Dear friends, I stand before you today as an agent of change. Do we really want four more years of the same old songwriter/mosaic artist? I grew up a poor Eur-Asian Chicano in a steel mill town on the coast of England. Let me tell you about an example of family values. In harder times, my mom wasn't afraid to sell her body on the streets, by gum, to put dinner on the table. Now THAT'S family values! Personally, I spent my childhood working in the steel mill, 11 hours a day, 6 days a week, with only a swatch of old leather to gnaw for my porridge. And when I'd get off my shift, I'd walk over to the shoreline and gaze out across the Atlantic, to my future; so close, yet so far. Friends, one day, I took the plunge, and swam. Swam through storms, past frigates and sharks until I saw in my sights the gleaming coastline of New Jersey. Friends, I hoisted myself up by my bootstraps and graduated Summa Cum Loudly from Princeton. Dear Friends, THAT is the American dream! I AM America! And so can you!

As I campaign, I will criss-cross this great nation: Boston, Chicago, Alabama and Three Dog Night. I will leave no rolling stone unturned...

Dear friends, we stand together at the edge of a precipice. We stand on a cliff which looms over a wide chasm and face two options. We can either be like Wile E. Coyote, and fall wildly into that abyss, not knowing where the end will be, or how hard we will splatter on the canyon floor, or we can be like the Road Runner, leaping gracefully over that yawning chasm.

Friends, we need CHANGE and I am the change you've been seeking! I will not be loose change, but hard, fast change that sticks to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. Do you really want four more years of the same songwriter/mosaic artist? I, for one, am not afraid to take on the fat cats in Washington! Persian, tabby, Siamese, calico...there's no cat too fat that I would not wrestle to the ground to stop them from supping at the reserves of our pork barrels.

Friends...we need change and we need it now. And I as go forward into the future, always remembering my humble Eur-Asian Chicano English steel mill town beginnings, we will cross the valleys of life together, into a brighter America! Nay, a brighter WORLD!

Thank you and God Bless. The child. Who's got his own....who's got his own.

-Paid for by the A.S.K. 4 Songwriter/Mosaic Artist '08 campaign

-I approved this message.

The internet is a fascinating place. More than just a series of tubes, one can create an identity, a fantasy life and live it out. One can be a superhero, a supermodel, a supervisor, whatever your heart's desire, vanity and narcissism is yours infinitely. One thing I've wrestled with over the years is how much do I disclose online? Coming from the supremely dysfunctional family that I do, I have boundary issues, which doesn't help matters. So early on in my internet life, I fully disclosed much about my health, but then I retracted, since it turned out I'd been misdiagnosed. It's been fun as of late, what with little disclosure of my illness on my website or MySpace, I can look at these sites and feel like a normal, healthy being, someone who can fully participate in life. I can be reassured, I can enjoy the fantasy identity I've created for myself. For while my illness isn't ME it is certainly a big part of my existence. From the glares I get when I disembark my car with the handicapped placard (because I DO look rather fit), to the lost days when the pain has claimed them, my illness certainly IS a part of my identity, just not the WHOLE. It's kinda weird to be 38 & not be a full participant of life, but to have a spirit aching to burst free. While my soul screams out & begs me to let me play my guitar, my semi-permanently dislocated shoulder says otherwise, for example. This isn't a pity fest, this is an Angel-getting-real-fest. It's me reminding myself that it's ok to be me, to be the girl with the incurable disease. To be the girl with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia & CFIDS. OK, so I've got to pop a Vicodin to play my guitar for 20 minutes, there are worse fates!

Another fascinating thing is how people of our culture (read: Mercan) reacts to full disclosure of illness; many recoil, even some old, long lost friends have shunned me once I revealed this aspect of me. You really find out who your friends are when you admit you're ill. Even relatives & in-laws, don't want to hear about it. We live in a hardened age, one that's gone cold to the touch. America is for the strong, the proud, the brave. One should never, ever, get all Euro-wimpy & divulge weakness! But recently, I decided that I'm going to like myself, doggone it, and I will, if not proudly, but straight-forwardly, proclaim that yes, I'm ill. And with this proclamation, release that part that feels shameful & angry at my body. And with this proclamation, I will separate the wheat from the chaff, those who are for me or agin' me. I would hope, naturally, that everyone would be for me, but that's not the kind of world we live in. But for all those agin' me, it'll give me an opportunity to practice my Zen & let their negativity, their thoughtlessness, flow right over & past me. And over to the next guy in line. Good luck to that next guy.

Peace out,
Angel

First off I'd like to say that I don't like Las Vegas. Been there once & that was enough. Rampant materialism & excess don't thrill me. Casinos are fun for about 5 seconds. And I'm the kind of girl who's idea of dressing up is wearing a little lipstick. I don't paint my nails nor flash gobs of shiny bling. So then how did I wind up featured in the latest issue of Luxury Las Vegas magazine? Well I'll tell ya...see it all started in 2005 when I was about to get married to my fiance Daniel. Since our ceremony was to be outdoors, in a park, in summer, in Virginia, I wanted a nice sun hat. So I set about searching for a hat that would match my dress and that's how I found Maggie Mae Designs. Sally, owner of Maggie Mae, made custom hats & had even made a couple for brides, so over the course of several months Sally & I worked together; her sending me swatches, me yay or naying them, going over details of the design, etc. Fast forward to early 2008. I was contacted by a writer doing an article on Maggie Mae Design, about how modern brides are increasingly choosing hats over the traditional veil. She interviewed me about my experience working with Sally. (In the resulting article, the writer takes some of my words & bloviates them to sound more snooty. Cringe.) Anyway, that's how a mild-mannered, unassuming, bespectacled, guitar-pickin', tree-huggin' kind of gal wound up in the July '08 issue of Luxury Las Vegas magazine. And I can hear you out there in the gallery tut-tutting, shaking your heads, saying "you can take the girl out of the OC, but you can't take the OC out of the girl." No! It's not true!! Must...take...long...shower....clean....I must...get...clean...

So here's the deal: I've been living in the South now for about 4 years & I'll be honest, it's an acquired taste! Though a little over a year ago we bought a house in Charlottesville, Virginia, a funky college town which has a lot going for it. Still, after having grown up & lived the majority of my days in southern California, it's like a different world here: Cicadas throbbing in unison during sweltery summer days. Shrimp and grits on the menu (grits, yuck!). People who call me ma'am & sound like our president when they talk. Civil war battlefield after civil war battlefield after civil war battlefield. OK you get my point. So recently, the hubby Daniel & I took a trip to Charleston, South Carolina & I found it to be even more Southern than Virginia. A little too Southern, for my tastes, to be honest. What is RIGHT about Charleston is the eatin! It's mighty fine! I think I gained about 6 pounds on that trip. Fresh pecan pralines, fried okra (which isn't bad), shrimp, shrimp & more shrimp, oh & the catfish. Yum yum...otherwise, Charleston is an example of that once glimmering, prosperous Southern city that has never quite recovered since the Civil war. If you like architecture, go to see the magnificent manor homes south of Broad.But beware, just a couple miles outside south Charleston & you will encounter desperate poverty. And at the Charleston airport, there's a sign over the drinking fountain, reminding all of the Civil Rights Act, in case you'd forgotten! Yikes! No, I'll take Charlottesville thanks.