The Maltese Falcon

I recently re-read The Maltese Falcon. Dashiell Hammett is a decent writer. A decent writer with a cool name. Dashiell was on my list of names for our son. Would things have been different if we had named him Dashiell?

The thing is, Trump ruined everything. What I noticed this time through Hammett's fabulously noir, San Francisco hip novel is:
-"a girl is here to see you"
-"shoo her in, sweetheart"
-"you'll have to trot along, precious"

Also, Cairo was gay and that was clearly not cool in Hammett's world. Or at least Sam Spade's world.

If any of the "girls" tried to do something, say something, THINK something, they were patted on the head and sent on their way, or into the kitchen, but usually only after they were squeezed, kissed, touched or fucked by Sam Spade.


I wonder why I was not too bothered by any of this before? I used to read Hammett while on the N-Judah or J-Church. You could be even more in San Francisco in his novels than you were by actually being in San Francisco itself. His novels made me want to smoke hand rolled cigarettes and drink scotch like it was a major, nay essential, food group.

The J Church, San Francisco

It is possible misogyny is an essential part of being a manly man's man, I suppose. The Greek is: miso (hate), gyne (women). Clearly Sam Spade does not hate women. He loves them, as does [insert name here of any of the recently discovered misogynists whom likely just represent the tip of the misogyny iceberg]. As does Trump.

An interesting aside. Though I could wax poetic about how poetically Hammett describes the tender rolling of a smoke by Spade, I am actually a misocapnic. I miso (dislike) capnia (smoke). In medicine, we talk about hypercapnia in reference to the retention of carbon dioxide in the bloodstream of those who no longer have the urge to breathe properly, making them pretty doped out. Smoking is a risk factor for developing the tendency to forget to breathe properly, in part because the brain gets so used to having a low oxygen level.

I can hardly breathe recently. Who will be next in the world of misogynistic creep wads? And why is the president endorsing a child molester to represent people in the governing of our country? Oh yes, it is because it is better to have someone who has hurt children be in power than someone who is a democrat. Or brown. Or gay. Or a woman.

It is exhausting to realize I have a president who would see me as an ugly person. And not because he actually cares what I think, but because I have wrinkles and some grey hair and am old enough to have daughters he would want to date. It is likely many will not understand how exhausting it is. Because I do not just sit there and think about how my daughters have to see such men rule the world, and sexually abused children have to hear their president say it is OK for people to molest children. But I have this deep-seated fear of what the backlash from white men (not all of them, just the ones with power and great fear of the rest of us) will be. I keep picturing an Atwoodesque response, ala The Handmaid's Tale, where subjugation of women became the way they/we were protected from misogyny. It is sneaky and creepy and scary as hell. It felt like a weird science fiction bizarro world the first time I read it. But like Hammett, I re-read it recently. And Trump has ruined everything.

I am not a sacred vessel. I am not a girl, a sweetheart, a precious. I am not the one doctor in the room you call by her first name because all the other doctors are men and need to be addressed as Doctor So and So. I am not interested in your opinion about my waistline, my outfit, my hairdo, my legs, my vagina, or my choice of shoes. I am tired of feeling like I might get raped or verbally assaulted when I run in the dark or in public. I am sick of worrying about my daughters having to experience all the same shit I did, which in the grand scheme of things was really just the usual shit, nothing too extreme. But lots and lots of women suffer in the extreme, because they are women.

On a brighter note, today was day 62 of my running streak. I have noticed I am getting stronger. My heart rate averages 47. My body keeps asking me "are we training for a marathon or W.T.F.?" My dog is fairly elated, my laundry quotient is through the roof, and I think my brain might be directly connected to my Strava feed. I don't even need any electronic devices anymore. I am one in connection with the social athlete media world. I laugh at the pounding rain of the pacific northwest. I revel in the dark encroaching upon my morning and evening free hours. I fly free and fast and furious.

I am furious. Which brings me back to reading Dashiell Hammett.
Sam Spade was more tolerable in the Obama era because hope abounded. Sam Spade was the past. Hope and respect and, dare I say, even love for others was the present and future. There would never be any going back. Until there was, there is. Until the Asshole era.

But I do not want or need to be protected from all the assholes. I just want to be able to speak my mind, teach my daughters, practice my medicine, play my music, love my neighbors and go for a run in the dark in peace.

On the other hand, children DO need protection from assholes. I hope my country wakes up and does the right thing, which is to say do not look the other way any longer. Just a few for instances: No child molesters in office. No rapists in office. Flint needs clean water. Immigrants need respite. Puerto Rico needs the lights on. No one needs to walk our streets/schools/churches with loaded weapons of assault. Our graduate students need to be educated without suffocating debt, so we can be an intelligent country who can solve problems.

Now excuse me while I get down off my soapbox. I have a hot date with my foam roller.