Sunday morning ramble.

What I really need to do is ready forty pages of Chandra Talpade Mohanty's "Feminism without Borders" chapter entitled "Cartographies of Struggle: Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism". But that is just not happening. Even though the distractingly talented pianist just stopped playing in Nabalom. Now she's politely listening to the musical anecdotes of a few old men who want to write her name down. She does not let them buy her a coffee.

It would be probably pretty fun to be this piano player at least 15% of the time. Not this part in which she awkwardly gropes in a narrow-necked glass vase to collect the thirteen or so one dollar bills and fold them with a paper clip. But the parts in which she plays "California" by Joni Mitchell in colorful Elmwood bakeries and we all put our highlighters down and to listen and find out where we are. And probably it is great to be her at parties at which you just want to be listened to and don't want to listen.

Today I am going to Dolores Park in the city with Eliya and Sivana. Then the VMAs are on. Hopefully, feminism will not encounter any borders and the girls will sweep up. A third man is harassing the piano player. She should get out of here. I guess she could if she wanted to. Maybe she feels like listening more than I do right now.