'bye

It seems we can't get away without a shopping trip, this time for snorkeling equipment and water shoes, both of which were located at the unbelievable (really astonishing) Bass Pro Shop. Damn, just walking in that place makes me want to chew and spit tobacco, load up and head for the woods. Mike and I now have matching water shoes for climbing the falls at Ocho Rios ~ so cute! ~ and for wandering the rocky beaches at Mazatlan in November and February.

I've been trying to find a lightweight, knee-length t-shirt kind of thing that isn't pink and doesn't have bunnies or kittens on it. I don't sleep in anything, but I'm not ready to lounge nude on the balcony of the hotel in the mornings. The only things available for women (not mail order, no time) are similar to what you would dress a toddler in. Not for me. But then there's the muumuu.

It occurs to me that the muumuu is a lifestyle: looking at the billowing flowered garment on the hanger, I suddenly felt a craving for a cigarette, some curlers for my hair, chippy chewing gum pink nail polish, a TV blaring soap operas and a trailer. I had an urge to drink coffee from a diner cup and saucer, yak on the phone to Dot and Jeannie and Rita, hit the VFW dance on Friday nights. So what's worse? That floral garment, which carries the great risk that I will succumb to the muumuu lifestyle:

or pink bunnies and kittens? Needless to say, there's a muumuu in my bag, God help me. So here we are at near midnight. The pet sitter has the puppies; the house sitter is ensconced in my featherbed with a cat wrapped around her head. I'm packed and ready to fly away.

I'm giving the back side of my flipper to the Bush crime family, and I'm not offering those thugs space in my head any more. Really. What will be will be and all of that. I'm going to reclaim my serenity on the beach. Y'all take care while I'm away and don't (**sniff**) forget me while I'm gone. Off to Jamaica.

willym & laurent's wedding

As requested, Willym has posted about his wedding to Laurent, which takes place in just a few minutes. It is a beautiful post and, though it left me in tears, they were good tears. Refreshing on a day in July when it seems the world is ending. Maybe love will carry us through in the end.

republican predicts police state

Unbearable. I may stay in Jamaica.

"Americans think their danger is terrorists," said Roberts. "They don't understand the terrorists cannot take away habeas corpus, the Bill of Rights, the Constitution. ... The terrorists are not anything like the threat that we face to the Bill of Rights and the Constitution from our own government in the name of fighting terrorism. Americans just aren't able to perceive that."

should i stay or should i go?

Clash on the Iraq war.

can't someone make this fool go away?

Tom DeLay, adulterer, hypocrite, indicted Bush crony:

"I contend [abortion] affects you in immigration," DeLay told the Washington-area gathering. "If we had those 40 million children that were killed over the last 30 years, we wouldn't need the illegal immigrants to fill the jobs that they are doing today. Think about it."

Yeah. Think about it. Then throw up. What a jackass.

butch belle

I sliced the heel of my hand open with a box knife, ended up bleeding like a stuck pig with this big gaping mouth-looking cut. Leslie ~ candyass lesbian ~ said "you have to get stitches." David ~ rough and tough gun totin' country boy ~ said "you don't need stitches, where's the Superglue?"

It was a brand new blade ~ first cut (idiot), I scrubbed the heck out of it with soap, disinfected with alcohol. David found an unopened tube of glue in our restoration shop, Leslie (shaking her head in disbelief) dug out some alcohol wipes and a bandaid. I pulled the horrid looking slice open, dripped glue in it, pushed it together and stuck a bandaid on it. Cost = $0. Time saved = 3-4 hours of my life that I'd have surely waited at minor emergency.

As a result, I am feeling all rough and tough and butch and kickass today. I think if I cut my leg off, I could glue it back on. God bless the makers of Superglue, I am healed!

5. days. left.

before hitting the beach for a week. Getting ready to go is the worst. Getting through security is when it all feels real.

take action now!

And save David Vitter's penis.

for willym and laurent

After 29 years of shacking up, Willym and Laurent are getting married July 21. I wonder if it will last? (I kid, of course.) Congratulations are in order for the two of them who are, shortly thereafter, moving to Rome. Such glamorous lives!

i want to go to this guy's church

And he speaks with a southern accent to boot!

here's what i like about george bush . . .

"He doesn't think too much. He just gets up in the morning, puts on his jeans and t-shirt and kicks terrorist ass. That's what I like about Bush. We don't need a president who thinks too much."

That statement courtesy of my new neurologist. We had a rousing political debate lasting about 35 minutes and as we were discussing our opposing views on the relative merits of presidents past and present, congress, bureaucracy, wire tapping, habeas corpus, torture, what is entailed in sound fiscal policy, why the rich need more tax cuts v. why they do not, it dawned on me "this is diagnostic; he's doing this on purpose to see if I can put two thoughts together."

It was interesting, this first step in getting evaluated for early onset of dementia. The next step is an MRI and then a neuropsych exam. The mind I have left makes note of the fact that there are Rethugs everywhere, even masquerading as a friendly doctor freshly missing a ponytail and with a suspicious puncture in the earlobe. It's so disconcerting to come across Rethugs in Dem clothing, but a good reminder to be ever vigilant. I kid. Sort of.

IRS says sex change surgery "cosmetic"

and so nondeductible as a medical expense. Idiots. "Oh, I think I'd like to get a chin lift and hey, while we're at it, may I have a penis please?"

an australian hero

I wish I could say I'd have such strength in the face of $5 billion. Saying a prayer for his continued good health.

read. and. weep.

Do you think we can impeach now????

cruise with the national review

So disheartening. " Yes, D'Souza says, in a swift shift to domestic politics, "of course" Republican politics is "about class. Republicans are the party of winners, Democrats are the party of losers."

fly. trap.

My house is full of flies. I detest flies. Everything about them makes me feel squeamish and sick to my stomach. I have an entire walled off stash of childhood memories related to flies: Aunt Joyce and Uncle Phil's broken down farmhouse with its always open, unscreened windows. It was full of flies which we kids pursued with rolled up magazines and straw flyswatters.

The on-the-porch "bathroom" at the cabin at 99 Springs, filled as it was with the heads of catfish, bluegill, crappie and the occasional bass, was also alive with flies of the worst kind. Sweet Daddy, so proud of his little girls' fishing skills, lined the bathroom with drying fish heads, mouths propped wide with sticks, hundreds of them gazing with filmy eyes at those who dared to sit on the stool.

The slaughterhouse at Uncle Bill's farm outside of Dodge City, even in early spring at hogkilling time, always attracted those particularly horrid dark blue, slow moving flies. The blood running from the slaughterhouse pooled in back and the flies blanketed the surface of the bloody lake in an irridescent glaze.

Grandmother Jesse sending us with swatters to swish flies from around the men gutting fish. Grandmother Wilhelmina smashing them with her fingers, she who, in her proud Russian-German peasanthood, was occasionally given to blowing her nose on the hem of her dress, an act which elicited screams of horror from her uppity second generation grandchildren.

Flies. I hate them. And I hate the means of getting rid of them. Swatting makes me sick. They burst into a smear of hairy blackness, always with a little spot of bright red blood. If they fall to the floor without completely smashing, they're prone to coming back to life, evidence that they surely do come from hell, as I've always believed. One wretched summer when I was eight, the washer having quit at home, we carted the clothes to the laundromat. In the hot and humid room, with the machines humming in the background, I stood at the window in a daze, watching the shimmers of heat rising off the pavement. I absentmindedly ran a finger over the window ledge, collecting dust, a dust which, to my horror, proved to be largely compiled of dessicated fly bodies and loose moth wings.

I detest flies and my house is full of them. Suddenly today they're rising out of the basement. I hate the basement, too, housing as it does the washer and dryer and Mo's automatic cat box, dusty Christmas decorations and tubs of old linens. It flooded with this last rain, but there's nothing down there ~ or there shouldn't be ~ that would give birth to or house flies. I don't know where they're coming from, only that they're thick in the basement and I can't stand it, knowing they're there.

I got fly stuff. Window corners which trap the nasty creatures on a sticky pad and keep them hidden so we won't have to witness their death throes. In the basement, huge fly strips, half a dozen long, sticky pads which will lure the hairy horrors to their deaths and expose their struggles for all to see. The backing of the sticky strips is printed with tiny flies, as if the strips are already full. Is this to desensitize the homeowner to the mayhem about to occur? Or is it meant to instill trust in the horrid, buzzing creatures? Maybe some manufacturer's idea of a joke. Ha ha. Opening the box to find what looked like five dead flies, I screeched and dropped it before I realized.

Already there are flies trapped in the window corners, struggling away, though discreetly hidden from view. I just looked inside and there are six ~ already. I haven't had the nerve to check the strips in the basement. Are the struggling flies shrieking in fly agony? The dogs are agitated suddenly; could they be hearing an SOS from the miserable beings in the traps? "As you do unto the least of these" . . . do you think it applies to flies?

reserve

I don't have any of this thing called reserve. It's odd, because I'm actually a little bit shy, it's just that I don't hesitate to tell you most of what I know about me. You won't know I'm shy, I manage quite well. But I've been thinking about this reserve thing for some time now, as a result of something Tony said a while back. Reserve is defined as "formality and self-restraint in manner and relationship; avoidance of familiarity or intimacy with others," but I think that puts a negative spin on something that's really quite admirable, if impossible for me.

I admire people who can hold back. They seem quite grown up and I often resolve to be more reserved and then I can't. I just can't do it. When I meet you, I want to know all about you and I am instantly interested whether you're the rough guy pushing the shopping cart on the street or the president of the bank where I keep my business accounts. I love people and I don't let anything like propriety or reserve get in the way of finding out all about you and what you are passionate about and who you are. I recognize that it's offputting to some, but I can't help myself. It is good that I live here, where that's more typical, because I'd surely be an outcast in Yankeeland.

My husband is reserved and he also suffers from that peculiarly male affliction of failing to get to the heart of matters important to me. I'm not trying to peg people or assign them to constricting boxes of expectation when I wonder about whether they're happy in life, with their work, whether they've got children, a great love, a passion for something in this world. I guess I'm seeking common ground, some way that we are able to connect, even if it's just that they are something I will never be and so I get to admire them and stand in awe of their accomplishments.

I don't understand how someone can tell Mike "I went to see a counselor" without him following up with "Really? Can I help in any way? Do you want to talk about what's going on?" It is foreign to me, not part of my personal culture to let a comment like that pass by as if someone were remarking on the weather. Maybe it's the social work training, or just my upbringing, because my sisters suffer from this affliction too.

I talk to people I don't know in public and folks often strike up conversations with me as well. Lunatics do this, too, and that is sometimes a drag, but generally, when I'm standing in line I'm talking to someone and appreciative of that, because it seems kind of lonesome to stand in a silent herd of humanity waiting for tickets or checkout or whatever.

But the flip side of all of that interaction is that I crave time alone, quiet, just me and a cup of coffee and my thoughts, a book. My reserved husband needs no such time. I know some of this is regionally influenced, some due to my upbringing, and some is wholly internal, this urge to know about you and who you are and what you think.

So. You? Reserved? Not reserved? What do you think had the greatest influence on your personality in this area? You know, tell me, tell me everything! I want to know. See? I can't stop it.

Michael Moore and Olbermann on Sicko

I've written before that I think this film, Sicko, is something every American citizen should see. Michael Moore has been taking heat lately, from bought-and-paid for Gupta on CNN, from the vast realm of nitwits from the right wing nuttery. Tonight, he was on Countdown with Keith Olbermann. The clip is here, and it's worth watching.

If you've not seen the film yet, please do. If you've seen the film and are as outraged as I am, please go to www.MichaelMoore.com and read what's happening. Head over to www.SickoCure.org for an easy, efficient way to take action. Go to www.PNHP.org, the outfit behind SickoCure, and read why physicians favor single payer universal health care. Nothing will change unless we all unite and take action. Meanwhile, stay healthy.

fact checking michael moore

The American Prospect has an interesting piece on why the mainstream media, so quick to swallow every lie the Bush administration hands them, are so eager to fact check, confront, investigate Michael Moore.

Take CNN. A few days after the release of Sicko, they set a whole team on fact checking the provocateur's documentary. "We found," they said, "that his numbers were mostly right, but his arguments could use a little more context. As we dug deep to uncover the numbers, we found surprisingly few inaccuracies in the film. In fact, most pundits or health-care experts we spoke to spent more time on errors of omission rather than disputing the actual claims in the film. . . .

To wit, Moore is a documentary filmmaker. Fred Thompson is a likely Republican candidate for president. Thompson recently released a radio commentary on the Moore's movie that mixed outright falsehoods with deceptive omissions. There was no media outcry, no Wolf Blitzer follow-up, no CNN truth squad. Nothing. Silence.

The world is full of political provocateurs and public hotheads, but only Moore triggers the media's all-too-absent obsession with factual accuracy. Ann Coulter doesn't, and Al Franken doesn't, and Rush Limbaugh doesn't, and Mitt Romney doesn't. Only Moore. Because he scares them.

Here's a radical thought, though: Maybe if these mainstream media types were as incredulous towards the powerful as they are to Moore, his productions wouldn't pose a threat. After all, there's nothing wrong with fact-checking, and asking hard questions, and raising an oppositional eyebrow towards pabulum and propaganda. The problem isn't that the media is so quick to doubt Moore. It's that they're so trusting the rest of the time.

vicious

Another vicious dog encounter, this time two St. Bernards and a smaller herding dog about knee high. But for a woman passing by, who stopped to join in the fray, one or both of my dogs would surely be dead.

Little Bill, Deaf Betty and my sweetheart, Mike, all confronted with the slavering jaws-o-death while innocently trotting through the neighborhood. Mike's been taking an ancient Irish shillelagh on his walks, but forgot yesterday afternoon. I told him to start packing my little purse sized .22, but he won't do it. Wyoming boy, the one who got me started carrying guns.

I'm not sure what to do about this. Every time we get comfortable after a few weeks of not having seen any free roaming animals, something like this happens. The terriers are like crack for big dogs: high spirited, cocky little smarty pants dogs. I imagine the lumbering St. Bernards and Pit Bulls and Rottweilers look at these little dogs, who imagine they're giants, and want to put them in their little dog places.

Yuck. Reminds me of one of my worst ever boyfriends, who said he was attracted to me right away because "you looked like you needed to be taken down a peg." He mentioned that as I was shrieking at him to "leave me the fuck alone." That was only moments after I attempted to crush his pelvis with his kitchen table, which effort succeeded only in crashing through the drywall and studs into the next apartment. Whew! Ever had one of those out-of-body rage experiences? I could see myself doing it, could say "stop it, stop it!!" in my head, but it was as if a wild thing had taken over my body and simply couldn't be stopped. The real me had taken a step out and was observing the madwoman in action. Thank God for sobriety.

If that's anything like how these big dogs feel when they see my little ones, that's very, very scary. From dogs to men. Not so much of a leap in some cases.

undone by gay sweaters

Poor John McCain. As his campaign swirls about the toilet for the last time before swooshing down the pipes forevermore, he blames the deterioration of his popularity on the fact of his aides making him wear "gay sweaters." Amazing, just . . . amazing.

sweet!

Little Miss Paige, born just two hours ago. Seven pounds, 2 ounces, bright eyed and bushy-tailed. A girl at last after three boys, and the final (and sweet and precious) blow to my view of myself as un-grandmother-like. Everybody's now clipped and tied and there will be no more. A girl. Finally. So happy.

senates moves to defund cheney's 4th branch of government

AP has the story, but Wonkette has the funny on the insanity of it all:

Now the Democrats are one step closer to making good on their threat to stop funding the Vice President’s rogue, free-floating office of no fixed branch. A Senate approps panel refused to grant Cheney’s office the $4.8 million it takes to maintain the thousands of industrial cooling units that keep the Vice President’s radioactive exoskeleton from overheating, cooking his decrepit innards like a slab of roadkill in the desert sun. Should his body temperature rise above 90 degrees, all of Northwest DC would be incinerated in the resulting firestorm. Ye gods, let the man say he’s in whatever branch of government he wants, Durbin, can’t you see there are thousands of lives on the line???

less than a week to save the internet

Less than a week left to send comments to the FCC on the issue of net neutrality. I know this is important to y'all because you use this thing, and you're not (unless you're keeping big secrets) Mr. AT&T. In Al Gore's Assault on Reason, he discusses this critically important issue, this "last free space in America" which may be the salvation of our democracy.

Even if you're apolitical, if you are not really interested in action, please consider sending comments to the FCC on this issue right now. You can do that easily at SaveTheInternet.com. It's a breeze and it's the right thing to do. Even better, add this video and the link to your blog and spread the word. The FCC wants to hear from us. Let's speak up!

Michael Moore kicks wolf blitzer's ass

And it is delicious. I adore this righteously angry man. I am sure the vast realm of wing nuttery will begin to rant about Moore's confrontation of the smug liar Blitzer, but for the moment, this is very fine.

here's what i think, what do you think?

Darling Eric has tagged me with a thinking blogger award. I was tagged about a month ago, so I'm popping that post to the top and I'm going to actually follow through with what I was supposed to do that time and did not: notify my picks of my adoration and give them their cute little thinky badge thingy. Thank you, Eric, you are a peach. I am less peachy, having dropped the ball on this a month ago. I'm happy to see the thing still in circulation. That assures me that no everyone is a looooosssser like me.


So here's my original post from June something and now I'm off to do my duty by notifying my people:

Lynn, at the Daily Narcissist, has tagged me with a Thinking Blogger meme award thingie. While I generally detest those meme things and rarely understand them, who can resist a cute little Thinking Blogger badge? It all started here, at The Thinking Blog.

It's not a meme in the sense of "tell us 10 things you hate" or "five things i've never told anyone" (and have now just told the world). Just a tagging of folks who write things that make you think, who inspire you, and maybe folks who piss you off a little.

I am daily inspired by so many of you, and there are so many incredible writers I read every day and adore. So my tags are for some folks maybe you don't know; people I read who are on my favorites list but may not be on my blogroll. I am continually amazed at the ways people are connecting in this cyberworld (and I don't mean Manhunt and E-Harmony).

In today's world, where real participation in community groups is dropping, where most people don't know their neighbors well, if at all, where we plug in and numb out and separate ourselves from the rest of humanity, finding a way to connect with one another is important. That's what I like about blogs.

Our Karl Rove is brilliant. Lord knows the Democratic Party could utilize this guy (why do I assume that? something he's written, not pure sexism) to good effect. Don't know who he is, or anything about who's doing the writing, only that the work is superb and I really, really wish the Dems would hire this guy.

Existential Ramble writes on political and gay issues with an Oklahoma perspective. It's not a constant litany of posts, but each one is thoughtful and considered and the writing is excellent.

The Left End of the Dial, another Oklahoma boy who writes from out on the plains about politics, politics, politics, jazz and poetry.

Another Oklahoma blog which vanished for a bit last year, only to reappear better than ever: Independent Christian Voice. Darlings, do not let that Christian keep you from checking out these folks. These guys (they are guys) are the real deal, not those wild-eyed crazies who would deprive you of your humanity and your rights. Recent posts discuss Gore, Guantanamo, ethanol, homosexuality and WMDs close to home.

Not in any way least, but last, Kurt Hochenauer writes of dissent and patriotism at Okie Funk: Notes from the Outback. As Kurt's profile says, "This is a blog of populist and liberal information and ideas, advancing the cause of truth and justice while fighting the ugly tyranny of right-wing oppression in Oklahoma and its surrounding environs." Yes.

I can't say anything about blogs without mentioning my big gay blog daddy, Joe.My.God. Joe writes about being gay and what that means in this scary world, of love and laughter, about the plague of AIDS and loss and heartbreak and how he survived it all. He is my hero and he inspires us ~ his round table of fans ~ every day to think, to question ourselves and our beliefs. And his commenters are amazing: well informed, well behaved (for the most part), funny and bawdy and smart.

Well I started out feeling kind of self conscious about this, but as I've rounded up these people I so admire, I am really thinking that there is potential here to turn this country around. People writing and talking and reading and paying attention: that's a recipe for hope and I am inspired by all of you.

sing it, everybody

In the midst of my recovery from the cyber-attack and trying to get caught up at work, I have checked HuffingtonPost a few times to keep up with the headlines now that Congress is back in session. The news is good this morning ~ New York Times editorial calling for bringing the troops home, Justice Department lawyer telling all, Rethuglican senators defecting. The news is great.

But in the middle of all of that, when I clicked on UNDER SIEGE!, joyfully emblazoned over a photo of the chimp-in-chief, I somehow found this. It was a God thing. Sing it, pumpkins!! "The idiot son of an aaaasshole!" Sweet! And funny and right on target. Now I'll be singing this all day, but what better thing on a Monday afternoon when the tides may be turning at last?

impeach

stop. fucking. thief.

I have spent the last 48 hours changing passwords, running scans, hauling my computers to the shop and ultimately purchasing something new that should be clean. Some @#$!@%$#@@# asshole compromised all of my accounts. Whether it was a keylogger or a mistaken click through on a spam email (I would say never but there's always a chance that either my office manager or I did this), some bastard has been in all of my accounts, impersonating me with customers and offering classic Mustangs(!) for sale. Yesterday afternoon, I changed an email notification in one account only to have it switched back within five minutes.

I've given all of the data to the police, but as far as I know, this useless piece of shit could be watching this print out across his/her screen even as I'm typing. Have any of you all ever had this happen? What a fucking ordeal.

okay

This is different. Have to figure there's a rethuglican behind it, given the recent shrillness about bands of marauding lesbians recruiting innocent young girls and attacking straight men. "National underground network of women, lesbians . . . " Not only that, but they're poor women. Oh. My. God.

uh oh . . .

Click and tell, darlings. From Don at Studio YVR.

flag

My neighbor is flying a flag today. He couldn't get married in this state because his love, now dead of AIDS, was also a man. Wayne is a gentle man and honorable. His flag is flying because he believes in the greatness of this country, as do I.

Though I believe, I have been sitting in my quiet living room in the house I love, looking at my beautiful garden, looking at my neighbor's flag blowing in the breeze and I fly no flag in remembrance of independence. Instead, I have been reading Al Gore's Assault on Reason and weeping. I haven't the heart to fly a flag today. I wish, instead, for another Declaration of Independence, a declaration of freedom from those who have taken over the government of what was once the grandest nation of laws, of democracy, of a proper and beneficial government allowed solely by consent of the governed. A participatory democracy, seemingly a dream in these desperate times.

I don't recognize my country on this Independence Day 2007. To say that doesn't make me a traitor. On the contrary, it makes me a patriot, one willing to dissent and to refuse to join the masses in pretending that the arrogant emperor is clothed when he is, in fact, horrifyingly naked. I am willing to recognize, though it hurts my heart, that we are all at risk as the result of a blatant disregard of the Constitution, of the Bill of Rights, by the concentration of power in an indifferent and incompetent executive and the consequential loss of checks and balances, by the death of habeas corpus, by the abandonment of the Geneva Conventions and on and on and on. I don't recognize my country, and so I find myself in tears as I read, unable to tolerate more than a chapter at a time of Mr. Gore's heartbreaking book.

I want independence from the tyranny of this president-who- would-be-king and his neoconservative cronies, from corporate control and ownership of our elected representatives. I look at the Declaration of Independence and I know that we are created equal and yes, we've had to fight for the reality of that and the fight continues. But the fact that we have an orderly system for fighting and for righting wrongs is what made this nation great.

The Declaration tells me, and the Constitution further supports the fact that, in this country, I have unalienable rights and it is not acceptable for this government to infringe upon those rights as a matter of course, for its own nefarious purposes, in secrecy and without permission of courts. The power of this government is derived from the consent of the governed ~ from our consent ~ and it is a travesty to manipulate that consent through the manufacture of propaganda and falsehoods and lies at the highest level. When any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, infringing upon our basic rights, it is our right and our duty to abolish that regime and institute a lawful government which will effect our safety and happiness.

It is our right and our duty as free people to abolish this dangerous government, to rid ourselves of the malignant traitors and despots who are destroying these United States. Impeachment is our remedy.

not to harp on a theme, but . . .

"Government officials," says Nancy. "Two of them upstairs. They're having the penis hotpot." I have regressed to 4th grade, have dicks on the brain. It's been a difficult day, so perhaps you, too, are in need of a bit of amusement. Penis hotpot. There you go.

Crixi on a cure for AIDS

I posted Saturday about a promising technique developed by German researchers which actually snips the HIV virus from cells, thus curing the cells of infection. I connected to that research, from Deutsche Welle, here.

In response to that post, Mr. Crixi Van Cheek responded with a comment that touched me. I have fallen in love with Mr. Crixi over the last year as the result of his comments on Joe.My.God. When he writes, I listen up, so here is Crixi on what he might do when the cure for AIDS gets here.

My Dear Lynette...

At first we think how wonderful it will be. A sort of VE day over AIDS. What would we call it? In 1990 "Longtime Companion" an Oscar nominated film about AIDS, portrayed the end by having us re-united with all our loved ones on the beach on Fire Island. Sadly, nearly everyone in the film is now dead. Including my bright eyed friend Frankie.

I sometimes wonder myself, what would it be like? I got the virus on 11/26/89. I found out, and got sick April Fool's Day, 1991. Now, all these years later, after having watched way too many people breath their last I find I have very few tears left, but a reservoir of rage.

When I was in school I saw news reels from the end of WWII showing survivors of the Nazi Death Camps being liberated. I used to wonder why they just didn't run for the open gates the minute they were freed. They sort of scraggled towards their liberators.

They were wide eyed and skeptical as they were let out of that hell. Of course the cameras focused on the weakest, the rail thin "walking corpses". But in the background and to the sides were the people that had arrived at the camps later, who were still relatively healthy. What were they to feel? Are they less relieved since they have suffered for a shorter period of time? Do they stifle their joy in the presence of those who have suffered unimaginable pain and loss?

And so it may be when they announce a cure for AIDS. Will I be entitled to joy? Or will I feel too much guilt for having been one of the survivors? How many more accomplished people died before me? My first love, a handsome young doctor, such a waste they all said. But me, just a blue collar kind of guy, why me, why did I make it?

Yes, yes, the Mary Ann Williamson profiteers will all have reasons for me to 'embrace' my feelings and live in some spirit, some moment. But fuck them all, they just wrote books and got rich while our bowels rotted.

Will I walk out of the camp, or will I run? Do I have any run left in me? Will I want to go back and scoop up the ashes of my friends or will I not look back and wash that whole dirty virus off me in a marathon shower?

What will I do when there is a cure? Will the Glaxos and Squibbies mourn their lost protease profits as much as we mourn our dead? Or, will we meet at the corner of Gay St. and Christopher and as our friend Joe.My.God would say: "They tried to kill us, they didn't, let's dance"?

Can you imagine such a thing? And is it even possible to experience such a glorious breakthrough ~ a cure for this dreadful plague ~ without mourning loved ones lost? All of my Houston friends are dead, my band of sweet gay boys who introduced me to the bars, to their lives, who I loved absolutely and who loved me right back. I don't think I could revel in the joyful news of a cure without again mourning the loss of those precious men. We were just babies, all of us, so very young and innocent. To think of them older is impossible. I will always remember them on the dance floor, just as Crixi has said, in movement and life and joy and love. A cure will come. I know it.

world's biggest dick

Yes. In China. Ha. I know y'all thought the world's biggest Dick was sitting in the Veep's bunker, loaded for bear. Or the American people. Or the National Archives or or Congress, maybe. Nope, it's in China, the biggest dick in the world. Much too busy in that burgeoning economy to bother with food safety you know, got to build us a big fat upthrusting rigid erect cock and plant it on a hairy hill. No wonder the cough syrup gets mixed up with the antifreeze, there's all this important work to be done.


It's 30' tall, solid concrete wrapped in straw to give it that rough and ready feel. A little slim for my tastes, though the length's nicely proportional. Just a little fatter and all would be well. Charming, eh? (Trying to learn Canadian with the "eh" thing . . . take me, Canada, take me please!) Shi Lixue, director of the China Folk Culture Association, backed the project, saying: "It symbolises our ancestors' pursuit of happiness and prosperity." Um . . . yes. Yes it does.

evening plans

Having just read this, I'm going to go home and turn on the television, cook a nice TV dinner. There might still be a TV tray stuck up in the garage from when I moved in. I'm going to get it down and just give in to the American way of life. I can watch E! while I eat, learn about the important stuff happening in Hollywood. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to find an in-depth program about Paris's latest manicure and what she ate for dinner the day she got out from her wrong, wrong, wrong incarceration. Hoping, hoping there will be one of those great celebrity sports/dancing/bug-eating shows on or something. Because really, I just think it's time to quit worrying about all of these world problems and just kick back and accept that I, that we, are fucked. We are thoroughly, completely fucked.

my canadian immigration lawyer

says maybe there's hope for us. Stay tuned.

good cheer

The elegant Ms. Place offers a diagnostic test to determine what brand of liberal you might be. Lest any noses are rising at the term "liberal," remember that liberal means, among other things, "of or pertaining to representational forms of government rather than aristocracies and monarchies" and, I might add, dictatorships. Liberals are also "free from prejudice or bigotry," and "favorable to progress and reform."

I took it twice, once before lunch, for which I was diagnosed a Peace Patroller, and the second after a fine meal and a brief review of the day's news, which apparently turned me into a NewLeft Hipster.

So how about it? What brand are you? Check out Ms. Place's test and come back and tell.

supreme court injustice

Fine diary from DailyKos on the rightward, conservative turn of the Supreme Court by Robert D. Feinman. Read it and weep.

It's not conservatism, its support for privilege. The court majority consists of privileged men who either grew up that way or have managed to adopt this lifestyle and deny the existence of those with less. People have called attention to the lack of political experience in these justices, but it's not this that is forming their worldview, it is their denial of the possibility that injustice still exists for the weak. They are so far removed from the average person that they don't see the issues, or don't care to.

This is the arrogance of privilege and the lack of empathy. This is what "Conservatism" has always meant. It's time to expose it for what it really is.

Arrogance coupled with a lack of empathy = recipe for deeper divisions in this country. The real trick, though, is to delude the powerless and the non-privileged into believing the Court, this Administration, the Congress works for them. For that we need the wholly unbalanced lapdog media. God please get me out of here. Sorry, Tank, no good cheer today.

if you're pissed about healthcare in this country

Here's a way to take action. SickoCure.org contains links and suggestions for actions we can all take to address this issue now. Join the campaign to pass HR676, the US National Health Insurance Act currently in Congress. Sign the Petition to support HR676. Lobby your members of Congress. Write a letter to the editor. Speak out about the single payer solution. You can do it all right there. There's great information, too, at Physicians for a National Health Program, a resource supported by commenter Debbi and her physician husband. Education, action, revolution. We can make it happen.