The Year In Review

If you've actually been reading this for a whole year, you will already know that:

In January, I denounced Bryan Lamb as an asshat plagarist, and let the world know that I can't bake bread...
'My bread was so bad... How bad was it?
It was so bad, my son said, "You should throw the bread away, and burn the pan it was baked in, and salt the oven in which it was baked." '

February brought my yearly rant about blood diamonds and an entry about a teacher who left a lasting impression.

March had more on blood diamonds, because I just can't let that go; and if you knew what I know, you wouldn't let it go either. Not until the day comes when not one person has to die so you can decorate yourself with a colorless bauble.

In April, I fooled my husband in the worst way (and I expect I'll pay for it this year) and declared that my ancestresses were weirdos.

May is my birth month, and I spent it ranting about everything (except diamonds). I also did the math on just how much oil is in the Alaskan wilderness.

Chasmyn moved away in June, grandma moved into a retirement home, and 93 voters braved the fire trucks, police officers and news vans, to cast their vote for a new alderperson.

July saw yet another diamond rant, and L went to Disney World without me. :(

August was vacation month, which was worth every bounced check since then (but just barely). Oh, and Missouri proved it's stupidity by voting to define marriage. Stupid-ass people.

In September, I stepped on a slug and somone noticed my cat. It's more exciting than it sounds.

October saw a month of politial blogging, and the Cards lost the World Series.

Can we just skip November? It began with fraud and ended with grandma almost dying... She is recovering and that's a hell of an improvement on the start of the month.

And December, you just read.

Woot!

I'm a published author! I'm a published author! (does happy dance)
Ok, it's a simple article in PDF format for a brand new local pagan Zine... But I'm published! Woot Woot Woot!

If you're interested, you can read my article for The Hearthside Herald on page 2. It's a review of Carondelet Park.

Dreaming...

This morning, I dreamt of how to widen the entry section of my blog. Since I woke with visions of html dancing in my head; I rushed to the computer and began editing.
And it sucked. (sigh)
Oh, it worked allright -if you don't mind a pea green text area and strange lines running through the blog, and corners appearing out of nowhere. I mind.

Then I got the brilliant idea to view the source code on some of the blogs I like and see if I can learn anything. Which I'm doing now. My first stop was Everyday Lunasea, because I haven't added her to my sidebar yet (lazy me), and I like to be methodical. So It hit her page, noted the new christmas decorations, and noticed something else, too.
She's a redhead! And she's a nominee for the BOB awards! And see, I liked her blog even before I knew these things. :)
Anyway... back to da code

Nuts To You

The hubby-man forgot his inhaler this morning, so I groggily delivered it to him at about 10 o'clock. In return (like him being able to breathe isn't enough of a gift) he gave me a can of mixed nuts. I had a few more runs to make before I went home, so I opened the can and started nibbling. Now, maybe my mom used to buy cheap "mixed nuts" or something, because I was expecting 50 peanuts and a cashew or two... But these were real mixed nuts! There were pecans and hazel nuts and cashews and my favorite, brazil nuts!

Which leads me to this entry. I first encountered brazil nuts at my grandma's house. We had lost our home and moved in with her and one day we were cracking nuts at the dining table. I had been playing a game, asking my mom what each kind of nut was, then opening it and setting the nut aside to be sampled once I had one of each. I pulled a large brown nut out of the pile, it was bigger than my thumb. I thought there must be something really good inside. I asked mom what it was, and she said, "That's a niggertoe."
A what? I thought she was kidding, so I asked, "What is it really?"
She insisted that it was a niggertoe, so named because it was shaped (kind of) like a toe, and it was brown. She got another brazil nut out of the pile and said, "Look. It's brown on the outside..." As she cracked the nut open, "And it's white on the inside. It's a niggertoe."

And thus began my education on diversity. My 7 year old brain took it to mean that all people are white underneath.
Look, I'm not proud of this or anything; it's just what happened.
I said, "This isn't really somebody's dried toe, is it?" And Mom said, "It is! And it's good! Eat one!"
Thankfully, one of my uncles came into the room at that point and said, "Your mom is kidding you. That's a brazil nut. It grows on a tree."

So I doubtfully ate it. And you know what? It was good.

Gotta Post

So I wandered across this wonderful mommy blog, Lunasea, and I left a comment. (For those of you not in the know, I rarely comment)
And now I'm in a panic... What if this cool mommy visits here? She's going to see me bitching about arthritis, a long-winded meme, and a story about 5 pounds of coffee before she gets to anything child related.
I've been sharing the coffee wealth, BTW; and every time I grind some beans for a friend, the Hubby-Man grumbles something under his breath about how I'm going to regret it because Tanzania Peaberry doesn't come along every day. And he's a tea drinker!

Anyway, I feel like I have to clean the house before company comes over, if you know what I mean. Because her blog is so darn good. So here it is... The L story I've been avoiding...

We got a letter from CBC high school requesting L's presence for an interview on January 4th. Which means either they're interviewing in alphabetical order, or those letters of recommendation from alumnists put him near the top of the list. I'm a nervous wreck. He needs some decent clothes to wear. He needs a haircut. He needs to know how to conduct an interview. (eek) The first two I can manage, but the interview... He's on his own there. I would be a suck-ass mom if I micro-managed his life. My best advice is, "Be honest. They'll know that CBC is right for you as long as you be yourself. So relax. It's not a thing."

Meanwhile, I shake and twitch inside because I know the only thing I can really do is step back and let nature take it's course. *twitch*

Anybody else out there have a child interviewing for a high school?
Want to give me some advice?
Or consolation??

BTW
I did my PT tonight. I skipped the weights, and my legs shook uncontrollably, but I did 'em! And I'm doing them again tomorrow, dammit; because I want to get to a point where ten pounds of weights is nothing, and I want to not hurt so much. The hubby-man got me glucosamine and chondroitin for Christmas(that we can't really afford) and I've taken it every day since. I'm using the comfrey that I push on everyone else, too.

I'm tired of not being able to drive to the post office. I'm tired of being afraid to walk farther than my neighbor's house, because of the pain. I'm tired of saying, "I can't" to my son... "I can't drive you to Persephone's house, it hurts too much" ... "I can't drive you to Hollywood Video to rent a game with your own money, it's too cold for my knees."

I'm sick of it. And it stops NOW.

Chasmyn's MeMe

A joyous Yule to you, Chasmyn... Like anybody really needs to know three things about me. :)


Three names you go by:
Sharon
M'love (hubby man)
She Dances In Dragon (noone actually calls me this, it's my shaman name, it was given to me, and yes- I think it's cheezy too)

Three screennames you have:
Danceindragon
My real name
um... once upon a time I was Arianna

Three things you love/like about yourself:
my ability to laugh in the face of anger
my hair
my talents


Three things you hate/dislike about yourself:
My stomach.
My hair.
My laziness

Three parts of your heritage:
Welsh
Sicilian
Native American


Three things that scare you:
The Bush Administration (same as Chasmyn's)
A wheelchair looming in my future (LOL, do the damn PT excercises, Sharon!)
My son getting seriously hurt

Three of your everyday essentials:
The hubby-man
My son
Coffee


Three things you are wearing right now:
a black velvet asian style jacket
charcoal grey cordorouy stretch pants from like, 1993
black suede boots that my son steals whenever he can

Three of your favorite bands/artists at the moment:
Mannheim Steamroller
TransSiberian Orchestra
Nat King Cole

Three of your favorite songs at present:
Silver Bells
The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)
Carol of The Bells, the South Park version

Three things you want to try in the next 12 months:
Doing my PT at least 3 times a week, all year long
Donating a hand knit item without bursting into tears
Successfully designing and creating a goddess scarf

Three things you want in a relationship (love is a given):
A person I can talk to about anything
Stability
To be cherished above all else
(I have all three, BTW)

Two truths and a lie:
This statement is true
The previous statement is false
One of these statements is a lie.


Three physical things about the opposite (or same) that appeals to you:
His mind (and the use of it)
His penis
His hands


Three things you just can't do:
My goddam PT (a familiar theme, I know)
Keep the house clean
Be on time


Three of your favorite hobbies:
sculpting
knitting
rock finding

Three things you want to do really badly right now:
have another cup of coffee
have younger, stretch-mark free skin
put on more comfortable clothes

Three careers you're considering:
Mom
business owner
Anything that pays the bills

Three places you want to go on vacation:
any natural wonder in Australia
any natural wonder in America
Wales

Three kids names:
Anthony
Galileo
Wendy

Three things you want to do before you die:
See the cure of a chronic illness (any chronic illness will do, so long as it's a cure rather than taking pills for the rest of your life)
see my son grow up and be happy
make the world a better place

Three people who have to take this quiz now or die a slow orgasmic death:
Persephone
Achromic (already did it, but I wish her lots of orgasms anyway)
Nia

I changed the recorded date of this post, because I don't really want this one public. I write this blog for myself, and I plan on printing it all out and passing it on to my family someday. I know how much I learned from photos of and letters from my great grandma. If any of my decendants ever care, I'd like them to have this little piece of me. That's why I write. It's my simple day-to-day stuff, nothing consequential. Yet when I look at my archives, I realize that history has happened all around me; and in my own way I've recorded it. Which leads to this entry -which was actually written on January 7th, 2005.

I spent Christmas day with my family. I did not watch the news. The next day was spent cleaning. Again, I didn't watch the news. I didn't read anyone's blog. I didn't know that there had been an earthquake, or that it had caused tidal waves. I didn't know that more than 160,000 people would die in the water, under the rubble, or (like one person) struck by children on a motorcycle. The children were put on the bike by their father, and told to go. Their parents died. Their home is gone. They have nothing but each other. That and their father's motorcycle.

I learned about them from a "special report" from CNN called "Saving the Children". The devastation is beyond awful.
CNN did a beautiful job on the report. The news media has been showing footage of the waves, of the debris, -of dirty, grieving people dressed in donated clothing. It's heartwrenching. But they're focusing on the material, and that's the wrong focus. I noticed the people in the CNN report. They were grief-stricken or numb, but they were clean. Their skin was healthy. Their teeth were white and strong. We here in America are so used to darker skinned people being portrayed as "starving". The media pushes it so much, that we've come to associate any non-European country with third-world type environment. I didn't see that on CNN. CNN showed people. People who were not malnourished (although they will be soon). Such beautiful people. I wish most Americans looked that good. I've already heard people saying thing like, "Ah, they were starving anyway. They're used to it."
No! They're not! They have a different culture, not a different world. They had jobs and homes and debt, just like America. They had families and schools and healthcare.

If this had happened in America, would you shrug it off after donating a few dollars online? Or would you think it was doubly tragic, because Americans aren't used to poverty -have no traditions to deal with this kind of disaster?

Americans (for all that I bitch about poverty here) are not used to third-world type poverty. Even the poorest American can grow food. There's probably enough material in a landfill to build shelters for 10,000 people.

My point is that the people of the tsunami affected countries once had a life much like our own. They are no more prepared for this than any other country is. We must remember that. We must not let it become cliche'

The life they had is gone; and they can rebuild and have homes, jobs and health again. But only if the rest of the world forgets the stereotype of color.

5 Pounds of Coffee

There's a story by Spider Robinson; part of the Callahan's Crosstime Saloon series, that involves 5 lbs. of really good coffee.
Guess what I got for Christmas?
Five
Pounds
of Tanzania Peaberry coffee beans!

Freshly roasted by Kaldi's Coffee.
Oh, baby!

Some of my family members stared a bit as I opened a bag and started munching on peaberries. They just don't understand. They think Folgers is good coffee, and Millstone is great coffee. Yeah, well... Millstone don't got no Tanzania Peaberry and I do. :P

Now the trick is to use it all before it gets stale. Especially because I like my peaberry blended with Kona and a little bit of Ethiopian beans.
Yes, I'm a coffee snob.

It Finally Happened!
It's 11:42 and my son is still asleep!!! Woo Hoo! He is officially a teenager now!
I'm really glad the worst part of the "must...sleep" phase hit during Christmas break. It will give him more than a week to realize he's going to have to start going to sleep earlier.
Come on, growth spurt!

*update* It wasn't the must...sleep phase, darn it. It was the other part of teenagerhood; he stayed up all night playing a computer game. (sigh)

Can I Get Some Sugarplums Over here?

I've been having nasty dreams recently. My psyche is trying to tell me stuff, and I'm not getting it.

A few nights ago, I dreamt that I was at a resort with my family and President Bush. I spent 3 days just hanging out with the Shrub and his former secretary of state. And, in my dream, Bush was a very likeable fellow. He was the kind of guy that I'd invite to a party, you know?
The lucid part of my brain kept trying to step in and tell the man off, but it just wasn't happening. The dream was filled with a sense of fun, like hanging out with George W. Bush was just the best thing ever. After 3 days, our vacation was coming to an end, and I knew I needed to say what was on my mind before I lost the chance. So I told him, "You're a very likeable fellow. I genuinely like you as a person... But I will never vote for you as president. You have ruined this country and I despise that. You're a great person, but you're a bad politician; the people are suffering. You need to know they are suffering."
As I was speaking my mind, the feel of the dream shifted. The beautiful resort became shadowed, like when clouds block the sun. The air grew cooler and secret service men started talking into their headsets and moving around more.
L suddenly appeared at my side, and it was time to go. The Hubby-Man had already left. He was on his way to somewhere that we could flee to. My son and I ran to the rental car, and there were s.s. agents surrounding it, so we ran across the lawn instead. My dream ended as L and I were dashing across the golf course, knowing that the s.s. agents weren't looking for us specifically; so we would get away without having to harm anyone.

And if you think that's strange...

Last night I dreamt that I was with my mom and dad. Dad was saying how he was sorry he missed out on my growing up, and mom was furious -but trying to be nice. I couldn't care less about what my dad has done for 23 years, or where he's been. I just wanted to know his medical history. I asked him, "How long do women in your family live?" and "Does arthritis run in the family?" (this one I understand, my arthritis has been very, very bad this winter)
Dad rambled on about all kinds of things, but never really answered my questions. Then we were driving somewhere, and for some reason I had to get out of the humvee/jeep thing he was driving. So mom and I got out, then L got out too. We had gotten out near Hodak's
and started walking toward De Sales Church
. As we reached the corner of Ohio and Gravois, mom suddenly yelled, "Run!"
I could hear mom's (mysteriously appearing) transistor radio saying that a race war was happening. Mom gave me the radio and took off toward our old apartment. L and I started running southwest down Gravois. We had gotten no farther than Mary's Fine Foods, and I was considering ducking down the gangway -cutting across the parking lot -and losing ourselves in one of the abandoned buildings; when a young black girl broke from the crowd and stopped us. She said something about hurting us, and she had a reason that made sense to her; but I don't remember it because what happened next was so horrible. She was maybe 11 years old, with a rounded belly and just the beginnings of breast buds. She was a child, and I didn't want to hurt her. I was trying to think of a way to disarm the situation when she stuck her pinky fingers in L's ears. She said something about necessity and justice and then my ears were ringing with pain and L started screaming. I mean really screaming. And he was crying, tears covering his face. And for some reason, all his hair was gone -there was nothing but stubble on his head. (at this point, I woke up gasping; but the dream went on. My mind insisted on continuing the nightmare and finding some sort of resolution)
I was genuinely torn between killing the bitch painfully and trying to comfort my son. So I did both. I grabbed her nearest arm and broke it, then grabbed her throat and squeezed enough to keep her busy trying to breathe. Then I said to my son, "Can you hear me?" He wasn't looking at me, he was crying with his eyes closed. He didn't respond. A hatred welled up in me, the likes of which I've never experienced in waking life. I wanted so much to hold my son, comfort him and try to heal him. Instead I knocked the girl to the ground, put my knee in her throat and carefully broke both of her pinky fingers. My mind said, "That is enough. Tend to your son." But I didn't stop torturing the girl. I rammed my knee repeatedly into her crotch, breaking her pubic bone, then grinding the bones into her flesh.
At this point I woke up again, apparantly I'd fallen asleep. The locical me in my head was horrified. I felt an incredible pressure to STOP, just stop and heal my son! But I couldn't stop. I was afraid she would get up and hurt him again, and I could not allow that to happen again.
Finally I woke for the third time, and was able to take control of my dream.

Like all my bad dreams, I re-dream them until they work out like I want. So I spent the next 40 minutes working through scenario after scenario until my son could hear again.

So... What the hell is up with that??? Why would my subconscious need to create that? What in the world do I need to know so badly that I must dream this kind of awfulness?
I haven't had dreams like this since I was pregnant (understandable), and before that I was a teenager, trying to get a handle on accidentally reading people's minds or any of the other weird things that happened around me as a teen.

Cornell U. Reports, You Decide

Kudos to The Liberal Realist for this link.
"ITHACA, N.Y. -- In a study to determine how much the public fears terrorism, almost half of respondents polled nationally said they believe the U.S. government should -- in some way -- curtail civil liberties for Muslim Americans, according to a new survey released today (Dec. 17) by Cornell University.

About 27 percent of respondents said that all Muslim Americans should be required to register their location with the federal government, and 26 percent said they think that mosques should be closely monitored by U.S. law enforcement agencies. Twenty-nine percent agreed that undercover law enforcement agents should infiltrate Muslim civic and volunteer organizations, in order to keep tabs on their activities and fund raising. About 22 percent said the federal government should profile citizens as potential threats based on the fact that they are Muslim or have Middle Eastern heritage. In all, about 44 percent said they believe that some curtailment of civil liberties is necessary for Muslim Americans.

Conversely, 48 percent of respondents nationally said they do not believe that civil liberties for Muslim Americans should be restricted. "...
"The survey also showed a correlation between television news-viewing habits, a respondent's fear level and attitudes toward restrictions on civil liberties for all Americans. Respondents who paid a lot of attention to television news were more likely to favor restrictions on civil liberties, such as greater power for the government to monitor the Internet. Respondents who paid less attention to television news were less likely to support such measures. "The more attention paid to television news, the more you fear terrorism, and you are more likely to favor restrictions on civil liberties," says Nisbet."

Do I really need to refer to history, here? How many people does it take to insist on a special mark on the driver's license of a certain ethnic or religious group? How long after that before we put the marked AMERICANS in special housing "for their own safety"?
I'm not saying it's going to happen. I'm asking that it not happen.

The Christmas Pageant

L's christmas pageant was tonight and, like good parents we sat through an hour and a half of high-pitched voices and higher-pitched recorders tootling their way through such gems as "Bring a torch (Jeanette... Isabella)"
But it was worth it for the end. The last song was sung by the 8th grade, and involved 7 boys randomly popping up from the back of the group, with giant letter cards. They were hilarious.

Enter the kitsch or How To Horrify Your Wife

Yesterday, the Hubby-Man came home from work with a box and a big, big grin. The box was full of packing wrap, and I could see something sculptural sticking out one end; as if the thing was too big to fit in the box. And let me tell you, it was a big box. I could tell from his grin that this was going to be bad. But I had no idea just how bad until he unwrapped the thing.

Let the suspense build whilst I tell you about my Hubby and his fondness for kitsch. He likes tacky home decorations from the late 60's and early 70's. We have a shag rug that's orange, red, yellow, and cream paisley and swirls. It looks like psychedelic vomit that's been sitting in the fridge too long. We used to have furniture that matched; all earth tones and redwood. Bleah. Over the years he has acquired other atrocities like a wrought iron globe lamp thing that hangs in the corner, 50 million oil lamps, and an octagonal wooden end table with doors like a roll-top desk (only sideways)

And I love him still.

So when he brought this thing home, all I could do was smile and say, "I love you." While fearing where he might display it. Now, I can appreciate the craftsmanship that went into each of these items. I really can. Individually, they're beautiful. But like go-go boots or high heel clogs, they're things that just shouldn't be seen.

So.
If you dare.
Make sure there's nothing in your mouth, or you might choke...
And click this link.

I Heart Internet

simple, common comfrey has 5 separate analgesic chemicals! ascorbic acid, caffeic-acid, chlorogenic acid, selenium and thiamin. Plus the healing properties of allantoin, plus the anti-inflammitory properties of rosmarinic acid
It also has 8 chemicals with antihepatotoxic activity. So how does comfrey cause hepatotoxicity again? Oh, that's right... the roots contain pyrrolizidine alkaloids, and sometimes the leaves do too -although in significantly lower concentrations. Good thing I only use the leaves! To read the whole list, go here.

I worry about the potential hepatotoxic effects of pyrrolizidine alkaloids, so I follow the latest research very carefully. And the lastest research has me stumped. As an example: One dot gov site talks about the 4 deaths from liver failure that have been connected to comfrey usage. The most drastic case drank a few cups of comfrey tea and started having liver problems that eventually led to her death. Yet I find other studies (lots of them) where subjects regularly ingest comfrey and have no problems at all. As another example, the specific pyrrolizidine alkaloids in comfrey were injected into rats, and then the amount of pyrrolizidine alkaloids that was released in their urine and fecal matter was measured. And guess what? Nearly all of the alkaloids were eliminated within 14 hours. Also, comfrey root has up to 20 times more pyrrolizidine alkaloids than the leaves, and about 80% of the time, common comfrey leaves have no pyrrolizidine alkaloids at all (those that do seem to have cross-bred with other comfrey varieties). When used as a topical solution, less than half the alkaloids pentrated the skin. Also, many studies are unclear about which version of comfrey they used for testing. The reports I've found that specify Symphytum Officinale (common comfrey) show no side effects and results that clearly work. Comfrey relieves pain. Comfrey increases mobility. Comfrey speeds healing. I mean there are (finally) actual, scientific, double-blind studies showing the efficacy of comfrey as a topical application. Isn't that great?

A Difference Of Opinion

Achromic is a California liberal :p
And I?m a Midwest moderate :p
And there?s not that much difference between us. :D

But I see from her comment that we differ on the military. She said:
"...The basic jest of my last post that went missing is that, I sympathize with every soldier that is finding out the hard way how little our government cares about them. Out here we just had a new story running about how they were returning to find out they were homeless and unable to find work. See rents out here are exsorbent (1350 for a one bdrm) unless you have rent control, only if you default on paying your rent under rent control then the LL can kick you out and up the rent to market value."

I'm in total agreement here, but in the next bit she and I begin to differ:

"Not only that but as CA was a favorite landing site for the Vietnam vets most people think of soliders as well less then stable (do you really want guy in the cubical next to you be someone that has learned that killing people really isn't that hard?....especially in a high stress environment?)"

And that's why the 'support our troops' magnetic car stickers are selling like hotcakes. As a child of the 80's, I saw far too many homeless veterans; unable to function in a society that had moved on without them. I have one of those stickers on my truck as a reminder to myself that our returning soldiers need understanding. I understand that they've lived through a kind of stress and insanity that most Americans will never experience. And I understand that America will want to sweep them under the rug rather than retrain them. A baby comes into this world with no understanding of the complex and ridiculous rules of society. A returning soldier is much the same way. Although they know the complex and ridiculous rules of society, they have little understanding of those rules anymore. They've just spent a year or more learning to break every rule they've been taught as a child. When they come home, they feel lost and alone. They tend to believe that no one feels like they do. (Which is b.s. by the way. Achromic and I both acutely know that feeling, and neither of us have ever fought a war on foreign soil.)
She goes on:
"No one out here believes that the military does/has any way of deprograming their killers. So they are having a hard time find a job. So they end up on the streets. I feel for them, I do, but I also try to remember that they volunteered for this. We still have a volunteer military and although it is a tough way to grow up, they choose it, and they learn the consequence of not researching the co. they are choosing to keep. In this case they may learn it while watching their best friend die. Tough."

Those last lines are what started this post. Yes, we have a volunteer military. They did volunteer for the possibility of war. Yet the actuality of war is not discussed in polite company. Americans are taught to be proud, flag-waving, idealistic, unthinking sheep.
They join the military as prey, and they come home predators. They also come home with a deeper appreciation of being alive. That deeper appreciation can be harnessed to integrate our soldiers into our society. Former soldiers can do great deeds if society lets them. Or they can be a problem if society shuns them. The one thing they cannot ever be again is sheep.

Stop The Presses!

To give you an idea of just how big the media thinks this is, here are an assortment of headlines. It's been a long time since the media has bothered to make up their own headline for something. They usually just spread around the same title. (CAT EATS DOG! or whatever)

Bush, Rumsfeld Try to Soothe Angry US Troops

Rumsfeld Attempts to Respond to Troop Concerns

Rumsfeld in gun for lack of armour

A Soldier's Grilling (my favorite headline)

Holes open in US armour

Rumsfeld dodges friendly fire

Rumsfeld `Cavalier' on Iraq Gear, Dodd Says, Demanding Answers

Rumsfeld runs into flak from troops in hillbilly armour

Disgruntled soldiers air gripes at Rumsfeld

Rumsfeld under fire from Iraq-bound troops

Soldier's Question Puts Rumsfeld on Spot

Troops put Rumsfeld on the spot

Rumsfeld gets his ear bent

US soldier slams Rumsfeld over safety

Rumsfeld under fire

US troops Rumsfeld's toughest critics

Blunt troops put Rumsfeld on spot

There are a thousand more. 20 years ago, reporters would have been rushing out of the room to the bank of payphones. Nowadays, the room was probably filled with the clicking of laptop keys. You can probably hear it during Rumsfeld's uncomfortable silences. Muahaha.

LMAO

I'm laughing my butt off over this whole Rumsfeld vs. the common soldier thing. (go read the article. There were more disturbing questions voiced.)

(go read it now... I'll wait)

Since I read blogs and such, I was not surprised that the troops are scavenging armor for their vehicles. I thought everyone knew that! And Rumsfeld's response, "You go to war with the army you have, not the army you might want or wish to have at a later time," just made him look bad. Because even a 3 year old knows we chose to go to war. We chose the timing. We had plenty of time to armor our vehicles. *snort*
Yes, if you're caught off-guard, you go to war with the army you have. And then the country busts it's butt building a stronger, better defended army. Remember those Loony Toons cartoons? The ones made during WW2? I don't see anybody rationing gasoline or collecting scrap metal to be made into armor, do you? I don't see car factories switching to the production of armor, either.

The news media is all over this one, and I'm glad. And it astonishes me that people are astonished by this. Have they been living in a spider hole? How can you not know that families are buying body armor and bottled water for their sons and daughters, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins because the Army didn't supply it?

In case you didn't read the article, other questions raised were, "What is Rumsfeld and the Army were doing to address shortages and antiquated equipment?"
and
"Many of the soldiers in [a] unit are having trouble receiving all the pay due them, causing problems for families back home who are being pestered by bill collection agencies."

Anyway, I don't think the situation is funny to our soldiers. What I think is funny is the media scramble to cover the story, and the newscasters' surprise that anyone would be interested. They keep trying to change the subject -talk about other news; but their websites are filled with people talking about the horrors of our soldiers having to pick through garbage to keep themselves safe. You go, America! Make Bush Co. uneasy! Make them nervous! I like to see them sweat. :D

Pondering

Red vs. Blue
Why is it that the service States tend to vote Republican? I call them service States because they service our country. I'm talking about farmers and coal miners and factory workers. They consistently get reamed by Republican party policy, yet they continue to vote for Republicans. It makes no sense. Then again, maybe it does make sense. Having been at the bottom of the food-chain myself, dismissed as "stupid and lazy" simply for being poor; being told "Ain't nobody gonna give you a loan for college" because I had nothing to trade with a bank, I think maybe I do understand after all. Republicans feed us sunshine and roses. They tell us things are improving. They offer hope. And when you have nothing, hope looks pretty darn good. The poor value their pride and faith above all else. These are the only things that cannot be taken from them. These are the only things the poor have power over. So they cling to their faith that life can be good; and they cling to their pride as their children fight for their country.
It's not that the poor can't handle bad news. I think the poor can handle it better than most. They're familiar with tragedy. They see it every day. It is a tragedy when you can't feed your child. It is a tragedy when you lose your job, and you're one paycheck away from eviction. Homelessness? Don't even go there. The poor only get a home if somebody dies and leaves it to them, or if the deceased was lucky enough to have life insurance.
If you've never been there, you wouldn't understand. I used to be glad that some people would never experience poverty... but now I think everyone should have a little taste of poverty. They might learn something.

And if this sounds bitter, you're right. I am bitter. I'm bitter for being told I'm worthless, and I get bitter when I catch myself looking down on the poor now. It shocks me when I see how far I've come, and then see how far I have to go before I stop connecting poor with worthless.

New Template

So... I have a new template. I've been using the old one for two years, and what with the commenting problems and all, I decided it was time for a change. I really liked my blue and gold blog. (sigh) But green is good too. The format is certainly easier to read, which should make it easier to customise. You shouldn't have to register or sign in to leave a comment. Just leave a name and any href stuff at the end of your post.

Notice A Difference?
I changed commenting servers, and yes- I know it's still wonky. I'm working on that.

I love you guys' comments. And Haloscan deletes them after a time, so I was looking for something new anyway. I didn't upgrade because I can't remember the email addy I used back then, and I can't remember my name/pw combo either. (sigh)

I checked my blog last night, and some dipwad had put an ad in my comment section. As if that wasn't bad enough, they put it under a post about my hospitalised grandma. That's just bullshit. My site stats showed that somebody had searched for "comments bye haloscan" so I assume a lot of people have this advertisement for s3x t0ys on their blogs, and that's a damn shame.
Haloscan is gone, and with it, all your lovely comments. Sorry about that.