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"The occupation formally ends Wednesday and some Iraqis already are wondering whether the pain and anguish of 14 months of American rule will be remembered more fondly than Saddam Hussein's brutal 23 years in power." --Hamza Hendawi, "Many Iraqis See Liberators As Occupiers" (read article at Newsday.com)
Now, enjoy this brilliant (though slightly sad) bit, courtesy of The Onion:
Coalition: Vast Majority of Iraqis Still Alive
BAGHDAD—As the Coalition Provisional Authority prepares to hand power over to an Iraqi-led interim government on June 30, CPA administrator L. Paul Bremer publicly touted the success of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
"As the Coalition's rule draws to a close, the numbers show that we have an awful lot to be proud of," Bremer said Tuesday. "As anyone who's taken a minute and actually looked at the figures can tell you, the vast majority of Iraqis are still alive—as many as 99 percent. While 10,000 or so Iraqi civilians have been killed, pretty much everyone is not dead."
First, hypocrisy abound. Then again, I suppose we should be used to it by now.
Arcata's Minor Theatre (the longest-running movie house in the U.S., I've learned) is showing Fahrenheit 9/11. No surprise, considering the liberal bent of the town. The turnout for tonight's show will be fantastic, with scores of people making plans weeks ago to attend the opening in large groups. I'm disappointed not to be able to join my friends and see first-hand the profound reaction this particular group is bound to display. On the other hand, I'll admit I'm nervous about my own particular reaction to the film... nothing like getting all stirred up and disturbed and then suddenly remembering your only real outlet for fury is pen and paper. That is, of course, unless you're prepared to fly to DC and bash the White House windows in with a baseball bat. But I'm not prepared to do that. The plane ticket would be far too expensive.
Yesterday's San Francisco Chronicle ran an article generally praising the film and, in a separate column, set about proving the veracity of some of the controversial claims Moore makes in the film. More importantly, the article emphasizes the film's significance in the likelihood that it could, even minimally, influence the outcome of November's election. For that--much as he may repel and infuriate--we may all be indebted to Michael Moore when the evil triumvirate is removed.
In a couple of hours I'll hop on a plane to join Marney and friends for some fun and frolic in $in City. Not an ideal summer destination by any stretch of the imagination (least not for someone who's been there a dozen times and has a tendency to suffer from entirely unpleasant mindwarp in triple-digit temperatures), but spending time with some dear NYC friends will undeniably be the sweetest of treats.
After almost five months here in Humboldt County, I am still discovering just how much pure natural beauty there is to behold. Friends yesterday took me on a two-hour-plus hike deep and high up into the woods where not a person, animal (aside from insects) or vehicle could be seen nor heard and where I'd be scared to death to get lost, which could easily have happened five minutes into our trek were it not for my formidable guides. My friends here are far more skilled in the art of backpacking than I am, venturing gleefully off the beaten path, bravely snacking on various plants and berries and bounding across questionable bridges with no noticeable fear, whereas I approached such things with humbling trepidation, peering sadly down at my worn sneakers, so inadequate for proper trail hiking. Sigh.
But we soldiered on, despite my slowing my three trailmates down a tad with my childish insistence on gentle footing down steeper slopes as well as my pathetic hesistance to pee in the dirt (ewww!). Nonetheless, it was a fantastic hike--exhilirating, intoxicating and exhausting. Cool temperatures and recent rainfall have left the deep forest we explored stunningly green, lush, almost tropical. I regret not having brought along my camera, but one needn't venture a mile into the forest to take some gorgeous photos around here. They are set up right before my eyes on a daily basis, from my bedroom window, from the ATM vestibule, from the java joint where I like to sit and write--it's natural beauty overkill! Whatever transpires over the course of my days here, I consider myself very fortunate to live in a region so completely surrounded by beauty and to feel such a wonderful, essential and surprising boost in my creativity by immersing myself in nature.
So am I insane to still miss Central Park so dearly?
"I think any reasonable person watching American politics would come to the conclusion that a second Bush administration would in fact incorporate a more radicalized version of what we’ve seen in the first administration. The reason is that the constraint would be removed. At least now, they know they have to face an electorate. That restricts their movement somewhat. But those constraints are off if they win a second term. Their ideological extremism can have - will have - a field day." -- Robert B. Reich, courtesy Buzzflash
Mommy, look what I made!*
One of several ways I've attempted to enhance myself since my New York departure is with a monumental improvement in my culinary skills (which, since they were practically nonexistent before, isn't so much an improvement as an inauguration). Never mind that this is the first time in my adult life when there aren't dozens of restaurants of varying ethnic styles a short distance away prepared to serve or deliver unto me an excellent meal at all hours. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say. So I have joined the extraordinarily colorful and well-nourished world of those who cook. Thank you.
* For those desirous of delectable details, I present my special smoked salmon rolls with cucumber, carrot and a hint of lemon. Regardless of their considerable messiness factor, they combined quite nicely with chilled sake and good company.
There have been countless things I have wanted to write about lately, but precious little time. I suppose it's some sub-category of Murphy's Law which applies to writers, stating that when there is ample time for writing, one will be faced with a substantial block or deficiency of ideas, whereas when the writer's days are filled with other engagements, the desire to write will swell from within, along with a plethora of ideas on which to focus one's (figurative) pen. That leads to a build-up of ideas, triggering extensive entries like the one I'm about to write, entires that would--I assure you--end up running far longer if I didn't have mercy on my readers.
Anyway, few people in my life know of my astounding aptitude for remembering numbers. Birthdays, license plates, phone numbers, addresses, you name it. For someone who could barely function in a math class, someone for whom the most basic functions require signifcant lower lip-biting and whose existence depends on the power of language, I have a Rain Man-like gift for memorizing numbers. When writing yesterday's date, I had the suspicion that the date June 12 had significance for me, yet couldn't quite put my finger on the reason.
June 12, it dawned on me later, was Anne Frank's birthday. She would have been 75 this year. The Diary of Anne Frank was one of the most important, memorable and significant books of my childhood and I have never forgotten what I learned from it. At the time I read it, I was close to the age Anne was when she began writing it and had already commenced my own love affair with words, reading voraciously and keeping a diary. I knew little then of my own family's struggle during World War II; had little comprehension of the nightmare they endured and even less understanding of a world that could allow the Holocaust to happen. I simply understood that Anne was a young girl very much like myself--bright, introspective, curious. A girl just beginning to grow into a woman and feeling that intense anticipation; that desire to rush headlong into experiencing all the things a woman experiences.
Although my grandmother was born on January 20, she will often cite April 15 as her birthday, that being the day in 1945 when she was liberated from Bergen-Belsen. I can only wonder which date Anne would choose to celebrate as her birthday, had she been lucky enough to survive to see her own liberation.
Finally. The alarming facts that have caused me great confusion, anger, frustration and disconcert for well over a year are finally, slowly coming to light. (Thanks, Vidiot.)
My confusion stemmed not so much from what actually transpired on September 12-13, 2001, but manifested itself more in the form of utter astonishment that the media were not (and still are not, for the most part) jumping all over this. Never mind who's to blame for the events of September 11. As far as I'm concerned no one is to blame except those who perpetrated the horrific act of mass murder (of course, that's a definition that can be interpreted extremely loosely). As I've said before, what concerns me, and should concern all Americans, is how our government responded in the immediate aftermath of the attack. Hurriedly escorting possible conspirators out of the country is not my idea of handling the situation appropriately in any sense of the word.
A little religious humor for you, courtesy of a local church. I have taken a goodly amount of photos locally and elsewhere these past few months with the intent to eventually post them to a separate page on this site. Please stay tuned, won't you?
RIP, Ronald Reagan. Our local NPR affiliate aired a classy tribute this morning, focusing not so much on the successes and follies of the Gipper's two terms in office, but on his eloquence as a public speaker. That's one of the things I remember most about the man who led this country throughout my adolescence. That, and smoking a joint with his grandson in L.A. But there's a story for another time.
Also, am I the only one whose mind can't help conjuring up images of Genesis' hilarious "Land of Confusion" video whenever I think of Reagan? Just curious.
After hearing the strangely, consistently fascinating Gore Vidal on NPR this morning describe "President" Bush as a yapping little dog, going so far as to imitate him as such (repeating "I'm a war president" in an exaggerated, high-pitched, mocking tone), I'm very curious to peruse this.
Aside from the humor, Vidal made some excellent points with regards to the new electronic voting machines made by companies like Diebold, which, naturally, receive gargantuan tax breaks and in turn, donate extensively to Bush's re-election campaign. It's all just a huge, neverending cycle of bullshit, isn't it? Democrats, liberals and other non-Republicans are certainly not exempt from the epidemic of lying under the umbrella of politics, but this administration takes the cake and every last bit of frosting atop it.
A recent Vanity Fair article on the subject forced me to acknowledge the sad reality that, even after the election fiasco of 2000, an election can still in many ways be bought (or fixed). Such news is truly disturbing and easily poses the most immediate threat to whatever's left of democracy that I can think of. Let's hope Kerry doesn't go as quietly as Gore did when faced with the seemingly inevitable prospect of election fraudery. Yes, I know fraudery isn't a word, but it (fittingly, I might add) sounds like something the Shrubster himself might utter, doesn't it?
This latest freelance writing assignment is doing a fantastic job of kicking my white behind, but I muddle through by pausing occasionally to look at the monetary figure I have written down in black Sharpie marker at the top of my page of notes--the amount I'll be paid when I've finally tackled the entire assignment. Money, the mighty motivator.
Last week, while thumbing through an Entertainment Weekly magazine with my brother, I learned the '80s comedy Blame it on Rio is being released on DVD and suddenly recalled having watched that movie the night I lost my virginity. I don't know why that's relevant, except that it's the only time I've seen the silly sex caper featuring a flat-chested Demi Moore. Perhaps it helped that Michael Caine was one hell of a sexy M.F. in those days.
Speaking of sexy M.F.'s, I'm pleased to report that Prince's latest album is selling well and that a recent repeat viewing of The Basketball Diaries on DVD reminded me that not only is Leonardo DiCaprio a member (albeit young) of the sexy M.F. club, he's also a damn fine actor.
One more random thing: while parking my car along a lake for a sunny but chilly Memorial Day picnic, I inadvertently neglected (with car in gear) to set the parking brake, noticing only when my car began rolling slowly forward, threatening a nose-dive into the lake, branding me the biggest moron this side of Jessica Simpson. Luckily, the splashdown (and stupid movie staple) did not occur, saving me precious ego bits and permitting me continued self-descriptive use of the word "smart."