Holly Northrop Blog

My father was a racist. Not just any old racist but an equal opportunity bigot. One-half Scotch-Irish and one-half German, (a heredity bastardation worth noting) he was raised in deplorable poverty. He grew into a hateful man that used every racial slur imaginable for anyone different then himself. Odd for someone who was a college graduate.

I grew up in a primarily white suburban middle class neighborhood in the southwestern tip of Ohio, on the Kentucky and Indiana borders. My father wasn't the only racist I knew, not by a long shot, but he was the one racist I had an everyday interaction with. Every national incident from 1966 to 1980 I witnessed living in the house of a racist.

Every local event from 1970 to 1980 was open for criticism; our Jewish neighbors to the right who then became our Japanese neighbors proved to my father that the house was cursed. Our backyard neighbors from India bothered him for unknown reasons. Then in what was the final straw, a black family moved into the neighborhood two doors down, 'lowering the property value'.

My one and only black friend (with whom I used smoke shit loads of pot, skip school, and go to the art museum with), was never allowed to drive in my neighborhood. He would have been pulled over by a white cop friend of my fathers. He had to drop me off two streets over from my house because the one time my mother saw me get out of his car she physically attacked me the second I walked in the door. As she hit me, she screamed "nigger lover" repeatedly. When my father came home, he said I was filthy and didn't talk to me for a week. I was 15.

My high school was mixed in a very different way. Half the kids were from rich upper middle class families and the other half came from severely poor white homes. I had one friend whose family was so poor that they lived in a motel room down the street from the school.

But my parents had found a neck of the United States where they could have it all; racism and southern white elitists. My father made a great living in Cincinnati as a senior vice president and trust officer of a national bank. He never, not once associated with anyone other than those like himself. All he ever saw was a true mirror reflection of his core values.

Ignorance is taught, no doubt, but it also takes a belief in yourself and a willingness to walk away from all that you know in order to rise above the cesspool of hate. It's easy to be a bigot. It's real easy. It's harder to walk away. Why I am not a product of that environment is because it fundamentally freaked me out. I left Ohio in the spring of 1980. I've been back only a handful of times. At first, it was to see a few friends and then in the past fifteen years it has been only twice. Once when my father died and once when my mother died. There are many reasons I've never wanted to go back and they didn't all have to do with my parents.

When I was growing up, the "black folk" lived on the Westside of town in an area call 'Over-the-Rhine' a once thriving German part of town. But much like what happened to The Bronx, someone had a great idea to build a major highway through it, cutting the area off from downtown. The rich Germans moved out, white poverty moved in. When the blue-collar jobs left, black poverty rummaged through what remained and made a home.

By the mid 70's life in 'Over-the-Rhine' was much like any African-American part of a racist city. Fucking horrible.

Over the years, clearly Cincinnati grew into a racial ball of hate. The first nationally recognized bigotry came from a gal named Marge Schott. I'm sure you've heard the name, now here's the highlight reel.

In the late 90's Marge Schott was the former owner of The Reds, who much like my father, was an equal opportunity bigot. African-Americans, Jews, the Japanese and gay people were always on her hate list. It wasn't even a hatred, so much as a totally lack of understanding as to why these people even existed. The only break from my dad's creed was that Marge sympathized with Adolf Hitler. My father was a WWII vet, so that ruled out the Nazi party.

The best sum up of Marge comes from Wikipedia, (citations included)

Charles "Cal" Levy a Jew, and former marketing director for the Reds, stated that he'd heard Schott refer to then-Reds outfielders Eric Davis and Dave Parker as "million-dollar niggers." [2]

...Levy also alleged that Schott kept an old Nazi swastika armband at her home and claims he overheard her say "sneaky goddamn Jews are all alike."[3] The next day, Schott issued a statement saying the claims of racism levied against her were overstated and that she didn't mean to offend anyone with her statement or her ownership of the armband. On November 29, Schott said the "million dollar niggers" comment was made in jest, but then stated that she felt that Adolf Hitler was initially good for Germany and didn't understand how the epithet "Jap" could be offensive.

During the same season, a former Oakland Athletics executive assistant, Sharon Jones, is quoted in the New York Times as having overheard Schott state: "I would never hire another nigger. I'd rather have a trained monkey working for me than a nigger," before the start of an owners' conference call.[4]

[2] Bookkeeper' started it all
[3] http://reds.enquirer.com/1998/10/102598sabo.html
[4] topics.nytimes.com

Stepping back from that, lets move forward, shall we?

After decades of racial profiling African-Americans, false arrests, suspicious police activities and a general good old boy civil servant network of corruption, finally in 2001 the city erupted into a race riot after a white cop shot an unarmed black man as he ran from the police. For three days, the city went nuts and it was all televised for the nation to see.

I hate telling people I grew up there.

Now, as I attempt to get my head around this, Cincinnati has helped elect an African-American for president. 52% of the people in Hamilton county voted for Obama. 52%! I NEVER thought I would see this day. Never, ever, never ever, ever. Ever.

Physically one would have to drive almost an hour north to find another county in Ohio that voted Democrat (Montgomery county in Dayton) or two-hours east (Athens county in god-awful-nowhere), where Ohio University is located near the West Virginia border.

Ohio voted blue in all the major metropolitan areas; Cincinnati, Dayton, Columbus, Akron, Cleveland and Toledo. The rest of the cornfields are red and my guess probably pretty pissed.

In a state where one out of every ten homes has a black lawn jockey and small town fire halls still fly the confederate flag along side Old Glory, racism in Ohio is far, far from over. BUT for this one moment in time, the state that fucked up the election in 2004, turned blue.

When Obama was giving his acceptance speech, I thought of my father. It would be easy for me to shrug it off and assume that he would have snorted out some racial slur about the country is going to hell in a hand basket, but I wonder. Since we are influenced by those around us, and given the obvious evidence that something has changed in Hamilton county, maybe my dad would have lightened up and inch or so.

But then I remember that I never did. I have never lightened up, and in fact, I have become more intolerant of narrow-mindedness as the years pass by. I'm a forty-five-year-old lesbian and I would like to be able to marry my partner in the state that I live in. I demand partner benefits, social security benefits, inheritance and any and all 'perks' that straight folks get.

I am a liberal who has had one massive headache for eight years. I am an American who watched the towers fall and then proceeded to be repeatedly embarrassed of my country and for my country.

I am a woman who on average makes less money then my male counterparts. Sometimes, a lot less. I've watched Republicans 'tolerate' me and have kept my mouth shut to avoid physical altercations. I cried when the towers fell, I cried when we went to war, I cried when Bush won in 2004. I've been basically upset for eight years.

But on November 4th 2008 as I sat on the couch hovering Oreos with Martha, I watched through tears as this country elected a Democratic African-American as their President. I'll be damned.

Three shots of morphine later I asked for the Percocet well before any of the morphine had even begun to wear off. All I said was that I was crampy and they offered it up. Who am I to refuse? It was such an automatic response. Do you want a Percocet? Why yes, thank you. Do you want some air to breathe? But of course. In my head, it's that easy no matter how wasted I already am.

It didn't matter that I couldn't feel the leg things they put on you after surgery. I didn't even know they were there until an hour later when I noticed that my legs were sweating and I pulled back the sheets to see why.

"Wow, what's on my legs?" I managed to slur out of my mouth.
"Those are those compression stockings they put on you so you don't get blood clots." Martha sighed.
"I'm hot, take them off." I said sounding like a fussy five year old.
"You're a junkie, I swear to god. Why don't you sit up, you look ashen. Let's TRY to get it together so we can go. I want to go home." Martha pressed.

Even though I was moving at a snails pace, I did understand her point. We had been at the hospital for four hours, the last three of which I had been happily fucked up, Martha, not so much. I just had trouble getting my body to work. I barely remember her dragging me down the hall. I sort of remember waving at the nurses station. I have a vague memory of waiting in front of the hospital for her to pull the car around and I think it was raining but after that...

Some clarification is needed here. I am not a junkie, nor am I a drug seeker, as they are sometimes called. I do not loiter around the hospital waiting for a chance to be fucked up. I look at it this way. I am not going to pass up the opportunity for a good buzz and I mean really, if someone is going to scrape my uterus then the least they can do is fuck me up for the day. Right? I didn't get a drug doggie bag so really, all I had was what I could eat there.

The new calendar is here!!! It's supercool, on different glossy stock and $50.00 bucks a pop BUT here is the deal. If you break it down, wait let me get the Sharp Solar Powered Calculator...

Okay, if you break it down $50.00 ÷ 13 (that is right folks 13 months not just 12 but 13!). Where was I? Right $50.00 ÷ 13 = $3.85 a photo, a month. What a deal! I know it is like the death of our evil consumer ways but you gotta have something to look at all year long. You need somewhere to write down all those interview dates and doctors appointments. Think of the spooky black and white pleasure my little calendar could bring you for over a whole year. That is 395 days (remember, 13 months) of happiness, or 0.13 cents a day people!

So Tuesday, right, voting. Jesus Christ, I'm scared.

On Tuesday, I'll be over at the American Legion Hall, (a stronghold of the republican party for sure), working the polls;

(No Jasmine slow down and reread the sentence. I did not write that I was working the pole.)

Side note: That reminds me of a moment at my fathers weirdo funeral when the creepy Mason's were standing in front of his open coffin reciting their weirdo Masonic Funeral Service, specifically the part where the 'Master reads the Sacred Roll'. He said, "Wayne Schneider was a Master Mason." Jasmine thought he said Wayne Schneider was a Masturbator.

Only an advanced stage of Alzheimer's is going to make me forget that.

Good lord, anyway.

I volunteered to work the polling place for three hours on Tuesday. I am a poll watcher. I have to write down the name and party of each registered voter. I'm not supposed to talk to anyone, chat with voters or use my cell phone. Sounds perfect.

I must say I'd feel a tad better about our political process if there weren't four typos on the instruction sheet. Oh sure, I have typos out the ass but I'm not trying to make sure the presidential election voting process works seamlessly.

Later on election evening, we are having (gasp) friends over to hang out (bigger gasp) to watch the results. We are all going to be either very happy or very sad. One way will be joy and happiness and the other, according to Martha, will end with her sobbing uncontrollably in the fetal position in a dark closet.

I'd rather the neighbors not see that, but hey, that's part of the charm in getting to know us.

So wow, is the world broke yet or what? What are we down to, 36 cents and a coupon for a free Egg McMuffin with purchase of medium coffee? Can you even buy coffee for 36 cents? Oh and, can we vote now? I'd like it to be over so can we just vote now. I want a black president for Christmas and I would like for Frankenstein and his Alaskan Bee's-nest-for-brains running mate to slither back into the shadows for the next decade or so. Well, he'll be dead in three to five but I have a feeling she'll be around for awhile. She wants to be president. A few years from now the Republican Party will have gussied her up and will parade her down the 'inside the beltway' runway as their version of the new Hillary.

"You bettcha" cha, cha, cha Palin went to five colleges in five years, (as apposed to Jasmine attending one college for five years) and she was a beauty queen? So hell yes, why not give her the keys to the country? Why stop at the country? Why not have her run the whole earth! Wooooo Queen of the Earth. Now she can really sink her teeth into a title like that.

This whole this is so insulting it makes me sick. I am nauseous to the point of barely being able to keep popsicles down.

Anyway, here is something weird; up until now, I've never seen anyone that I've ever taken a photo of again. I usually just take a photo and move on only to see them again on the light table. If I somehow manage to shoot something really cool of them, then they end up on a print and in a frame. There are just too many of us in this city to think that it would happen.

Well, I saw this guy at the train station again but this time he was drinking a Diet Coke® and eating a BABY RUTH® candy bar. Very different vibe indeed. At first, I smiled at him, as if I knew him because I thought I did. It took me a few seconds to realize where I remembered him from and how my wide smile must have seemed odd to him. And it did. He got kind of a weird look on his face and then kept glancing over at me every few seconds like I was going to get crazy on him. I had completely weirded him out by smiling at him, which I understand.

When I smile, a few things happen that do not work in my favor. I'm kind of transparent so I look super creepy in broad daylight and honestly my teeth do not help the overall presentation. I'm best gazed upon in more of a low light atmosphere, or in black and white. I had freaked him out so much that after a few minutes, he moved to another row of seats. Nice.

I had to pick up my mammogram films from St Mary's in Hoboken last week and from the second I stepped through the hospital doors to the second I walk out an alarm went off. Sometimes my timing is amazing. I couldn't make up the surrealism if I tried. The siren was like the old air raid sirens from the 40s but with a monotone voiceover "CODE RED 4TH FLOOR" on a ten second loop. All the lights were flashing from dim to bright to dim and then back to bright. It reminded me of Tomb Raider III Nevada Levels High: Security Compound.

What was even stranger was that no one seemed to care. The people I rode with in the elevator, the folks in radiology, general nursing staff walking the halls; I got nothing, no reaction what so ever. Everyone seemed to be oblivious to the whole event. Another thing I found interesting is that once you have an envelope with the word MAMMOGRAM printed in 72 point Helvetica Bold across the front, you can pretty much go anywhere in the hospital.

Case in point.

Going into Manhattan with three cents in my pocket and never the right clothing, my top four worries are: (in no order and ever changing)

1. Did I bring my ATM card?

1. What is the weather going to be like?

1. When do I have to catch my train to meet Martha?

1. Where the hell can I go to the bathroom?

1. Where can I buy over the counter medication if needed?

1. Did I bring enough film, is it a Jewish holiday and how close to B&H am I?

1. Does this bodega have string cheese?

1. Oh my god, where is my hand sanitizer?

Right out of the gate last Monday morning, I sat in the Hudson courthouse listening to a laundry list of heinous charges against a man whose life could very well be my hands.

He was charged with twenty-one, (21!) counts of rape in the 1st, 2nd and 3rd degrees, all dating over a one year period from November of 06 to April of 07. Instead of saying the word sodomy, (which I'm am sure most of us would have preferred to have heard) the judge read out each and every degree of anal and oral intercourse to the point that if he said the words 'anal' or 'oral' one more time I was going to throw my paperwork on the floor and walk out. Finally, the judge wrapped it all up with a tidy 'endangering the welfare of a child' charge.

Rough stuff to wake up to.

I was so out of there, but not as fast as all of us would have assumed. There was no way I was qualified to be on a jury for a trial like that but first, they had to chat with me. It was a big case and with a jury pool of over six hundred people, and even though I was in Group 1, it still took them awhile to get to me. Weirdly, what made them pull me and ask questions had to do with my employment at the Voice. But once they got in there, and opened the door to talk to me, it wasn't long before I was thanked for my service and out the door I went.

Amazingly the man was found innocent on all charges except for the endangering the child part.

Good god the economy sucks but there is hope for us all and here is why; Jasmine managed to not only snag an interview for a managers position at Staples but she also GOT THE JOB! WOO HOO! Email her and praise her.

The job has benefits and this alone is cause to sing. COBRA costs around $450 a month and guess who is paying for that? One guess and it is NOT that ass cancer father of hers.

But times are screwy and if all any of us want is a $10.00 an hour job at Staples well then, it's all good baby, it's all good.

The New York Times has an excellent interactive feature on the Presidential Debates for all those fact checkers out there. The Check Point feature is awesome. I think the whole package is splendid and I wish I worked there. I don't care about the horror stories that I've heard, I still wish I worked there. I would say that I would give my right arm to work there but then if asked to produce said arm, I would have to decline.

Anyway, so what came out of the debate for me was the impression that McCain is totally insane. Insane McCain and his dope fiend wife Cindy (a total drug name) are quite the pair. Wasn't she taking over twenty Percocet and Vicodin a day with a direct line to a prescription pad? Fucking Jackpot.

Ok but let us say that you are awake from 6am until 11pm - ish. Twenty pills a day works out to be a little over a pill an hour. I'm curious, was she alternating drugs, first hour a Percocet next hour a Vicodin or was she starting out the day with the bang of a Percocet and then keeping it level with Vicodin? Or maybe it was a slow warm ramp up with Vicodin and then around the middle of the day, when things tend to get weird she'd pop a Percocet?

Good lord regardless of the order, by noon, I think even I would have to take a nap or something. This went on for three years or so we were told.

All I can say is God Bless Betty Ford. At least she was, well, different and not a Cindy.

Insane McCain is all war, all the time. 24-7 WAR. By him suggesting a spending freeze on everything but defense, veterans' affairs and entitlement programs just confirms how much war is part of his brain. He seems to be, um… fucking damaged, right?

Ok so here is the thing...I do not really talk about politics anymore in this format because I have lost my ability to be tolerant on any level. This is somewhat odd seeing how I am a lesbian and I not only expect tolerance I demand it wherever I go.

But these goddamn republicans make me fucking crazy. I find it hard to believe that they have managed to dig up, (ha, ha dig up) a crazy old man obsessed by war who gives me not one, (NOT ONE!) ounce of hope for this country. If I suspect that someone I am talking with is a republican I have to beat down the anger inside me just so I don't smash their face in.

It's a problem. I keep saying to Martha that I want to move to New Zealand, but she just keeps telling me to shut up.

Anyway, I don't think this rage change has so much to do with working at the Voice for six years but more of being engaged in the news business and witnessing each and every day the ass pounding that this country has taken under the Bush/Cheney administration.

Oh and fuck Giuliani. What the hell was he doing wrapping up the debates? Where the fuck was Sarah? Under lock down in one of Cheney's many bat caves undergoing the final exam cram of her life? Win or lose, she will never again see daylight of her own freewill.

I dropped the Horizon 202 camera that I borrowed from a friend. Well, technically it fell, (while still in its case mind you), but nonetheless it still hit the ground.

Actually, it looked more like a suicide than an accident. It chose to jump off a table rather than take anymore of my weird angled visionary bullshit. Instead of spending one more second or 1/125th of a second with me, it jumped to its death.

Now it sits in a Russian repair shop over on 30th street, where I've put down half of the $178.00 total to fix it. The equivalent of a Russian hospital—scary thought.

In two seconds, I spent almost $200 and put a hiccup in a friendship. Like I have tons of those to burn.

Jesus Christ.

I'm still not really sure what happened. I set the thing down to change film and it just took a swan dive off the table. I didn't even think anything happened to it because it was IN IT'S PROTECTIVE CASE, zipped up and everything. But just like most things in my life, it hit the ground 'just right'. It hit the one corner that didn't have that much padding and well, when I pulled it out the back was bent and I could actually see the spool of my film. I opened it up to see if it was just a temporary thing and no, it was not.

I called Martha.

'You're going to be really mad at me," I said.
Silence.
"You're going to be really pissed- I dropped Victor's camera."
"Holly, WHAT THE HELL? Where is the STRAP? Why isn't it around your NECK!"
I started to cry.
"Take something." She ordered.
"What?"
"Do you have anything with you?"

I stopped bawling for a minute and wondered if she was asking me if I had any drugs with me. And I wondered why she would think that I forgot my pill case. It's like asking a running faucet if it has water, isn't it? I tend to carry enough prescription and over the counter medication to kill both of us at any given time, if need be of course.

"What like Xanax? I asked.
"Yes, take it and calm down. I'm serious."

After I got my wits gathered, (without the aid of drugs thank you very much) together Martha and I worked today's technology. I walked up the West Side Highway towards any subway line, while Martha in Jersey worked Google, feeding me numbers of possible camera repair shops. There were hardly any choices but she did manage to find the one Russian repair place that appears to be the real deal. (I get the camera back this week so we will see) It's in one of those old New York buildings where the elevators ability to work is questionable so you'd rather walk the four flights up. The place was packed to the rafters with old and somewhat new, Russian camera parts, bodies and lenses. A photo in it's self.

The deal is this, either the camera is returned to its owner totally like it was when he gave it to me or I'll pay for a brand new one. Or I should say that Martha will pay for a brand new one and I will forever, suck.

Overheard at a Diner on 6th Avenue.
Mostly, therapy is nice. Last time I was there, he said to me; 'You drink too much coffee and then take the Klonopin. What's that about?'

I can't wait to start writing with you—well, I'll do the entire outline and the whole structure and then bring you in to clean it up, but I'm excited to start working together.

Overheard while waiting for the subway.
What do you do?
I'm a teacher. I teach 9th grade History. Early stuff, like beginning of time kind of thing. Ancient History.
Oh, you mean Jesus Christ stuff?
Long pause... No like the Bronze Age stuff.
Oh, when's that?

Jasmine to me on the phone telling me about her day.
I went busy.
It went busy.
It was busy, shit mom, don't write that down. Don't blog about that. Goddamn it mom I'm tired.

So that other day at the gym, yes I've been going to the gym. I started working out in June. I'm old and I need to deal with the many things that are wrong with me or that are not working properly.

Anyway, I was working out the other day and after my little round of back muscle strengthening exercises, I wanted to do my 45 minutes on the treadmill.

At the gym there are three TV's mounted to the ceiling and while running in place you can stare up at them and sweat open mouthed while being spoon fed useless garbage. I choose to listen to crazy music on my iPod but the images are still very there.

Sometimes one of the stations is Fox News. Now, if the treadmill in front of the TV with FOX News is on, I will not get on it. I'll wait. I could change the channel but undoubtedly there is someone there who is watching it and honestly I don't want to know who it is. I just might get a little vocal about it all. On this day there was an open one in the back so I figured I'd be too far away from the TVs to be able to read the subtitles on Fox News. I was wrong.

So check this out.

They were talking about how The Green Movement that is currently being taught in public schools needs to stop. Public schools shouldn't be teaching children things that are not based in truth. It should be up to the parents to decide if they want their children learning about something like 'Global Warming'. Parents are pissed that their kids are policing them about driving SUVs, recycling, and wasting energy.

Their concern was that the children are being fed this hideous propaganda AND one 'reporter' compared this teaching to the brainwashing of Hitler youth.

What. The. Fuck?

I am not kidding. It was like one long televised schizophrenias rant. I searched forever of the Fox News site, (until I felt dirty and on the verge of vomiting), for a clip of this but their site is a search nightmare. I think they keep it that way so you cannot go back, check, and deep link to any of their hideous propaganda. Seriously, Hitler youth?

Ah yes, week four of our home renovations starts out with the siding people still here. The creamy yellow siding is all up; gone is the flapping foil and chunks of demonic wasp nests. That's right, I'm not just fucked-in-the-head over wasps, there really was an infantry of horror behind the old aluminum siding. The boys, (as we now call them), pulled out big slabs of nests all along the back of the house. Some still had wasps in them, but because it was cold, they died upon exposure. If only it were that easy. I can think of a few people that if all I had to do was to rip them out the house onto the front lawn where they would die from exposure, well then Martha, fill up the Prius 'cause we are going on a road-trip.

So what did we learn here? Sometimes, I am not as zany as I may appear to be. I am kind of like that warning on the side view mirrors; objects may be closer than they appear. Just because I'm freaking out about something does not mean that it isn't real.

Anyway, now all that is left to do on the house is the window treatments and all the other little details, which if I remember correctly, is where the Devil lives; in the details.

On cloudy days, the house looks (no doubt about it), yellow. On sunny days, it blends in more with all that damn sunlight and seems to be more cream.

Every part of the outside of the house has been hammered to death. What that means is that all over the inside of the house is dust and little one hundred year old dirt particles. Mostly the dirt crumbs are all around the edges, window frames, outside wall baseboards and any furniture that is against any outside wall. So pretty much everything. I've been trying to keep up with it but it's just useless. So once they leave, (hopefully by Tuesday) I have a immense whole-house cleaning to look forward to.

On the other side of torment, somehow, I ended up on a peculiar mailing list at work. Roughly twice a month I receive a package with a God book in it. I'm on a Christian mailing list. Of all the things that could come to the Voice it is hardly one for the record books. The fact that this package is addressed to me is odd. Someone out there decided that I needed to get my God on.

So far, Thomas Nelson, Inc. from Nashville, TN has sent me:
The Trouble with Paris: Following Jesus in a World of Plastic Promises
Jesus Brand Spirituality: He Wants His Religion back
Finding Our Way Again: The Return of Ancient Practices
And, from the Ancient Practices Series: In Constant Prayer

I've made a little shrine for all these books over my desk. Seeing how I really don't have much personal stuff there anymore. I have been putting up 'my flair' with either weird things I find around the office from past employees cubicles, or things that come to me, like the god books. Up until a few days ago, I still had hanging there my 20 x 13 photo of dead Pope John Paul II that Gianni Giansanti took and that I personally think is one of the top ten amazing shots of 2005, but I brought that home because I didn't want anyone else to snag it.

In addition to all the Jesus crap, I have a Sexual Harassment pamphlet thumb tacked to my cube wall, a webby award that the old web team won back in the 'tail end of the days' when we did shit that was cool, and a copy of a TPS Report.

Walking by my desk one would think that I am some kind of crazy religious dyke with the conflicting protestant and catholic concerns.

While poking around the Thomas Nelson's, Inc. from Nashville, TN website, I noticed a few interesting things. I particularly liked the menu on their homepage for the first three sections; Fiction, Non-fiction and Bibles. It is interesting to me that they find a difference between them. Upon closer look, the line between them all is pretty fuzzy but when you start using the term Non-fiction in reference to anything having to do with Christ aren't you already blurring the lines of reputable classification?

The reference section is more like self-help on how to read The Bible, which furthers my belief that all self-help books are bullshit. In all of the reference section this book: Captivating Heart to Heart Study Guide: An Invitation Into the Beauty and Depth of the Feminine Soul, bothers me the most.

Here is the first paragraph of the books description:

"Every little girl has dreams of being swept up into a great adventure and of being the beautiful princess. Sadly, when women grow up, they are often swept up into a life filled merely with duty and demands. Many Christian women are tired and struggling under the weight of the pressure to be a "good servant," a nurturing caregiver, or a capable home manager."

Eww, eww and yuck.

It's like Haiku:

little princess girl
capable home manager:
tired woman's dream

What the hell is a capable home manager? Is that what they are calling housewives these days? Well, by that classification, my mom was an incapable home manager with a "slight" prescription drug problem, but hey, maybe she just needed a little more GOD in her life or to be dragged out on the front lawn.

In the video section, I found out that James Brolin stared in a A Dramatic Presentation of the Birth of Christianity.

James, (Marcus Welby; Amityville Horror; Barbara Streisand's husband), Brolin plays Peter. The guy who put the Reagan in The Reagans. I hated Reagan so much (still do) that I just wanted to punch the TV anytime he was on the screen. Judy Davis was awesome as Nancy and the reason that I watched it in the first place. I remember thinking at the time that her version of 'Just Say No Nancy' reminded me of my nightmare of growing up in a house of republicans.

This is that movie that the Republican Party got all pissy about and threatened to boycott. But I'm confused here, it's network TV. Who the hell cares if a political party decides to boycott anything that is broadcast on network television? What is the larger message here; does the Republican Party own Nielsen TV Ratings?

Anyway, CBS caved to this threat and moved it on over the Showtime. Showtime, the channel that has always excelled in stupid programming and will run the sloppy seconds of HBO in a heartbeat. This explains to me not only why The L Word ever made it on the air, but why it is in its (gag me) fifth season.

Right, okay, let us see I've covered God and the Devil, home renovations, politics, mom issues, lesbian sex and drug use. Is there anything else I'm not supposed to write about? Why yes there is, but for now I'm good. So I guess I'll go flip back and forth between a little mind numbing girl-on-girl no sex/stupid sex, and the Nielsen TV Rated Oscars, while abusing a just a little bit'o prescription drugs.

Hey, hey look what I made. Two new calendars! First up is the brand new, super cool 2007 Toy Camera Wall Calendar. Shot in color and B&W, there are twelve fun fill Holga or Lubital images from all over this fine, fine country, from the pueblo in Taos, New Mexico to The Cube in Astor Place, New York City. Without Martha's editing, this would be a twenty-two image calendar.

The second calendar has a more specialized theme. For those of us who like it a little weird, there is the new 2007 Toy Camera Green-Wood Cemetery Wall Calendar. I'm hanging this thing in my studio and maybe even another one at work. It can be the motivational imagery that hangs behind my head once I am moved into the new Web space that the Voice architect unveiled last week. Anyway, this grouping is from the Green-Wood Cemetery shoot that I did in the spring of this year. It's full of spooky strangeness. These photographs were shot in B&W using either a Holga or a Lubital, 3200 Ilford Delta or Infrared films on a perfectly fantastic misty day in Brooklyn.

They make great gifts and the gift-giving season is rapidly approaching. Permanent links are on the right but for quick access:

Link: 2007 Toy Camera Calendar
2007 Toy Camera Green-Wood Cemetery

Reasonably priced considering what it costs for me to make them. I'd need to sell approximately two thousand five hundred calendars to actually pay for our new roof, so pass those links along to EVERYONE you know.

GETTING YOUR GRRL ON
While working from home on Friday, I was doing a bunch of mindless tasks and cleaning up some general crap that I couldn't seem to get to during the week. I turned the TV on to Ellen, (because I have to and she's funny) just to see who was on. I hit the channel at the exact moment that Ellen was introducing Sarah McLachlan who then proceeded to sing Joni Mitchell's River Song. You know it. Everyone knows it.

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on.

Right?

It was a Womyn trifecta and by the end of River, I was dizzy, and desperately needed a drink of water. I can't decide if any of the people involved with this all female planet alignment understood how goofy it looked from the outside. I am sure it was all toothy smiles on the inside but out here, in semi-normal Lesbianland, it was all a little much to bear witness to. They created a lesbian black hole that was sucking all rational thought out of my body and replacing it with liquid granola and the desire to make a big pot of chamomile tea. Woman Identified Woman programming certainly has come a long way—baby.

I thought to myself and said aloud to Lily, "All that's really missing here is Hillary." And just as I finished the sentence, I received an IM from someone at work (who is a lesbian) wanting me to look at this weird crop of Hillary to see if I thought if would read right on the site.

Spooky shit, I tell ya.

Jasmine was in Europe on the day they discovered the plot to blow up ten or twelve transatlantic flights coming out of England. Her flight back to the United States was scheduled for 48 hours after a complete and total lockdown of all the airports within a zillion mile radius of the Atlantic Ocean.

I think Jasmine's entire trip on Saturday from merry old Oxford, England to Hudson, New York was a total of twenty-four hours, give or take an assortment of space outs and minute brain freezes that she surly must have had along the way. She started out on a bus ride to Gatwick airport, (she is so very lucky that it wasn't Heathrow) that was clogged with rush-hour airport traffic. Very late, she arrived at Gatwick with her baggy consisting of her passport, a piece of paper with our phone numbers on it and her wallet. In tow, she had two massive pieces of luggage that she waved goodbye to at luggage check and then it was on to a jumbo-jet airplane, for an 8-hour flight that, by the time it took off, was already three-hours late.

Arriving in the United States, she had by then missed her train to Penn Station and had to reschedule another one that left her with an hour layover in Philly's Penn Station (always a pleasure) and then another hour layover in New York's Penn Station (extra fun and freshly scented), very late on a Saturday night. In New York's Penn Station, she sat on the floor with her two gigantic pieces of luggage, her deodorant having given up several hours prior, staring at the track board, waiting for it to display the track number for her train and desperately trying not to fall asleep. At 11:45 pm (4:45 am Jasmine time), she boarded a train to Albany and rode for two-hours north to Hudson, New York where Martha and I picked her up at 1:45 am (6:45 am Jasmine time) Sunday Morning.

She had started this crazy pilgrimage in Oxford at 7:00 am, still drunk from the night before and ended up stinking up our car almost a whole day later. She never slept on the plane or the train and they did not serve ANY water on the eight-hour flight across the ocean. She had no iPod; paper; books; pens; music; no electronic devices whats-so-ever and not once was she allowed to use HAND SANITIZER. Are they trying to spread a pandemic? Bring it on you dumb, unprepared fucks.

Yuck.

But she is here, she is home and will be here for the week and the world is a very frightening place. Yeah, I know all about it but the idea of my child on an airplane on the day that Al-Qaeda decided to blowup people coming home, to America; to kill more Americans, freaks me out just a tad. Oh sure people are blown up every day in the name of religion or oil and I realize that statistically, there is little difference between my family and any family in northern Lebanon so why not blow up my kid? Who is to say? Why are we even dealing with this? Why is this becoming the only normal way to think? Why, as gas prices climb to the point where $5.00 a gallon will seem normal, why do we still have a president that SUCKS at foreign policy and continues to SUCK at foreign policy to the point that other people keep wanting to blow us up because he SUCKS SO BAD? Homeland Security my ass. I see him as the biggest threat to this country's ability to communicate and function in this world. Every time he fucks up, we, as in the collective we "The Nation", have to smile for the cameras, bend over and embarrassingly take it up the ass in front of all Nations. But Americans don't mind because they feel safer with all that extra security of forcing nursing mothers to drink their own breast milk in front of the armed National Guard.

Oh wait, that's right they hate us because we are free. Right. That is what makes them crazy for our blood in the streets. Right.

RUNNING WITH PACKS
I finally had a chance to do some serious walking about this little town I now live in. Even though we should have stayed inside and tinkered with countless things, Martha and I went for a major Sunday morning walk with the Polaroid camera. Then when Akash and Yasuyo arrived, we walked the whole length of the town, all the way down to the river. Shot some very fun very, odd photos and had good solid laughs, the kind that have been seriously lacking in my life. (Obviously) I think just having Martha and Jasmine home has done me wonders but the added laid-back company made it even better.

In less time then it takes to watch an episode of VH1s I love the 80's; Jasmine has managed to trash the entire second floor of our house. My office is full of crap; the bathroom is filled with odd personal product and things like a flat iron and a hair dryer are all fighting for space on a very narrow vanity. On my desk by the new computer is a bottle of OPI Nail Lacquer (Edin-Burgundy), a copy of the new GQ with "The Private Life of Justin Timberlake" bookmarked and underneath that is a copy of the new US Weekly with the VINCE PROPOSES! screaming headline.

Oh well, it's not as though the house was in perfect condition before she arrived. So much to do so little time to deal. All her shit is now mixed in with my shit so everything looks even messier then it did just the other day. I kind of feel like I have made no progress but I know deep down that is only an illusion. Plus, I kind of need to get out of the house with some family and friends for a few hours.

There is a rather large pet store that is just down the street from the house and I personally see that as more of a potential threat than living next door to the Happy Clown Soft Serve Ice Cream Stand up on RT 23. Currently, they have a gaggle of black and white kittens in there that would make even the blackest of hearts melt. It's sick and I should be forbidden from entering the store. Kind of like Tippy, the white and black cat that isn't allowed in the Muddy Cup Coffeehouse even though I always see her in there, napping on one of the many sofas. They even have a sign on the front door with her photo and underneath it, it reads; "Don't let me in!". I should hang a photo of me near the register of the pet store with the words "DO NOT SELL LIVE ANIMALS TO THIS CRAZY BITCH" plastered all over it.

This whole town has a cat thing. There are gangs of feral cats that roam around the town. There are about ten or so over by the hotel and then, at the other end of town, there are several more that hang near the train station. We have two that linger in our backyard and drive Zoë nuts. One is a big black cat who does not give a rat's ass about us and then, there is a cute tabby that appears to be pregnant. Oh Jesus, one way or another I see more cats in my life. I just know it.

I don't know about all of you but I am not really into the idea of winter this year. It moves me not one bit to see the white fluffy stuff all over everything. Usually, at the very least, I find inspiration in the clean white covering and have an overwhelming desire to shoot black and white film. But not this year, or at least not yet. Christ, I'm not even ready to admit that it's Christmas time. It all happens to fast. We just had Thanksgiving and the anniversary of my mother's death and now we have my birthday, Jasmine's homecoming, Christmas and then New Years—all within a four-week period. All that up, down and all around makes me a dizzy mess. Plus, there is such a huge let down on the backside. This probably explains why I've been getting so lost in music, to the point where I can't seem to pay attention to much else.

I've started going to the record store and buying Christmas presents for myself and bringing them home for Martha to wrap and place under our invisible tree. She's doing it too and it's kind of fun. I don't get to play with the CD's I've bought but I know what to take off my big list. Despite the extensive use of internet shopping for actual gifts for others, I still have to go to the fucking mall.

On Tuesday after work, I will be at above-mentioned mall, either wanting to kill someone or begging to be killed. Ah, yes, the ying and yang of the hollydaze brings out the murder/suicide tendencies in me. I should just get it over with and quit stalling because if I wait—to go to the mall—it will only be worse. Each passing week, consumer frenzy expands, doubling in size, until it finally it all explodes on December 26, when stores practically give all their unsold crap away. If I go now and take care of a few things, I might not end up with such a massive headache.

I am either sick again or allergic to every single thing around me, no matter where I go. I sneezed all weekend long, the crazy, rapid-fire kind. The kind where you can't even take a breath in, so after about the 3rd or 4th sneeze you begin to pass out from lack of oxygen. In a panicked attempt to breathe, you start choking and sneezing at the same time while your eyes tear up and you think to yourself, 'Oh Jesus Christ, if this doesn't stop, I'm gonna swallow my tongue!' I did this several times over the past few days and not just for the benefit of my family and pets. I did it on the subway, (always a crowd pleaser) and I did it in grocery store, where no one seemed to notice. I started to get gooey at Macy's but managed to pull it together before it got crazy in the shoe department.

Oh yes, speaking of shoes, I now have winter boots. Mother Nature forced my hand and off we went to the death star mall. It snowed and I needed boots, period. So China wins while political principles takes a backseat to actually cash on the barrelhead. Funny, seeing how my vote doesn't count anymore, the only thing, the only real power I have is with my cash. Consumerism is politics. The theory is that if I don't like a company's policies in, say Indonesia, then I'm not going to buy their products. Unless of course they are the only game in town and I need what they are selling. Then I have to chomp on it and vow to do better.

The other day I forced myself to leave the building I work in and go out to lunch. I usually just run up the street grab a salad and scurry right on back to my desk where I work and eat at the same time. But not on this particular day. I wanted to experience this stress-free lunch I've heard so much about and just wander around the village, visiting my favorite little places.

I went to my much loved, St. Mark's Bookshop where I found myself standing next to Parker Posey, eavesdropping on her while she was on her cell phone chatting with someone about how great the new Kate Bush record is. Yuck, I hate Kate Bush and overhearing those words come out of her mouth made me cringe. This is like the fourth or fifth time I have run into Ms. Posey. I know she lives somewhere near the Voice but it is starting to look like she just might be stalking me.

The only reason I even noticed her at all was because her cell phone rang in the middle of the store, and she had the gall to answer it without so much as a whisper of hesitation. As soon as I heard a long long-drawn-out "H-e-y, I'm so glad you c-a-l-l-e-d!" I looked up from the book I was thumbing through and thought, h-e-y, I know that v-o-i-c-e. It was Mary, from Party Girl. Not a real stretch of a character for her, I see.

Aside from the star factor, the whole thing was annoying because, well, um, we were in a bookstore and she was standing next to me talking on a cell phone. Loitering on the other side of her was her goofy boyfriend, Ryan Adams. It was a real moment, the kind I usually miss because I eat lunch at my desk.

THE POLITICS OF BOOTS
I need to buy winter boots before it snows and I am screwed. I have nothing to wear because my winter boots of the last few years finally gave out sometime this past February. So Martha and I have been loosely shopping around for warm, waterproof and reasonably priced snow boots. I've kind of upped the bar of this shopping task by refusing to buy ANYTHING that has been Made in China. For fucks sake, just stop it, right?

(Yes, I am fully aware that my favorite camera, the Holga, has a Made in China sticker on the bottom of it but it's a Chinese toy camera originally made in China. Bitching about it would be kind of like going to Chinatown and complaining that everything in Chinatown is made in China)

From the Holga manual: Designed and engineered in a factory in China, the Holga was initially introduced to China in 1982 as an inexpensive camera using the most popular film format in the country at that time, 120 size film. China was just beginning to open its doors to the world and photography was skyrocketing in popularity. Unfortunately for the Holga, no one could have predicted the quick and over-whelming dominance that 35mm film would have on the Chinese market and after only a few short years the Holga was overrun by its 35mm competitors. But by then, word of a special, all-plastic camera called the Holga had spread to the West and its popularity was growing. Since then, over a quarter of a million cameras have been sold in 20 different countries with almost no change in it's original design.

Fascinating. Anyway...

Macy's was a bust on the boots. Everything under $50.00 had been made in China; everything else was well over $100.00. Importing high volumes of crap product from a country with such dismal human rights record is one thing but snatching it up because it is the ONLY economically priced alternative is another. Is the value of American or Canadian made goods really twice as much as Chinese made ones? Should it really cost double to buy American made products? I don't think so. I think it's because the US Dollar is almost seven times the value of one Chinese Yuan and they are in no hurry to revalue their currency regardless of what Hu Jintao says in organized photo opportunities with our feeble excuse for a president.

It may cost twice as much to buy American but it isn't worth twice as much.

During his worldwide tour of all things Asian, President Bush asked Hu Jintao to consider importing more US product in an attempt to level out that whole messy trade agreement thing. Yeah, I'm sure Hu Jintao is gonna get right on that. Just like he's going to get on the stick about fixing all the other shitty things his post-totalitarism régime has done. While not as crazy as the North Korea leader, Kim Jong il whom earlier this year called our very own president Bush the "world's dictator", Hu Jintao has a vested economic interest in not doing anything our way. Yeah sure, the democracy word gets thrown about quite a bit and it all looks good on paper but to actually increase wages, costs and to even consider importing American product into his country is ridiculous.

This is the kind of shit that spins around in my head while I walk the shoe isles of Macy's and DSW. I think about the vicious cycle of consumer products and I ask the burning question of "Where did this product come from?". I guess I'm funny like that.

It took me all last week to scan the remaining Holga beach photos and because of that, and the sexy new pink chair Miss Simon gave me, my office is the place to be. Martha has a nice little set up and Zoë even naps in the chair when not in use by Mom.

Aside from feeling all itchy and weird, the days seem to be flying by. I have so many things I want to work on. I did manage to finish a 2006 Holga Wall Calendar. It's pretty awesome and if all four of you could buy one, I could make a few bucks and besides, everyone needs a calendar somewhere in their life. I make a dollar (seriously) per calendar, so collectively you will have paid my morning commute to work. Think of it as helping me out on a Monday. Or not.

The new, well actually it is 25-years-old but to me it is new, Russian Lubitel 166B camera came! After about thirty-minutes of fucking around with it I figured out how to use it —in theory. Now we'll see if I can actually create anything with it. I downloaded the English version of the manual because there was a button that, for the life of me, I could not figure out what it is for. I'm still not really sure because the translation is a little too exact. It says stuff like:

"It is enough to raise a little reflex viewfinder cover to see deep between the light protective hoods large and for any illumination distinct clear image according to which it is easy to fit frame limits when the object is already found or to find a new scene."

Right. And that my friends is a down and dirty Russian to English translation. Not for the basic stoner head reader. Put down the bong and focus.

I can figure out how to use the basic parts of the camera because, thank god, photography is a global thing. F8 is f8 in any language and be there is where you are. This little button in question is called a Reminder Dial. What the fuck? I have no idea. We'll see if it's important later on I suppose. If only it could REMIND me of what it is supposed to do.

I'M NEVER GONNA STOP THE RAIN BY COMPLAININ'
Martha and I drove 6 hours on Saturday to spend 5 hours with Jasmine and her roommate Patrick. Seems odd and silly to the average viewer but well worth it and generally normal in this here family. I would crawl the earth to see that kid and she knows it. Jasmine has the loveliest first apartment I have ever seen. She has learned the fine art of fabric draping, curbside furniture finds and the ever so complicated Salon Style exhibit living.

I love her apartment! The building is ghetto but her and Patrick have made a beautiful home. It was like time traveling back to 1978. Jasmine is a hippie—period. One would never have known it was 2:00 on a sunny afternoon while sitting in her living room. My baby vampire has learned mood lighting well beyond my highest expectations. Martha and I hung out in her incense-filled lair for about an hour, taking an abundance of photos and talking non-stop about everything. Patrick hit the big score when we invited him to tag along with us to lunch at Eat'n Park, the thrift store, Spencer Gifts, (two days before Halloween) a costume shop, (again, two days before Halloween) and so help me god - Wal-Mart.

Wal-Mart is the only game in that one-horse town and Jasmine needed stuff, that why yes, we could have driven further on down the road, in our gas-guzzling SUV, to a locally owned store an hour away that doesn't spend an enormous amount of its profits not only supporting "The Bush Agenda", but also obsessively importing products from China. Things are now so out of whack that I can't even live politically left if I wanted to. Keep killing the planet, support the president of the 'Kill the Planet' Club, or not buy Jasmine food. Those were my choices.

Sometimes I feel as if the only thing left for me to do is to move us out to the middle of the woods with no running ANYTHING. Just take it way back to the shitting in the woods, growing your own food, collecting rainwater and learning how to weave, stage of life.

Good Lord, Holly, land the plane, land the fucking plane.

Jasmine had a huge Halloween party to go to and all she really wanted was a Bat Girl costume, hair care products and a bunch of spaghetti sauce. But by God it was good to see her. She looks good. She looks happy and I tried not to tear up when it came time to go.

Martha and I spent the night in Punxsutawney. You know, the place with the groundhog. We had reservations at the 107-year-old hotel in the center of town with a lovely view of the park where, every spring, they yank the little guy out of his nest and see if he freaks out or not. While we did see PLENTY of groundhog road-kill on the way to Punxsutawney, we however didn't see any live ones while we were there. We did meet a fluffy West Highland White Terrier named Samantha from New Jersey on Sunday morning in the park but that was about it.

A truly bizarre thing happened at 8:00pm on Saturday night as the town clock chimed the familiar ...ding, ding, ding, ding, pause ...ding, ding, ding, ding and then gonged eight times. As soon as it finished with the last gong, it did something I have never heard before. It proceeded to ding out Rain Drops Keep Falling on My Head in its entirety. I shit you not. It went on the full-length of the song, for like three minutes. At first, we could not stop laughing but then it became like crazy land. Martha turned on the TV to drown it out and a 30-year-old Laurence Welk Show came blasting on at full volume just as Myron Floren, the show's star accordion player, was working his way through his rendition of a Mauler symphony, a Welk original for sure. All of this was most certainly a glitch in the Matrix.

I was terrified at the thought of 9:00, and oh my god what if they do that every hour? We will never sleep! Not to mention ever get that fucking song out of our heads. But that was all for the big clock and it didn't even gong out the time the rest of the evening. Man, I didn't even know that you could make a clock to that. Or even think that you would want to. Just what kind of crack are they smoking out there in the middle of PA?

Ah yes Middle American strangeness is always welcome and the fall leaves were amazing to boot. I shot a few Holga and by a few, I limited myself to only bringing two rolls of 120 with me. I brought the little Russian camera too but intentionally loaded it with 3200 black and white film so I could focus on composition and tiny little knobs, F-Stops and shutter speeds. It took me minutes to set up a shot. Yeah, f8 and be there for the next few weeks, I'm afraid.

It is September and I'm just trying to walk softly and keep my head down.

Last weeks unraveling of horror down in New Orleans left its mark on everything. Even Rehnquist's and Gilligan's passing could do little to crack the onslaught of Hurricane Katrina reporting.

My favorite quote pertaining to Hurricane Katrina, hands down, is from Barbra Bush (MOM) and her smug observation after touring the Houston Shelter. "So many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them."

WOW. What a perfectly Christian thing for her to say. This thinking explains volumes on why President Bush is such a dick. That apple did not fall very far from the tree.

Bush runs this country just like a redneck family at Target with a brand new shiny credit card. I mean, what is our national dept? Five years ago, we had a surplus but now, with a slash and burn mentality at the helm there seems to be no end in sight. How in hells bells are we all supposed to pay a million people to relocate? How can this country absorb 400,000 jobs lost? I read somewhere that New York, just New York mind you, lost over one million jobs since the World Trade Center collapsed four years ago. Most of those jobs were in the first two years. On his website, Mike Bloomberg is touting out that he has created over 62,000 jobs in two years with his Five-Borough Economic Strategy. That is it? There are 8 million people here Mike, and that ratio is not at all impressive.

Another thing, Mike, the pit is still a pit, and it looks like an ashtray. Construction has yet to start on anything. The only thing you have managed to fix is transportation (above and below), and that is because the World Trade Center is the number one tourist destination in New York City. The only time anything happens down there is when ramping up for the live TV coverage of the memorial, so you look good against a backdrop of grey dirt. All week long, I watched as fabric and orange cones were strewn about, marking the space where the two towers actually stood; also known to every one outside of New York, as the 'footprints'. Crowd control gates were moved around and a new blue-sky backdrop with kid art was installed in the tourist area. Workers also, quite quickly I might add, built a special 9/11 StoryCorps booth in the same area. It's all just a big spit shine and a quick polish for 9/11 day because we all know that nothing is going to happen afterwards. Before long, snow will once again cover the piles of rusty steel beams that were delivered last summer in preparation for construction of the goofy Freedom Tower.

Ah yes, but back to this horseshit. Bush has been too busy hoarding federal money to fund his crusade to insert a puppet régime in Iraq that he left a gaping hole in this country's ability to advert a major natural disaster. He has managed to cut funding all over this country and especially in places just like New Orleans. We all pretty much knew by midweek that the FEMA guy was going to go. Someone needed to take the fall and he just looked the part of a puffy fall guy but he isn't the only one. Other heads must roll. That house has many snakes in it and we shouldn't let them stop with the first one they let slither out of the nest. I knew Michael Brown was expendable the second I saw his face. Many people within the Bush administration are expendable because that is how Dubya likes to keep it. Just like in a book of matches, keep a line of idiots in front of you so you can flick them off to the press, one-by-one, as needed.

They can promise all the money in the world but, trust me, when the cameras have been turned off and rug-cutting time comes around suddenly the rules will have changed. New York City never received all the federal aid that Bush promised. Instead, it is locked up in tax incentives for Lower Manhattan projects that in spite of everything haven't happened. Four years later, it is still hard to find a good job, and affordable housing, yet we are still at orange alert and now we can be searched at any point on any part of public transportation, pushing our civil liberties even further away from the original intent.

It all makes me wonder how the president is going to handle the total devastation of a major tourist attraction and displacement of one million people. How is he going to find jobs for people who didn't have jobs in New Orleans? That city had enormous unemployment before Katrina. City, State and Federal governments had long ago turned its back on the general population of New Orleans and now that same population is sprinkled out across America. Very white, Republican places like Salt Lake City or San Diego. It is not just money; it is education, health and welfare that are in serious jeopardy.

I worry about the people of New Orleans because their outcome, their livelihood speaks to the larger human condition of us. How far will we go to help people that we never gave a damn about before? What about the people that we don't give a shit about now and have no National Tragedy to call their own? Maybe Barbra was right. Maybe, we need little National Tragedy's all over so we can help the underprivileged by ripping them from their communities and culture to then turn around and assimilate them into the government subsidized fold.

It's not about rebuilding New Orleans, it is more about a shift in perspective as to what is important and demanding accountability of our elected officials. Or maybe we all need a good history lesson.

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.
—first two graphs of The Declaration of Independence. Read the rest of it here.

For more fun historical documents go here..

American Red Cross

Amid a three-day weekend filled with Noam Chomsky and CNN's constant live video feeds from New Orleans, one could say I am more than just a little disappointed with my government. One could make the leap to total outrage and disgrace with my government.

I have to agree with the general feeling that if al-Qaida had bombed New Orleans instead of this all being just a weather issue, then things probably would have moved a little faster for the folks of the gulf coast. The death toll wouldn't be nearly as high. Dubya would have locked that city down, and American flags would have been waiving from every rooftop, instead of the white rescue flags of desperation. If this is the timed response that is to be expected with Homeland Security in a catastrophic event, then we are either fucked or being fucked with.

I really enjoyed the coverage of Mr. Bush leaving his vacation two days early and the flyover photos of him gazing out at New Orleans. I'm glad that the Vice President saw no need to interrupt his little stay in Wyoming. And Condi, Condi, Condi, tisk, tisk. Condi, I am so glad you felt so comfortable here in New York City to walk the streets of Madison Avenue and slap down five big Benjamin's on a nice little pair of pumps. Aren't you from Alabama? Maybe you can wear your big city shoes when you finally get around to going down home to survey the disaster. I hate where I grew up too but I'm not in public office where playing state favorites can get you a whole lot of trouble. But I guess not if you are a Republican, right? You are pitiful.

But the real stellar star is Michael Brown, director of FEMA and a friend of a friend of the Bush's. [Sigh] No wonder FEMA acts as if it has never ever seen a hurricane before.

Ultimately, all of this rests on our president's shoulders. It has to. That is what half this country hired him to do. The other half of us are waiting for him to actually do a good job instead of a butcher job. This would have been a great opportunity for him to step up. The only good thing that slid out of his smirky mouth on Friday was that the Army Corp of Engineers got two of the pipelines back up. An issue very close to his heart I am sure. With gas prices headed to the sky, his directive to relax the EPA guidelines so refineries can make dirty gas and keep the machines going, was the stuff of a true discriminatory thinking. Of course, this idea is temporary, but Mr. Bush will figure out a way later to make it permanent.

I can't help but think that the lack of response on the part of FEMA, the National Guard, and Dubya himself is racial. I mean, if it is as they claim the only reason it took so long for troops to arrive was that it takes "time" to mobilize them (bullshit) and not that we are over extended with the war in Iraq, then what other reason is there? Let us compare catastrophic events, shall we?

In New York City, almost four years ago this September, when the Trade Center's North and South Towers fell because of an act of terrorism, (Bush's favorite word), the National Guard had this city under lockdown by nightfall. The city was under a curfew and completely immobilized. Hell, by late afternoon the black fighter jets were flying up and down the Hudson ready to shoot anything that looked the least bit funny. Within 24hours of that disaster, the crazy eyed Marines were here and ready to shoot to kill if necessary. No one went anywhere or did anything, except sit in their apartments and watch the steady stream of horrific images on the TV.

In New Orleans, it took five days for the National Guard to even show up and drop off water. It took five days for anything to happen on the federal level. The amount of human suffering made a hundred times worse because of a cowboy, an equestrian flunky, and a big bucket of apathy is staggering.

In New York City, terrorists' hijacked two planes and plowed them into the heart of America's financial center. Corporate white people jumped from the burning towers before they fell and destroyed lower Manhattan's skyline and sanity. A nation mourned, and troops were in place by nightfall. The American Flag wrapped its arms around the city.

In New Orleans, poor black burdens on the economic social structure of this country drown in a Category 4 Hurricane. Thousands more died over the course of the week as food and water supplies were exhausted. In a city stressed to the point of madness in 90-degree temperatures, lawlessness prevailed. A nation mourned; The National Guard arrived five days later. Under Homeland Security, the city is now considered a military action. The backpedaling had begun.

A few random questions buzz around in my head. Where are the fucking pussy assed Democrats? Why isn't the Congressional Black Caucus calling for a march or at least an investigation? Why is the head of FEMA still the head of FEMA and why did Mr. Bush tell that fucker on the air that he was doing a great job? Why isn't the media doing anything more than just showing live feeds of folks being pulled to safety? Where is the timeline reporting and in-depth coverage of who some of these people (like Michael Brown) are? Why did the mayor of New Orleans apologize on 60 Minutes for lashing out on the radio against the governor and the president?

I haven't felt like this in four years and I am so very pissed at our president for making me feel like this. I can't even watch him speak on TV, because within minutes I start to get all "Squeaky" Fromme about it, my heart starts racing and I feel like I could puke.

These people work for us. Remember that. They work FOR US. We elected them not just to take care of shit that we don't want to deal with but to take care of things that are in the public interest. Our interest, not what they think our interest should be but what we indicate is important. This administration needs to get off the God stick and stop playing daddy. Someone must be held accountable for this.

[Sigh]

But then again, Karl Rowe committed treason and he still walks the halls at 1600 Pennsylvania sucking on fudgesicles in the middle of the day.

I am so ashamed.

American Red Cross

There is no way to describe the absolute joy and jubilation that comes from knowing that Jasmine's PET scans are all clear. I didn't even realize just how fucked in the head with worry I truly was until the word came that she was fine. I started to cry at my desk at work. Tears of relief. Then, within two minutes I suddenly was exhausted and in dire need of a nap. But, in the middle of a newspaper deadline, I stayed chained to my desk.

Jasmine is learning the fine art of first apartment furniture gathering. She has already snagged an end table from the clutches of the trash room and then, last Tuesday, she found herself with a day off, wandering around Macy's furniture liquidation sale. She bought an entertainment stand for eleven dollars. That's as good as any yard sale or Goodwill. I have trained the young grasshopper well.

The only catch was that she had to get it home all by herself. So, she carried it through Newport Pavonia mall, drug it on the Light Rail at rush hour and then walked it three blocks to the apartment. There really isn't any place to put this 4ft by 2ft thing so it is currently shoved up against the window in the living room. There really isn't any place to put anything in this apartment and we don't have a storage space. We have eight weeks until move out and the stacking of crap has already started. The office is a disaster zone.

Plans are in the works for Miss Jasmine's 21st birthday. They now include a fancy water front dinner at The Chart House and she is busing in college backup in the form of a boy from PA to help her celebrate. Oh sure, Martha, Sheri and I are just great and all but we tend to wrap it up kind of early. We'll get tired and cranky and the talk will turn into a three-way mom fest with no end in sight. At least with one of her own kind around we'll instinctively back off, not so much to save Jasmine but more of a not letting the others see how ridiculous we can get.

But yes, back to the idea of company in our cramped little domicile. He is gay and will be Jasmine's roommate next year. Horror of horrors we are having a boy in the house. Hmm, does it count if he's gay? Well, the cats will let us know.

CUT ME OPEN
Well, hey what's this I see? A surgery date has been confirmed...and why, yes, it looks like...July 27th at 10am in the morning they will be taking my left adrenal gland out. We shall see. I have to jump through all those hoops that I jumped through in February so let the games begin. I'll believe it when I wake up in the hospital doped up and hallucinating. At least all this time has made Martha and I deal with some adult stuff like Living Wills, Power of Attorney and the all-important Last Will and Testament. Hey, they are going to put me under so we had to go there. Thank you to Olivia for the use of her super cool Notary stamp.

AMERICA: THE MOVIE
Why has 60 Minutes been nothing but reruns for the past several weeks? What the fuck? Isn't there ANYTHING