world around you, and ultimately let them effectively asphyxiate what you deeply sense to be true.

Not simply that everything is connected. Not simply that there is a throbbing pulsing extant ever-present scientifically proven energetic vibration to every damn thing on the planet, animate and inanimate, breathing or not, each and every organism radiating forth its sacredness and its profanity and just
waiting for you to raise your consciousness just a little so you can receive your divine epiphanic ass-slap.

It's not just that. It's that you, right now, at this moment, are much less removed from those pulsing vibrational things than They want you to believe. You are closer than you think.

Here is the basic formula: The more They get you to ignore and detach from and hurl sticks of dismissive ignorance at that divine interconnectedness, the more you feed the common tyranny of fear, the collective cultural moan, and the
easier it is for corporations and the government and the masters of televised dread to convince you to buy into, say, a noxious war. Or toxic fast food. Or ultraviolent entertainment. Or Celine Dion.

Conversely, the more you work to feel nature, imbibe it, soak up that juicy interconnectedness like wine into a mattress, suck up that vibrational hum and awe and kiss, the more you realize the value of protecting and preserving and treading lightly, actually taking the time to taste your food, integrate with those objects, feel that breath of your lover. Simple, really.

And, hence, the less you require of the material world. This is what scares them the most. This is why They don't want you to notice, to feel, to remember, or to question their motives.

Because the less you believe that everything around you is just a tedious lifeless resource to be consumed and shrugged off, the less you feel the need to share in the massive force-fed belief that we are here to devour as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and blow the living crap out of everything
that gets in our way.

And then you take the idea one step further. You realize that by soaking up that interconnected juice and raising that vibrational consciousness just that little bit, on a day-to-day basis, you are directly and immediately affecting everything around you, inspiring it, them, us to do exactly the same.

The final kicker: It's all accessible right now. All you gotta do is ask. Invite it in. Literally. Just ask.

Want to be healthy? Strong? More open and lickable and less bitter and baffled and cynical? Ask for it, place some divine intent behind it and breathe it in and imagine what it would feel like to radiate health and sexual vibrancy and self-defined joy and really cool taste in shoes. That's how you start.

Because this is the biggest collective delusion of all, that you can't get at it, that it's so much wimpy tofu-hugging BS, so much fluffy New Age psychobabble. What a convenient excuse that is to remain wallowing and acidic and humming at a simplistically low, want-based pitch, happily drunk on the
disinfo They want to sell you. It's just too easy. And lazy.

And it does require work. It takes some concentrated and open-hearted effort to raise that awareness, to tune in on that level, sift through the bogus media and healers and teachers and pretentious yoga classes, gurus, smarmy inane Chicken Soupy books to find the authentically divine heat and rush and thrust.

You gotta get off your ass. You gotta question everything. You gotta see the world anew, always, every moment, to progress and evolve and vibrate higher. And, to be sure, it can be a total divinely annoying pain in the ass.

But, really, when you get right down to it, what else is there?

for more mark morford go to:

http://sfgate.com/columnists/morford/a/