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In my last post, I mentioned sending aid to tsunami victims, who have completely monopolized my thoughts this week. Officials have been speculating that, while people worldwide have stepped up and donated money these past few days, the need for financial assistance will be FAR greater in the coming weeks and months, when the disaster is no longer making headlines (inexorably relegated to page two as soon as Paris Hilton's "revolving man-door" ushers in a new customer). There's also been much emphasis on the importance of researching who exactly gets your money. I found a helpful resource at CNN.com: their How to Help page offers a full list of accredited aid organizations.
A quick Allan update, for those kind enough to ask (considering that some of you caring souls don't even know him personally):
He has been completely weaned off the sedatives and coma medication, meaning he should be "waking up" sometime this week. So far, Michele has seen some eye movement and response to small commands (e.g., "Move your thumb"). He's also had a tracheotomy, which means tubes have been removed from his throat so they won't impede any attempts to talk.
I'll be flying down in two weeks and hope to have better news to report once he's moved out of ICU.
Lastly, my friend Aviva made a very pertinent and poignant remark in the Comments to my last entry. So relevant I thought it deserved posting here:
"Recently Craig told me how much easier it would be to serve over there, away from family & friends (and food and sex) if he saw any reason to be there, or at least any progress."
Unfortunately for Craig and the other troops scattered all over Iraq, a justifiable reason for why he was sent there (AGAIN) is something a hurried visit from Rumsfeld (or a thumbs-up sign from that fuckwit vacationing in Crawford) just can't provide. Because there simply ISN'T one.
A fantastic, relaxing weekend of enjoying (and effectively ignoring) the supposed anniversary of Jesus' birth ended with the horrible news out of southeast Asia. Thankfully, I breathed a sigh of relief late last night after receiving this brief but reassuring email from my friend Seth, currently serving in the Peace Corps in Thailand:
"I am alive. Though I was at the beach when it happened, I was on the east coast of Thailand and the tidal waves hit in the south on the west."
How fucking sad and scary, this whole nightmare. Those who know me well are aware of my fascination with earthquakes and (having lived to tell about the '94 Northridge quake) my enduring dread of them. This news has dominated my thoughts over the past 24 hours and I encourage everyone to donate to Oxfam or the Red Cross.
The intense earthquake that hit L.A. almost 11 years ago measured 6.8 on the Richter scale and caused such violent shaking it felt as though our house would be ripped entirely from its foundation and flung into space. Saturday's quake measured 9.0, a full 22 TIMES STRONGER than our meager L.A. shaker. If you could see the extensive damage done to my parents' house during a 6.8, you would shudder at the thought of what a 9.0 could potentially inflict. I'm so sorry for all those people whose lives have been devastated by this disaster.
Another preoccupation of mine over the weekend was the ever-growing predicament in Iraq and those unfortunate soldiers forced to spend the holiday in a war zone, frightened and apart from their loved ones. My friend Aviva--whose husband, Craig, I've mentioned, is serving in the Marines overseas--recently sent me a wonderful Washington Post piece by Frank Schaeffer, all the more relevant this time of year (especially in light of Donald Rumsfeld's despicable, criminal missteps). Following is a lengthy but important excerpt:
Caring for Those Left Behind
"When an American in a military uniform is killed his or her family receives a one-time death gratuity of $12,000. The surviving family may also qualify for the Survivor Benefit Plan (SBP), which is paid up to age 62 or until the spouse remarries. The SBP benefit amounts to 55% of the soldier's retirement pay, pay that is already so low it qualifies many military families for food stamps. These "benefits" are contingent on fulfilling many petty regulations.
A just-released study by the Rand Corp. found that families of civilians killed in the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, received on average $3.1 million in government and charitable compensation. The families of the firefighters and cops who died received even more; their average compensation was $4.2 million.
Our soldiers are being killed on a daily basis, but most of us seem to feel little personal connection with them. If we did, their widows and families would be better compensated. Our idea of "supporting the troops" is to stick magnetic yellow ribbons on our cars.
Let's strip away our yellow-ribbon sentimentality for a moment and admit the truth: We treat our military like second-class citizens. I'm glad the Sept. 11 families were generously compensated, but it's time to ask why the family of someone who has done no more for his country than show up at a stock trading office on the wrong day should receive hundreds of times as much compensation as the family of a soldier who volunteered to leave his wife and child to defend the rest of us.
Our politicians seem better able to identify with the needs of stock traders' widows (not to mention the businesses and airlines that were also generously compensated) than with the needs of the families of our soldiers. This is a scandal."
Truer words never spoken. Are you even pretending to listen, Dubya and Rumsfeld? Visiting troops for a brief photo opportunity designed to improve your reputation does NOT make up for the appalling disservice you've done them since deciding to invade Iraq (a decision made long before Sept. 11, for those naive enough to still believe we invaded in our own defense).
The sentiment was summed up perfectly in another excellent article that recently grabbed my attention. Penned by a military veteran, the piece emphasized quite eloquently that the well-intentioned phrase "Support our troops" means NOTHING if not followed by "Bring them home."
As so many of have been asking, I wanted to give a quick update on Allan's condition. He is still in a coma, which is helpful for keeping pressure on his brain to a minimum. Tomorrow it will be two weeks since the aneurysm burst, an important milestone, since doctors have said the first 10-14 days are crucial. Doctors will keep him in the coma for several more days, but for now he is stable, which is the best we can ask for at this point. I hope to pay a visit in the next few weeks and offer up whatever emotional support I can provide Michele.
At this very moment, Phoebe is being stripped of her womanhood (i.e., being spayed), while I fret over whether or not she'll want anything to do with me once I retrieve her from the clutches of the needle-wielding vet. I did learn that she's probably closer to 6 months than a year, which makes sense, seeing how tiny she is. And last night she ventured up onto the bed (as opposed to huddled beneath it) for the first time. I'm sure you're enthralled by this news.
This week I learned that unplanned gift-giving is inevitable when you surround yourself with lovely people who lavish you unexpectedly with gifts. Regardless of being suddenly faced with the responsibility of reciprocation, last-minute runs to Target are ill-advised (and almost unsurvivable). But, alas, what else can one do? 'Tis the season to be shopping, after all.
And to think, that silly Pope called for an end to the commercialism of Christmas and a return to worship and recognition of the religious significance of the holiday. What a Scrooge.
I have also recently concluded that it's especially appropriate to envy children at this time of year. Children at Christmas are like grooms on their wedding day... all they really have to do is show up. True, grooms have to go to the trouble of shaving and dressing themselves in attire that doesn't include flannel. But kids? Their parents brave the ludicrous shopping cesspool while all the lucky little young'ns need to do each year is simply show up, smile and warm hearts. And, one would hope, say "Thank you." Bless 'em.
If your big weekend plans include last-minute online shopping, please visit this link to the site for Friends For Life, the animal rescue agency where I've often volunteered my time.
If you access certain stores through FFL's website, a portion of your sales will be returned to FFL and their many wonderful rescue and placement programs. All you have to do is follow FFL's links to shops like Amazon, Macys, Sephora, Brookstone, BestBuy, Illuminations and others. It's what Jesus would do. If he were alive. And celebrated his birthday buying shit online for other people.
Thank you to everyone who sent good thoughts regarding my friend Allan. There has been little change in his condition these past few days, but he is stable and his wife and family continue to surround him. His stay in ICU will stretch into another week and we won't know anything concrete for several days, if not longer. So your positive thoughts are still very much appreciated.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our household has expanded with the arrival of Phoebe (judge ye not my unpretty linoleum and carpet):
Before I brought her home last week, Phoebe resided under some bushes along a busy commercial street. Though being fed daily, she was cold, wet and lonely. So I stepped in and took the wee thing into my care. As for her name, well, she just looks like a Phoebe, while also bringing to mind that breed of little bird called--appropriately enough--the Black Phoebe.
Since my apartment is already home to a sweet 8-year-old grey tabby, I had the newbie examined by a vet and given the entire roster of kitten vaccinations to ensure she was healthy before allowing her contact with Melody. The vet estimated her age to be about a year and said she won't grow much bigger than her current 5 pounds. The runt of the litter, perhaps?
Sadly, blood tests confirm Phoebe has feline HIV. Several people who've heard this news were surprised to learn there was such a thing. Yup. Much like its human counterpart, it compromises the immune system, leaving Phoebe susceptible to all manner of infections and illnesses that would be relatively harmless in healthy cats. (But thankfully, Elton John has yet to pen a moving ballad about feline HIV.)
It is quite possible Phoebe could have many healthy years ahead. Or, she could get sick tomorrow and need to be euthanized. Since both cats are female and therefore can't transmit the virus through sexual contact (unless they watch too many k.d. lang videos), the chances of Phoebe infecting Melody with HIV are slim. The only likely method of infection is a deep bite wound and one would hope these two have better things to do than gnaw on each other's flesh.
Knowing this, I had to decide whether or not I want the responsibility of a pet who will sooner or later become very ill. Considering the sad fact that the only alternative for this sweet animal was immediate euthanization (no shelter would take on an HIV-positive kitty), I decided I'd take a chance on her. Similar to human AZT (minus the soothing subway ads), there are drug cocktails available for HIV cats, though the jury is still out on how effective they are.
Meanwhile, Phoebe is adjusting to her new surroundings, deftly ignoring the constant chorus of hisses and growls from Melody. I do hope they grow to be pals as opposed to simply tolerating each other's presence. The important thing is, this sick little girl who would likely have died very young now has a chance at a long life in a warm, safe home. Apart from her basic needs, she'll have no shortage of the affection so sadly lacking in her homeless state. For that I feel incredibly gratified and, of course, generally warm and fuzzy. Isn't that what the friggin' holiday season is all about?
My mind is still reeling from a scary, shocking, upsetting and yet memorable weekend. My dear friend Allan is in the ICU at UCLA Medical Center, after suffering an aneurysm in his brain Friday. Allan has been married for nine years to my oldest friend, Michele, who is handling this shocking event with unbelievable strength and grace. I was completely useless all weekend, incapable of focusing on much else as I kept a tense vigil by the phone, waiting for news and fielding calls from concerned friends.
Though I recognize there's little anyone can do for her in this early stage, being 600 miles away from your best friend of 20 years while she's coping with a traumatic, frightening experience is simply an awful feeling. I realize even our local friends can't do much for her, yet I ache to be with her, if only to put an arm around her shoulders. Meanwhile, there won't be any definitive word on Allan's long-term prognosis for several days, though doctors expect a slow recovery. Thankfully, Allan and Michele are surrounded by family and friends and are lucky enough to have a support system around them unlike anything I could venture to illustrate.
Most of you don't know Allan or Michele, so I will leave details at that and ask you to please keep them in your thoughts. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how events like this shake you up, giving you reason to truly appreciate your good fortune and marvel at life's little miracles.
Before hearing of the news Friday evening, I was one glass of red wine deep into what I expected would be a somewhat dull but instead turned out to be a highly enjoyable holiday party. Beyond that, there are happier details of my weekend to share (as well as plenty of cringe-worthy items of the political kind threatening to erupt inside me), but those will wait until I'm in a frame of mind more appropriate for my usual blathering. For now, please pray for my friends and take a moment to embrace those you love.
Bitchin', man! Looks like I found myself a Hanukah gift:
(In case you're not blessed with perfect vision or a computer screen larger than 12", the shirt reads: Perhaps You Recognize Me From My World-Famous Blog")
Oh, and I overheard this delightful exchange between two Women Of A Certain Age in the cereal aisle:
Menopausal Lady #1: (shielding eyes, lest they bleed) "When did you start wearing such bright colors?"
Menopausal Lady #2: "I decided that when I turned 50, I could wear colors as bright as I damn well please and no one can say shit to me because I'm 50."
You go, girl. And Happy Hanukah, all.
At least we can hope, can't we?
* The Democratic Party said Monday it will examine reports of voting problems in Ohio, where Bush's victory clinched his re-election. Read more here.
* Two major challenges are expected to unfold Monday when Ohio Secretary of State Kenneth Blackwell certifies the state's final election results, declaring Bush the winner by about 119,000 votes. Lawyers representing voters upset about problems at the polls plan to contest the results with the Ohio Supreme Court while third party candidates plan to file requests for a recount in each of Ohio's 88 counties. More here.
* A month after Kerry conceded Ohio to Bush, complaints and challenges about the balloting are mounting as activists including the Rev. Jesse Jackson demand closer scrutiny to ensure votes are being counted on the up-and-up. More here.
AND...
* Jon Stewart's America (The Book), the Daily Show host's million-selling riff on politics and other matters of satire, has been named Book of the Year by Publishers Weekly, the industry trade magazine. Get the whole story here.
Ken Layne, a Reno blogger, referred to President Bush as "the holy infant lord of the American Fanatic." Methinks it ought to be W's new official title. Who wants to prepare and circulate a petition?
How is it possible for the leader of the most powerful nation on Earth to continue behaving so narrow-mindedly? From the AP:
17 political parties in Iraq called on the interim government to put [elections] off for at least six months. Those groups want security at polling places to be ensured.
Thursday, Bush said, "It's time for the Iraqi citizens to go to the polls and that's why we are very firm on the Jan. 30 date." Bush predicted Iraq's elections would leave the world "amazed that a society has been transformed so quickly."
I'm sorry, WHAT!? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? The man is horrifyingly, dangerously out of touch with every fact ever carefully placed before him. He's delusional. I'd have more respect for him (not hard to manage, considering I currently have none) if he'd just admit he made an error in judgement and actually change course when necessary. That's what most non-brain-dead humans do when their chosen course of action is not working. Christ.
Switching gears, lest I become irretrievably indignant (contrary to what you might have gathered, this site's maxim is not "ALL BITTER, ALL THE TIME"):
November's issue of Vanity Fair (deliciously picturing cover boy Johnny Depp) features "More from the Diaries of Private First Class Ricky Gonzalez." Do yourself a favor and PICK THIS UP, if you can still find it. The clever slice of political satire produced near-hysterical laughter from me more than once, an impressive accomplishment these days.
Worth the magazine's outrageous cover price alone is Bush, Sr.'s uproarious reaction to Dubya's big "oops" (capturing and proudly bringing to the Crawford ranch one of Saddam's many doubles instead of Saddam himself): "[Bush, Sr.] looked at Mrs. Bush. 'J-e-b wouldn't have fallen for t-h-i-s.'"
A full 19 months after "Mission: Accomplished," the quagmire just keeps getting worse. My thoughts are with all of those currently in Iraq and those still being sent there. Kudos to the Canadians for standing their ground. At least someone still respects and values the lives of their servicemen and women.
I was reminded today of how our asshole president not long ago had the audacity to make infantile jokes about the missing weapons of mass destruction. That's it, fuckwad. Send someone else's kids to their deaths thousands of miles from home and then joke about the reason. The man is positively reprehensible.
Another day, another chance for my mind to wander inexplicably without ever resting on one coherent thought for more than a millisecond.
First of all, a friend cheerfully informed me last night that Rumsfeld and Tenet were being brought up on war crimes charges in Germany, but alas, I can't locate a single news item on this. Until I have a chance to ask Aaron where he obtained his information, I'll have to put it to you to enlighten me. Anyone?
Second, am I the only one astounded at Dubya's unprecedented chutzpah in thanking Canadians for deftly handling our re-routed 9/11 air traffic THREE BLOODY YEARS after the fact? On CNN this morning, they showed a brief clip of Dubya's little speech there, in which he made light of the hundreds of protesters by saying something to the effect of "Many of the people who greeted me at the airport waved, some even using all five fingers." Then he laughed, visibly uncomfortable but at the same time, obviously proud of his own joke (which was, no doubt, written for him... you can tell by the way he smirks like a proud child after making the grown-ups laugh). I was nauseated.
Why, why, why must we accept such an embarrassingly dim bulb as our president, our nation's highest representative? Clinton was even more deserving of the "redneck" label than W, but Bill, in comparison, is vastly intelligent, never requiring a rich daddy's influence to educate himself, land a job, or endear himself to his fellow Americans and others. Rather, he became an enormous success through his own efforts and on his own merits.
Each time I attempt my daily crossword, I am equally furious and disheartened by the disquieting notion that our president likely could not correctly answer as many clues as I can, even with my comparably lackluster university education (I'm no privileged Yalie!). My brother put it perfectly years ago, when he remarked, "I just can't respect a president who I don't believe is smarter than I am." Or, for that matter, smarter than any of my family, my friends, or the majority of people with whom I've been acquainted throughtout my life (including that toothless guy at the gas station). We could take comfort in the fact that dim bulbs are generally, historically incapable of devising evil plots or initiating unprovoked power grabs on their own. That's why lucky Dubya's got Rove, Cheney, Rice and the rest of the hawks shamelessly puckering up. Dissenters, beware!
Hard as I try to remain indifferent and shield myself from the news for fear of becoming even more disenchanted, I am not satisfied when I'm not informed and can't keep up with conversation. Out drinking with friends last night, what did we discuss? Politics, naturally. Oh, and the weather. Apparently the white rooftops I've awakened to on several recent mornings are not typical of winter here. But this is good news for me, someone nostalgic for the dozen white (often dirty, slushy) New York winters littering her memory. 3,000 miles from what I generally consider "home," I'll take what I can get.
