10 Signs Things Will Be Better in 2006

At Christmas Eve dinner, I was talking with some friends about how glad I was to see the back of 2005, and how I was sure that '06 would be better. One of the young men involved in the conversation (who, at 19, was really too young to be so cynical) said, "Well, I don't see any evidence of that, but I hope you're right." I thought about that. What was my evidence? Where was my proof, beyond my typically Pollyana-ish optimism? So I've been thinking about it. And this is what I've come up with.

A few reasons why I know 2006 is bound to be better than 2005:

1. Barring nuclear conflagration, the actual overturning of Roe v. Wade or a new television series for Jessica Simpson (all possibilities in ‘06, I'll grant you), there's virtually no way that anything could be worse than 2005;



2. Just when we thought there was no comeuppance for people like Kenneth Lay and Jeffrey Skilling, we find that – hey – there just might be some after all;



3. Our very own WaiterRant got a mention on CNN. I feel very proprietary about Waiter… why, I’m not sure, except that he does a job I could never do, and (so far as we know) he hasn’t killed anyone while doing it. You GO, Waiter;



4. I finally finished my bachelor's degree and have moved on to my MFA;



5. Starbuck's grande toffee nut latte with four Splenda and whip (which may not make anything better, but certainly makes everything seem better, and may well have been the only thing that got me through 2005 with my sanity intact). I’m drinking one now (shut UP!);



6. Though everyone around me has been deathly ill, I have so far managed to avoid getting sick;



7. I think I have finally managed to put aside all the anger I had toward my mother and accept her for the flawed human being that she was (fourteen years after her death, but still….);



8. Though I'm going through a crisis of faith, it’s a crisis of what I believe, not that I believe. I do believe. I just don't know how to express it;



9. I actually saw an episode during the Twilight Zone marathon that I’ve never seen before. I just know this is a good and hopeful sign; and



10. I have come to terms with the fact that, as happy as I was living in the "no dating" cave, I was not meant to be alone forever, and that's just fine.

These are just a few of the exhibits in my case that 2006 will be better than 2005. It won't be as good as future years (say, oh… off the top of my head… 2008), but it will be better. And better is always a good reason to get out of bed.

All the best to you all in 2006, and thanks for making the Chron such a trip!

~C~

Happy New Year!

Day Three of Faithful Gym Attendance

Down side: Ouch.

Upside: Got some reading done and came up with an image that may inspire a series of short stories and/or vignettes. I went home last night and played in Poser, Vue and Photoshop for the first time in a while. It was a lovely time. I miss the hours I spent creating images. Anyway, I won't discuss the fiction project, but you can see the image and use your imaginations. Time spent on that elliptical trainer is definitely not time wasted. Hopefully, I'll continue to be inspired during that time. And my jeans should start fitting better soon, too, which is always nice.

Golly, I'm looking forward to 2006. 2005 has been kind of rough on everybody (in reality, I think it started for me on November 2, 2004). Here's hoping that this New Year will be everything 2005 wasn't, and so much more....

Hope you all had a terrific Christmas. Or at least were able to survive the Christmas you did have. Onward to better things.

~C~

And So, It Begins...

Well, it's been a pretty hellacious, wonderful, horrific, terrible ride for the past ten days. I learned some things -- things I wanted to know, things I didn't. I learned that the two greatest inventions of mankind (after the wheel and the Dewey decimal system, that is) are espresso and under-eye concealer. I learned something really kind of not nice about the man I was interested in -- turns out he's absolutely not who I thought he was in terms of his ethics and honesty.

I learned that the short story I submitted to workshop these past ten days -- which I proclaimed from the highest mountaintops that I was sick to death of and never wanted to see again after this residency -- may actually not be a short story after all, but, in fact, may be the beginnings of a novel. I kept trying to make it shorter and more compressed, when according to everyone who read it, the story is really screaming to be expanded and told at length and in detail. Who knew? (Obviously, not me!)

I learned a lot from the many lectures and seminars attended -- such as how to publish an anthology, how to begin to approach the teaching of creative writing, how to use humor and limited writing exercises to inspire young writers to write. I think my field study is going to be a reading/writing group of my daughter's friends, who have expressed an interest in learning to write. Many of them are also artists, so I think what I may do is set about creating a book that they write, illustrate, edit and publish with their own works of writing and art.

I learned that talking on the cellphone while searching for a ladies' room can be a bit risky, as it can cause you to enter the men's room instead. (Fortunately, there's an outer area with sinks only!)

I learned that for every six months, for the next two years, I get to go to a place where I completely and totally belong -- where I can talk in my weird "writer's shorthand," and everyone will know what I'm talking about. And, finally, if there was every even a momentary doubt in my mind, I learned that I am a writer, and this is what I was born to do.

So, starting in January, I begin what's known as the "Project Period" -- where every month, on the 21st, I turn in a packet of material including the pages I've written (I've set 20 per month as my goal, since I lean on the prolific side), annotations of the books I've read, plus I meet online with my mentor and her other mentees to discuss the assigned readings (to see my reading list, click here.) All very inspiring and exciting.

Wish me luck. I'm off tomorrow to buy LOTS of espresso and under-eye concealer.

~C~

One of the Benefits of Post-Grad Education Is...

... for the first time in I-don't-know-how-long, my desk at work is relatively clean.

(Go ahead... Ask me where something is... go on... ask me... I dare you?)

See you guys when I get back from my first MFA residency on December 19th.

~C~

P.S. I've just made Deirdre at Best Available sooo happy... Oh, look... is she...? I think she's actually crying....

California's Newest Driver -- and Newest Democrat

How did this happen? Wasn't it just a couple of days ago, I was taking her picture and she was twirling in her gossamer pink polka dot dress?

Yesterday, she got her learner's permit and registered to vote.

Anyway... I better go before I break out into an impromptu chorus of Sunrise, Sunset. So, I've done my share to boost the Democratic party by one. Everyone else... get crackin'!

~C~

Three More Days Before Graduation

Everything's crossed of the list. The checks have been written (and cashed -- phew!). The papers have been turned in and evaluated.

I must be forgetting something. This can't actually be happening.

Can it?

~C~

In Memoriam - Wendie Jo Sperber

The AP posted Wendie Jo Sperber's obituary this morning, so I've swiped it to post below. I was acquainted with Wendie Jo briefly (and quite casually) back in the mid-80's, and I liked her immensely. When I heard about her illness, and her way of dealing with it, I was even more impressed with her. Her organization, weSPARK, has provided cancer patients in and around the San Fernando Valley with comfort and hope for the last several years.

Though I didn't know her well, I was always inspired by the grace and humor she displayed in confronting her illness, and how she always made it clear that though she had cancer, she was not cancer. It did not define her.

My heart goes out to her friends and her family. I'm sure she will be deeply missed. Many thanks to her for the legacy she leaves behind in her children, in weSPARK, and in the example that she set for all of us.

~C~

Actress Sperber Loses Breast Cancer Fight

Thu Dec 1, 7:21 AM ET

Actress Wendie Jo Sperber, who starred opposite Tom Hanks on TV's "Bosom Buddies" and who in his words became "a walking inspiration" after she contracted cancer, has died. She was in her 40s.

Sperber died at home Tuesday after an eight-year battle with breast cancer, publicist Jo-Ann Geffen said Wednesday.

A Los Angeles native, Sperber appeared in dozens of television shows and movies, including all three "Back to the Future" films.

Her publicist first said Sperber was 46, but later said she was 43 based on an Internet resource. The Associated Press in September reported Sperber's age as 47.

Sperber also had roles in Steven Spielberg's "1941," Robert Zemeckis' "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," and Neal Israel's "Moving Violations" and "Bachelor Party." Her television credits include "Murphy Brown," "Private Benjamin," "Will & Grace" and "8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter."

After being diagnosed with breast cancer in 1997, the actress became an advocate for cancer care. In 2001, she founded the weSPARK Cancer Support Center, which provides free emotional support, information and social activities for individuals and families affected by cancer.

Sperber helped unveil and promote a breast cancer stamp for the U.S. Postal Service in 1998, Geffen said.

"The memory of Wendie Jo is that of a walking inspiration," Hanks said in a statement. "She met the challenges of her illness with love, cheer, joy and altruism. We are going to miss her as surely as we are all better for knowing her."

Sperber is survived by a son and daughter, her parents, two sisters and a brother.

Shhhh... We Don't Want to Jinx Anything....

But I have eight... count 'em... eight days until I have graduated with my bachelor's degree.

Act natural. We don't want to make The Fates suspicious.

(I said, "Act natural." Sheesh.... )

~C~

Our Bodies, Our Selves

This is another example of what I like to call "Christian extremist terrorism." Susan Wood, an FDA official who quit when the agency refused to legalize over-the-counter access to morning-after contraception, says she believes that the next step is to refuse to grant access to potentially life-saving vaccines for human papillomavirus (genital warts), which can lead to cervical cancer, and any AIDS/HIV vaccine that could be invented in the future.

Why?

Because the same neocon Christian "family" groups that are pressuring the FDA to withhold approval making the "morning-after" pill (so-called "Plan B") available OTC are putting pressure on the agency to withhold approval of these vaccines. These groups believe that such medical treatments encourage sexual activity in young people. So, the logic amongst Christians (whose "good intentions" are becoming harder and harder to ascertain, I must say) is that, if you provide medical care for a woman's sexual wellbeing, you are encouraging her to have sex outside of marriage -- a crime which has apparently become punishable by death.

No word yet one when the FDA is planning on rescinding its approval of Viagra....

~C~

As We Suspected....

This article from the UK (originally published in September, '05) uses statistical evidence compiled from several sources to study whether what evangelical Christians are claiming is actually true -- that religion and the worhipping of deities in general, and a monotheistic God with a son named Jesus, in particular -- are the only things standing between mankind and all-out, Helter-Skelter-like pandimonium.

The results were mind-boggling even for those of us who suspected the truth.

According to the study, published in the Journal of Religion and Society, a US academic journal, not only does this turn out to be untrue, it turns out to be the opposite of the truth. In countries which maintain a degree of secularism, crime rates, suicide rates, abortion rates and the rate of infection of STDs is markedly lower. The more secular a given nation was, in fact, the lower their cases of the above maladies.

Additionally, the study's author Gregory Paul found that the United States is the only advanced democracy where murder rates, though on the downslide, are still very high, particularly in comparison to the rates in countries like the UK, France and Japan, which have all the same technology that we do and a fraction of the murder rate.

So, it would seem that the presence of religion in a society is not only not helpful, but is actually harmful. It's devisive and preachy and self-righteous and self-absorbed. It's suppressive and repressive and unhealthy and more than a little seditious. It makes people believe things that are not true, and puts them in the paths of unscrupulous snake oil salesmen to boot.

One of these days, I'm going to have to move myself to one of them secular countries, just to see what it feels like living in a place where people are halfway sane.

~C~

Yes, Mr. Governor... We Are Trying to Tell You Something.

Dear Governor (and I use the word in its most titular sense) Schwarzenegger:

I suppose your wondering by now if it was all a horrible dream. You probably had that slow realization, after you awoke this morning, where you forgot that you had been handed your head on a silver platter by the electorate of this state. That must have been a terrible moment for you. My heart goes out to you.

For someone like you, who is so accustomed to snapping his fingers and having the world jump, the results of Tuesday's elections must have really knocked the wind out of you. You thought you had us all figured out, didn't you. You figured if you couldn't get those idiots in the state capitol to do it your way, you would by-pass them completely. I guess getting handed your hat like that really gave you pause.

Let me try to explain what happened. Here, in America, unlike other countries that shall remain nameless, we have a system called representative democracy, or more accurately, a democratic republic. That means that we elect local folks that we think represent our point of view, we buy them a bus ticket to Sacramento and we pay them a bit of dosh to sit around and pass state laws that are conducive to our way of thinking. This has, so far, proven to be a fairly effective way to run the state. Oh, sure. We've had our rough spots. But by and large, we've come through them alright using this technique.

It is especially effective because people in L.A. and people in, say, Anaheim, or Riverside, don't necessarily see eye-to-eye on what's best for the state. So having representatives working it out in Sacramento, with each other and the governor (that's you, sir, in case you've already lost the thread of this little epistle) is both expedient and fairly civilized. Now, the governor does not always agree with the representatives that we send to the state capitol. Sometimes, he even dislikes them. And in rare cases, he downright hates their guts. See, the beauty of this system is that we pay people to do the bargaining and compromising and negotiating for us, so that we can get on with the meaningless, mundane tasks at hand -- such as feeding our families and trying to find affordable daycare and health plans.

I am not in a position to ask you what your stand is on the state representatives -- any of them -- currently serving terms in Sacramento. The truth is (and I think I speak for most Californians here), I don't give a flying fandango what you think of them. You don't choose them. We do. When you insult them, you're insulting us. Not that that seems to matter much to you. You have made it clear at every turn that you have no respect for this state, for this form of government and for the people who live here.

We just spent a few million dollars on a special election that we neither asked for nor wanted. Ostensibly, we had to dip into an already over-burdened state budget, strained to the brink by your refusal to follow the mandates of the state senate (I refer to the continued rollback of automobile registration fees, which was supposed to be completed two years ago), because you couldn't play well with others. How many school supplies do you think $300 million buys? A lot, I reckon.

So, here's what we're trying to tell you in a nutshell, Mr. Governor. We're trying to tell you that we are NOT going to do your dirty work for you. We are trying to tell you that we are very sorry you aren't getting carte blanche to do whatever suits your rich-ass, Eurotrash fancy, but we have a mode of government here that works well for us, and we're not prepared to change it at this time. We're trying to tell you to get your ever-expanding Teutonic ass back up to Sacramento, plant it in the nearest leather wingback chair and get to work. Real work, Mr. Governor. Not like movies.

This is politics. It's the real world. It's not an Arnold Schwarzenegger ass-kissing festival, where you get to be crowned Queen of the May every day. It's hard work, serious work, for serious folks, and if you're not up to the task, then step aside and let someone who has the meat do the job. Otherwise, get in that 7-miles-to-the-gallon-in-the-city Hummer of yours and find your way back to the state capitol and get busy. Our time is valuable, and our money even more so. Do NOT bother us again with your trifling bullshit.

That is pretty much all that we wanted to say to you, sir -- what we were trying to communicate with our votes on Tuesday. I just thought I'd make that clear, so you didn't misunderstand and take it too personally. Because, as shocking as this may be for you to fathom, sometimes it is just not about you.

Have a nice day, Mr. Governor. Best to the Missus.

~C~

Oh, Bitter Irony...

Wouldn't it be ironic if it turned out that the only weapons of mass destruction that turned up in this war were launched by us? White phosphorous is the chemical used in flash grenades and flares. When it comes in contact with human flesh, it burns... and burns... and keeps on burning, until it hits something that doesn't burn as easily -- like bone. It has been banned by the Geneva Convention since 1980. It is worth noting that the United States has never put its signature to the ban.

An Italian documentary which aired this week charges that the US dropped white phosphorous bombs on Fallujah, in areas where civilians congregated. According to a man the documentary identifies as a former US soldier who served there, white phosphorous creates a cloud that destroys every living thing within 150 meters. The US denies the charges, though acknowledges that it did drop "fire bombs" (MK77s) on military targets in Fallujah only. MK77s are similar to the napalm that was dropped in Vietnam in the 70's, though the chemical composition is slightly different. Still, the results are designed to be the same -- to sear human flesh from the bones in as broad a pattern as possible. What the precise distinction is that the US military is making between white phosphorous and "fire bombs", I'm not sure.

In a document that the Italians claims supports their story, an informal memo was sent by British Armed Forces minister (Rumsfeld's UK counterpart) Adam Ingram, claiming that the US used 30 of the MK77s in the spring of '03, on military targets only. However, the memo goes on to say that, due to the unpredictable nature of the weapon, they are rarely "used in urban terrains or in areas where civilans are congregated." Fallujah is listed as having a population of 256,000 (presumably based on a pre-war census). I would call Fallujah an "area where civilians are congregated."

But then, I never went to West Point.

It's all very confusing and unconfirmed right now, admittedly. The documentary can be found here (there is an English version). I must warn you. The images in this documentary are extremely graphic and difficult to see. War -- any war -- sucks. But civilian casualties, particularly the children, are almost impossible to bear.

Like I said... wouldn't it be the supreme irony?

~C~

Phew. What a relief.

It's okay, everybody. No need to get all up in arms. President Bush says, "We don't torture."

And he's made Dick Cheney point man to attempt to exempt the CIA from the "no torture" policy, just in case, in the middle of all this non-torturing, someone in the CIA should actually have a need to torture, they can with impunity. With Dick Cheney at the helm, I'm sure this ship will be steered straight and true, by golly.

Let's set aside the moral objections for the moment (since Republicans seem so free and easy doing that). Torture is a monumentally lousy way of extracting reliable information. If you're twisting my nipple with a pair of pliers, or pulling my toenails out one by one, I'm going to tell you anything you want to hear, whether its true or not. We learned this during the Salem witch trials in the 17th century. (Cheney's almost old enough to remember those, right?)

Then again, this entire post is moot. Because President Bush says, "We don't torture." And when has President Bush ever intentionally misled us?

~C~

Who is Samuel Alito, and Why Should We Be Afraid of Him?

Samuel Alito's confirmation hearings are congealing at this very writing. Thanks to Think Progress, we get a little information about just how this man might rule on various issues.

Alito isn't just a conservative. He's antediluvian. This guy makes Antonin Scalia look like Bono. Write your congressional and senate representatives today -- now -- and let them know you want them to fight this confirmation with any weapon in their arsenal, including the filibuster (we knew that thing would come in handy at some point, didn't we).

George Bush is doing everything he can -- from this outrageous appointment to bird flu -- to take the focus away from Rove, Cheney and Libby. As hard as it is for those of us with ADD to maintain the attention to specific issues, we must attempt to do just that.

The slow implosion that we hoped for is here. Let's not let another thing slide. 2,000 young people are dead because we lost focus in 2003. We can't afford to make another mistake like that.

~C~

"Faith Should Be Personal, Not Presidential"

Esteemed White House reporter Helen Thomas has written this spectacular op-ed piece about religion in the Oval Office.

Faith Should Be Personal, Not Presidential

As someone who covered every President since Kennedy, Thomas is in the unique position of having witnessed how both parties' presidents handled the issues of faith, worship and the separation of Church and State.

Fascinating....

~C~

The Politics of Knitting

Ever have a loose thread on your sweater that you just couldn't resist pulling? Ever watched what happens as that sweater comes unraveled, row after row after row after row, until all you have left is a useless pile of unknit yarn that's too damaged to reknit into anything useful?

Yeah… you know… like that….

~C~

God-Fearing

Richard Thompson has been talking a lot lately, mostly at the "intelligent design" trial in Harrisburg, PA. Actually, talking a lot is what most Christian leaders, particularly proponents of intelligent design, have been doing lately. And they're speaking a similar message, namely, that people who are not afraid of a higher deity have no moral or ethical foundation and cannot possibly ascertain right from wrong. "There are two Americas today, one that's still very religiously based, and another that has no foundation, where everything is relative, where everything goes," Thompson told reporters.

I'm dumbfounded by this. Some of the most heinous acts of cruelty and evil have been perpetrated in the name of the Lord. By the same token, much good has been performed by people who don't necessarily subscribe to a monotheistic belief system. Only an evangelical, steeped in dogma and terrified of eternal damnation, could conjure the notion that all non-Christians are misguided and immoral. Even Christ didn't believe this, or He never would have told the parable of the Good Samaritan -- supposedly noble, Godly people refusing to go out of their way to do good, while a supposed "infidel" performs a great act of charity and love for a complete stranger.

So, basically, according to Richard Thompson, there are two Americas. Only two. No more. All the people in America can be sifted into two camps. His camp, and the other camp. That's it. Game over. You're either "in" or you're "out." Every time I think its safe to embrace my faith again, someone like Thompson comes along and makes it impossible. My fear is that if I lie down with these dogs, I'll be getting up with worse than fleas.

My dilemma, I suppose, is finding a way to believe without associating with people I honestly perceive to be evil -- not intentionally evil, but accidentally evil, because they are small and blind and afraid.

(sigh)

It's almost enough to make a girl turn pagan, isn't it?

~CA~

Bad News, Good News, Really Bad News

I have had a pretty crazy week. I finally made the decision to turn my two year old car back to the dealership because the payments are killing me. It may be the smartest thing to do, but right now, it feels like a defeat. I know I'll feel better in a month when there's no car payment due, but right now... yuck. I'm fortunate enough that I think I can use my dad's old car until I can pull together a few thousand for a used car of my own.

I found out yesterday that my application to the MFA/Creative Writing program was accepted. I'm thrilled -- and scared -- and thrilled. I'm pulling together the little odds and ends they need in order to enroll me.

And I found out today that someone I care about is HIV-positive. It's someone I've known for years. Though we don't tend to go to each other's houses or out to dinner, and we've only attended a handful of social gatherings at the home of mutual friends, we have a long-standing friendship that involves standing around talking about things on a pretty deep level. We trust each other -- to listen, to be compassionate, to keep secrets. I've told him a couple of mine, he's told me a couple of his. Today, he shared a doozy. We were talking about exes and such, and he revealed that someone he'd dated a couple of years ago is positive. I prodded him about when he was getting tested. He shrugged me off, which I took to mean, "Yeah, yeah... soon... I promise." I implored a bit more, then said, "I don't mean to nag, but I care about you." I hugged him, and he held the hug and said in my ear, "I already have, and the answer is 'yes.'" Then, I was the one who held the hug, circulating the meaning of those words in my head. For a moment, I thought I might kind of panic, but the feeling passed.

"We all gotta die sometime," he said.

"But not today," I replied.

"No. Not today."

"And not tomorrow."

"Not for many tomorrows."

True enough. He is in good health, asymptomatic, taking his meds and vitamins, eating his veggies and seeing his doctor often. If anyone can manage this virus, he can. But my magical thinking brain had pretty much written off the possibility of yet another friend being positive. I'm an opera singer. The crew I sang with in the early 80's... well... let's just say, we're short a couple of tenors and at least one baritone today. My ex-brother-in-law died of the disease. My ex-sister-in-law (from a different branch of the family) also died of it.

I think somewhere inside, I figured everyone left in my circle is safe. You know that old joke about how "one in three people suffer from mental illness -- look to your left and your right -- if they're okay, you could be in trouble." Well, I guess I thought of HIV like that. When you weed out the "one in three" or the "two in five" or the "one in two thousand," you get this idea that somehow, your clan has gone through all it can. That's the "magical thinking" part of all this. It was childish. I know that now.

So, this has been a helluva week. From defeat, to victory, to "not so fast, cookie". I have much to process. I have to go finish reading The Odyssey.

That ought to take my mind off my troubles.

~CA~

Men Who Feel

I stumbled across two very interesting posts today in blogs I read regularly. Both are written by men, and both concern themselves with the conditions of love and/or a lack thereof. The first comes from Not30Yet, who has just (within days) ended a short-term relationship. The post he wrote immediately after the break-up was a bit contrite, and somewhat pining at the loss. A quick read of today's post will tell you that he's starting to get a bit... well... Irritated at the whole process. Maybe even disillusioned.

But disillusionment in love is a luxury only the very young can afford, as evidenced by yesterday's post over at WaiterRant, where our intrepid hero is still a bit wounded from a long-ended love affair, and waxes philosophical (and biblical) about the condition of solitude, loneliness, those nagging inner voices (a professor of mine calls them "chattering monkeys"), and resolve. Waiter is (I believe) in his very late thirties, early forties, and knows some things that Not30Yet hasn't had the chance to figure out.

First and foremost -- time is fleeting. At 27, you think you have all of it in the entire world. You can't imagine being forty, much less facing it alone. One day, you're 38, and you look up... on some Tuesday or other... and it occurs to you that all that time you had is gone -- along with you flat stomach and lineless forehead.

If you're a woman, and you have no children, every article about infertility catches your eye, and you are surfing the internet praying for that combination of amino acids and vitamins that going to preserve your eggs just a few more years until Mr. Right comes along.

If you're a man -- or at least, if you're Waiter -- you're going to think in terms of how your life reflects your level of success. Your "Legion" is going to let you know what a cock-up you are, and unless you're prepared to tell them to take a hike, you'll have to listen.

I guess what struck me more than anything is that I still don't really believe deep down that men take love all that seriously. I know, I know... it's wicked and unfair. I learned how men love from my father, who cannot or will not love. He has made it clear that he would prefer to be alone rather than have a loved one touching his stuff, because the stuff is more important than the love. It's something I have to get over, I realize. I'm working on it. But I have my own legion, my own band of chattering monkeys to overcome.

Give me a little time.

~CA~

Getting Down with the Posse

Trolling through CNN.com today, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but this nifty little piece about President Bush trying to get Congress to let him use the United States military for law enforcement purposes in case avian flu reaches pandemic proportions. It is at times like these when I wonder what the HELL George W. Bush actually learned at Yale, anyway, besides Beer Guzzling 101A.

I haven't yet finished with my bachelor's degree -- not from a prestigious Ivy League university, mind you, but from humble liberal arts Antioch University -- and even I know that's a no-go. Why? Because of a little something we ex-history majors like to call the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878 (because, well, that's its name). It's official name is actually Section 1385 of Title 18. It expressly forbids the use of the military in the capacity of law enforcement, except under very specific conditions spelled out under the Constitution (National Guard units, for example) or by an Act of Congress. Once Congress gives the go-ahead, the President has a fairly wide latitude in using Army, Navy and Marine units to aid in an emergency situation (like… oh… I don't know… say… a Category 5 hurricane, for instance), or in cases of civil war and insurrection or an attempted overthrow of the government. Since we have scheduled overthrowings of the government every four years or so, those have been fairly rare in our history. The last big one took place in the middle of the nineteenth century. The little ones have broken out here and there (two of them in Los Angeles, in fact… Coincidence?) In any case, Congress is pretty reluctant to allow the use of U.S. troops against it's own citizens, since it's demoralizing for both military personnel and citizenry. What the President wants to do is by-pass the Act of Congress part, and just send those troops in when he senses (with his profoundly acute gifts of empathy and human compassion) that trouble's a-brewin'.

The part I love is that President Bush, who couldn't be bothered to get off his fat, white ass in Crawford when tens of thousands were trying to stay above water in New Orleans, wants Congress to allow him free reign to use the military against us in anticipation of… a flu pandemic. Hmmm. Yes. Because deadly flu pandemics are so frequently accompanied by widespread anarchy and civil unrest.

Hong Kong flu in 1968. 34,000 Americans dead. I myself was stricken with 104 degree fever. I was ten at the time, so that's not as near-fatal as it sounds. I was semi-delirious for a day or two, admittedly, but I don't seem to recall the angry mobs of flu sufferers, marching through the streets, demanding… what?... Nyquil? Okay, maybe that's not fair. After all, though it was a pandemic, the Hong Kong flu turned out to be a fairly mild-mannered one, in contrast with other past flu disasters. The Asian flu of 1957, for instance, took 74,000 American lives. And yet, I can't find a single historical reference to the attempted overthrow of the Eisenhower administration during that time.

Just what is he going to use the Army for in the case of a flu pandemic? Perhaps he’ll mobilize them, gather the infected together and shoot them, to prevent the spread of the disease. This could be particularly useful in poor, minority neighborhoods, where I'm sure most of the flu insurgents will be holed up, planning their coughing and sneezing assaults on upper-middle class white people. I don't know what to think. I go back and forth between thinking he's either incredibly evil, or incredibly stupid. After Katrina, I was sure it was evil. Now, I'm leaning back towards stupid. Can we survive this kind of nitwiticism for another two-and-something years?

All I know for sure is this: if there really is going to be an avian flu pandemic, I just hope and pray there's a chicken out there with the President's name on it.

~C~

"A Hill of Beans"

That's what Humphrey Bogart says the problems of two people don't amount to in this world, right before he puts Ingrid Bergman on that plane beside Paul Heinreid in Casablanca. See, Bogie knew that, though he and Ingrid were in love, there were other things, bigger things, things of more consequence, and therefore, he was prepared to ignore his own petty-by-comparison problems in order to focus on the Big Picture. After all, what is one little love affair when contrasted against the future of the French Resistance during WWII.

All of which is a very roundabout way of saying that I was going to put up one of my usually deliciously whiny posts about some-such-thing-or-other, when in my blog-hopping, I hit on one of my favorites, The Lucidity and Lunacy of Millicent Frastley. Those of you who have frequented Mil's blog and mine know that we have much in common. We're L.A. women, in our forties, back at school, trying to better our lives. In fact, for a brief, dizzying moment, as I commented on one of her posts, I thought I might actually be Millicent Frastley.

Well, I'm not, as it turns out. I met Ms. Frastley this weekend when she was courageous enough to attend a musical revue I was singing in on Saturday. I mean, Deirdre Cooley (of Best Available) came, too, but she's been to the Hollywood Bowl with me, and has at least heard me sing the National Anthem. She knew more or less what she was getting. Millicent Frastley had never even heard me speak before Saturday. Yet, she and her sweet beau, Manpants (as we have come to know and love him), were there, and were very kind and gracious afterward. It was very good of them to come, especially since she's going through a kind of a rough time right now. Her post, When Lives Collide with Sharp Objects, is a very well-written piece about time and family and complex relationships and what's really important when it comes right down to it.

In light of that, I think I'll save the deliciously whiny post for later. Because, when it comes right down to it, when you look at the Big Picture, it doesn't matter a hill of beans.

Best of luck to Mil and her sister over the next several weeks.

~C~

Blogger Problems

(Update: Support fixed it. Yippee, skippeeeeee).

Anyone else having problems with being able to post comments to Blogger sites or update their blogs? I'm getting the maintenance message from yesterday.

Down for Maintenance
Blogger is temporarily unavailable due to planned maintenance.
This downtime will last 1 hour from 4:30pm - 5:30pm (PST).

I'm having to use the MS Word add-on to post this. Is it just me? Or is this happening with everyone?

~CA~

"No, Thank You."

Poet Sharon Olds declined the First Lady's invitiation to speak at the National Book Festival and the accompanying banquet. Her letter sending her regrets was published in The Nation today. I urge you to read this amazing, elequently direct letter that speaks the feelings we've had for so long.

Today is also the day that 100,000 people have gathered in Washington, D.C. in the largest single anti-war rally since the start of the Iraq war. The 100,000 were met by a few hundred Bush supporters.

It occurs to me that pressing for the war, for this president, for these values, may very well be becoming less and less appealing, less and less something people want to do in public. I seem to recall that a time came -- I think it was in 1970, '71, maybe -- when a similar thing happened in the war in Viet Nam. Maybe it was just a pop culture thing -- it wasn't fashionable to support an illegal war as it had been in the late 60's. Maybe it was just that people who had bought into the initial lies ran out of rationalizations and arguments defending it. Maybe it just becomes eventually impossible to publicly stand up and say that lying is okay, the waste of young lives to support that lie is good and brave, the ends justifies the means.

Maybe that's what's happening now. We can only hope.

~CA~

Multi-tasking

The fools...

Don't they realize?

We're so talented that we can point fingers, lay blame and rebuild New Orleans at the same time. And after that... we're going after their tax credits.... And we're not touching the estate tax. And we're gonna institute a special new tax -- it's call the Racist, Arrogant, Rich, White Butthead Tax.

We'll have New Orleans back on its feet in no time.

~CA~

Art Therapy

I've been playing (now that I have some time and can) with some arty stuff, so I've updated "When Math and Art Collide." I've posted three fractals I've been playing with.

~CA~

The One Paper I'll Post

Because all of my papers this quarter were still works-in-progress by the end of the quarter (one very long short story, and one book), I only have one paper to post for your amusement. This is a five-page paper from my How to Write About Music seminar. We had to find a way to use descriptive language to successfully evoke the feeling of a piece of music (I chose Copeland's Appalachian Spring").

It's called 'Til We Come Round Right.

"When you speak of this... and you will... be kind.... "

~CA~

The Hand that Rocked the Cradle

I used to wonder how George W. Bush could have turned out the way he did. I never liked his father, but I never felt his father was inately useless and evil. I'm beginning to realize that Bush, the Son's failing is not in his last name, but in his mitochondria (the specific DNA which is passed from mother to child). Barbara Bush visited Katrina refugees who'd been stationed in the Astrodome, and pronounced that, since they were underprivileged anyway, "this is working very well for them."

Let's review, shall we? On August 28, 2005, after managing to survive a Category 5 hurricane, the citizens -- especially the poorer ones -- of New Orleans were rudely awakened by water streaming into their homes from the broken levee that the Army Corps of Engineers had warned for the past three years was on its last legs. Those who survived (and plenty did not) managed to get themselves to some dry, relatively safe place, and then spent several days waiting to be rescued. And waiting... and waiting... and waiting....

While FEMA director-and-Bush-toady Michael Brown insisted that FEMA was not designed as a "first response agency", (FEMA's own website disputes this, incidentally, particularly in cases where local and state agencies are clearly overwhelmed and where there exists the possibility of threats to public health -- like, I don't know, say, e. coli and decomposing dead bodies floating in water for several days on end), and further stated that he never heard anything about people camping out in teh Superdome under horrific conditions, with no food, blankets, clean drinking water, and medical attention, and under the extreme threat of physical violence (though Ted Koppel thoughtfully pointed out to him that major news outlets had been reporting on the story for nearly five days), the survivors struggled to come to terms with lost loved ones, lost jobs, lost property, lost baby pictures, lost mementos....

And when its all said and done, and a handful of refugees have found some small comfort in the safety of the Astrodome in Texas, the mother of the President of the United States is sure that, because they didn't have much to begin with, this whole Katrina thing is "working out well" for them. She did express alarm that all the refugees now camped out in the Astrodome were so overwhelmed by Texans' hospitality that they might want to stay in Texas. (GASP!)

I have a feeling... just a feeling, mind you... no concrete proof.... but a strong, intuitive feeling that Barbara Bush may well be the personification of human evil. She is the poster child for a party whose majority leader declared within a day of the New Orleans tragedy that Congress' single most important priority upon returning after summer break is abolishing the estate tax. Fortunately, they were shamed into agreeing that perhaps thousands dead and an American city submerged in water might rate some attention before we handed rich people an early Christmas gift.

~C~

The End of the World as We Know It

Katrina. The death of Rehnquist. The appointment of John Roberts (who hasn't even been confirmed as a justice yet) as Chief Justice.

And here we are, left to ponder what it all means. I don't know about you, but I'm thoroughly on edge over the whole thing. Now that clean-up efforts have seemingly started in earnest, and bodies are starting to be pulled from the debris in New Orleans, it gives people a perfect opportunity to do what most Americans have done since 2000 -- pretend that nothing is wrong, we're all fine, nothing to see here, move along, move along.... They were only poor black people after all. Oh, and... we didn't really need that implied right to privacy, did we? I mean, that was fine, back in the day before terrorists were determining 99% of our national security policy and God was washing away entire cities because of homosexuality in the Armed Services... or our support of Israel... or the practice of Santaria in Louisiana... or the state's ten whole abortion clinics.... (the religious hate-mongerers are having a dickens of a time settling on just one thing these days).

No, no... now it's not just a whole new ballgame. It's a whole new sport. We have moved from wiffleball to the majors overnight. I had a feeling on November 2, 2004, when half of America decided that they were more afraid of Arab terrorists and a woman's right to determine whether she reproduced or not, then they were over the suspension of our Constitutional rights under the guise of "homeland security" that all things "American" had changed. Speaking of "homeland security," with the gutting of FEMA for the purposes of supporting an illegal war in Iraq, what exactly did D.C. think they would do, in the (un)likely event that a hurricane hit the Gulf of Mexico, or wild fires ignited in Wyoming or Montana, or a massive earthquake in Los Angeles? How did they expect -- with nearly 60% of all National Guard forces serving overseas -- that they would be able to deploy enough people in the (un)likely event of any of the above catastrophes to actually save human lives? Or did it even matter?

What is it that bothers me most here? There are so many things, I'm not sure I can refine it to a single thought. As a writer, I should be able to do just that. I should already know what upsets me about all this, and what I expect to do about it.

But I don't. I don't know what I want to do. Do I want to move to another country, before this Administration starts a forced draft of my teenaged daughter (because, God knows, we can't let the Bush twins fight in Iraq, little braintrusts that they are)? Do I want to stick it out here, while disgruntled white Christian men, nostalgic for the good old days when they were in charge, and their wives were shackled into marriage by unplanned pregnancy, fight like hell to retake their prerogative to determine, by their own sexual urges, when and how a woman conceives and gives birth? Do I want to live in that country, the one that lurks in the darkest recesses of my "worst-case scenario" brain?

I'm tired. I haven't been taking my bupropion with any regularity. Perhaps that is coloring my temperament. I'm sick and I'm sad -- for the people in New Orleans who have to listen while the head of FEMA pulls the old "Gee, are you guys in trouble? Well, why didn't you speak up and say something, for gosh sakes?" routine. I'm sick for my daughter who, between the threat of a forced draft, and the threat to her reproductive self-determination, is at risk of losing the America her parents were reared in. I'm especially sick that, after profiting so blatantly from the war in Iraq, Halliburton is now headed into hurricane-ravaged Louisiana to see what resources it can suck dry there.

I'm trying to stay zen. I make plans to picnic at the Hollywood Bowl once more this year before the season ends. I work on my portfolios for school. I move through work with a kind of leaden non-efficiency that is totally out of character for me. My friend Shannon says that, sometimes, our job is just to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving through it until we get to the other side. Maybe that's where we live now. We may just need to play out this hand that's being dealt -- not only to us, but by us, as well. These are, after all, our elected officials. They work for us. We may not have voted for them, but they are ours nonetheless. I like to think of myself in the midst of this White House administration as middle management, saddled through nepotism to oversee the incompetent, disingenuous, occasionally dangerous son of the disreputable chairman of the board. As those who voted for other presidents, and other governors, and other representatives, the problem may not be of our creation, but it is no less our problem.

How will we cope? What will we do to keep the ship on course, while the mutinous and evil ship's crew attempts to steer us aground for their own benefit?

One foot in front of the other. Until we get to the other side. Maybe we'll never make it. We might have to abandon the trip entirely and go to points north, or destinations across the Atlantic, in order to ensure the safety and ultimate freedom of our children. But for now, we move on, the best we can, holding on to our ideals and our senses of self, until compassion, sanity, common sense and beneficence return to save us from the pirates.

~C~

Reason Not to Call Myself a Christian #72

'Kay, so this guy named Rev. Fred Phelps has decided that "God hates fags" (his words) so much that He actually started the war in order to kill American soldiers as retribution for defending America -- a country that tolerates homosexuality. I swear, I'm not making this up. This guys has a church in (where else?) Kansas that consists mostly of his children, grandchildren and in-laws, and they have been protesting the funerals of Tennessee national guardsmen killed in Iraq.

How sick is that? Aside from the fact that it lets Bush off the hook for starting an illegal and immoral war, it also fastens the blame on the one person who doesn't deserve it and in whose teachings such a things is strictly prohibited -- God. This only goes to prove my point that Christianity, while used by a few to promote love and peace, is mostly an instrument of evil -- especially in Kansas. I think Christianity should be banned in Kansas. Kansans simply don't know how to use it properly. It's like a loaded gun to them.

Somebody needs a good smitin', that's all I can say. (Do you need a permit to smite someone? Where do I apply for one?)

~CA~

"Where Math and Art Collide"

In my efforts to finish my school projects, I've been drawn back to digital art in a big way. Rather than clog this blog (which is already clogged enough with my endless opinion and mockery, thank you), I've started an artblog, which I will occasionally be updating as time permits. I'll post updates here, so you don't have to worry about checking in randomly to see if there's anything new.

It's called "Where Math and Art Collide," which was the title of a piece of flame fractal art (see above) I did a couple of years ago. Pop in and see what's what. It's not like I'll be exhibiting at LACMA any time soon, but it's a nice release for someone like me, who has pictures (to go with the voices) in her head, but very little drawing skill with which to express them.

Enjoy....

~CA~

Insert Shameless Incestuous Blog-Interpromotion Here

Okay, guys.... Naked Voodoo Chicken Dance is in a coma. I've done a long, fully illustrated blog post on the benefits of nerdy-sexy men, and no one is reading it. I need you to give me kudos. KUDOS, DAMN YOU ALL!!! I've been kudoless for nearly... well... it's been at least a couple of days now, and I am starting to get the shakes.

Well? What's keeping you? Go on. Click the link. My enormous, unchecked ego and I will be waiting here when you get back.

~CA~

The Voodoo Chicken God must be appeased....

Last Quarter Countdown

I registered today for my last quarter as an undergrad. And, here we go:

(SCI 335) Environmental Landscapes (3 units) -- this is being offered as both a LIT class (of which I have plenty) and a SCI class (of which I need two units), so I'm taking it as a science. We'll be studying about conservation and restoration of what the professor calls "urban wilderness" areas, as well as becoming more aware of our environment as an environment (as opposed, presumably, to simply the space we occupy) -- a biosphere with interdependent systems and organisms, etc. We're going on a field trip to the Ballona Wetlands. It's a quarter-mile from the front door of the university.

LIT 374 Edge Conditions: Women in Greek Antiquity (3 units) -- The professor removed her syllabus (presumably to make some changes), so I can only tell you that she's using the Greek classics (Antigone, Odysseus, The Theban Plays, Symposium Phaedras) as an exploration of what life and society was like for women of the age (men off at war, women at home tending the fires, etc.).

LIT 390B Special Topics in Children's Literature: Retelling the Myth of Romantic Love (1 unit) --I'm taking this one-day seminar because I was supposed to take in my very first quarter, and got sick the day it took place. I like the professor and I like the idea -- how fairytales and fables shape our ideas of romantic love. I also love the title of the primary textbook (Don't Bet on the Prince).

So, there you have it. My final quarter. Of course, I'll have to finish this one first. And I do have all those papers to write, don't I? Ew... I'd better get started.

~CA~

Speaking of Referrals (I was -- You weren't)

I have been trying to slowly build traffic on the Chron, lo, these many weeks. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "If you want to build traffic on this site, why don't you sit your butt down and write more posts, you lazy welp!" And you're right, of course.

However, since my time is at a premium these days (I have an MFA application due September 1st, and all my papers for my penultimate undergrad quarter due a week later), I'm away from the Chron more than I'd like. It might get worse next quarter -- it being my last and all.

In any case, I have been using my trusty Bravenet counter to monitor how traffic is coming to the Chron. Most of it is through direct hits, which is heartening, because it means that a lot of you guys have me bookmarked and just keep coming back for more torture rhetorical misadventure. Some of my traffic is coming from the blog registries (Blog Explosion and Blogazoo) sites. I also get a lot of hits from other sites, like Damp Dog, Do They Have Salsa In China, The Lucidity and Lunacy of Millicent Frastley, Skinnydipping with the President and A Twist of Kate, either because they've been gracious enough to put me in their links, or because I've commented on their posts. That's a nice feeling, too.

Every now and then, though, I get a search result as the referrer. I can't help myself. I feel compelled to click on the link and find out what was searched that brought up the Chron. Almost invariably, it is a search for something containing the word "naked." Presumably, the many mentions of the Chron's sister blog, Naked Voodoo Chicken Dance, creates a Chron hit. Today's search was an MSN scour for "naked tide." Yesterday, somebody googled "naked voodoo."

I guess what I want to know is… who are you people and why are you so obsessed with naked things? I mean, do we need to call someone? Because I just think this absorption over nudity is really unwarranted, and more than a little unhealthy. Admitting that you need help is the first step to a new life. I just saying....

Anyway, I have to go finish typing my admissions dialogue. After this quarter's over, we'll sit down and have a nice, long chat about science and the miracle of human nakedness. Perhaps if I answer all your questions, you guys won't be so idly curious.

~C~

Don't Know Much About...

....the precise history of the Gaza strip, except that it has been the bone of contention between the Palestinians and Israelis for decades. As the Israeli Army continues to remove Jewish settlers from the strip, though, it becomes more and more apparent that this is a staggering deeply personal story, without regard to politics.

There's been some random violence. A few settlers have vowed not to be unearthed quietly. They believe it is their land -- because that is what they were told when they moved there -- and now, they are less concerned with someone else's political expedience than they are the wellbeing of their own families. I hear ya.

However, the saddest, most poignant part about it is that young Israeli soldiers, who have been raised to believe that theWest Bank is part of the Israeli homeland, and plays a vital role in maintaining a safe, sovereign Israel, have been ordered to unsettle their fellow countrymen. It is clearly taking its toll, not only on the dislocated Gaza settlers, but on the soldiers as well. Young men and women torn between their dedication to duty and their strong patriotic political beliefs.

How do we humans get ourselves into these messes? And, once in, why can't we seem to get out without somebody winding up with a broken heart?

~CA~

A Very Jackson Breakfast

I was only a little surprised to find myself standing next to Jermaine Jackson at Starbuck's this morning. It's happened before. The Jacksons live all over Encino, and I have, at various times, co-coffeed with Jermaine, Randy and one or both of those non-Janet sisters (I can never tell them apart). Usually, though, it's at the "other" Starbucks -- the one I only go to if I just happen to be shopping at Barnes and Noble next door, or they run out of toffee nut syrup at my "home" Starbucks. Today, Jermaine was at my Starbucks.

Today, he stepped onto my turf.

This was the first day I've seen a Jackson since Michael's trial ended, and I found myself wanting to reach over and slap his perfectly coiffed head!! I was shocked at the level of my animosity. I suppose it's misdirected. It's Michael who has behaved badly. But the weekly show of support from his family was somehow infuriating this time. Walking in and waving to the crowd as if they were going in to perform at a reunion concert. Sickening.....

Should I be mad at Jermaine for supporting his brother? It seems to be unfair, when taken out of context. I'm usually the first to understand when a mother, father or a family member says, "Johnny's been so misjudged. The prosecutor is just on a witchhunt. Johnny would never do that." What are they going to say? Only when faced with the most egregious, incontrovertible evidence (such as with Jeffrey Dahmer) will parents say, "Yep. Johnny did it, the no-good little bastard." For the record, even after admitting his guilt, Jeffrey Dahmer's mother said, "But he's my son and I can't help loving him."

Totally understandable. He may be a monster, but he's her monster, dangitall, and it was her right to love him.

So why am I so peeved at the Jacksons? I think it has to do with what most people believe is the root cause of Michael Jackson's problem -- whether its pedophilia or just plain felonious whack-assedness.

His family.

Starting with those parents, Joe and Katherine (frankly the name is too good for her). He of the driving ambition and the reputedly hellacious temper tantrums. She of the Haldol-sanded edges and the submissive, "anything my husband says is fine with me, let's go shopping," passivity. Michael Jackson grew up in a house where only one person ever said no to him -- his father. Once he was out from under Daddy Joe's vice-like grip, he went wild. No one's crossed him since. Oh, sure, the Los Angeles County District Attorney's office has tried -- TWICE. But to no avail. I'm sure, once Thriller was released, even his brothers were, like, "Yes, Michael. Anything you say, Michael. Just keep paying Mom and Pop's mortgage, so they don't got to come and live with us!"

In a few months, after things die down, Michael will go back to his slumber parties and his spikey coke cans and his Neverland daze. And his family will stand by and do nothing. Jermaine Jackson is a daddy, with children (nearly grown now) of his own. How can he stand by and watch what is, at it's best, highly, highly inappropriate behavior between a grown man and children, and what is, at its worst, child molestation, and do nothing?

That's what I thought of today as we both waited for our grande lattes, side by side, with me using every ounce of self-control to stop myself reaching over and just smacking the side of his head like a tetherball on a kids' playground. "See evil and do nothing, will ya, Jermaine? Well, take that! And that! And THAT!!" You get the idea.

I used to have a crush on Jermaine. He's by far the best looking of them all. When I was twelve and Jermaine was sixteen, I wanted to marry him. But it's all over between us now. I'm sure, if he had any idea of that, he'd be devastated.

~CA~

Freudian much?

After making the Nagasaki/Sharon Tate post yesterday, then going off to school, while I was sitting in class, it suddenly hit me that August 9th is another anniversary. On August 9th, 1991, my mother died of a stroke. She was 57 years old.

Not really surprising that I didn't remember, given our history. But it is my history, and the history of one is as important as the history of many.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

~CA~

August 9th, Historically Speaking

Today is the 60-year anniversary of the dropping of the atom bomb nicknamed Fat Man on Nagasaki. Nagasaki wasn't the original target of the bomb. Kokura was the primary target. But when heavy cloud cover made it impossible for the bombadier to zero in on a target, the industrial area outside of Nagasaki was chosen instead. The Japanese later coined the phrase, "Kokura's luck" to characterize a near-miss situation. Undoubtedly, though, the citizens of Kokura must have suffered some significant ill effects due to the proximity to Nagasaki. Though Fat Man was the bigger of the two bombs, it did less damage and caused less initial casualty because it was dropped on the outskirts of the city (39,000 to Hiroshima's 80,000). Still, nearly 40,000 people is the size of a small American city, and the idea that so many people were wiped from the face of the earth in a fraction of a second is stunning and saddening.

This time, though I had to dig for it, I did find a CNN article on the memorial. I guess you can only get so much mileage out of Cindy Sheehan, prison breaks and Discovery landings before you actually have to report on world news.

Today is another, less monumental but no less tragic anniversary. On this day, in 1969, Sharon Tate, her unborn child, three house guests, and a young man visiting her groundskeeper were killed by the Manson family in the house on Cielo Drive. I remember sitting across from my mother at the International House of Pancakes, looking at the photos as she read the news coverage inside. My mother never read at the table, so I knew that this was something especially horrendous. The discovery over time that it was the senseless act of a bunch of brainwashed, stoned kids who freely followed a psychotic middle-aged ex-con only added to the intense horror. It was my awakening to the potential of humans to perpetrate tremendous evil.

So, today we commemorate two events that, in their own ways, altered the way perceive each other and regard each other.

~CA~

Silence Speaks Volumes

Tomorrow (August 6th) is the 60th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. BBC online ran this cover story, covering the gathering of thousands of Japanese in Hiroshima's Peace Park to commemorate the event and remember the thousands killed.

I'd link to the story on CNN about this, but, golly... there's just isn't one.

Now, before we go getting all lovey-dovey regarding the dropping of the A-bomb, let me tell you something that might shock you. I think it was -- given the events leading up to it, and the fact that Truman gave the Japanese every conceivable opportunity to surrender prior to it -- the right thing to do. They were never going to surrender. They would have just gone on flying planes into the decks of our ships until the very last plane. And, while they didn't have a lot of planes left, and had fewer pilots than they cared about (the average age of the kamikaze pilot was around 17 by the end of the war, if I remember correctly), we still had a couple of sailors we wanted to bring home. And, not to sound too grade-school about it, but the Japanese started it.

So we shouldn't be apologetic. I mean, we're sorry civilians died, but we're sorry Japanese fanaticism left us with no other options. Besides, my philosophy is that we'll apologize to the Japanese for the thousands of dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki the day they apologize to the Chinese for the million plus they raped and killed in Manchuria. Live by the sword, and all that rubbish....

But here's the thing. Truman was tortured by the decision to deploy Fat Man and Little Boy. He was up nights, trying to find other options. It was a big deal. It still is. There are people in Japan still suffering the aftereffects of this cataclysm. Shouldn't our news agencies be just as interested in covering commemorative events as the BBC is?

I don't know. Maybe they're all planning on a big fiesta tomorrow. But the Japanese are standing in Peace Park as I type these words, lighting candles and weeping and praying for the long-dead. Yet CNN.com, the biggest American online news source doesn't breathe a word of it. Aside from a blurb about the TIME magazine issue covering the anniversary, there's nothing about it. Not. One. Word.

Does it speak to our humanity as a nation that we could turn our backs on such a violent historic event? If we felt it was such a right thing to do, then cannot we afford to be big about it, acknowledge it, own it, and move on? Are we too concerned with the possibility that parallels might be drawn between that war and this? August 6, 1945 was a momentous day in United States History, people. Our president (who had not been elected into the office, mind you) had to give an order that no president had ever given in history, nor has since had to give, nor should ever have to give. And it ended a huge, devastating world war. 58 years later, another president who (it could be and has been argued) was also not elected into office made another big decision -- only this one was to start a huge and devastating war.

On August 6th, if you happen to think of it, just have the decency to stop what you are doing for just a moment, and remember that on a sad, sad day, 80,000 people died in the blink of an eye, and nearly that many died over the course of the following months. And if you forget, but it occurs to you a day or two later, then try to remember again on August 9th, to consider Nagasaki.

Now, 60 years later, it's meaningless to dwell on the right or wrong of what happened. We're humans, as were they, and we can honor them as humans who died believing they were right. It doesn't make them any less dead for us to do so. But it does make us more human.

~CA~

Credit Where Credit is Due

After weeks of fretting, vis-a-vis final papers and such, I finally got my evaluations for Spring quarter of '05. (My asides in yellow.)

Lit 383: Psychology of Women Thru Film and Literature: Catherine (sic)... did outstanding work in this class. She illustrated her fine ability for independent, analytical and critical thinking in both her classroom contributions (note: I was completely obnoxious in this class -- you all should know this, in the interest of full disclosure. Feminist debate makes me cranky.) and in all of her written work. Her final paper was beautifully written (actually, I was very proud of this paper. Click here if you're interested in reading it -- and if you are, what's wrong with you?), filled with astute insights and very creative in its approach to analyzing the film "Frances." Her incorporation of ideas from [Phyllis] Chesler's work, "Women and Madness" (a fairly foreboding -- and expensive -- text, but if you can find it in the library, I highly recommend it!) , were enriching to the ideas Amanda was expressing. All in all, excellent work.

But the paper and class I was really fretting over, if you recall, was the other class.....

Lit 336: Lyric and Narrative, History and Imagination in Contemporary Literature: Catherine (sic) engaged the course enthusiastically (hmmmm.... I think he may have confused enthusiasm with abject terror) from start to finish. Her spirited participation in class showcased her ability to interpret and analyze very challenging examples of "Historiographic Metafiction." (Yessir.... I never met an example of "Historiographic Metafiction" I didn't like.) She was comfortable using the poststructuralist critical terminology, and I was impressed with the quick, astute connections she would make, often extemporaneously and on the fly. (Can you see why Ed Frankel is one of my favorite professors?) Her final paper examined Michael Ondaatje's use of history as a backdrop for his memoir, Running in the Family, and his fictionalized poem/novel, The Collected Works of Billy the Kid, a very complex text, difficult to navigate and understand. (Good. Then it wasn't just me.) In my final comments on Catherine's paper (will these people never learn to spell my name?) I noted, "Well done. Focused and intelligent. You did close readings of these books as well as a fine job of pulling together your insights and discoveries into a very readable paper." (He did indeed write this on my final paper, much to my relief.)

No one knows better than you guys how much I was stessing over the second paper. Now I think you understand why. You'll note the my Graduation Watch has changed to reflect 6 fewer units -- only twenty to go now. Either that pinprick of light I see waaaay down there is the light at the end of the tunnel... or....

It's an oncoming train. Either way, it will soon be over now.

~CA~

The Curse of Week Five

Next week is the halfway point in my ten-week quarter. I have a bunch of stuff due, including two project proposals and an annotation, along with my regular workload. Plus, I'm designing a book cover for a friend of a friend who's meeting with a literary agent.

I'll be waaayy out of touch for a little while.

I'll see you in a week or so.

~C~

From the "Shoulda Stood in Bed" Dept.

Today, in the basement of my building, there are two bomb squad units, about sixteen LAPD officers, countless security guards, both from the studio and the building, and one suspicious package left unattended.

And I bothered to come into work today becaaaauuuuuse..... Why, now?

Welcome to the post-9/11 21st century.

~CA~

Hello, I Must Be Going

Very busy. No time to blog. But I'd like to point your attention to a fascinating four-part series Salon.com is doing about "reparative therapy," the supposed therapeutic "cure" for homosexuality that's becoming so popular since we became a country of hate.

The first article, which was posted yesterday, was about the movement to classify homosexuality as a disease that requires cure. But the second article, today, is a stunner. Salon correspondent Mark Benjamin, a heterosexual married man with one child and another on the way, poses as a married man who confesses to homosexual tendencies, and gets a single session with a "reparative therapist." What he reveals about these sessions -- including their cost -- is enlightening, alarming and more than a little terrifying.

Please, please read this series, I implore you. We must stay abreast of every effort to turn America into an exclusive, closed society, where only white Christian straight men (or should I say, "straight appearing men") have full rights and freedoms in this country.

~CA~

Baby Blog

My baby has a blog of her own. It's called Cemetary Gates. Okay, she's seventeen. But she'll always be my baby, so shut up!

Isn't she darling? Don't you want to just pinch her little cheeks? Touch her and I'll kill you.

(This is the part where my daughter calls the locksmith and has the locks changed on the front door.)

~CA~

150 Days

Today, my countdown says I have one hundred and fifty days until I graduate with my Bachelor of Arts in Liberal Studies (with an emphasis in Creative Writing). One hundred and fifty days. That's not so long. I'm actually feeling anxious. Why, do you suppose?

When it was far away, it was a fun adventure. Now that it's around the corner, I'm filled with butterflies and a little dread. Just a little dread, mind you, but enough that it makes me wonder. I mean, I think I have most of my ducks in a row. Most of the stuff I have to get done, I can get done by December. So what's my damage?

I don't know. Maybe I'm having one of those, "But what if I get a degree and nobody cares?" moments. Maybe it's the dread of having to apply for grad schools, and knowing I'll be going through the worry of whether I get in or not. Maybe it's that nagging voice in my head (my father's perhaps) that education is a big waste of time, especially for people like me (read: female).

Don't suppose it matters much. I'm graduating and going on to grad school. It's a done deal. So, that's that.

I'll get over it. Maybe I should eat something. That usually helps.

~CA~

A Point of Law

UNITED STATES CODE, TITLE 18 - CRIMES AND CRIMINAL PROCEDURE, PART I - CRIMES, CHAPTER 19 - CONSPIRACY;

Section 371. Conspiracy to commit offense or to defraud United States.

If two or more persons conspire either to commit any offense against the United States, or to defraud the United States, or any agency thereof in any manner or for any purpose, and one or more of such persons do any act to effect the object of the conspiracy, each shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than five years, or both.

Okay? That's all I'm sayin'.

~CA~

A Different Kind of Memorial Day

"Memory is the mother of all wisdom." ~Aeschylus~

On July 11, 1995, in a tiny little geographical area known as Srebrenica in Bosnia-Herzegovina, then under UN protection, Serbs overran the Dutch UN troops and began a mass slaughter of Muslim men and boys that continued for several days. When it was over, 8,000 Muslims were dead, buried in mass graves throughout the Bosnian countryside. Ten years and over 5,000 exhumations later, about 2,000 of them have been identified by an international team of DNA experts who have donated their time and efforts to this cause. Today, in Srebrenica, 50,000 people, mostly Muslims, gathered to mourn the victims, including the 610 newly identified dead. They prayed, they passed the coffins from one hand to the next, they wept, before they finally laid them to rest.

What with a whole new war in Iraq, it's sometimes hard to remember that other war -- the one that really wasn't ours, between three different cultural and religious factions in Eastern Europe that we couldn't pronounce and didn't care about. It's important to remember, though, and that is why, in the words of Dr. Seuss, "I'm bothering telling you so."

The "ethnic cleansing" (God, how I hate that phrase) that took place was the worst single example of genocide since World War II. The Serbians under Slobodan Milosevic set about not to control or intimidate the Bosnian Muslims, but to eradicate them. One of the worst things about the entire incident is that it happened while Srebrenica was under UN protection. Dutch soldiers described in detail their helplessness as they watched a well-armed Serbian army which outnumbered them almost three to one march Srebrenica's men and boys to open fields and kill them with little fanfare.

It was the deaths at Srebrenica that prompted the U.S. bombing of Serbia. They never thought we'd do it. We'd backed down in virtually every military confrontation since Clinton had taken office. But this time, even Clinton was not prepared to take the pacifist role. It was only a matter of time before Milosevic's regime fell, and he was displaced. Still, it was too late for 8,000 people.

Today, we remember those people, and the thousands of other like them, who died because they had the wrong heritage, or the wrong philosophy, or worshipped the wrong God. As this country moves closer and closer to being a place where there is only one God, and only one way to worship Him, remembering what happened ten years ago in a place most of us can't pronounce is good for us. We can learn from their experience, heal from their pain, find peace out of their conflict.

Whether we are willing is another question entirely.

~A~

My *Other* Hometown

Those of you who've been with me awhile know how I feel about London. The first time I set foot there, on July 3, 1976, I felt like I'd come home. I spent America's Bicentennial in London. Not that I regret that we won the Revolutionary War (although, if we hadn't, we'd have national health care right about now -- bummer). Whether it's genetic recall (my ancestry is around 85% British), or just environmental preference, London is the only city I've ever felt as at home in as I have in L.A.

I'm very distressed today. I can't even make any political commentary (though I will confess to some dark moments spent as a conspiracy theorist). I just feel badly for the families of those who've died, and for those who will live, perhaps permanently disfigured and damaged because of this tragedy.

My heart goes out to them. I do know that the British tend to weather stuff like this better than we do, mostly because they aren't such coddled babies as we are. I have faith that they'll get through this and that, as in Madrid, the culprits will be caught and tried.

~C~

The Naked Voodoo Chicken LIVES!

I'm finally starting to figure out what to do with Blog No. 2 -- Naked Voodoo Chicken Dance. It's for the idea for a blog post I usually get after I've already posted at the Chron. It's a space where I can express my darker side. It's the moodier me. The less tolerant me. The less egalitarian me. The less patient, more annoyed, fairly snarky, even less willing to "suffer fools gladly" me. Right now, you can read my special War of the Worlds rant. There are plot spoilers, so if you want to be surprised, don't read the blog yet. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Another new blog is Best Available, started by my friend, Deirdre Cooley. She's just getting started, but she also has a review of WotW (also containing spoilers). She went to film school, so her review is likely to be more specific than my "it kinda sucked" type of rant.

I have to go get some sleep now.

~C~

But Is it Art?

I think we've already established that there are very few things that make me happier than playing The Sims 2. Chocolate makes me happier -- not much happier, but a little happier. A good book makes me happier. Sex makes me waaaaay happier, but really, who's having that these days (and if you are, shut up about it!)?

I have spent most of last night and today being happier than I have been in a while. I finally replaced my broken Wacom tablet mouse, and I can now pursue the most expensive hobby known to mankind. Forget boating or equestrian passions. About four years ago, some cruel, evil person (I can't even remember who it was now) introduced me to a little 3D modeling program called Poser. I downloaded the free trial for Poser 4. Big mistake. Four years and thousands of dollars later.... I just upgraded Poser 6, and I'm trying to get over the learning curve (many, many new features). Here's my first render.

Click here to enlarge

I'm not proud to admit that a small country could be fed on what I've spent on computer software and 3D models. But I figure it's better than playing video games, and it keeps me off the streets. So, now, I must go and draw in Photoshop with my new tablet. And then I will render something.

Thanks for indulging me in my many addictions -- food, The Sims 2, 3D art. Oh, God... I'm such a geek.

~C~

That's It! I Owe Brooke Shields a Lunch!

Today, in the OpEd section of the NY Times, our indefatigable Miss Shields wrote a smart, lucid piece in response to Tom Cruise's recent ravings against her. In it, she describes in a bit of detail what postpartum is, how it starts, and what it was like for her in the early days of motherhood, when she could not stand to hear, touch or even be near her baby daughter. She was bordering on suicidal, until she was finally diagnosed and put on therapeutic medication which began to alleviate her symptoms.

She chastises Cruise's open criticism of her, saying,"...comments like those made by Tom Cruise are a disservice to mothers everywhere. To suggest that I was wrong to take drugs to deal with my depression, and that instead I should have taken vitamins and exercised shows an utter lack of understanding about postpartum depression and childbirth in general."

It is a well-written column, and I urge you all to take a few minutes to read it. It demonstrates which of the two celebrities is the more sane -- the one who believes psychiatry to be a "pseudo-science," versus the one who utilitized it when necessary.

~C~

P.S. It also demonstrates which of the two celebrities never got a high school diploma, and which one graduated from Princeton with a major in French Literature and a minor in Italian. Princeton grad... high school dropout... Princeton grad... high school dropout.... Hmmmm....

Sick Days

This blog is on hold for the next day or so, I'm afraid, because I'm not feeling quite up to my usual, energetically insane self. I've been living off of Yoplait Apple Turnover low-fat yogurt and Cream of Rice cereal. I've been feeling so poorly, I haven't played The Sims 2 in almost three days, and haven't had a cup of coffee in two. (Everyone who knows me is now on the phone, dialing 911.)

In any case, my mind seems to be kind of down in the dumps and not very creative, so we'll have to wait until I've recuperated a bit.

Thanks for your understanding.

~C~

I'm NOT Obsessed, OKAY?!

Shhh.....

Can't talk now....

Playing The Sims 2. My teens are are all on their way to college, Mary Sue Pleasant just caught Daniel dallying with the maid and they're on the verge of splitting up, and Bella Goth is missing!

What? I know they're not real. What are you talking about?

I AM NOT OBSESSED!!!!

Shhh... quiet! I'm trying to make Mortimer Goth fall in love with the postal delivery girl, Dagmar. (He needs someone now that Bella's gone all MIA.)

~C~

That's Doctor Cruise to you!

Gawker.com published a bit of transcript of Matt Lauer's Today Show interview with Tom Cruise. Seems Tom is now a doctor (undoubtedly a graduate of the Senator Bill Frist School of Medicine). This is no small achievement, considering Tom's a high school dropout. Still, he wants you to know he knows what Ritalin is. And Matt Lauer doesn't. And neither do you.

I guess in today's competitive, all-or-nothing world, "a little bit crazy" just isn't quite crazy enough.

~C~