Sunday, October 30, 2005

Link of the day

Today’s link features a story about the boys and girls in uniform coming home from Iraq maimed and dismembered. Sadly, you won’t be reading this story in the mainstream corporate media, which are falling all over themselves to make Bush look as good as possible because doing so placates our corporate overlords. The plight of our mentally and physically devastated veterans, who have clearly been discarded by the Bush administration, is one reason my heart breaks each day Bush’s illicit, illegal war continues. And, as if that’s not bad enough, just remember that the ratio of injured and killed Iraqis is probably on the order of 100 to 1.
http://interventionmag.com/Primary/modules.php?op=modload&name=
News&file=article&sid=31

Thought for the day

Have you seen Tom DeLay’s smugshot? It’s an 8x10 glossy glamor shot featuring an eerily grinning, well-dressed DeLay bust portrait sans the usual accoutrements…prisoner number, height calibration…and America is left wondering, Is this for real, or is it some kind of sick joke? Without the height calibration, we have no way of knowing just how tall Mr. DeLay is. Perhaps he is, to use Jon Stewart’s expression, a tiny little man. How many prisoners must be thinking, Gee, I wish I had had his photographer!? I’ll bet Martha Stewart was.

Farewell to Rosa Parks and my cousin Franny -- you Special Ladies will be missed!

My cousin Frances, whom we affectionately called Franny, died the night of October 24. She suffered a fall on September 11th and never really recovered. It was a long, painful death. Considering Franny’s life, I always assumed her death would be easy. That wasn’t the case according to Franny’s older sister. That’s what I get for assuming.

Franny was always in my life. In the terminology of the day, Franny was retarded. I have no idea what that really meant or what the implications were for Franny. As kids, we knew she was different and simply played around her. One day, Franny took a bite out of my arm. Unprovoked, I thought, but I didn’t know that word yet. Since that bite, I acquired a healthy respect for Franny. Maybe she wanted us to recognize and respect her. She was entitled to that respect. Franny certainly enjoyed the respect of her immediate and extended family.

Eventually, we all grew up and married. Franny stayed locked inside herself. We had children, reared them, and guided them through grammar school, high school, college, and finally marriage. With each milestone, we became grayer, but Franny stayed the same. No gray hair for Franny.

Franny. What was she thinking? Did anything hurt? Did she know each of us? Did she have a roll-o-dex in her head, or were we all one blob? Franny looked normal: she was dressed normally and treated normally. How mature was her thought process? I don’t know. I do know that Franny will be missed. She was special. Her friends and family knew that. Good-bye, Frances. Peace.

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Rosa Parks died the same day as Franny. Rosa will be accorded two days of lying in state in the Capitol rotunda. Finally, Rosa is being treated with respect. I’ve had my own theory regarding Rosa and her seat on the bus in Atlanta that day. Want to hear it?

Rosa had just gotten off work. She was dog-tired. She had cramps. Bad cramps. All she wanted was a place to sit. She found one and sat down, relieving her weary bones, waiting for the cramps to subside.

Along came this strapping male specimen. Because his skin was white, he stood glowering over Rosa and waited for her to relinquish her seat. Well? His body language screamed. I’m waiting!

Now, Rosa was a diminutive woman. She always wore a hat. Proper for young ladies of that time, you know. She was aware of the large man towering over her, breathing on her space. Unsympathetic. She ignored him. Although Rose began to feel uncomfortable, her cramps dictated what she did next. Nothing. The rest is history…no one being more surprised than Rosa Parks.

Some of us have an uncanny knack of getting the curse at the most inopportune times. It happened to my younger daughter when she was traveling with my husband and me in Europe. We had gotten in to Ventimiglia in Northern Italy haven taken the sleek, immaculate, high-tech TGV train from Paris via Nice. At the Ventimiglia train station, we passed up the train into Rome -- a train on which we had reserved seats -- because the train looked dilapidated…and full. To our chagrin, we found that the next train didn’t leave until 10 the next morning…and all the inns, hotels, hostels, pensiones, and other potential accommodations were full…Prego, prego!, we were testily told by each establishment we phoned, begging for a room for the night. Our only option: spend the night at the train station with our fellow stranded travelers. Luckily, since we were all together and all safe, we chose to view our error as an adventure rather than a mishap. As the night wore on, everything just seemed funnier and funnier…it took all our restraint not to laugh out loud and wake the people camping out at the station with us. Around 2 in the morning, my daughter went to the bathroom (with its creepy seatless toilets) for what she hoped would be the last time that night -- and sure enough had the curse. Good thing she went when she did -- she found as she was leaving that they were just about to lock up the bathroom until morning. We passed the rest of the night failing to nap and instead continuing to exchange jokes and funny stories. Morning came; the bathrooms were reopened. We availed ourselves, treated ourselves to cappuccinos, and, despite the obvious “closed” sign, settled into the cafe at a small table behind the plants. Trying not to look like “ugly Americans,” we had hidden ourselves as best we could (at least not to encourage others to break the rules as we were doing). We knew we would leave our table as clean as we had found it. But my daughter was desperate to sit down. No standing room only for her! The curse had given her face a pallor that made her delicate features take on a porcelain quality. As her mother, all I could do was sympathize with this sweet creature as she and I rested as inconspicuously as we could behind the plants (my husband, ever the obedient Catholic…and male…stood as far away as possible from us lawbreakers in the open standing room only section).

Before long, an unsuspecting cafe attendant came over and motioned us out of there. He looks like Peter Lorre, whispered my daughter in something between a snicker and a growl…He’d better not press his luck if he values his health. Normally, we would have either obediently stood in the area that was open or complied with the attendant’s request that we leave. But my kid was crippled with cramps. Her nostrils became flame throwers. She had only to turn to that Italian attendant and give him a look. He is probably still running!

Nobody’s perfect, so why can’t we all just get along?

Thanks to my younger daughter, I recently found out that Walgreen’s has done a very brave thing: they donated some $100,000 to the 2006 Gay Games in order to raise awareness for HIV/AIDS and to provide screenings and medications to people attending the event. Naturally, Walgreen’s courageous act has landed them in hot water with some of our nation’s less tolerant folks…you know the ones…people who think that being gay or being left-handed is a matter of choice rather than brain biology. My daughter’s thank-you letter to Walgreen’s inspired me to write one, too:

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Dear Walgreen’s CEO:

My daughter sent me an e-mail praising Walgreen’s for finding a positive venue to raise HIV/AIDS awareness and provide pertinent healthcare by financially supporting the 2006 Gay Games...I, too, want to thank the folks at Walgreen for appreciating that we are not all made from the same cloth...

If we were, wouldn't it be a boring world?

My daughter is heterosexual...she is an electrical engineer just finishing her doctorate...

It seems the more intellectual we are, the more tolerant...

Thank you...I, like my daughter, will go out of my way to shop at the new Walgreen's in my home town...

Dot Calm

Support the troops by bringing them home: my letter to Intervention Magazine re the Walter Reed article

I'm against this war for the rich old men at the expense of our young boys and girls. I feel so strongly about this that I marched in Washington, DC, in support of Cindy Sheehan on Sept. 24th. I brought 25 professionally prepared posters and distributed them to fellow marchers.

I want to express my appreciation to these kids in a small, but personal way. I'm planning on making a bunch of cheer-me-up cards and putting a mint or chocolate in each.

You see, I too use a wheelchair. I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis eight years ago. But I'm old, and I've lived a good life. These kids are babies and now face the rest of their lives with major handicaps.

God Bless every one of them.

Sincerely,
Dot Calm

Light at the end of the tunnel?

I wrote the following letter to friends and family on the indictment of “Scooter” Libby for his involvement in Plamegate.

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Patrick Fitzgerald brought tears to my eyes today...I don't know if you can appreciate how tormented I've been these last several years...

And here was this knight in shining armor...his strong, Irish face showing the same resolve and determination as my daughters...

I was grateful to know that either of my girls would behave in much the same way as Fitzgerald...and I know that's not an easy place to be...

Fitzgerald is a Republican (you can tell by his red tie -- only kidding), and he is being tasked with doing an in-depth investigation of men in his party...

I'm stunned by this turn of events...I thought it would never happen...

AND Fitzgerald said: it's not over...

All I've thought of these last several years was the unprotected place my kids are in...just by having jobs in which they protect our country...

Will our country protect them if it comes to that? Will they have the proper body armor?

Will they be put in harm's way as the result of fat, old, rich men interested only in adding to their wealth?

Will they be put in harm's way as the result of America's behavior around the world?

And on and on...

I feel as though a giant boulder has been lifted from my shoulders...and who better to do it than a young man whose name I sincerely hope goes down in our history books as the person who finally untangled the terrible web spun around our democracy...

Finally, it is being acknowledged: THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES!

Who needs the wild, wild west?

If we're doomed to go backwards in our history...why not this?

We wear cowboys hats...white or black...in the old movies, the good guys wore the white and the bad guys wore black...

Of course, everybody would wear white these days...except during winter months...then black would be more fashionable...

But I digress...

I like the idea of guns being in full view...holsters could be fashion statements...women could have many holsters matching their outfits...

Yes! Fashion statements!

The only negative I see here is when a woman is preWOMENstrual...then men will have to learn to STAY OUT OF HER WAY!

Now, that wouldn't be a bad thing, would it?