Snopes has confirmed this as true, and I just heard an interview with Ms. Kilkenny on the radio.
A note to all by Anne Kilkenny
Dear friends,
So many people have asked me about what I know about Sarah Palin in the last 2 days that I decided to write something up . . .
Basically, Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton have only 2 things in common: their gender and their good looks. :)
You have my permission to forward this to your friends/email contacts with my name and email address attached, but please do not post it on any websites, as there are too many kooks out there . . .
Thanks, Anne
[ Note by web_admin: This was already posted on Washington Independent comments area and was meant by the author to be read by many, but readers need sourcing. The NY Times has talked with Anne since. ]
ABOUT SARAH PALIN
I am a resident of Wasilla, Alaska. I have known Sarah since 1992. Everyone here knows Sarah, so it is nothing special to say we are on a first-name basis. Our children have attended the same schools. Her father was my child's favorite substitute teacher. I also am on a first name basis with her parents and mother-in-law. I attended more City Council meetings during her administration than about 99% of the residents of the city.
She is enormously popular; in every way she's like the most popular girl in middle school. Even men who think she is a poor choice and won't vote for her can't quit smiling when talking about her because she is a "babe".
It is astonishing and almost scary how well she can keep a secret. She kept her most recent pregnancy a secret from her children and parents for seven months.
She is "pro-life". She recently gave birth to a Down's syndrome baby. There is no cover-up involved, here; Trig is her baby.
She is energetic and hardworking. She regularly worked out at the gym.
She is savvy. She doesn't take positions; she just "puts things out there" and if they prove to be popular, then she takes credit.
Her husband works a union job on the North Slope for BP and is a champion snowmobile racer. Todd Palin's kind of job is highly sought-after because of the schedule and high pay. He arranges his work schedule so he can fish for salmon in Bristol Bay for a month or so in summer, but by no stretch of the imagination is fishing their major source of income. Nor has her life-style ever been anything like that of native Alaskans.
Sarah and her whole family are avid hunters.
She's smart.
Her experience is as mayor of a city with a population of about 5,000 (at the time), and less than 2 years as governor of a state with about 670,000 residents.
During her mayoral administration most of the actual work of running this small city was turned over to an administrator. She had been pushed to hire this administrator by party power-brokers after she had gotten herself into some trouble over precipitous firings which had given rise to a recall campaign.
Sarah campaigned in Wasilla as a "fiscal conservative". During her 6 years as Mayor, she increased general government expenditures by over 33%. During those same 6 years the amount of taxes collected by the City increased by 38%. This was during a period of low inflation (1996-2002). She reduced progressive property taxes and increased a regressive sales tax which taxed even food. The tax cuts that she promoted benefited large corporate property owners way more than they benefited residents.
The huge increases in tax revenues during her mayoral administration weren't enough to fund everything on her wish list though, borrowed money was needed, too. She inherited a city with zero debt, but left it with indebtedness of over $22 million. What did Mayor Palin encourage the voters to borrow money for? Was it the infrastructure that she said she supported? The sewage treatment plant that the city lacked? or a new library? No. $1m for a park. $15m-plus for construction of a multi-use sports complex which she rushed through to build on a piece of property that the City didn't even have clear title to, that was still in litigation 7 yrs later--to the delight of the lawyers involved! The sports complex itself is a nice addition to the community but a huge money pit, not the profit-generator she claimed it would be. She also supported bonds for $5.5m for road projects that could have been done in 5-7 yrs without any borrowing.
While Mayor, City Hall was extensively remodeled and her office redecorated more than once.
These are small numbers, but Wasilla is a very small city.
As an oil producer, the high price of oil has created a budget surplus in Alaska. Rather than invest this surplus in technology that will make us energy independent and increase efficiency, as Governor she proposed distribution of this surplus to every individual in the state.
In this time of record state revenues and budget surpluses, she recommended that the state borrow/bond for road projects, even while she proposed distribution of surplus state revenues: spend today's surplus, borrow for needs.
She's not very tolerant of divergent opinions or open to outside ideas or compromise. As Mayor, she fought ideas that weren't generated by her or her staff. Ideas weren't evaluated on their merits, but on the basis of who proposed them.
While Sarah was Mayor of Wasilla she tried to fire our highly respected City Librarian because the Librarian refused to consider removing from the library some books that Sarah wanted removed. City residents rallied to the defense of the City Librarian and against Palin's attempt at out-and-out censorship, so Palin backed down and withdrew her termination letter. People who fought her attempt to oust the Librarian are on her enemies list to this day.
Sarah complained about the "old boy's club" when she first ran for Mayor, so what did she bring Wasilla? A new set of "old boys". Palin fired most of the experienced staff she inherited. At the City and as Governor she hired or elevated new, inexperienced, obscure people, creating a staff totally dependent on her for their jobs and eternally grateful and fiercely loyal--loyal to the point of abusing their power to further her personal agenda, as she has acknowledged happened in the case of pressuring the State's top cop (see below).
As Mayor, Sarah fired Wasilla's Police Chief because he "intimidated" her, she told the press. As Governor, her recent firing of Alaska's top cop has the ring of familiarity about it. He served at her pleasure and she had every legal right to fire him, but it's pretty clear that an important factor in her decision to fire him was because he wouldn't fire her sister's ex-husband, a State Trooper. Under investigation for abuse of power, she has had to admit that more than 2 dozen contacts were made between her staff and family to the person that she later fired, pressuring him to fire her ex-brother-in-law. She tried to replace the man she fired with a man who she knew had been reprimanded for sexual harassment; when this caused a public furor, she withdrew her support.
She has bitten the hand of every person who extended theirs to her in help. The City Council person who personally escorted her around town introducing her to voters when she first ran for Wasilla City Council became one of her first targets when she was later elected Mayor. She abruptly fired her loyal City Administrator; even people who didn't like the guy were stunned by this ruthlessness.
Fear of retribution has kept all of these people from saying anything publicly about her.
When then-Governor Murkowski was handing out political plums, Sarah got the best, Chair of the Alaska Oil and Gas Conservation Commission: one of the few jobs not in Juneau and one of the best paid. She had no background in oil & gas issues. Within months of scoring this great job which paid $122,400/yr, she was complaining in the press about the high salary. I was told that she hated that job: the commute, the structured hours, the work. Sarah became aware that a member of this Commission (who was also the State Chair of the Republican Party) engaged in unethical behavior on the job. In a gutsy move which some undoubtedly cautioned her could be political suicide, Sarah solved all her problems in one fell swoop: got out of the job she hated and garnered gobs of media attention as the patron saint of ethics and as a gutsy fighter against the "old boys' club" when she dramatically quit, exposing this man's ethics violations (for which he was fined).
As Mayor, she had her hand stuck out as far as anyone for pork from Senator Ted Stevens. Lately, she has castigated his pork-barrel politics and publicly humiliated him. She only opposed the "bridge to nowhere" after it became clear that it would be unwise not to.
As Governor, she gave the Legislature no direction and budget guidelines, then made a big grandstand display of line-item vetoing projects, calling them pork. Public outcry and further legislative action restored most of these projects--which had been vetoed simply because she was not aware of their importance--but with the unobservant she had gained a reputation as "anti-pork".
She is solidly Republican: no political maverick. The State party leaders hate her because she has bit them in the back and humiliated them. Other members of the party object to her self-description as a fiscal conservative.
Around Wasilla there are people who went to high school with Sarah. They call her "Sarah Barracuda" because of her unbridled ambition and predatory ruthlessness. Before she became so powerful, very ugly stories circulated around town about shenanigans she pulled to be made point guard on the high school basketball team. When Sarah's mother-in-law, a highly respected member of the community and experienced manager, ran for Mayor, Sarah refused to endorse her.
As Governor, she stepped outside of the box and put together of package of legislation known as "AGIA" that forced the oil companies to march to the beat of her drum.
Like most Alaskans, she favors drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. She has questioned if the loss of sea ice is linked to global warming. She campaigned "as a private citizen" against a state initiaitive that would have either a) protected salmon streams from pollution from mines, or b) tied up in the courts all mining in the state (depending on who you listen to). She has pushed the State's lawsuit against the Dept. of the Interior's decision to list polar bears as threatened species.
McCain is the oldest person to ever run for President; Sarah will be a heartbeat away from being President.
There has to be literally millions of Americans who are more knowledgeable and experienced than she.
However, there's a lot of people who have underestimated her and are regretting it.
CLAIM VS FACT •"Hockey mom": true for a few years •"PTA mom": true years ago when her first-born was in elementary school, not since •"NRA supporter": absolutely true •social conservative: mixed. Opposes gay marriage, BUT vetoed a bill that would have denied benefits to employees in same-sex relationships (said she did this because it was unconsitutional). •pro-creationism: mixed. Supports it, BUT did nothing as Governor to promote it. •"Pro-life": mixed. Knowingly gave birth to a Down's syndrome baby BUT declined to call a special legislative session on some pro-life legislation •"Experienced": Some high schools have more students than Wasilla has residents. Many cities have more residents than the state of Alaska. No legislative experience other than City Council. Little hands-on supervisory or managerial experience; needed help of a city administrator to run town of about 5,000. •political maverick: not at all •gutsy: absolutely! •open & transparent: ??? Good at keeping secrets. Not good at explaining actions. •has a developed philosophy of public policy: no •"a Greenie": no. Turned Wasilla into a wasteland of big box stores and disconnected parking lots. Is pro-drilling off-shore and in ANWR. •fiscal conservative: not by my definition! •pro-infrastructure: No. Promoted a sports complex and park in a city without a sewage treatment plant or storm drainage system. Built streets to early 20th century standards. •pro-tax relief: Lowered taxes for businesses, increased tax burden on residents •pro-small government: No. Oversaw greatest expansion of city government in Wasilla's history. •pro-labor/pro-union. No. Just because her husband works union doesn't make her pro-labor. I have seen nothing to support any claim that she is pro-labor/pro-union.
WHY AM I WRITING THIS?
First, I have long believed in the importance of being an informed voter. I am a voter registrar. For 10 years I put on student voting programs in the schools. If you google my name (Anne Kilkenny + Alaska), you will find references to my participation in local government, education, and PTA/parent organizations.
Secondly, I've always operated in the belief that "Bad things happen when good people stay silent". Few people know as much as I do because few have gone to as many City Council meetings.
Third, I am just a housewife. I don't have a job she can bump me out of. I don't belong to any organization that she can hurt. But, I am no fool; she is immensely popular here, and it is likely that this will cost me somehow in the future: that's life.
Fourth, she has hated me since back in 1996, when I was one of the 100 or so people who rallied to support the City Librarian against Sarah's attempt at censorship.
Fifth, I looked around and realized that everybody else was afraid to say anything because they were somehow vulnerable.
CAVEATS I am not a statistician. I developed the numbers for the increase in spending & taxation 2 years ago (when Palin was running for Governor) from information supplied to me by the Finance Director of the City of Wasilla, and I can't recall exactly what I adjusted for: did I adjust for inflation? for population increases? Right now, it is impossible for a private person to get any info out of City Hall--they are swamped. So I can't verify my numbers.
You may have noticed that there are various numbers circulating for the population of Wasilla, ranging from my "about 5,000", up to 9,000. The day Palin's selection was announced a city official told me that the current population is about 7,000. The official 2000 census count was 5,460. I have used about 5,000 because Palin was Mayor from 1996 to 2002, and the city was growing rapidly in the mid-90's.
MBB could not join me for lunch, so I went to Whorebucks. It's so close to the office, I just didn't feel like taking a jog at lunch, you know? I just needed some "me time," I guess.
So there I was. I had my book, "The Artist's Way," I had my spiral bound notebook. I felt like writing, so I did. The old fashioned way, long hand, with a pen, scribbling thoughts and streams of ideas, typos and all. Blackened words where my ideas took a u-turn. Perhaps I should have chosen a different subject, though.
I am locked in the chapter I am writing for the novel. I know what I want to write, but I couldn't get myself to write it. I'd find any excuse NOT to write about...THAT. But I have to. I have to. So I did. At lunch, long hand, scribbling and shaky, I wrote it all down. About the game of hide and seek, about the trick played on me, about the work shed, and the rotten, splintered work bench, about the threats and the slap to the face, about...the...rape. I was eight. Who the fuck does that to a scrawny, dirty, disheveled, sloppy eight year old tomboy? Who the fuck does that?
He did. He does. He was fourteen. Looking back, I now know that he, too, was a victim in a long line of victims. A putrid family tradition handed silently down from father to son, from grandfather to grandchildren, from brother to sibling. Did it end with him? No.
I heard he was married with three daughters. When I heard he had created victims of his own, I cried over my own lack of courage. What if I just said something? He wouldn't have the chance with three new people. He wouldn't take away their dignity and self worth and security. He wouldn't have the chance to make them feel less than worthless. But I didn't say anything, and he went on to create three more victims. Will it end with them?
The Bush administration is trying to expand the legal definition of abortion to include any procedure or DRUG that prevents the implantation of a fertilized egg. The current definition only covers terminating after a fertilized egg has already been implanted. This expanded definition would include the use of Birth Control Pills, IUD's, and just about any other hormonal form of birth control. No big deal right? Abortion is legal.
Consider the consequences if Roe V. Wade is overturned? Conservatives have been trying since day one to overturn the ruling, and both parties on their ticket are strongly anti-abortion. Palin even opposes abortion in cases of rape, incest, and when pregnancy is a danger to the mothers health. This woman is NOT pro-life, she is ANTI-Choice, and anti abortion, period.
Please, I implore all of you. Educate yourselves on the candidates, educate yourself on the issues, and make an informed choice this November.
Currently
listening
:
Unity of Oppression
By
Consolidated
Release date: 1991-08-08
The acting was superb, as well as the direction, but it was the emotion of the movie that got me. There was a certain scene early in the movie that I will likely remember vividly for the rest of my days. Young Ray Robinson had lost his brother in a drowning accident for which he felt guilty of preventing. And he was rapidly losing his eyesight. His young and overworked mother had to prepare him for life. She told young Ray that she would only show him how to do things once, then he was on his own. One day, after Ray had completely lost his eyesight, he tripped and fell as he ran into the house. He cried out to his mother, who was standing only eight feet away. She did not go to him, she did not speak to him. She let him believe he was alone and dependent only on himself. She did this with tears flowing down her face in a guilt ridden deluge.
She had to prepare him for life.
Today my son starts High School. The funny thing is, I don't really concern myself what that means about me. I know a lot of people who trip that they are old enough to have a high schooler. I don't really care about that. But I do have to admit that, as the date approached, I felt overcame by a deep anxiety. I wasn't sure why.
Last night I had a dream about my son. I have lost the details of this dream in the fog of waking, but I do know the general theme: I was sending my son to war. Whare the war had been waged, or the gory path that led to it, I don't remember. Perhaps those details never existed in my dream. But the sense of dread and panic that I felt, that was real and it remained with me long after I arose. I cried in the shower. All day I've had this nagging feeling that I am, right this moment, making a monumental mistake of life altering proportions. I felt guilty.
I was sitting on the back patio a little while ago, letting my mind dart from one source of stress to another as it tried to connect this anxiety to a specific event. My mind wandered, as it often does, to the rhelm of daydreams and visions. I replayed that memorable scene from Ray through my mind. Then it connected.
I was letting my son go into harms way, for his own sake.
I remember high school with piercing scrutiny. The kids who at any opportunity will verbally demolish you in front of a crowd. The feeling of inadequacy, the dread of the days ahead. The indifference to the world around you.
The moment I realized this, I calmed. I felt my heartbeat slow, my blood pressure drop, and the anxiety faded. I get it, I'm worried my boys will have the same experience I did. I realize, though, that they couldn't possibly have the same experience. The circumstances are not the same, their lives are dramatically different from mine. They have a safe haven at home. They have me.
"My fingers are throbbing!" she whined as she stuffed her plump digits deep into her maw.
"Keep playing." He said as he scanned the paper. He flipped the oversized page to the other half of the article he had been reading. It seems another local celebrity purposely careened her sports car off a cliff. Whether or not the allegations that the press drover her to suicide were true, the undeterred paparazzi still caught the entire gory accident on film. You can never see enough starlets, mangled and bleeding, body parts missing. he thought. He looked up from his article, "You're not playing."
She let out a long sigh. "My fingers hurt."
He huffed and set down the paper, "Of course they hurt, you're destroying the nerve endings. Play through it. Learn to love it." He arose to fetch himself a glass of lemonade.
She again gripped the neck of the guitar, arranged her fingers to the A minor, and ran through the arpeggio pattern. She pulled her burning fingers forcefully into the frets, making each note ring. Her fingertips felt like they were splitting apart, but she played through it. Soon the fire subsided and the deadening crept in. She began to play faster, switching from the A minor, to the A/F, to the C flawlessly.
"Good." He commended. He handed her a small glass of lemonade as he lifted the guitar from her lap. "Take a break." He lifted the instrument to his lap and effortlessly executed a lilting melody, flawless arpeggios, and delicate chords. He ran his long bony fingers from one end of the fret board to the other, each note paying homage to the perfection of the last. And he never once took his eyes from that fucking newspaper.
She sipped at her beverage, watching his fingers move instinctively along the instrument. "I'll never play as good as you." She finally relented.
"As well, and don't sell yourself short. You just started." He broke into a flamenco rhythm, pounding the body of the guitar to simulate drumming. Running from minor chord to minor chord in a rather chaotic fashion, yet with a traceable melody. His eyes still scanned the open page.
She finished her drink and slammed the tumbler onto the table. He halted his playing and looked at her. "Jeez, you don't even have to pay attention! Why do you read that thing, anyway? It's just full of depressing junk." She sourly sulked in her chair with cross-armed resentment. "And they're poorly written."
"Oh?" He said, taking a sip from his icy chalice.
"Yeah," she continued, "All you have to do is read the first five paragraphs, anyway, to get the information and the rest is just filler. They don't even use proper formatting. One-sentence paragraphs? Stupid."
He nodded quietly, staring into his lemonade, pondering her words. "Well," he finally said, "Perhaps you should teach them how to write."
"Yeah right," she pouted, "Like they'd listen to me."
"Why not?" he asked her solemnly.
"Because I'm just a kid, and they won't like some kid making them look bad. They're just jealous." She fumed.
"Who is?" he asked
She looked up at him, puzzled. "What do you mean, who?"
"Who is jealous and bitter, who won't listen to you?" He pressed
"Them," she said, wagging her finger at the paper, "The newspaper guys."
"So, they're men?" he asked
"What? I don't know, I mean the people who work at the newspaper." She said, frustrated.
"Do you know anybody who works for the paper?" he asked.
"No. So?" She rebutted.
"Because you just accused a whole building of people of petty jealousy, and I wondered if you had an example." She looked at the floor, arms crossed, brow furrowed. "You know," he continued, "There are a few hard facts of life of which you should be aware. One, the world can be a depressing place, but you are better to know the obstacles you are facing than to stumble through broken streets blindfolded. That's why I read the paper." She watched him cautiously, "two, anger is not a proper excuse for slander, especially when the focus of your smear had no direct involvement with said anger." She turned away from him and looked at the white tile floor. "And, three, there will always be someone who is better than you at something. Always, so get used to it."
She fingered the rim of the empty glass.
"Besides, if there wasn't, if you were the top of the heap, as they say, in everything," he reached for his newspaper and snapped it open to the middle, "How would you ever know the joy of learning something new, the joy of discovery? Now play."
She repositioned the guitar into her lap, arranged her fingers into A minor, and picked through the arpeggio once again.
Don’t Start the Revolution Without Me...
Current mood: awake
Category: News and Politics
I've read the articles. I've watched the movie. I understand the theory of conspiracy that shrouds the attacks on 9/11. Like many others, I simply could not believe my government would murder 3000 of its own citizens over money and power. But, I'm slowly realizing I was naive. The question still remains...what the hell do I do about it? What the hell do we do about it?
(CNN) -- The U.S. should stop arresting responsible marijuana users, Rep. Barney Frank said Wednesday, announcing a proposal to end federal penalties for Americans carrying fewer than 100 grams, almost a quarter-pound, of the substance. Rep. Barney Frank's bill would radically curb federal penalties for personal marijuana use.
1 of 2 Current laws targeting marijuana users place undue burdens on law enforcement resources, punish ill Americans whose doctors have prescribed the substance and unfairly affect African-Americans, said Frank, flanked by legislators and representatives from advocacy groups.
Actually, I did a report on marijuana in college. Caucasians smoke WAY more weed than the brothas and sistahs. It's a statistical fact.
"The vast amount of human activity ought to be none of the government's business," Frank said on Capitol Hill. "I don't think it is the government's business to tell you how to spend your leisure time."
Amen to that!
The Drug Enforcement Administration says people charged with simple possession are rarely incarcerated. The agency and the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy have long opposed marijuana legalization, for medical purposes or otherwise. Marijuana is a Schedule I controlled substance, meaning it has a high potential for abuse and no accepted medical use, according to the drug control office.
There are more medicinal uses than we can count. Nobody wants to be the first to stick their neck out.
Allen St. Pierre, spokesman for the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, likened Frank's proposal -- co-sponsored by Rep. Ron Paul, R-Texas -- to current laws dealing with alcohol consumption. Alcohol use is permitted, and the government focuses its law enforcement efforts on those who abuse alcohol or drive under its influence, he said.
"We do not arrest and jail responsible alcohol drinkers," he said.
And I have to say, the high from weed is so much better than alcohol. My motor skills are not compromised the same, I can still maintain a decent sense of judgement. There is no overdose, I don't want to fight. Man, there is just so much to like about it.
Rob Kampia, director of the Marijuana Policy Project, said marijuana arrests outnumber arrests for "all violent crimes combined," meaning police are spending inordinate amounts of time chasing nonviolent criminals. "Ending arrests is the key to marijuana policy reform," he said.
Being arrested is not the American marijuana smoker's only concern, said Bill Piper of the Drug Policy Alliance Network. Those found guilty of marijuana use can lose their jobs, financial aid for college, their food stamp and welfare benefits < or their low-cost housing.
i>To be fair, I have never heard of anyone losing welfare because of pot
The U.S. stance on marijuana, Piper said, "is one of the most destructive criminal justice policies in America today." Calling the U.S. policy "inhumane" and "immoral," Lee said she has many constituents who are harassed or arrested for using or cultivating marijuana for medical purposes. California allows medical marijuana use, but the federal government does not, she explained.
I can't imagine any other reason to keep pot as a Level 1 substance, other than the moral majority's influences. By the way, Christians, Jews, and Muslims, there is nothing in any of your holy texts that indicates God did not approve of marijuana. Sometimes people think that, if you enjoy it, it must be a sin.
Currently
listening
:
Bongo Bong
By
Manu Chao
Release date: 2000-08-29
Alice Paul and Lucy Burns founded the National Woman's Party in 1913. While non-partisan, the NWP directed much of its fire at President Woodrow Wilson when criticizing those responsible for the social situation in which women of the era lived. The National Woman's Party also opposed World War I.
They were the first women's rights group to picket the whitehouse for the right to vote. The activity was mostly ignored by the administration until 1917, after the United States declared war in World War One. The authorities then arrested hundreds of women for their actions, though the official charge is "obstructing traffic."
Though the crime was merely a public nuisance misdemenor, the women were swntenced to 60-day terms in Occoquan Workhouse for where they suffered deplorable surroundings, beatings harassment, and torture.
To protest their mistreatment and the refusal to allow outside contact, Alice Paul and other women undergo a hunger strike. The prison authorities retaliated by force feeding them milk and raw eggs through a tube.
One of the women's husband had successfully lobbied to visit his wife, and conveyed his obervations to the media. Public pressure built on President Wilson to release the protestors and allow women the right to vote. The women were eventually pardoned.
So, refresh my memory. Some women won't vote this year because--why, exactly?
We need to get out and vote and use this right that was fought so hard for by these very courageous women. Whether you vote Democratic, Republican or Independent party - remember to vote.
External Links: National Women's Party Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Woman%27s_Party Iron Jawed Angels (movie): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iron_Jawed_Angels
My husband had a rehearsal today, so we did not have usual lunch of foo-foo coffee drinks at our usual coffeehouse. I missed him terribly. However, I did relish the chance to break routine, to walk in a different direction and experience different things, even if it was for only an hour of my life.
Today, at Cesar Chavez Park two blocks from my work, they are having their weekly farmers market. Since I had a gift certificate from the little cafe in the park, I decided to head over and enjoy a peaceful lunch. I had a vegetarian sandwich and pasta salad, with fresh squeezed lemonade. Delicious.
I sat in the grass amid the shade of a tall palm tree, ate my lunch, and read a book a good friend lent to me. Nearby, one guitar and one saxophone player strummed and tooted out covers of well known jazz and rock tunes. They had a nice sound, though were far more subdued than I normally like. It was nice, though, to have this floating music waft around me as I lost myself in A Son of the Circus by John Irving. I couldn't tell you much about the book, as I just started reading. I can tell you John Irving is one of my favorite authors and I am looking forward to losing myself in his story, even if the novel is roughly the size of the Kings James Bible.
But anyway, there I was reading. In my peripheral vision, I saw a man leaning unnaturally beside me. I looked, and I could see he was leaning to read the title of the tomb I cradled in my hands. He said something, but with my diminished hearing and the music so close, I heard nothing. I suppose I could have just ignored the man. He didn't look to be the type that had epiphanal answers to life's great mysteries. I'd guess he was in his mid to late thirties and had the tell tale signs of lifelong methamphetamine abuse (Crank to those who know). But, I was in a good mood and didn't wish to be rude to anyone, so I leaned in and told him I could not hear.
He leaned close and said something about the Barnum and Bailey Circus being the greatest show on earth. "Ah, yes," I said hesitantly, "But this is regarding an Indian circus. You know, from India?"
He looked somewhat confused and asked, "Do you speak Injun?"
The pronunciation of the word, "Injun" told me a lot. The man before me thought I was speaking of Native Americans rather than Far East. I couldn't really say for sure that he was aware there was a variety other than that of his stereotypical mindset. "No," I said, "I speak no other language than English." I was already regretting giving the man my attention.
He began speaking incoherently again, drown out by the music. When he saw I couldn't understand him, he leaned closed again and shouted, "McCain for President!"
"Yes," I said, "He certainly is running." The two-man band ended their rendition of Take Five, and the tweaker before me clapped loudly. He leaned close to me and said, "I like the guitar player best."
"Well, they both are pretty good," I said and turned my eyes back to my book, hoping he'd take a hint.
"Yeah," he said, "They're both good, but the saxophone player is the same color as Obama." Did I hear that correctly?
I glared up at him incredulously, "What exactly am I supposed to say to that, you ignorant fuck?"
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," He said quickly.
"Then why'd you bother to mention it, tweaker?"
I wished I were standing at this point, but knew if I arose it would be a sign of aggression. The scattering of people around me diverted their attention from the two man band to the tweaker and me, hoping for a better show than soft versions of top 40 hits. The tweaker straightened his shirt as he took a proud, defiant stance. "I didn't know you were one of those.
"One of what? A liberal? An educated person? Someone who didn't burn her mind out on crank and end up a dirty, ignorant tweaker?"
I knew what he meant, but I was too far enveloped in my anger to let it go. I wanted him to say it, so I could have a decent excuse for knocking the three remaining teeth out of his rotting, putrid mouth. "No," he said, "A –" time slowed and the vile words slithered from his lips, "nigger-lover."
I jumped to my feet, threw down the book, and advanced on the tweaker with determination, "You ignorant fucktard bastard! You uneducated, toothless, dirty booger smear on the wall of humanity! Who the fuck do you think you are, talking shit about ANYBODY, when you can't hold a job, hold a woman, or do anything worthwhile with yourself. The only fucking thing you have a talent for is marinating your goddamned synapses in toxic fucking waste! You are a parasite, sir, and nothing else! When I end your worthless, shitty life, I will be doing society an immeasurable favor, you stinking pile of rat shit!" I advanced on the tweaker, he retreated with fear in his eyes. too late, I thought. I already decided how I was going to take him down. First, I'll kick his right knee with enough force to break it sideways, tearing tendons and sending him screaming to the ground. Then I'll kick him in the face, to get the blood flowing. Then I'll kick him in the throat to crush his larynx, then once in the ribs for good measure. Easy pickins.
The surrounding park goers suddenly surrounded me, attempting to bring me down from the adrenaline rush of anger. "Don't do it, miss. Don't do it."
"He's just a crazy old bum, ma'am. Don't let him get to you."
"There's a cop right there, miss, he's on his way." This last one I heeded.
The officer walked up to the tweaker, "Duane, are you causing trouble again?" I snapped a look at the cop. Duane?
The tweaker shook his head, "I was just talkin' and she went all crazy. You know how women be, man! I think she's on the rag, or something."
The cop shook his head with a chuckle, "Duane, stop it now. This lady is just trying to enjoy the park, why do you have to ruin her day?"
"Is this funny, asshole?" I said to the officer. He snapped his gaze upon me. "This motherfucker harasses me, then insults me and you laugh like its funny? You two friends, or something?"
The cop turned sour, "Maybe you should be on your way, ma'am."
I stood my ground and looked the cop up and down, "Really? So this tweaker can fuck with anyone he wants, and all you do is laugh? But I have to leave, is that it? I wonder what my friends at the Sacramento Bee would think about that."
The cop turned to me, "I don't like your attitude, ma'am."
"Yeah?" I said defiantly, "Last I checked my attitude wasn't against the law."
"You need to leave" The officer told me
"And you need to do your fucking job!" I said as I turned to exit the park, "You cops are fucking worthless!"
He didn't come after me, he let me exit without any further confrontation. I was as surprised as you are. But the most surprising thing was I was so ready to put Duane into the ground, and the same with the cop if he tried to touch me. I knew it, I felt it, I wanted it to happen. I wanted it more than air. At that moment, I wanted to fight more than I wanted to live. As the saying goes, you can take the girl out of Hick World…
Currently
listening
:
Break Stuff
By
Limp Bizkit
Release date: 2000-05-02
"Okay," Jed said, "same game plan as before?" I backed up to the wall and stared at Muddy's flyer. His dark brown fur shone under the light of the flashbulb, the smiling children grasping his furry neck, wide childish grins, happy memories of an unknown family. With my inner eye, I watched the toe-headed tots running through the sprinklers on their manicured lawn. Muddy runs after them, shiny, floppy ears flourishing about his laughing face, water droplets clinging to his long whiskers. Father admiring their joy from a kitchen window, Mother planting flowers in a nearby bed. In a flash, Muddy is on his side with his bloated guts pouring from his open cavity. His eyes are wide and rolled back. The stench of burned fur and flesh, piss and shit permeate the yard. The children are wailing, screaming, pulling out their blond strands by the fistful. Father pulls the children away, shouting not to look. Mother begs for it not to be so. My gut wrenched and the tears welled. I hurried into the store.
As I entered, the clerk looked up from the issue of Easy Rider splayed upon the countertop. I approached the counter with Muddy's flyer clutched in my hands and a mask of tearful angst on my face. He stood upright and flipped the magazine closed. "What's wrong, honey?" He cooed.
With shaking hands and trembling lower lip, I held up Muddy's flyer for the clerk. "have you seen my doggie?" I croaked. The clerk solemnly shook his head, eyeing the picture with guilty familiarity. He knew of Muddy's demise but didn't want to bear the news to a tearful little girl. The door opened behind me. The clerk quickly acknowledged the two young boys entering, and then returned to my unwavering gaze. I took a deep breath, "His name's Muddy," I continued, "and he's been missing for a few weeks. I want my doggie back." Big tears overflowed the rims of my eyes and fell freely to the white tile floor due to nerves and a little sympathy for the kids in the photograph.
He glanced at the flyer again. "I'm sorry, honey. I haven't seen your dog. Did you check by the creek?"
I nodded my head furiously. A tall woman entered the store, stepping behind me to wait her turn to buy cigarettes. "We looked everywhere!" I cried. "Can I put this in your window?"
The clerk looked out the front window, slightly shaking his head, "I can't." he said. I broke into a screeching sob, clutching Muddy's flyer to my chest. A deluge of tears streamed down my cheeks.
The customer crouched beside me, smelling of vanilla and nicotine, "What's a matter, honey? What's this?" She took the flyer from my trembling hands. Mascara thickly coated her eyelashes, fire red lipstick on her lips. When she laid eyes on Muddy's photograph, her penciled eyebrows arched. "Oh boy." She mumbled, looking up at the clerk. Apparently, she was a local and had heard of Muddy's end. Muddy was the most heinously handled victim of the Steven's Creek Petnapper, and his story passed through the neighborhood with a hurricane fury.
"Please!" I begged, "please put it in the window! Maybe someone has seen him! I want my doggie!" I wailed. I then fell to my knees, howling and rocking, sobbing and pleading.
The customer reasoned with the clerk, "Can't you put it up for a little bit?" She put her hand on my shoulder, "C'mon, honey, get off the floor. It's okay" She cooed. She stood up, leaned toward the clerk, and whispered, "Just put it up until she leaves. She'll find out soon enough."
"Alright, honey," The clerk relented, "alright. I could get into trouble, but I'll do it. Okay?" I sniffed and coughed as I stood up nodding. "I'll put it up for you, okay?" The clerk took the flyer and walked to the closest window. "I'll put it right here next to the Budweiser ad, see? Everybody looks at the Budweiser ad, so lots of people will see it, okay?"
"Thank you," I sniffled, "Thank you."
A fight suddenly erupted in the candy aisle. Two boys who entered after me, began to shout loudly at each other regarding a missing dollar bill. Each accused the other of stealing, descending into brutal name calling and shoving. Soon a fury of fists and profanity poured from the young boys. "Hey!" The clerk yelled as he approached the boys. "HEY!" he shouted, grabbing them by the back of their collars, separating them. "Hey, hey! Take this shit outside, you punks!" The clerk yanked the boys to the door and tossed them onto the sidewalk. "Get outta here you little fuckers! Git!" The boys grumbled and scurried away. "Goddamned kids." The clerk grumbled. I tearfully thanked the clerk again and left.
I walked solemnly out of sight of the clerk and the customer until I entered the alley. I ran to the end, checked for anyone who might be watching, then turned the corner. "What'd you get?" I asked Jed, wiping my eyes.
Jed was compiling the ill-gotten gains on the ground. "Let's see, eight Hershey bars, two Kit Kats, and four Starburst." Jed looked at Jaime, "What you got?" Jaime handed Jed a pile of packages. Jed sifted through the candy and said, "Jaime, you got, like, ten Now and Laters and a Big Hunk. These are the nastiest candies ever made, man! Jeez, when are you gonna learn?"
"I like Big Hunk." Jaime whined.
"Ugh! Trying to chew through that nasty thing will make your face ugly. Oh, so that explains it." Jed teased.
"Shut up!" Jaime snapped.
"Dude," I advised, "We should probably take this to the park to divvy."
Jed looked up, and I motioned to the end of the T intersection. The phone cop still leaned against the telephone pole, chatting and smiling into the receiver of the box phone. "Yeah, let's go." He said as he gathered the loot into his jacket pockets. "Looks like that pig's getting comfortable."
For This Evening’s Entertainment...Pure Randomness
I wonder what it's like to be paralyzed. I'm not, of course, curious enough to go out and get some first-hand experience, but still. I know it's a huge adjustment to day to day living, that's obvious. Everything, from getting out of bed to wiping your ass is a struggle. But, emotionally, what's it like? Depressing, of course, especially at first. But what about people like Christopher Reeves, who had the opportunity offered to stop the respirator and end life, but chose to go on. Did the depression ever subside, did anything become easier to take? Did they ever feel joy again? I suppose it heavily depends on the individual.
I've been writing every day. I think I missed yesterday, actually, for which I have no excuse. But anyway, I needed a slight break from the novel and decided to blog. Sometimes I just have a need to write something and not edit it a million times, constantly revamping a single sentence. Freting over the mechanics, subject, flow and rhythm of the words. Breaking down a word to the syllable, to the letter, down to a single vibration of the vocal chords. Until the word is no longer recognizible, sounding foriegn and strange and exotic. But to write almost improvisationally, and to put it on display. Then again, it's just a blog.
Sometimes I ask myself if the world has gone crazy. What with the constant upheaval in the Middle East and Africa, to the political scandals here and in Europe, it seems that things quickly became bedlam. But then I remember snipets of things from my childhood. Like waiting in gas lines miles long for the privilege to buy two gallons, and listening to mother pray the station didn't run out. I remember watching video letters from 52 men and women being held by angry men with guns. They told their families not to worry, they were being treated well, everything is okay. But even in my single digit years, their eyes told a different story. All was not well.
As I learn about human history, I am realizing that the world was always crazy and the human race is not as evolved as we like to believe. Myself included. I've been in more fist fights than I can remember, mostly with family members. I, too, have in the past have devolved into a grunting, screaming simean, beating my chest and throwing rocks. So, our country is run by corupt and cruel elitists. We just keep plodding on, trying our best to evolve. Meanwhile, life is hard.
It's just life. Complex and undefineable. We try, don't we, to label everything around us, including each other? Why? Because it makes it easier to transfer information quickly. If I tell you, for instance, that I was a "Loner Stoner" in high school, that title gives you a lot of information, doen'st it? You'd know that I smoked pot, had very few friends, and spent the majority of my time trying not to be noticed. And you'd assume I was pretty weird (which I was). But that is only a tiny part of the picture. I was complex. I'm deep, damn it! And so are you and just about everybody else you meet. I say "just about" because, well, I've met a few people where it was really a "What You See Is What You Get" situation.
But in this complex human condition in which we find ourselves, there are elements that are truly disturbing. The feeling of helplessness can be overwhelming. Sometimes I get angry at the human race. Why can't they just friggin get it? But then, I realize, I don't really get all of it, either. We're all at different phases of the race. Some of us won't make it far. But some of us will grow and evolve far enough that we can hand the baton of humanity to the next runner. And they, in turn, will struggle through their hardships, and strive to evolve and grow enough to do the same as you. The human race is a relay race.
Sorry, I was gettin' all deep 'n shit. Why end all this randomness with that? Keep evolving.
"You gonna check if it's the same clerk?" I asked Jed.
"Jaime, go check to see who's at the register. Make sure it's not that same lady."
"What lady?" Jaime asked.
"The-" Jed ran his hands furiously through his hair, "The lady that caught us last time, you idiot! Do you remember her, asshole?" Jaime bowed his head and sauntered toward the end of the alley. Jed turned his scowl away from the retreating Jaime to scan the street. "Uh-oh," he uttered, "The fuzz."
I followed Jed's gaze to a patrol car parked at the top of a T-intersection. He was lazily leaning on the telephone pole, facing away from his car, talking on the emergency phone attached to the pole. The call seemed to be less than urgent.
"Yeah, he's always there." I responded, "He lives on that phone."
Jed eyed the officer from within the alley, "What's he doin', some kinda stakeout?"
I huffed, "Yeah, right. He sits there for a hella long time, most days. Like, one time Jaime and me went to the perk ponds, right? The pig was there when we went, and when we came back. It musta been at least an hour."
"Who's he talkin' to? Those box phones only go to the precinct." Jaime pondered.
I shrugged, "Maybe he's humping one of the operators, or somethin'."
Jed laughed and turned his gaze back into the alley. "Jaime!" he gutturally whispered. I turned to see Jaime leaning against the wall of the alley, staring at the ground. "Jaime, what the fuck you doin'?" Jed chastised, "Didn't we tell you to go check if it's the same lady? Why the fuck are you still here?"
awake
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