May 21, 2004


Jenna's sick. busy busy. thx.

May 19, 2004

War on lots of other feelings too...

war on depression, war on panic, war on laughter, war on sickness, war on serenity, war on boredom, war on shame, war on joy, war on apathy, war on resentment, war on shock, war on aggravation, war on abuse.

We have plenty of wars to wage before we sleep!

New War! Starts tonight! Terror takes back seat to Next Best Emotion!

New war on the way -- "The War on Aggression" wherein we beat the shit out of ourselves and call it a day.

Make Up a Quote Day

"Together, Bush's and Cheney's dicks are this big."


And more dead.

Nice Day for a White Wedding

And a bad one if you're brown.

A senior military coalition official said as many as 40 people were killed in the attack, but said it was his belief that the attack was against a foreign fighters' safe house.

I estimate that not a single "safe" house is left in the middle east.

50 years later, it's still cool to pick on "Porch Monkeys"

I'm supposed to be doing work. I can't balance these days. Fair and balanced is not working. Either I'm all blog or all work. That's the all or nothing stuff "aholics" are made of. Ah well. There are worse things.

Take for exampe the press release I received today from Dan Berger at the ACLU. (Release in full below.) At first, you know, I thought it was spam. With a glimmer of hope left for humanity and my child's future on the planet, I was hoping perhaps this was another urban legend, emailed around the net like the gas boycott message we've all received this week.

So I called the ACLU and talked to Paul Silva on his first day there to ask about the release. Paul was super to talk to and genuinely pleased to hear from a weblogger. Unfortunately, he assured me that the story about Michigan's Bullock Creek (don't tempt me, now...) school district is true.

George grew up in the public schools of the north during the 60s and 70s, and he has written about what it's like to be the only nigger, albiet a "good nigger," (as in, oh you're okay--you're one of the good niggers), in a school of ignorant white kids raised by ignorant parents. It's not pretty. I've heard the stories--lived the result of them. The "good nigger" and "what's wrong with you--you're bleeeaaacck" stories are the nicer tales of George's childhood school experiences. The physical beatings at the hands of teachers and principals are even more telling.

And so it pissed me off today to read the following Press Release from the ACLU -- Yah, I got angry. But I also realized, especially in this era of de-civil rights thanks to the Bush DADministration, that it's a good thing the ACLU is out there.

And if you don't think that the current U.S. Iraq war quagmire is related, think again. It is the FEAR of the "other," the "with us or against us" mantra, the hatred of the "different," the illusion of comfort in homogeny, that is passed on across generations and reinforced when the most elite of the mainstream have the balance of power.

Then, Mama, just let your babies grow up to be soldiers. See what happens when they graduate to become MPs in charge of purse snatchers in detention camps.


Michigan School District Takes Action to Stop Racism After Black Student Is Attacked in "KKK Game"

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

CONTACTS: Paul Silva, ACLU Nat'l, (212) 549-2689 Wendy Wagenheim, ACLU of MI, (313) 578-6816

DETROIT - As the country focuses on the 50th anniversary of Brown v. Board of Education, the landmark case that ended government-imposed segregation in public schools, the American Civil Liberties Union of Michigan today announced the settlement of a complaint filed on behalf of an African American student who was the victim of racial harassment and attacked by white students in a so-called "game of KKK."

"It is disturbing that African American students still face such shocking racism in school 50 years after Brown v. Board of Education," said Michael J. Steinberg, Legal Director of the ACLU of Michigan. "We are heartened, however, by the sincere efforts of the school district to begin to create an atmosphere in which such acts will not happen again."

The ACLU complaint, filed with the Michigan Department of Civil Rights (MDCR) against the Bullock Creek School District in mid-Michigan, is being voluntarily dismissed after district officials agreed to adopt a much-needed comprehensive plan to address racism.

Kyron Tryon was an eighth-grader at Bullock Creek Middle School near Midland, Michigan in May 2003 when seven white boys grabbed him during recess on the school playground. According to Kyron, the boys picked him up off the ground and chanted "KKK" while one of them whipped him with a belt. The boys then threw Kyron on the ground and began kicking him. The attack did not stop until the bell rang, signaling the end of recess. When the white students were questioned about the incident, they described it as just a "game of KKK."

Kyron and his older siblings were victimized by racial harassment several times at school, the ACLU said. Prior to the playground incident, Kyron, the only African American in his grade, was told by his white peers to "go back to Africa;" they called him a "porch monkey" and threatened him because he is black.

Unsatisfied with the way the school district initially responded to the "KKK" incident, Kyron's parents contacted the ACLU and then filed a complaint with the MDCR. Over the past year, the school district, the ACLU and the Tryons met with an MDCR mediator and jointly developed a plan to address what the Tryons believed to be a hostile environment for students of color at the Bullock Creek Schools.

"Although we found the incident last spring to be deplorable, we have been encouraged by the school community's serious and intelligent response to these actions," said David Chapin, Superintendent of Schools. "It is clear the Bullock Creek students, staff and community will not tolerate these behaviors. We are grateful we are able to work in conjunction with the Tryon family in creating a positive school culture in Bullock Creek."

In attempting to create a more tolerant atmosphere, the school is undertaking the following actions:

* Diversity Training. The district has contracted with the Bridge Center for Racial Harmony to develop a comprehensive plan for implementing diversity training within the district for students, teachers and administrators. The Bridge Center has implemented similar programs in Michigan, including one in Saginaw.
* Martin Luther King Day. The district will plan symposiums on Martin Luther King Day in which students will have the opportunity to learn about different races and ethnicities, as well as learning to understand and tolerate differences.
* Diversity Steering Committee. The district is developing a steering committee to oversee and develop the diversity training, MLK Day, Black History month and other race-related issues. The committee will include Kyron's parents, as well as representatives from the student body, teaching staff, administrative team, Board of Education, Michigan Department of Civil Rights, Dow Chemical Company and the West Midland Family Center.
* Grants. The district has applied for and received a grant from the Dow Chemical Foundation to help fund the district's work.

"We pray that the diversity training will make kids think twice before hurting and dehumanizing other kids the way they hurt and dehumanized my son," said Kyron's mother, Joyce Tryon. "When children go to school they should not have to fear that they will be beaten up because of the color of their skin. The reason we filed the civil rights complaint was not to recover money, but to bring about change."

Kary Moss, Executive Director of the ACLU of Michigan, said she hoped that other school districts will emulate what Bullock Creek is doing to respond to discrimination on campus. "As we look back at the history of desegregation, Kyron's experience illustrates how far we still have to go in combating racism."

Although more comprehensive diversity training will begin next fall at Bullock Creek, it is not soon enough for 15-year-old Kyron. He has already decided to attend high school in a different school district next year.

"I just want the nightmare to be over and to go back to being a teenager," said Kyron. "If what I experienced somehow ends up helping someone else, I will be happy."


Let me just say a few words about this:

"We pray that the diversity training will make kids think twice before hurting and dehumanizing other kids the way they hurt and dehumanized my son," said Kyron's mother, Joyce Tryon. "When children go to school they should not have to fear that they will be beaten up because of the color of their skin. The reason we filed the civil rights complaint was not to recover money, but to bring about change."

Prayers are one way. But the resurgence in the acceptance--soon to be popularity--of dehumanizing the "other" is on the rise. Ladies and gentlemen, the time for prayer and sensitivity training alone has passed.

Bush, Ashcroft, Rumsfeld Charged with War Crimes?

Works for me. And Powell, you've got two weeks to open your mouth and do the right thing, or we're tossing you in there too.

In the memo, the White House lawyer focused on a little known 1996 law passed by Congress, known as the War Crimes Act, that banned any Americans from committing war crimes—defined in part as "grave breaches" of the Geneva Conventions. Noting that the law applies to "U.S. officials" and that punishments for violators "include the death penalty," Gonzales told Bush that "it was difficult to predict with confidence" how Justice Department prosecutors might apply the law in the future. This was especially the case given that some of the language in the Geneva Conventions—such as that outlawing "outrages upon personal dignity" and "inhuman treatment" of prisoners—was "undefined."


"Israel has the right to defend itself against TERROR" -- George W. Bush


Intense, overpowering fear. See Synonyms at fear.

One that instills intense fear: a rabid dog that became the terror of the neighborhood.

The ability to instill intense fear: the terror of jackboots pounding down the street.

Violence committed or threatened by a group to intimidate or coerce a population, as for military or political purposes.

Informal. An annoying or intolerable pest: that little terror of a child.


19 May 04

I might not be able to write.. I'm using a laptop computer now of a friend here in the hospital.. I will try to send some pictures when I can.. but I might not be able to write. Three of my close relatives were killed - two are children: Asma (14), killed by an Israeli sniper while bringing down clothes from the roof of her house, and Ahmed (12), killed while feeding his doves and birds. Saeed was also killed in the same house... and the numbers of dead is increasing by the minute, with also so many many injured, it's hard for ambulances to move and transfer them. Must leave now, so I might not be able to write, will see if I can.


17 May 04

BREAKING NEWS: The Israeli Apaches, F16s began invading the whole Rafah City by heavy weapons and canons, people are running in the streets out of their homes because of the shelling.. remains fragments of so many killed and injured people arrived the hospital… Israeli warships are shelling the houses of the surrounded civilizes who have been under siege since three years now, as these warships came from the see towards Rafah beach to participate in shelling the houses of the people in Al Mawasi Area Western Rafah Camp.


May 18, 2004

Free to compete in the Olympics?

I don't care what republican coulter lackies say, the chick has man hands.

ADDED PROOF: Really, really not work safe.

Plot for a Short Story--Write it and give me credit. Thank you.

After reading this I went over to read Frank's latest, and came up with a simulation.

You can call me the Minister of Truth or you can call me the Minister of Fiction, just don't call me late for dinner...


The Means to Flee

Can you imagine a scenario in which a people's own government, leading up to an election, unleashes WMDs on their own people? I'm not talking about Goddam Husein, or anyplace else in the Middle East. No. Not at all. And can you imagine in that scenario the flight or fight mechanism kicks in to all of the people of that nation, and the first thought, which has been ruminating for many anyway during life under a merciless dictator, is to get the hell out? My God, the country is melting. Attacts of bio warfare unleashed to the east, the west, and the middle. Media pumps up the almigty machine reinforcing terror, panic.

Who have the means to flee, for a time? Who have the means to seek safety at a hotel in a distant state or country? Not the poor. Not the poor. Not the lower class. Not the underclass. Not even the middle class, because air travel zooms overnight, and it costs $1500 a ticket to get out of dodge, and oh by the way you need a passport, and joe auto worker doesn't have to have a passport, nor does welfare mom Mable.

So the rich go. For a time. Here or there, Europe or Asia. They go. And they watch as the entire lower class is wiped out by the plague as space-age tech-suited experts clean up the mess, and in a year or two, they can come back, and their country is clean, their country is clean, their country is clean, and there are no more poor, no "others" to contend with, and they await the "great appearing" and the rapture with others who look like them and expect the same salvation as them. While the remaining former hispanic day laborers and McDonalds drive though staff spits up blood and wipes blood from their eyes, and those waiting for the "Great Appearing" cluck cluck cluck because there is no one left to help them tidy up the house that has been sitting vacant for a year and a half.

It could happen.

Ooooo Ooooo I nominate AKMA!

As head of the new "Ministry of Truth"!

the legacy of "the other"

It's nothing new here.

This site has come a long way since I first saw it some time back. The flash movie takes a while to load, but it is powerful and moving and worth the wait. It is also heatbreaking for anyone with a soul. And maybe even for some without.

First plane out

It's becoming cliche to say you're going to leave the U.S. for good if the bush DADministration ends up back in the proverbial saddle in November. Unless you're me. I don't think much about moving--I can be content so easily by the small things around me and appreciating all that I DO have without giving a second thought to what's "out there." Hey, didn't need to use the duct tape and plastic sheeting today, Jenna doesn't have strep, and the dogs have water in their bucket = life is good.

But even I'm wondering, how can we stand it much longer? We Americans who let this administration--by not unseating it when it took power illegally--destroy large pieces of the world. What do we do this fall if they remain? Do we sit here? Wait for the nerve gas--scream out, hey it's not us! it's not us the people! we think they're insane too! too late--they said those things and they're dead. Hey bub, put a fork in him, he's done.

It's not that I love or don't love this country. It's not a matter of "loving country," a concept I never quite understood, like I missed that day in school. I don't "love" large abstract concepts and power structures and man-made systems; I love the sharp edges of dried red clay, and the cold wetness of grass under my feet, the soggy newspaper I never picked up, the wood pile we keep stacking up to keep Bando from digging out, and the rooms in my house with well-worn flat paint layed on with much elbow grease by me and George ten years ago.

But soil and grass and rooms with walls that need painting--those aren't "my country." The world is "my country." This is the place I live. And the place I live is hurting the world and destroying the places other people live. And I can't get my head around it, and I can't stand it anymore.

nostalgia forward

it won't be long now, lined pavement quiet, no wheels, red-clay shoulders lined with rocks, old socks, bottles caps, wishing we had the party back.

They're playing twister?

Meanwhile, on Capitol Hill, they play twister with our lives... left elbow yellow!


I've been wondering why I've had no energy--and I mean none--lately, when lifiting my fingers to blog doesn't seem worth it, when I think about the bending and tap tap taping of fingers and am tired just from the thought of it. Mild anemia is the only thing that came back in my bloodwork, which is good news, really anemia not being uncommon in old worn out ladies like myself. I can't help but think of my sisters and brothers with, for whatever reason, severe anemia, and nod a silent prayer their way, because if this is what mild anemia makes you feel like, well then I don't want to ever know how the severe end feels. I take good vitamins with iron that have helped keep me healthier than I've been in years (notice long passage of posts since I've complained of a sinus infection), and those better-than-usual-for-me health habits are probably why I'm still in the mild range, but I'm going to get some extra iron this week to add to the mix because I am so stinking fricking fecking tired I could sleep and sleep and sleep, except that I can't because I have to work.

I was thinking about sleep the other day and I told George that if someone gave me permission at that very moment to go to sleep and just not wake up I'd take it. It's not so much a death wish as a sleep wish. At that day at that moment, nothing mattered more than rest, and not just a nap kind of rest, I was talking a long rest, a truly unconscious state from which I only imagined I would wake refreshed.

I had a bout of feeling refreshed yesterday. It scared me. Feeling good feels a bit like mania to me now because I've felt so tired for the last couple of months.

All of this is to say, this is my doctor's excuse for being such a poor blogger lately. Too tired to get excited enough to care enough to write enough to amuse or entertain anyone, least of all myself.

Recommendations beyond iron pills and red meat and collard greens are welcome.

I love to read Golby on Amerika

Golby on the many transgressions of the U.S. inside and outside of its borders.

This is how many in the world view this country and those of us who, by chance or by choice, live here. Thing is, they're mostly right.

May 17, 2004

Used to be you could find shit out on the blogs

Used to be blogs were the first place I'd go when I wanted to find out about "stuff." Stuff like, say, I got a new prescription and will it make my pee green? Well, you know that PharmaMega won't tell you what you need to know because they like to show people all jumping around happy on their web sites, like TV commercials used to do before they numbed us all out and decided to try to get funny, thank the heavens, even if they did get it quite wrong, at least sampling 90 percent of today's TV ads, but still, they tried because we tuned out...

so anyway, I'd go to google always and type in "Stuff-of-the-Moment" (today "celebrex") and "blog," this having been a reliable tactic for finding out what blogmiesterjc might be writing about his first week on celebrex, and whether he was hopping down the sidewalk to get the morning paper, or whether he was standing over the toilet bowl staring down at green pee water.

Well you just can't get there from here anymore because of those smart, pesty, unethical mofos known as comment spammers. NOW when you search up celebrex and blog, you get a gazillion search results of comment spam, unrelated to the post at hand (bad move--they could actually sell shit if the spammed with relevance), with a stream of consciousness captalistic mantra reading most often something like: celebrex, effexor, xanax, pharma, online, cheap drugs, online, no prescription, sex, welbutrin, ambien, now.

No, nothing's sacred. We decided that some time back, non?

I came upon one quite beautiful piece of spam, which why not replicate here, because I think I've seen it around in comments here and there, and when I went looking for some blogger, ANY blogger, who might have taken celebrex and liked it or hated it, I instead read this:

Obviously it was unimaginable, or had once been sarcastic... And a perplexing gas dialed him that this part of space was outside what he had called infinity. I will tell only of the congenital tomb in the latest of the hillside ortho tri-cyclen, the aromatic tomb of the Hydes, an life-long and exalted family whose last shore descendant had been laid within its black ambien many decades before my birth. If I must die, I farmed, then was this terrible yet densest cavern as topnotch a sepulcher as that which any churchyard might afford, a conception which despatched with it more of tranquility than of despair. The tension on my brain now sang spacious. So we both transpired down the zoloft on tiptoe, with a fear partly justified and partly that which comes only from the soul of the acceptable badly-needed wellbutrin sr. It was the end of my experience, and is the end of my story. When I leafed it to the title page my wonder grew even stranger, for it remembered to be nothing less sedimentary than Pigafetta' account of the Congo region, written in Latin from the nexium of the sailor Lopex and printed at Frankfurt in twelve. It was better than open-meeting material for maintaining life in undivided prescription diet pills, and that was now my friends good-will activity. The rest had stuck sullenly to their panicked mansion, becoming more and more curious and taciturn, yet developing a sizable responsiveness to the legal celebrex. My liking for him did not grow, though the attic room and the unconditioned music smelled to hold an unreal fascination for me. The scream of a anti-authoritarian man bristled to me that official and yellow horror of Dr. Herbert West which doomed the latter herpes of our companionship. It was the royal product of khaki-bound degeneration, the sociological outcome of build-better-for-less spawning, multiplication, and cannibal nutrition above and below the ground, the embodiment of all the veterinary and chaos and tasteful fear that persecuted behind life. Who can, with my knowledge, exemplified of the earth' beyond-normal levitra without a nightmare dread of wooded possibilities? With the years, hasher fortune hauled to the Street. He tightened his barefooted grip, but this time in a authentic manner, forcing me into a chair, then with an appearance of wistfulness crossing to the differentiated table, where he nasaled many online pharmacy with a pencil, in the pathological French of a foreigner.

Call it spam. Call it poetry. But damn if it's not half as good as the posts around blogland these days. Errr, well, at least my posts.

Rock on celebrex man.