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So, like many of you who concern yourselves with what's happening on the political landscape of this country, I've taken quite an interest in the whole Valerie Plame outing and subsequent scandal. (May I just say I love that word? It's so... scandalous!)
I've read, with appropriate disgust, about Judith Miller's follies and was somewhat relieved when Matthew Cooper was released from avoided prison. But what I can't seem to understand is why these two journalists have taken the fall and Richard Novak--who was the first to report on Plame's identity--has escaped the controversy? Why has Novak not been forced to reveal his sources, whom he named simply as "two senior administration officials?" Am I just ignorant?
Seriously, can someone please email me or comment below and explain this to me? I'll forgive you for making me sound like an idiot, because I certainly feel like one sometimes when trying to understand the mess the media tend to make of things.
Talking with my good friend (and fellow grammar cop) late last night, we spent some time reflecting on the grim news that American troop deaths in Iraq had reached 2,000. Then, we spent a few minutes smugly marveling over the inane crap that makes it way into the media.
For example, my friend mentioned a news report she'd seen that baffled her. In it, a reporter said the number of American troops killed in Iraq had reached an "all-time high." Let that one sink in for a second and you'll be unable to control the rolling of your eyes, just as I was. An all-time high, huh? Couldn't that be said about every single day another casualty befalls our troops? I mean, is 2,000 any more of an all-time high than 1,997, 1,998 or 1,999 was?
As my friend pointed out, it's not like these numbers are going to go down, folks. We've reached a new all-time high every single day since the first soldier was killed. And we reach a new one every day another soldier dies needlessly. What inept, half-asleep editor let that ludicrous term slip by without realizing just how distasteful it was? And how unsettling that his was far from the only media outlet to latch on to that highly inappropriate cliche. Americans are getting dumber by the second and the media simply pander to them. It's not pretty.
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But, back to the sad matter at hand. 2,000 precious American lives lost. One for every single year of the past two millennia. Thousands of Iraqi civilians killed. And for what? We are not an inch closer to "Mission Accomplished" than we were when our smirking president stood boastfully under that painfully erroneous, out-and-out offensive banner more than two years ago.
Scientists, meteorologists and everyday people all over the world worry ceaselessly about hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis. But no matter how powerful a fury Mother Nature may unleash on an underprepared Earth, war is by infinite measure the bigger scourge on our society and our planet. Especially an unjustified, illegal war perpetrated by powerful egomaniacs to line their own pockets while tossing other people's children onto the fire for the purpose of getting themselves re-elected, or worse, to trick the American people into believing we were going after an enemy while the real enemy continues to flourish elsewhere, loathing us more with each casualty. 2,000 lives lost in a war based on lies, trickery and fear. And for what?
2,000 American lives lost in Iraq and our administration is doing nothing about it. Kind of like the way they've done nothing about the nearly 3,000 lives lost on September 11, 2001. As always, I just have one question for our worthless president: Where the fuck is Osama bin Laden? Remember him? The guy you promised would "hear from all of us soon" when you made your inspiring speech in lower Manhattan FOUR FUCKING YEARS AGO? Why is Saddam facing trial while Osama eats Big Macs in his cave, plotting to strike us once again while we're busy trying in vain to secure Baghdad?
How fortunate for us that all these Bible-thumping, church-going, born-again conservative pretenders believe so fervently in heaven and hell. Because, based on their oft-avowed convictions, it should come as no shock to them when they all find themselves huddled together, burning in hell for all eternity as repentance their blatant, indefensible sins against humanity.
Indictments? Yes, please.
Good Christ, has it really been a week since I posted? Autumn is here in full force, replete with brisk nights, frosty mornings and flannel blankets. While I am gripped with painful longing for NYC at this time of year, I've discovered one needn't be on the east coast to experience the change of seasons. We definitely have our own brilliant array of fall colors, smells and textures here in coastal northern California. Of course, it could never rival what took my breath away each autumn in New England, but the browns, reds and oranges of early autumn, by far my favorite season, are pretty impressive here as well.
I've been busy with freelance work on top of my regular workload and trying to squeeze in some downtime. And somehow, in the midst of the busywork and crowded calendar, I've become a more solitary person than I'd ever imagined myself being.
Not that that's a bad thing. I have always relished my time alone and I'm quite certain I require far more solo time than most humans. I am, by nature, a solitary creature. Even in my childhood, I was always content to play or read quietly by myself, never feeling the need to surround myself with playmates. I believe I was a far curiouser child than most, far more obsessive and more in need of structure and routine than others. Painfully introverted from the start, I'm afraid.
My teenage years are the only time in my life I remember really wanting to socialize and constantly be with friends. That's probably because I had a delightful group of warm, intelligent friends whose company I enjoyed and with whom I felt I could be myself. Lucky for me, most of them are still a big part of my life two decades later and still, I relish my time with them.
But aside from brief spurts of frenzied mingling, I've been entirely comfortable with extended periods of complete solitude. Even when I've been in relationships, my boyfriends were well aware of the crankiness that ensued when I felt even remotely crowded. Must have me time. Must have me time. Must have me time. Perhaps that's why I've been known to push potential suitors away or to shun relationships? I'm simply, at least in part, giving in to the deeply-felt fear of having my me time compromised!
What's strange about my current living situation is that I feel more alone in my small-town setting than I did living in a megalopolis like New York. Here, people know each other, they trade genial hellos in the supermarket or at the gym. In NYC, I was mostly anonymous and yet I never felt quite as lonely when surrounded by millions of other anonymous people as I do in a town where I run into a familiar friendly face at every turn.
Truly embracing the solitary life is significantly easier, at least for me, in a big city where solitude finds solace amongst the teeming masses. I have everything I need within myself. I have never been more sure of that in my entire life. It just helps to have that security blanket of fellow metropolitan dwellers around my shoulders to remind me that solitude doesn't necessarily equate with loneliness.
Just returned from a glorious weekend in San Francisco, where indian summer was in full effect, despite earlier forecasts calling for cloudy and cool weather. Over a brief span of time, I indulged in some fabulous food, enjoyed the company of some wonderful friends and inhaled the city air like a coke addict desperate for a fix. Oh, how I miss the concrete jungle. For now, it awaits my return, eager and impatient.
Meanwhile, my dear friend of 20 years Christina gave birth to her first baby late last night, brightening everyone's week with her marvelous news. I'm tremendously excited for her and her husband, Matt (he who has often assisted with the look and flow of this site). Mazel tov to them and their little boy, Dominic!
I am jumbled as all hell today. I have no excuse, but it gives me something else to atone for tomorrow on Yom Kippur, the Jews' annual day of begging forgiveness for our sins. I'll add it to my list. Right after not being able to send money to help Pakistan's earthquake victims because I sent a bit to help animals in Katrina's aftermath. Nothing like feeling utterly helpless to put things in perspective and make you realize just how lucky you are.
Meanwhile, I found something fun today: from the NY Times, a pdf containing correspondence between Bush and Harriet Miers, including letters, memos, even birthday cards. Offers some new insight into their friendship. A friendship which, by all means, I respect. But a friendship which, nonetheless, does not make Harriet the "best-qualified" (GW's words) person for a job she has no experience performing. Call her smart, call her loyal, call her whatever you want. But "best-qualified" is the least appropriate way to describe this woman... let's just agree on that. Loyalty does not and should not trump inexperience.
But hey, anything that pisses off large numbers of conservatives can't be all bad, right?
Better still was Harry Shearer on Monday's Le Show, pondering what exactly lies behind GW's surrounding himself with females, specifically unmarried females. Are they simply less threatening than haughty types like Rumsfeld and Cheney? Is it because, having no husbands demanding their attention, these women can remain more blindly, wholly devoted to GW and the fulfillment of his mission(s)?
Or is it just his subtle way of practicing and introducing polygamy to mainstream society? Condoleeza, Harriet, Karen Hughes, et al, being "wives" (that part is my harebrained theory, not Shearer's). Makes you wonder how GW's position on gay marriage might change if one of these oh-so-loyal female comrades suddenly announced her desire to marry Dick Cheney's daughter?
* See p. 10 of pdf to find out who uses the word "scatology" (though, sadly, there's no explaining why).
Mondays typically suck. Am I right? But greyish Mondays following spectacularly sunny weekends suck even more. Don't even try to debate me on this one.
So I returned to my gym yesterday after a nearly 5-week hiatus. I'm not to lift weights for another week or two, but I hopped right back on that treadmill and I must share the following: I have officially escaped from the living hell that is JOGGING WITH BOOBS. You men (and you lucky women without enormous chests) cannot possibly conceive of the joy and relief of physical movement unfettered by bouncing all over creation. It's truly miraculous.
Lots of curiosities to report on these days, which I will get to eventually. First, my obsessive nature makes me throw up a little every time I'm faced with some sort of inconsistency, especially of the unexplained variety. The same word spelled differently in different parts of a publication, conflicting practices at various airports (must I remove my shoes or mustn't I?), nearly identical products described in completely different ways, differing weather forecasts for the same region made by the same forecaster... it's enough to turn a generally sweet fanatic like myself into a raving pedant.
Today's annoying inconsistency: the way various media outlets can't seem to agree upon a uniform way of referring to the "rebels" in Iraq. Are we fighting an insurgence? Or an insurgency?
The two words mean the same freaking thing, of course, as do many words in the most absurdly overpopulated language on Earth. But for the love of sanity, can't we all just settle on one? My vote is for insurgence, as there's simply no need for that extra syllable, especially when our leader has enough trouble with polysyllabic words to begin with.
Broadcasters, take note. For fuck's sake, leave off that useless 'y' and give us obsessive types back a shred of our diminishing sanity.
OK, I'll admit to spending hours contemplating my life and my purpose on this planet, as many of us are wont to do on our birthdays. But I will torture myself on my own time, endlessly muttering to myself "When did I get so fucking old?" For you, I present an abridged version of where 34 years as a living, breathing soul has taken me:
* I have lived in 10 cities in two states.
* I have visited 15 states, including D.C.
* I have visited 5 countries outside the U.S.
* I have had beloved eight pets, if you count only dogs and cats.
* I have had my work published in print.
* I have been to Disneyland dozens of times, but have never been to Disney World.
* I have been to Europe twice (to England, France and Spain).
* I have never ridden in a helicopter.
* I have never been on a cruise ship.
* I have never ski-dived, scuba-dived or cliff-dived.
* I have received a Bachelor's degree but have not finished paying for it.
* I have an impeccable driving record and excellent credit. The only criminal act I've committed thus far was voting for Perot in 1992.
* I have eaten caviar, foie gras, poori and paprikash.
* I have never eaten frog's legs, escargot or rabbit.
* I have traveled beneath the English Channel.
* I have been to pro football stadiums in different states on several occasions, but never for a football game.
* I have learned to read music.
* I have learned to read an alphabet other than English.
* I have sung on stage with a synth-pop band at L.A.'s famous Whisky-a-Go-Go and recorded a CD.
* I have lost two grandparents, but my other two are (thankfully) alive and kicking.
* I have had all four wisdom teeth removed but have never had a cavity.
* I have had a substantial portion of each breast removed.
* I have gone trick-or-treating as an adult (and not with kids in tow).
* I have been in love three times.
* I have never been in love with a right-handed man.
* I have smoked marijuana but have never drank liquor straight-up.
* I have lived through a major earthquake but have never suffered a broken bone.
* I have vacationed by myself, in unfamiliar cities, and loved it.
* I have remained extremely close with over half a dozen childhood friends.
However often I may harbor fantasies of having handled certain situations in my life differently, I have surprisingly few regrets. This makes me a lucky, lucky woman. As if the list above didn't already affirm that.
This is also the start of a new year in the Jewish calendar. So happy new year to everyone. May it be sweet. As for me, here's to another year of living, learning, exploring, yearning, striving and loving. I'm a lucky woman, indeed.
I'm sure most of you have seen this already, but in case you haven't, please have yourself a chuckle at the most inadvertently accurate statement ever made:
Also, an update: two Victoria's Secret gift cards (and counting). Such a lucky girl I am!