9/11 War Profiteering

The primary beneficiaries of "the war on terror" (inspired by the 9/11 attacks) appear to be CEOs. For those that refuse to believe the drivel being spewed about freedom and democracy by Bush and Rumsfeld, it won't be too surprising to learn that war profiteering is at an all time high.

Read this new report about the rising profits for CEOs of US corporations. No wonder our idiot-in-chief is on a whirlwind tour vowing not to "back down" in Iraq/Afghanistan/Syria?/Iran?

In the loo with CNN!

Ah, more YouTube fun!

From NewsBusters.org

I think listening to CNN's Kyra Phillips take a whiz and chat with her friend is far more interesting than Bush's speech yesterday. I wish more anchors would leave their mics on to drown out this moron.

Katrina, Ernesto, Twisters, Bush

Ever wonder why we name Hurricanes and not Tornados? Perhaps it has to do with time and space. With a name, we can make the hurricane real, present, track its every swirl, wind gust, measure its eye, send a jet screaming directly through its center. A tornado is quick, sudden, catches you by surprise, wicked, deadly. Before you can give it a name, the damage is done. Space and place destroyed.

The name "Katrina" will always be associated with death, levees, floods, Superdome, New Orleans, Nagin, Brownie, and, Bush. The media is in a "1 year" anniversary frenzy today, with pundits like Matt "bulldog" Lauer asking Brownie the hard questions about why FEMA failed so miserably. We mark time. In the 9th ward, time has simply stopped. Nothing moves there. Poor. Black. Forgotten. I heard a white woman call into the Washington Journal program this morning and state: "If I lived in New Orleans I would have walked right out of there knowing the storm was coming." Blame the victim. Funny how privilege works. Bitch probably never lived in a hurricane zone. How does one move/walk out of their home, their space, their place, their city? Where do they go? How do they mark time?

I lived in southern Minnesota for three years, always on the ready for the dreaded "tornado" siren that would mournfully wail from across town. Neighbors would gather on the sidewalk, nervously wondering if this was "the one" that was always/already "due" to strike our bleak, flat, unappealing, treeless landscape that we called “home”. Last week it struck. Quick. Deadly. Destructive. Anonymous. Much like a bomb I imagine. Minus the wind. Add the bodies. Some soldiers, unfortunately, have the nasty habit of writing greetings on the missiles/bunker busters/cluster bombs that are dropped by planes, helicopters, on civilian targets. Collateral damage "courtesy of the USA" as Toby Keith likes to sing. Radiate. Destroy. Poison. Obliterating space. Place. Time.

Pass the buck. Michael Brown blamed Bush's "talking points" for the catastrophic failure that is New Orleans. He "regrets" following orders. Talking points?

Today my mother is shuttering her house to prepare for Ernesto. Technicolor weather maps have predicted it will hit FL, either as a tropical storm or a Hurricane, by tomorrow. So it goes.

Florida's Confederate Heritage?

Florida is preparing for another battle over this proposed license plate. As usual, the lines are drawn over whether or not the confederate flag represents slavery/racism/bigotry/etc. or state pride and heritage.
Personally, this is a non-issue. Find another image for the license plate. Have we not learned any lessons from South Carolina? The flag, regardless of its original meaning, has been used as a symbol of white supremacy for so long in this country's history that it is beyond redemption.

Confessions of a Pack Rat

Today I began the tedious task of sorting through high school (actually, junior high and elementary) memories, figuring out what to toss and what to pack and ship home. I began by reading my high school yearbooks (9th-12th grade), trying to recapture/remember the type of person I was. According to friends, I was "funny", "strange", "sweet", obsessed with tanning (if they could see me now), a practical joker, "cute". Most of my teachers were kind in their comments, save for one: Mrs. White. The dreaded, evil, Mrs. White of 9th grade Algebra. She wrote: "Stop being so uptight. A bundle of nerves." Is this what junior high teachers should write in their pupils yearbooks? I think not. I've been rather peeved about it all day. Bitch. Ahem, back to the 1980s. My hair was absolutely, hands down, atrocious. My motto must have been: the bigger, the better. I'm surprised I had any friends at all.

On to college. My first notebook I decided to read was from my "Major English Writings I course". First up: notes on Old English, Chaucer, and Beowulf. My typical journal began: "Oh god, not another poem in Middle English!" Still, my prof. gave me a 9/10 for my "style" and confessed that she, too, was not a huge fan of this time period. Ha.

Stuffed in different notebooks, I discovered the "love letter" collection . . . Damn. Too hokey to re-create for the blog. Too hokey for me to stomach. Yet, I'm not sure I can ditch these memories. We'll see. They remain in the "maybe" pile.

Aside from this chore, I love being home again. This is and will always be home to me. The minute I arrived, I tossed my shoes off and walked into the ocean. Living on the beach is beautiful. And the food and drink aint too bad either. My, how a bloody mary tastes with steamed oysters!

Back to memories.

What do the new photos reveal? (and other Monday afternoon ramblings)

With a tentative cease-fire in place between Israel and Lebanon, I was excited to finally hear something about the state of Castro's health. As these photos reveal, he's looking pretty damn frail two weeks after surgery. I haven't bothered to turn on the news this morning because I'm convinced the latest photos will have Little Havana practically rioting as they pray for his death. But, I was encouraged by his 80th birthday statement. I appreciate his honesty, and his determination to assure Cuban citizens that the state of the country remains in good hands. And, by the way, isn't Chavez a dashing head of state? Obviously, I've been following the events in Cuba with excitement and dread . . . with the Middle East in turmoil, I don't even want to consider what could happen if Castro were to die. But, I suppose we should simply take his words at face value and believe that he has a plan in place should his death occur. I imagine Lula and Chavez are closely monitoring events as well. In other Latin American news, seems like the Mexican election went belly-up under the weight of mass corruption and fraud. I hope Obrador and his supporters remain vigilant in their civil disobedience. A partial recount? Sound familiar? I guess the US was probably getting nervous at the thought of their southern neighbor swinging towards the left too. Call it a consipracy theory . . . but I'm sure our government had a hand in pressuring Vicente-lapdog-Fox into making sure Obrador did not assume office!

Now, in other random news:

I heart WEEDS! We finished the first season this weekend and I am totally hooked. Tonight is the premiere of the second season, but we don't have showtime, so will probably have to wait another year before I can get my Botwin fix. The slogan: putting the herb back in suburb, tells only part of the story. I love the show for its critique of middle to upper middle class values . . . and this goes way beyond smoking weed. The show's commentary on the blandness and sameness of US life (read: strip mall after strip mall after gated community after gated community after boring coffee shop after boring coffee shop) is spot on. I was worried nothing could catch my attention once Six Feet Under finished its run, but man was I ever wrong.

So I realize that J and I hatched a plan to forego any and all tv watching except for cable series and film, but since the Time Warner empire has taken over our carrier, I now feel compelled to get basic digital just so we can have this channel. J's mom had this station in WV, and I watched it with the intensity of a crack addict. Yes, America, that is just how starved us queers are for some programming that reflects our fucking lives.

Hairspray, Soda, and Saline Solution: The War on Terror Continues

On Thursday I received a rather rude awakening from my mother who was taking an early morning flight from Daytona Beach to Ohio for her high school class reunion. On the way to the airport, she heard the broadcasts that travelers (domestic and international) were not able to bring any liquids on board. Now for those that have never met my mother, a few facts are in order: she carries 2 purses for every day use (one for wallet, brush, and other items she thinks could be needed while shopping around and the other full of miscellaneous items (hair ties, purel, tissues, another brush, receipts form 1985, etc.). When she travels, one entire bag is dedicated to make-up. Yes, my mother is a high femme. It's no wonder word of my queerness sent her into such panic. So, on this fine Thursday morning, she was unceremoniously stripped of her hairspray by airport officials and forced to repack/ditch some of her cosmetics before boarding the flight. By the time I reach her during her layover in Atlanta, she is in a forlorn mood: gone was her new bottle of hair spray and her cosmetic bag had been reduced by half. And, this, before her 50th high school class reunion. What's a girl to do?

Later that afternoon J and I watched the steady stream of talking heads parade across the television warning US citizens that we were on the verge of a massive attack. Terrorists were hell bent on committing mass murder in the airways. Apparently, a fizzy drink (or an imposter) could be ignited using a remote control key thing-a-ma-jigie. No more cokes, Ipods, saline solution, and, yes, hairspray. Thanks to the brits, and of course Tony Blair, our lives were safe.

As usual, feeling cynical, J and I wondered aloud over breakfast if this was yet another fucked up ploy by the Bush/Blair administration to spike/strike fear in the hearts of everyone . . . due to sagging polls on both sides of the Atlantic.

Today, a friend sent me a rather distressing article about this whole mess:

Aug. 11, 2006 -- According to knowledgeable sources in the UK and other
countries, the Tony Blair government, under siege by a Labor Party
revolt, cleverly cooked up a new "terror" scare to avert the public's
eyes away from Blair's increasing political woes. British law
enforcement; neo-con and intelligence operatives in the United States,
Israel, and Britain; and Rupert Murdoch's global media empire cooked up
the terrorist plot, liberally borrowing from the failed 1995 "Oplan
Bojinka" plot by Pakistan- and Philippines-based terrorist Ramzi Ahmad
Yousef to crash 11 trans-Pacific airliners bound from Asia to the
United States. In the latest plot, it is reported that liquid bombs
were to be detonated on 10 trans-Atlantic planes outbound from Britain
to the United States.

When I read things like this, I just know that soap operas could never be as whacked as our current reality. Murdoch is wiretapping Prince Charles who is cooking up a plot to oust Blair . . . so Blair and Bush cook up counter plot based on an 11 year old foiled terrorist attempt from Asia to the US. Meanwhile, Bush is burning brush and biking in Crawford, while the US prepares another shipment of bombs to Israel.
And my 68-year old mother has been stripped of all things that make her feel like a woman . . .all in the name of terror. If this story turns out to be true (which we'll never know for another 20 years), I'd be pissed if I were her.

MBFB PT. 2

What I find myself still thinking about from yesterday: A NY TIMES interview with the co-founder of *Bitch* Magazine, Andi Zeisler. I read this interview over coffee Sunday morning and found one comment/question Deborah Solomon raised rather intriguing: "It seems as if its original vision of social equality has been undermined by third-wave feminists like yourself, who limit your critiques to, say, Tori Spelling's breasts. Doesn't the obsession with popular culture risk trivializing feminism?" Ok, if I were Zeisler, I would have probably been very pissed off by this question and come back with a witty, smart defense of my magazine and its focus . . .however, this is not what actually happened. Instead, Zeisler responds: "Many young women today have more day-to-day contact with "Desperate Housewives" than with the radical feminist writings of Germaine Greer or Shulamith Firestone." And, now, this morning I awake to several blogs discussing how stupid Solomon was/is, how kind Zeisler was, how young feminists are completely misunderstood by the older ranks, yadda, yadda, yadda. I do believe Solomon was attempting to hit upon something other feminists (young and old) have been discussing: the focus of the third wave. When I was still in grad school an excellent piece emerged about the Third Wave's lack of social critique--and it's endless celebration of individual acts of resistance, girl power, so to speak. I do think popular culture is important if it is constantly grounded/reflective of the consumerist culture in which we live. Maybe the fact that young women today are more cognizant of Desperate Housewives than the writings of Firestone and other feminist thinkers IS indicative of a problem--and one that needs to be addressed. I support the third wave and think some of the blogs out there are fascinating. However, I, too, find some of the analysis lacking or base at best. For example, I don't think we should celebrate the first time US women entered the Navy. Ew. Rather than an accomplishment, we should seriously wonder why a social movement supposedly against militarism, violence in all of its forms, would want to enter the ranks of the enemy. Sorry folks, that aint girl power to me, much less progress. And, for all the talk of eroding abrotion rights, let's frame the debate in broader terms: reproductive health care for all women. Low-income women, historically, have been coereced into pregnancy OR coerced into sterilization programs (ie the famous case of the Relf sisters). Now that Roe v. Wade is teetering on the brink of obsolescene, everyone is having a march on Washington or somewhere. I certainly don't want to see Roe V. Wade overturned, but I'm tired of the single-issue, personal narrative, D-I-Y approach to feminism that has come to characterize our present-day. We must connect the dots . . .and just talking about the intersections or the holy trinity of race, class, gender/sexuality doesn't mean you actually have an ANALYSIS that coherently connects the dots between these competing categories of oppression. Instead of celebrating/wearing t-shirts that proudly claim: "This is What a Feminist Looks Like" we need to get our collective shit together and think about why the feminist movement, at least in the US, has not made much of an impact on areas like foreign policy . . . at a time when we need to quit thinking about vibrators, dildos, and breasts (all fine things to talk about in their proper context) and refocus our attention on the massive amount of women being displaced/killed by our corrosive, destructive, foreign policy decisions AROUND the globe--not *just* in the current war du jour. But I digress. A friend of ours bought a subscription to *Bitch* and I enjoyed reading it for the most part. I'm just tired of the knee-jerk reaction of the the so-called Third Wave against the so-called Second Wave (read old, outdated, un-hip, etc). Read the blogs this morning . . . you'll see what I mean.

Things to do today: Quit surfing web. Work on paper. Go to library. Walk dog. Eat.

What I'd like to be doing: Drinking bloody mary's at a dive bar/seafood establishment somewhere warm with a cool breeze . . . perhaps Key West?

My Boring Fucking Blog PT. 1 Hereafter Known As MBFB

What I Did: Ate hash and eggs, removed cat hair from various home furnishings, rearranged rooms, showered.

What I'm reading: Stone Butch Blues, Leslie Feinberg

Plans for Saturday night: Drinking wine in my old house, with my girl. Eating fish, vegetables, and couscous. Drinking more wine. Sleep.

What I'm listening to: Taking the Long Way Home, the Dixie Chicks. Yes, the Dixie Chicks.

What I've been thinking about: Relationships. Making them work. My dog. Transgendered lives. Fall semester. Shit heads I used to work with. Reading lists. Discussion questions. Nationalist feminism. US military rape trials: Iraq, the Philippines. Why does it always seem to be the Marines? Baghdad Burning. How many bombs were dropped on Lebanon today? Being good. Calm. Landis is guilty. Athletes suck. Who cares if Paris is celibate?

What's in the Netflix rotation: Weeds Season 1. Funny as hell, smart, well worth it. Next up: Paradise Now or final episode of final season of Six Feet Under. Since Nate died, I haven't been able to put the final nail in the coffin. Best cable series I've ever watched.

Homage to S-K

How bummed was I to learn last month that Sleater-Kinney had decided to go on an "indefinite" hiatus after their summer tour ends. It's sad because there are so few chick bands out there willing to seriously rock it out. In their honor, I provide you with some videos of my fave tunes. Paste the links in your browser and prepare for some kick ass songs.

1. http://youtube.com/watch?v=ubyVReV2gDc&mode=related&search=

2. http://youtube.com/watch?v=NNpKjmNaJpQ

3. http://youtube.com/watch?v=vZA_7FtttRY

4. http://youtube.com/watch?v=IoCDSngUGmY

Hot, Hot, Hot

No, I'm not referring to one of my very favorite Cure songs, but to the dreadful heat wave the northeast has just suffered through. In this old house we managed to live through 98 degree weather with only two, yes, two fans running. At one point, our bedroom reached 85 degrees. Not good. As citizen Gore would say: global warming is, indeed, an inconvenient truth.

A few days after my last post, Fidel ceded power to his brother and Little Havana went crazy. I was seriously disturbed by people celebrating in the streets over news of his surgery. Today I read where Bush actually helped rally the exiles with talk of bringing "democracy" to the island. I imagine we'll just go ahead and drop a cluster bomb (if we haven't sent them all to Israel) on the island and be done with it.

And, now, back to the weather. We live in the middle of a rather long street. One evening, after excruciating humidity levels, a storm broke out while J and I were enjoying a late afternoon reading session in the living room. Although the dog was acting squirrely, we thought nothing of the thunder claps and brief flashes of lightning.
As these pics reveal, however, a fairly benign storm turned into a powerful wind machine that took down some very, very, big trees in certain parts of our street and surrounding neighborhood. Of course, we have this huge, leaning, decrepit old pine tree over our kitchen that poses a constant threat to our overall well-being. So far, so good. Keep fingers crossed until we get a tree removal service on the job.

In other news, J's birthday came and went. As part of her festivities, I bought her a digital camera since our old one went bust after one year's use. Hopefully our new digital technology will enhance the "look" of our oh-so-popular blogs. Haha. I make myself chuckle. To celebrate, we kept the festivities simple and local: in other words, we drank the night away at one of the 2 dive bars in town. Not THE dive bar we typically like to frequent, but a dive bar nonetheless. I'm trying to upload a mini video we took after our night of consuming massive quantities of Dewars and soda. Unfortunately, blogspot keeps giving me an "error" messsage, reassuring me, however, that the "engineers" are aware of the problem. When the engineers let me know what the hell is up, I'll upload and let you see some of our ramblings.

Later.