When it rains sometimes it snows.

This is the current Doppler radar. See the white? Ordinarily I'd be thrilled, ecstatic even at the prospect of snow but today is not my day for it . Mostly because all that pretty white is forecast to turn ugly pink over night.

This brings every Arkansas to a single question, "Where were you during the 1999 Christmas ice storm?"

I was at my parent's house watching Katie repeatedly fall down in the middle of our street while we were watching the tree branches begin to break in our neighborhood. My dad lives in old Conway, otherwise known as the land of the killer trees (see http://musicfangirl.blogspot.com/2006/08/killer-trees.html), so the destruction was terrible and total. We had no power for ten days, it took three just to remove enough trees from a yard that we could get out of our driveway. It was cold and dark and I learned that I really depend on cable television and the Internet. I also learned that when you HAVE to shower by candle light it quickly loses all of it's charm.

So here we are again. The Weather Channel is calling for a 70% chance of freezing rain/rain over night and into tomorrow. I'm not excited. I don't mind cold, I don't mind snow. In fact, I LOVE snow, it reminds me of being a kid growing up in Littleton Colorado. This crap with the ice...not so fun.

I'm back to watching the local weather. Good luck all, I hope none of you lose power, that none of you have to drive, and that none of you have any need to go to Wal-Mart tonight as we all know it will be packed with panicked people buying up all the bread and milk.

Good News for People Who Love Bad News

I am trying to be good.

This is a general, all-purpose statement that easily covers any number of areas in my life. For example I am trying to be good with the money I earn. I am trying to be a good daughter/sister/girlfriend/friend. I am trying to be a good writer. I am trying to become a good cook (this is sporadic as I will cook for a week then revert back to Lean Cuisine for a month or so).

But today this about eating. I am trying to be good. I am trying to resist the temptation of delicious catered lunches provided by generous and kind drug reps who really WANT to feed me fajitas and lasagna. I am trying to avoid walking across the long bridge to the VA where I can buy soda and popcorn and candy and other things that are NOT GOOD.

Seriously though, I'm willing to lay it all out here. I have no will-power. None, nil, zero. In my head I know that I will be happier, healthier, thinner, more energetic if I eat my Kashi Go-Lean cereal for lunch every day and walk on my breaks. I am an intelligent person, I know that toffee bars and anything dripping in cheese is not good for me but that does not seem to change the fact that what I want most in the world is chocolate and fresh tortilla chips from Los Amigos.

Today, however, I am trying to be good. If that works out I'll try again tomorrow. I am done being on a diet. Whenever I decide that I am on a diet I inevitably fall off my diet. Instead I'm just going to try one day at a time to be a little better.

Friday.

"In the beginning the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move."
-Douglas Adams

I wonder if other bloggers ever have a hard time deciding what to actually blog about. I don't have kids and my family might murder me in my sleep if I wrote about them. Actually, come to think of it they might anyway.

I think the thing that is difficult is I try to stay away from three things;
1. Blogging about things that annoy me, I don't want to spend all my time bitching.
2. Politics and religion. These are things I feel are intensely personal, not something I want to offer for public commentary.
3. Work. I'm here enough already, why spend more time talking about it.

The problem with this is it takes about 85% of normal topics out of play. I suppose I could talk more about my cats, but I don't want to become the crazy cat lady.

So, instead of wasting time I suppose I'll get back to work. Sigh.

we started recreational. it ended kinda medical.

Last night I watched American Idol while I wrote. I don't usually watch it, in fact other than a few episodes of the "audition" stage I've never actually seen the show. There are reasons, mainly I hate "reality" tv and add that to the fact that I listen to almost no mainstream music anymore I'm just not all that interested. Last night, however, I was too lazy to untangle the wires to my earphones so I could listen to my ipod and I was waiting for the Australian Open to come on.

I also did such exciting things as fold laundry and iron clothing so Chris and I didn't have to come to work naked. It really makes me wonder when I settled into being so old. I'm pretty sure there was a time when I was fun and had endless amounts of energy that I squandered away. Most nights I look back on my "wild" years and wonder if what I remember of them is true or if it's all an alcohol-laden hallucination. Seems like I danced a lot and mostly had fun.

Now going out for the evening with girlfriends takes weeks of careful planning and juggling schedules. We never just call each other on a Saturday afternoon and set vague plans such as, "Hey, let's go out somewhere. Pick me up around nine."

Nine? That's when I'm ENDING my nights out now.

So, I'm trying to remind myself why it's good that I'm older. Stable job, decent income, terrific boyfriend, a nice car, a nice house, money to go out when I want....oh damn. Maybe it's time to save up and travel, go overseas, get a terrible photo to use for a passport. Maybe I'll go visit Dan (who lives in the Philippines now).

Hmm...maybe I'll finish my book first.

Maybe.

What you once were isn't what you want to be anymore.

"Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don't necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk."
-'Northern Exposure'

I'll preface this post with this statement, it was not a good weekend. I'll continue the preface with another statement, the weekend is over.

Chris finally got his Christmas present Sunday (see picture). I won't go on and on about how fun it is or how even a hand-eye coordination deprived person such as myself can play it. Instead, can I mention how cute it is. The packaging and the tiny console and sleek modern styling reminds me very much of an ipod. For once we have an electronic device I don't mind sitting in my living room. Anyway, it's arrival Sunday was a small gift of sanity in an otherwise insane weekend.

I've gotten past my mood on Friday, thankfully. Maybe sometimes you need something truly bad to happen so you remember to appreciate the good things even when they are small. For example the Decemberists announced a show in Memphis in April. This works out so perfectly for me as I can go see a band I love and it will also work as Megan's 21st birthday gift. We'll take her to her first real show, stay at a nice hotel downtown Memphis and take her out to a few bars so she can buy drinks. Ah, to be 21 again...or maybe not.

I'm planning to buy some film and try my hand at some more photos this week. I'll let everyone know so they can go and visit my flickr.

Sorrow Drips Into Your Heart Through A Pinhole.

I am in rare form today, a nice mixture of irritable and sad and bored and anxious. This may, in fact, be what it feels like to be crazy. I have days like this, days when my mind won't land on any one thing. There are reasons, probably many.

I'll start with the funeral. Saturday I'll attend the funeral of one of my favorite patients. The thing here is, everyone KNEW this would eventually happen. He was terminally ill from the time he was born with Cystic Fibrosis and yet he managed to live an amazingly long thirty-six years. He was funny and moody and sarcastic, we loved him in our clinic. For the past five years I've looked forward to seeing him once a week. It's difficult to find words to express what I feel, how terrible this sadness is and how unfair that someone so wonderful would have to die. I have no answer to this, nothing in my life holds answers or comfort.

There are other things, most incredibly less important that are also on my mind. There are things I read every day that terrify and sadden me, that make me question the kindness and decency and intelligence of people. I am loathe to mention specifics as I fear that there would be a depressing amount of backlash from people with small, dark minds. Let me say this though, it amazes me the things people will do under the guise of being a "good" person. I don't think most people have any idea what that is anymore or where to find it.

Lastly, let me say this. It has not snowed. It won't snow this weekend. I'm beginning to believe it will never snow again. By the time I have children and they are my age Arkansas will be a tropical rain forest and they will have to travel to Antarctica to ever see real snow. How sad.

I'll come back on Monday in a better mood.

It's Only Rock and Roll but I Like It.

"Rock and roll means well, but it can't help tellin' young boys lies."
-"Marry Me", Drive-By Truckers

I am not a video game player. I have no hand-eye coordination and tend to panic when something unexpected pops up on the screen. Despite being born smack in the midst of the video game generation I'm pretty much a failure at actually playing them.

That is, until now. Meet "Guitar Hero II". It is played with a real faux-guitar (see photo above), sort of an interactive game where you score extra points for doing "rock star" moved with your faux-guitar. It is seriously fun. I have played until my finger on my left hand has literally gone numb...which is a problem I plan of consulting my physician about.

I'm not saying I'm gifted at this game, I'm just saying it's fun. You stand up and follow the "notes" on the tv screen and its work, you will actually sweat playing this. Other people actually enjoy watching you play, unlike all those mindless first person shooter games. It's just fun.

Even more excited than I am about "Guitar Hero" is how excited I am about the Wii. Hopefully we will have one this weekend and it is so similarly interactive I know I will enjoy playing it. Sure, I'll never be good at "Super Mario Brothers", but I can play the guitar so who cares.

Take a Break Driver 8

"The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status, or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside we ALL believe that we are above average drivers."
-Dave Barry

I am a commuter, driving from Conway to Little Rock and back again daily. Along the route there have recently been planted a series of electronic highway signs designed to alert drivers to changing road and traffic conditions. You know, something like "Yes you are driving a four-wheel drive pickup but it is clearly snowing and you are rapidly approaching an extremely icy bridge. Slow your stupid ass down before you skid and take out the nice people in the minivan next to you."
Okay, they actually say things like "Warning, traffic slowing ahead" and "Drive Safely: Buckle UP!" Still, the general intent is there. Slowly there is also an approaching construction project which will widen interstate 40 to three lanes each direction. This gives me migraine headaches just thinking about it. I can only imagine the utter chaos that will ensue for the duration of said construction.
Anyway, new snazzy high-tech signs. Look for them, but please only if you are in the passenger seat.

Bright Copper Kettles

We had a kettle; we let it leak:
Our not repairing made it worse.
We haven't had any tea for a week...
The bottom is out of the Universe.
-Rudyard Kipling

We do things for comfort. Seek the arms of a loved one, call a friend or sibling, shed our clothing for the solace of a bathtub full of bubbles, and drink. I suppose I do a little of all of these things, but my emotional crutch is a cup of hot tea.
I moved from coffee to tea due to health reasons originally, in a foot-dragging self-pitying sort of way. I would walk by a co worker's desk and smell their coffee and fall into a bout of longing and sorrow for my missed caffeine and rich coffee goodness. I would walk by the Starbucks in Target and sigh, thinking of the Pumpkin Spice Latte I so badly wanted.
Then, I got onto my organic kick. I told myself that recycling everything in my house wasn't ecological friendly enough, that there had to be more. While wandering the isles of my local Wal-Mart looking for the little green "organic!" tags I found tea. I bought it, brought it home and brewed a cup for work the next morning.
Now I use tea for a little boost in the morning, as a soother in the evening, as a source of warmth (should we ever experience cold weather). I've found my favorite is traditional black tea blends, the herbals and green tea not particularly to my liking. My current favorite is Tazo Awake!
Now, if I can only stick for a few days to my diet...

The Words I Write Own Me

"Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."
-E.L. Doctorow

I am mostly an aspiring or failed writer, depending on how you look at it. I start writing, fall in love with an idea, begin to question it, learn to hate it, and discard it half started or half finished. Somehow, I always assumed that real writers knew the progression of a book before they sat down to write, that the ending was a clear as the first sentence, neatly filled in with the events between.
Perhaps this misconception stems from writing papers in college. You are taught to outline your ideas, create a thesis statement and arrange the entire paper to fall nicely into that single thought. No matter how I tried, I could not outline fiction. I would try, then somewhere in the process of writing out the words my characters would mutiny, taking over the story and leading it into directions I never intended.
My most recent endeavor, I've given total control to the story. I planned carefully for the first sentence then released the creative process. Strange and unexpected events have occurred, the characters look nothing like I imagined with strong personalities I don't always like. It's working out amazingly well. Words flow onto paper (yes, I'm hand writing it first...my brain works better that way), and although I've had to have a long, stern talk with myself about work ethic and putting in appropriate hours, there's beginning to be hope.
I have no real thought beyond finishing the book. I'm assuming there is a long and complicated process to finding an agent and a publisher...if you've written something worth publishing in the first case.
Now, off to write.

The Winter of Our Discontent

"People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring."
-Rogers Hornsby, major league baseball player from 1915 to 1937.

In the winter there should be snow. This is a fact, in Colorado no respectable winter would drift through January with 50 degree tempatures and only occasional rain and thunderstorms to break the monotony. Without snow, January is merely a prelude to spring, which leads my mind to crisp green fields and pristine white bases placed symetrically 90 feet apart.

I did not grow up a baseball fan. Perhaps because Colorado did not have a major league baseball team until after I moved away, perhaps because my father was a football fan deep in his soul. In my twenties I was introduced and immediately hated the game. Slow, boring, complicated. Baseball was to football like watching a sink drip was to standing at the ocean shore.

Obviously, I've since changed my mind. Slowly I learned the intricacies of the game, the difference between a curve ball and a slider, the heart-stopping excitement of a runner making the turn to third on a line drive. Pedestrian baseball fans, those at a game more for the beer and hot dogs than the game, over-rate the home run ball, overlook the quiet thrill of a pitcher's duel.

This winter, I read Moneyball by Michael Lewis. I could go on and on, rising my fists in disgust towards the owners of my beloved and pathetic Cubs. I could sing the praises of Billy Beene, his willingness to buck the old system and look for something more scientific in the approach to selecting players. I could, but I won't. Instead I'll offer this, learn the game. Buy Baseball for Idiots and sit through your nephew's little league games. Buy scorecards and keep score, learning the measure of an out and a walk. Study it like a philosophy and a science. I promise, if you understand it you'll be hooked. Then, when you make that fall choose a team worthy of your love, choose the Oakland Athletics. I wish someone had told me too.

So This is the New Year

That's right, I'm back. My new year's resolutions, while many and complicated, include blogging regularly. So we'll start out with a recap of last year.

2006

I didn't travel unless Memphis counts.

I wrecked my truck at 4:30 in the morning by hitting a deer, am no longer a big fan of deer.

I saw four great bands, Wilco, Okkerville River, The Hold Steady (twice!), and The Drive-By Truckers.

I took an entire week of vacation for the first time in five years, didn't do anything but hit a deer on my way home from the Hold Steady show in Memphis.

Began writing a book.

Decided the book was absolute crap.

Started another book...may finish it as it is less crap.

Finally hung pictures in my bedroom and bought a rug (it's green and cream argyle!) after two years in our house.

Started a blog and a myspace page...have been spotty with both.

Voted. Felt good about it, am thinking about getting back into political work for the next elections.

Learned to love a good red wine, gave up beer entirely.

And to end up, a little narcissism.

Best ten new albums of 2006:

10. Robbers & Cowards-by the Cold War Kids
09. Okonokos-by My Morning Jacket
08. Putting the Days to Bed-by the Long Winters
07. Black Sheep Boy-by Okkerville River
06. A Blessing and a Curse-by the Drive-By Truckers
05. Old 97's Live-by the Old 97's
04. Everything All the Time-by Band of Horses
03. Fox Confessor Brings the Flood-by Neko Case
02. Boys and Girls in America-by The Hold Steady
01. The Crane Wife-by the Decemberists

Happy New Year!

Happy Birthday to Me and to You...

Today I am 30. I am told I should be bothered by that, my lost youth and whatnot but I'm just fine. My 20's were not the most appealing years for me.
To celebrate my new-found agedness, I am lucky enough to get to see two bands I really like. Tuesday night we went and saw Okkervil River at the Revolution Room in Little Rock. They were better than I had hoped. Despite problems with the sound early in the show the band proved that live music is always worth staying up late on a weeknight for.
Tomorrow night we are driving to Memphis to see The Hold Steady. This is extremely exciting since they are my favorite "new" band right now. I have high hopes for this show, although I will definately need to buy some ear-plugs as I'm still half-deaf from Tuesday's show.
It gets better, dear friends. At the end of the month I FINALLY get to go see Drive-By Truckers live. This is a show that everyone claims is a can't miss...that I haven't really heard the DBT's until I've seen them live. I believe it. Much like the Old 97's, DBT have a raw quality that I think is best expressed live and wailingly loud.
Then to round out my musical month we're going to Dallas in November to see My Morning Jacket. Hurray!
If I lived in a larger city, say Dallas or Chicago or Minneanapolis, I would get to see great band all the time, but alas, in Little Rock you have to hope and pray and be willing to drive several hours each way.
Thanks to all who sent me birthday greetings.

If I Were A Photographer

Not So Different

From 1855 to 1954, approximately 20 million people immigrated to the United States through the ports of New York alone. They were mainly Irish, German, English, and Scandinavian and if they were lucky enough to be able to afford a second class ticket on one of the many ocean liners crossing the Atlantic during that time they were allowed to enter the US without inspection.
Immigrants too poor to buy a second class ticket traveled to the US as stearage passengers and were subject to physical examinations, literacy tests, and a federal immigration interview often at the now famous Ellis Island station.
I am Danish, German, English, and Native American. The only part of me that belongs here is the 1/8th of me that isn't immigrant. Luckily, the remaining 7/8th are of "Northern European" origins or perhaps I wouldn't be here.
In 1924 the United States Congress enacted the "National Origins Act", a percentage system by which ethnic groups already in the US were allowed greater immigration numbers. This act virtually excluded Asians and severely limited Southern and Eastern Europeans, groups that were considered "inferior" to Northern Europeans.

Now, fast forward about 80 years. Can you imagine the US screaming about Italians, French, Spanish, or Asian immigrants? No? That's because they probably don't want to come here. Hard to blame them. But what the screaming is all about is the 1.3 million Hispanic immigrant that enter the US each year.
1 million immigrants receive permanent, legal status every year, leaving around 500,000 illegal aliens entering the country each year. Once in the US, they work low paying, dangerous, labor-intensive jobs that few Americans want. They send money home to their families in impoverished areas of Latin America. They often pay taxes despite receiving none of the very limited benefits provided by our government to legal taxpayers.
Now there are certain groups of government officials who would like to build a fence along our southern border. We are a nation built on immigrants, many who were poor and desperate when they arrived on these shores. They worked hard in hard conditions and they built this country. Our ancestors would be disappointed to find that the US has become so isolated from it's own history. Instead of welcoming new immigrants, the United States would rather fester in isolationism. How sad.

Panthers Prowl Here

"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea."
-Robert A. Heinlein

Long and lean, sleek and soft, the sweet housecats that once roamed our home rubbing lovingly against shins and out-streached hands have morphed into lions, tigers, panthers.
How, you ask, did these visions of furry affection become lethal blurs of claws and teeth and destruction? What terrible event would alter the psyche of such ordinarily sweet and docile pets?

We opened the windows.

Fresh air has carried new scents and sounds to the sharp, triangular ears of our fearsome felines. Now they are aware of every bird, squirrel, moth, butterfly, and neighborhood tomcat. Now they stalk through the house from window to window with wild eyes. They gallop up and down the hall like a pride of lions on the Savannah, ready to hunt down their prey of stray spiders and flies.

Thank goodness we have them. Without them we would be at the mercy of the hideous shoe strings that lay in wait to strangle us in our sleep. Our pair of panthers are willing to risk their own safety to attack feet moving under bedsheets or plastic balls with bells inside them.

W doesn't stand for Win.

-Mr. Lincoln said,"we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. Thebrave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, farabove our poor power to add or detract."-

MSNBC's Countdown by Keith Olbermann

Sept 11, 2006

This hole in the ground.

Half a lifetime ago, I worked in this now-empty space. And for 40 days after the attacks, I worked here again, trying to make sense of what happened, and was yet to happen, as a reporter.

All the time, I knew that the very air I breathed contained the remains of thousands of people, including four of my friends, two in the planes and --as I discovered from those "missing posters" seared still into my soul --two more in the Towers.

And I knew too, that this was the pyre for hundreds of New York policemen and firemen, of whom my family can claim half a dozen or more, as our ancestors.

I belabor this to emphasize that, for me this was, and is, and always shall be, personal.

And anyone who claims that I and others like me are "soft,"or have"forgotten" the lessons of what happened here is at best a grasping,opportunistic, dilettante and at worst, an idiot whether he is acommentator, or a Vice President, or a President.

However, of all the things those of us who were here five years ago could have forecast -- of all the nightmares that unfolded before our eyes, and the others that unfolded only in our minds -- none of us could havepredicted this.

Five years later this space is still empty.

Five years later there is no memorial to the dead.

Five years later there is no building rising to show with proud defiance that we would not have our America wrung from us, by cowards and criminals.

Five years later this country's wound is still open.

Five years later this country's mass grave is still unmarked.

Five years later this is still just a background for a photo-op.

It is beyond shameful.

At the dedication of the Gettysburg Memorial -- barely four months after thelast soldier staggered from another Pennsylvania field -- Mr. Lincoln said,"we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. Thebrave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, farabove our poor power to add or detract."

Lincoln used those words to immortalize their sacrifice.

Today our leaders could use those same words to rationalize their reprehensible inaction. "We cannot dedicate, we can not consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground." So we won't.

Instead they bicker and buck pass. They thwart private efforts, and jostle to claim credit for initiatives that go nowhere. They spend the money on irrelevant wars, and elaborate self-congratulations, and buying off columnists to write how good a job they're doing instead of doing any job at all.

Five years later, Mr. Bush, we are still fighting the terrorists on these streets. And look carefully, sir, on these 16 empty acres. The terrorists are clearly, still winning.

And, in a crime against every victim here and every patriotic sentiment you mouthed but did not enact, you have done nothing about it.

And there is something worse still than this vast gaping hole in this city,and in the fabric of our nation. There is its symbolism of the promise unfulfilled, the urgent oath, reduced to lazy execution.

The only positive on 9/11 and the days and weeks that so slowly andpainfully followed it was the unanimous humanity, here, and throughout the country. The government, the President in particular, was given every possible measure of support. Those who did not belong to his party -- tabled that.Those who doubted the mechanics of his election -- ignored that.

Those who wondered of his qualifications -- forgot that.

History teaches us that nearly unanimous support of a government cannot betaken away from that government by its critics. It can only be squandered by those who use it not to heal a nation's wounds, but to take political advantage.

Terrorists did not come and steal our newly-regained sense of being American first, and political, fiftieth. Nor did the Democrats. Nor did the media. Nor did the people.

The President -- and those around him -- did that. They promised bi-partisanship, and then showed that to them,"bi-partisanship" meant that their party would rule and the rest would have to follow, or be branded, with ever-escalating hysteria, as morally or intellectually confused, as appeasers, as those who, in the Vice President'swords yesterday, "validate the strategy of the terrorists."

They promised protection, and then showed that to them "protection" meant going to war against a despot whose hand they had once shaken, a despot who we now learn from our own Senate Intelligence Committee, hated al-Qaida as much as we did.

The polite phrase for how so many of us were duped into supporting a war, on the false premise that it had 'something to do' with 9/11 is "lying by implication."

The impolite phrase is "impeachable offense."

Not once in now five years has this President ever offered to assume responsibility for the failures that led to this empty space, and to this,the current, curdled, version of our beloved country.

Still, there is a last snapping flame from a final candle of respect and fairness: even his most virulent critics have never suggested he alone bearsthe full brunt of the blame for 9/11.Half the time, in fact, this President has been so gently treated, that he has seemed not even to be the man most responsible for anything in his own administration.

Yet what is happening this very night?

A mini-series, created, influenced -- possibly financed by -- the mostradical and cold of domestic political Machiavellis, continues to be televised into our homes.

The documented truths of the last fifteen years are replaced by bald-facedlies; the talking points of the current regime parroted; the whole sorry story blurred, by spin, to make the party out of office seem vacillating and impotent, and the party in office, seem like the only option.

How dare you, Mr. President, after taking cynical advantage of the unanimity and love, and transmuting it into fraudulent war and needless death, after monstrously transforming it into fear and suspicion and turning that fear into the campaign slogan of three elections? How dare you -- or those around you -- ever "spin" 9/11?

Just as the terrorists have succeeded -- are still succeeding -- as long as there is no memorial and no construction here at Ground Zero.

So, too, have they succeeded, and are still succeeding as long as this government uses 9/11 as a wedge to pit Americans against Americans.

This is an odd point to cite a television program, especially one from Marchof 1960. But as Disney's continuing sell-out of the truth (and this country) suggests, even television programs can be powerful things.

And long ago, a series called "The Twilight Zone" broadcast a riveting episode entitled "The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street."

In brief: a meteor sparks rumors of an invasion by extra-terrestrials disguised as humans. The electricity goes out. A neighbor pleads for calm. Suddenly his car -- and only his car -- starts. Someone suggests he must be the alien. Then another man's lights go on. As charges and suspicion and panic overtake the street, guns are inevitably produced. An "alien" is shot-- but he turns out to be just another neighbor, returning from going for help. The camera pulls back to a near-by hill, where two extra-terrestrials are seen manipulating a small device that can jam electricity. The veteran tells his novice that there's no need to actually attack, that you just turnoff a few of the human machines and then, "they pick the most dangerous enemy they can find, and it's themselves."

And then, in perhaps his finest piece of writing, Rod Serling sums it up with words of remarkable prescience, given where we find ourselves tonight:"The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices,to be found only in the minds of men.

"For the record, prejudices can kill and suspicion can destroy, and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own --for the children, and the children yet unborn."

When those who dissent are told time and time again -- as we will be, if not tonight by the President, then tomorrow by his portable public chorus --that he is preserving our freedom, but that if we use any of it, we aresomehow un-American...When we are scolded, that if we merely question, wehave "forgotten the lessons of 9/11"... look into this empty space behind me and the bi-partisanship upon which this administration also did not build, and tell me:

Who has left this hole in the ground?

We have not forgotten, Mr. President.

You have.

May this country forgive you.

-- Keith Olbermann

Words, words, and words

The Modern Library's 100 Best of the 20th Century
(I've read in bold)


1. ULYSSES by James Joyce
2. THE GREAT GATSBY by F. Scott Fitzgerald
3. A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN by James Joyce
4. LOLITA by Vladimir Nabokov
5. BRAVE NEW WORLD by Aldous Huxley
6. THE SOUND AND THE FURY by William Faulkner
7. CATCH-22 by Joseph Heller
8. DARKNESS AT NOON by Arthur Koestler
9. SONS AND LOVERS by D.H. Lawrence
10. THE GRAPES OF WRATH by John Steinbeck
11. UNDER THE VOLCANO by Malcolm Lowry
12. THE WAY OF ALL FLESH by Samuel Butler
13. 1984 by George Orwell
14. I, CLAUDIUS by Robert Graves
15. TO THE LIGHTHOUSE by Virginia Woolf
16. AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY by Theodore Dreiser
17. THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER by Carson McCullers
18. SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE by Kurt Vonnegut
19. INVISIBLE MAN by Ralph Ellison
20. NATIVE SON by Richard Wright
21. HENDERSON THE RAIN KING by Saul Bellow
22. APPOINTMENT IN SAMARRA by John O'Hara
23. U.S.A. (trilogy) by John Dos Passos
24. WINESBURG, OHIO by Sherwood Anderson
25. A PASSAGE TO INDIA by E.M. Forster
26. THE WINGS OF THE DOVE by Henry James
27. THE AMBASSADORS by Henry James
28. TENDER IS THE NIGHT by F. Scott Fitzgerald
29. THE STUDS LONIGAN TRILOGY by James T. Farrell
30. THE GOOD SOLDIER by Ford Madox Ford
31. ANIMAL FARM by George Orwell
32. THE GOLDEN BOWL by Henry James
33. SISTER CARRIE by Theodore Dreiser
34. A HANDFUL OF DUST by Evelyn Waugh
35. AS I LAY DYING by William Faulkner
36. ALL THE KING'S MEN by Robert Penn Warren
37. THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY by Thornton Wilder
38. HOWARDS END by E.M. Forster
39. GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN by James Baldwin
40. THE HEART OF THE MATTER by Graham Greene
41. LORD OF THE FLIES by William Golding
42. DELIVERANCE by James Dickey
43. A DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME (series) by Anthony Powell
44. POINT COUNTER POINT by Aldous Huxley
45. THE SUN ALSO RISES by Ernest Hemingway
46. THE SECRET AGENT by Joseph Conrad
47. NOSTROMO by Joseph Conrad
48. THE RAINBOW by D.H. Lawrence
49. WOMEN IN LOVE by D.H. Lawrence
50. TROPIC OF CANCER by Henry Miller
51. THE NAKED AND THE DEAD by Norman Mailer
52. PORTNOY'S COMPLAINT by Philip Roth
53. PALE FIRE by Vladimir Nabokov
54. LIGHT IN AUGUST by William Faulkner
55. ON THE ROAD by Jack Kerouac
56. THE MALTESE FALCON by Dashiell Hammett
57. PARADE'S END by Ford Madox Ford
58. THE AGE OF INNOCENCE by Edith Wharton
59. ZULEIKA DOBSON by Max Beerbohm
60. THE MOVIEGOER by Walker Percy
61. DEATH COMES FOR THE ARCHBISHOP by Willa Cather
62. FROM HERE TO ETERNITY by James Jones
63. THE WAPSHOT CHRONICLES by John Cheever
64. THE CATCHER IN THE RYE by J.D. Salinger
65. A CLOCKWORK ORANGE by Anthony Burgess
66. OF HUMAN BONDAGE by W. Somerset Maugham
67. HEART OF DARKNESS by Joseph Conrad
68. MAIN STREET by Sinclair Lewis
69. THE HOUSE OF MIRTH by Edith Wharton
70. THE ALEXANDRIA QUARTET by Lawrence Durell
71. A HIGH WIND IN JAMAICA by Richard Hughes
72. A HOUSE FOR MR BISWAS by V.S. Naipaul
73. THE DAY OF THE LOCUST by Nathanael West
74. A FAREWELL TO ARMS by Ernest Hemingway
75. SCOOP by Evelyn Waugh
76. THE PRIME OF MISS JEAN BRODIE by Muriel Spark
77. FINNEGANS WAKE by James Joyce
78. KIM by Rudyard Kipling
79. A ROOM WITH A VIEW by E.M. Forster
80. BRIDESHEAD REVISITED by Evelyn Waugh
81. THE ADVENTURES OF AUGIE MARCH by Saul Bellow
82. ANGLE OF REPOSE by Wallace Stegner
83. A BEND IN THE RIVER by V.S. Naipaul
84. THE DEATH OF THE HEART by Elizabeth Bowen
85. LORD JIM by Joseph Conrad
86. RAGTIME by E.L. Doctorow
87. THE OLD WIVES' TALE by Arnold Bennett
88. THE CALL OF THE WILD by Jack London
89. LOVING by Henry Green
90. MIDNIGHT'S CHILDREN by Salman Rushdie
91. TOBACCO ROAD by Erskine Caldwell
92. IRONWEED by William Kennedy
93. THE MAGUS by John Fowles
94. WIDE SARGASSO SEA by Jean Rhys
95. UNDER THE NET by Iris Murdoch
96. SOPHIE'S CHOICE by William Styron
97. THE SHELTERING SKY by Paul Bowles
98. THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE by James M. Cain
99. THE GINGER MAN by J.P. Donleavy
100. THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS by Booth Tarkington



I've read 19 of the 100 but think there are some obvious omitions. How on Earth is East of Eden not on this list? Where is To Kill A Mockingbird?
Also, some things on here seem a little off. A Clockwork Orange? and ranked above Heart of Darkness? A Clockwork Orange is just the novel of the script based off of Heart of Darkness. And Howard's End? Really? One of the best? Eh...

Banned Books, No Oxy in This Moron

These are the 100 Banned Books of 1990-2000.
Bold the ones you've read, italicize the ones you read for school or checked out of the school library.

Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou (seriously?)
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (who in the hell bans Steinbeck?)
Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling (just the first 3)
Forever by Judy Blume
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger (maybe it's just good literature they are banning)
The Giver by Lois Lowry
It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle (another all-time great! what is wrong with people?)
Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
The Witches by Roald Dahl
Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
The Goats by Brock Cole Kaffir
Boy by Mark Mathabane
Blubber by Judy Blume (Judy Blume? Really?)
Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
Final Exit by Derek Humphry
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (there's a rotten theme here)
Beloved by Toni Morrison
The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
The Pigman by Paul Zindel
Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
Deenie by Judy Blume
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein (Shel Silverstein...seriously...poems for kids?)
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
Cujo by Stephen King
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
Ordinary People by Judith Guest
What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
Fade by Robert Cormier
Guess What? by Mem Fox
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Jack by A.M. HomesBless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
Carrie by Stephen King
Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
Family Secrets by Norma Klein
Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
The Dead Zone by Stephen King
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford
Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
Sex Education by Jenny Davis
The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier



I am in awe of this list. What exactly are they going for? Ignorance? That's right, let's refuse to allow our children to read anything with even a drop of intellegence. What should they be reading? Veggie Tales until they are 15? The institutionalized dumbing down of America is disgusting.

Born to Be Bad

*warning, I stole this idea from another blog.

The Bad, Bad, Bad List

(a list of all the bad things about me)

1. I am loud. I am ear-shatteringly loud and even though I know I am I cannot seem to talk myself into being more quiet.

2. I am over-dramatic. I can't say, "A tree fell at dad's house". I say, "Vicious killer trees attacked dad's house!".

3. I am a terrible speller. Terrible.

4. I love puns. Seriously, I think they are hilarious. Chris and Megan disagree.

5. I drive like an old lady. It is only by accident that I ever reach the speed limit on the interstate. I always follow at appropriately save distances and get mad when other people cut into my braking space.

6. I am a snob. I look down my nose at people who are not well read or who (god forbid) have bad grammar. I feel smug and superior and tend to make smart-ass comments.

7. I am a smart-ass. I cannot just hold my tongue. I have never been able to think before I speak. I'm sarcastic and often think I'm much funnier than I am.

8. I have NO will-power. I cannot diet. I cannot keep a regular exercise regimen. I cannot say no to chocolate.

9. I have no attention span. I can't watch movies because two hours is entirely too long for me to sit still. I'm not very good with sit-coms either. I like sports because I can wander off, come back in ten minutes, and still know what's going on.

I'm sure there are more...but these are my favorites.