So much for writing

Failed at even continuing to write in the novel. My mind is off -just grey crap fog.

Worthless crap. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Just one more empty day -just waiting for my body to die.

Smiling Scallop, Sighing Scallop

Last night I walked the beach a day after a nor'easter had churned up the usually serene bay. Among the quahog shells, I discovered two occupied Scallops, too high up on the beach and tangled in messes of seaweed to get back to the water line. I held each of them for several moments watching them watch me with their lovely brilliant blue eyes (which can regenerate as needed) and looking through the lush lashes of their fringed gills. They both slowly opened their shells so that I could peek inside their lovely studios, and then they clapped their shells shut with a sigh. After placing them back in the water and spending time listening to the tympani of the hectic surf, this story came to mind:

Smiling Scallop, Sighing Scallop

Two scallops were enjoying the swaying fan corals and greenery in their communal scallop bed. The rays, their fiercest enemies, weren't much of a bother because this particular community was guarded by a school of sentry sharks.



Sea, smooth, surrounding, saline-infused.

Two

Stopped

I can't see to type. I am so exhausted sitting here in a library that only a couple of fingertips are moving. I'm too tired to sleep and far past caring. Why won't my stinking body stop? This death is so beyond being able to tolerate it. If I had the energy to get up I'd drop in traffic. this is so beyond what I can tolerate. This is torture of the worst kind. I welcome death but it evades me.

Meanwhile all heads are averted or simply stare getting entertainment from my disintigration. Executioners enjoying the slow cut of the dull blade and watching the pyre flame every higher.

I don't believe it's that bad.

Just tell me that you're still alive.

Damn people who could care less that I'm trapped in a burning car. They just want me to wave and assure them that I'm alive. Then they can happily walk away self satisfied. Thanks for your voyeurism.

Again, stupid me. I actually thought I had a place to stay, but no. After wasting time today with my hopes up, and I should know better than to ever trust that anything will EVER have any outcome other than nothing. Back on the street. Better off dead. How hypocritical this mandate not to commit suicide while simultaneously pouring gas on the already burning car.

Walking slow death. Piece of crap. Worthless. Absolutely 100% worthless. That's reality.

Bush Fly Me Policy: Aid Air Terror

John Carr, the former president of NATCA (National Air Traffic Controllers Association), writes a thriller of a blog called The Main Bang. You can only read it when you are next to an immediate fire suppression rescue device as your hair will spontaneously combust from all of the FAA transgressions against the controllers and the safety of the flying public.

Yesterday, John and his faithful commenters took on this a new Bushco War OF Terror TM threat:

Now it seems you can have real time flight tracking on virtual radar in your office, home, workplace, or, God forbid, a pickup truck full of Osama's buddies toting shoulder fired missiles---for the low, low price of only $899.

I once famously crashed the party at a Congressional field hearing at Chicago Center to make sure Congress knew that, "Our Nation has entered the on-ramp to the information superhighway. The FAA cannot even get their Pinto out of the driveway." (See this Congressional record, page 97, from over 12 years ago.)

Well, it's ditto modernization, folks. While Bush, Blakester and Bobert have been busy caning their employees like they spit gum on the sidewalks of Singapore, their facilities have fallen apart like a Korean Swiss Army Knife. Meanwhile...the modernization tools of airspace mischief and destruction are being hawked right underneath their noses, on the Internet.

You can buy real time flight tracking here and here. I have been thinking about buying one of these babies and a handheld VHF radio and working a little final to fourteen-right at O'Hare some night. "Three from the marker, right to one two zero to join, three til established, cleared for the approach. If you need more room behind the guy in front of you, push your seat back you sissy." Yeeee-HAW!!!

Did you get that?

John is saying that anyone can hack into air traffic control and direct pilots to anywhere. As in into another plane, into the ground, into buildings, etc.

Have you ever listened to controllers working a regular, everyday shift traffic? Choose your favorite location and settle in where the performance is always at 100%, zero tolerance for a major error (two or more entities occupying the same space at the same time).

And then (wet your hair now as a precautionary measure), one of John's commenters provides enough real-life scenarios if real-time radar access goes forward:

I found this about ADS-B, the core component of the FAA's NEXGEN system;

Airsport

These five stories are set slightly in the future, but only slightly. Perhaps five years from now. The technology described is an accurate portrayal of ATC systems of today, or in the case of ADS-B, an accurate portrayal of systems that are test flying today. The individuals and situations are fictional of course.

The scenarios are all very detailed, so I have included the one that seems to have generated the most concern by air traffic controllers. They are all worth a close read and are important to consider.

Scenario Five....User Fees for General Aviation

Harvey Patton started his company for the best of reasons. His city was about to close the airport and turn the land into an industrial park. The various factions had fought over this issue for years and Harvey realized that if the airport users were seen to be paying their own way, and perhaps paying a bit extra, then the city could be convinced to keep the airport open.

In that light, local airport user fees didn't look so bad. If the fees were structured according to the weight of each aircraft, the bulk of the expense would be borne by the companies that could afford it while the pleasure pilots would only pay a token sum. It sure beat losing the airfield.

So Harvey went to the city with this proposal: He would supply and maintain the equipment at no cost to the city, all the city had to supply was a place to house a PC and antenna. The equipment would receive and log the ADS-B signals and routinely modem the data to Harvey's business where billing and collecting would be done. The city would receive 85% of the monthly billings without lifting a finger to do any work. All aircraft activity would be monitored 24 hours a day, 7 days a week whether the tower or FBO were on duty or not.

The city accepted, and the idea worked. Every month the city received a substantial check which went into the airport fund and provided a surplus. Everyone was happy. Well, the users weren't totally happy but they realized it was better than closing the airport altogether. And many users, the smaller aircraft, were escaping user fees by not installing ADS-B. True, not having the collision avoidance equipment meant a higher risk, but many pilots were more concerned with high costs than improved margins of safety.

Harvey realized that we are losing an airport a day in the United States and some of those are important GA facilities similar to his airport. He went to those cities and sold the same deal, it was easy to do the automatic billing and collections from his location. He was getting 15% of the take from a number of fields and the revenue began to roll in. Next step was to approach the Westchesters and Addisons all over the country with the same arrangement, every airport needs additional funding and this deal was too good for them to resist. Business increased by leaps and bounds (or takeoffs and landings) and Patton Aviation Revenue was a resounding success.

Within a few years Patton equipment was working all over the country. It was installed, it was functioning, it was a proven source of aviation funding. Of course the users were unhappy, particularly at the fields where the fees were set to limit traffic or limit noise or for some other artificial reason. But the corporate users, those who were required to use ADS-B, had no alternative but to pay.

Then the new Congress instituted federal user fees for General Aviation. This hadn't happened previously because there was no billing and collecting infrastructure, but Harvey Patton had changed all that. Or more accurately, ADS-B had changed all that.
The feds contracted with Patton Aviation Revenue in the same way they contract with Jeppesen or Flight Safety or others who provide a service. Patton did the billing and kept a percentage of the take. Suddenly every takeoff, every flight mile, every landing was computer monitored. VFR or IFR, the airspace bill arrived at the end of the month.

The users screamed, they cursed Harvey Patton, but it was no use. If they were going to fly with ADS-B they were going to be billed. Yet the pilots with foresight, those who had never installed ADS-B, weren't paying a cent. Until a court action was filed, that is.

The US Federal Court for the Ninth District ruled that all airspace users must be treated equally. The court left it up to the FAA to determine what “equally” consisted of but the edict was firm, equality in user fees had to be maintained.
What happened then There are many possible endings to this story. Maybe each non-ADS-B aircraft received an “average” bill every month whether they flew or not. Or maybe every plane was forced to install ADS-B and the resulting frequency overload created the same situation we've had at Oshkosh for many years: “turn your transponder to standby when 30 miles out”. Then the planes, with their ADS-B turned off, were prohibited from flying in controlled airspace. Or maybe the aircraft owners simply gave up and sold the birds for whatever they could get and pleasure flying died, taking FBOs and manufacturers with it.

Today it is not possible to saddle General Aviation with user fees for one simple reason - there is no infrastructure to collect those fees. The test that aviators must apply to ADS-B (or any similar technology) is simple: Are there any words that Congress could say that will hurt us If the answer to that question is yes, then pilots and aircraft owners must reject the technology.

Proponents of ADS-B tell us that there will be an “anonymous” mode that the pilot can select. But that will be true only as long as the rules permit it. Once upon a time we could turn off the transponder if we wanted to, but as the years passed that choice was eliminated. The same will inevitably be true of an anonymous setting, it can only be used until it is prohibited. First prohibited at flight levels and at major hubs, then prohibited in IFR, then prohibited, period.

Proponents of ADS-B also tell us that we can be tracked today. That is somewhat true, but recent experience in the well publicized JFK Jr. accident is instructive. His plane went down around 9 PM Friday and the search and rescue efforts began at 6 AM Saturday. Those efforts continued, under intense press scrutiny, through all of Saturday, all of Sunday, and all of Monday. Around midday Tuesday the FAA finally decoded enoughof their radar tapes to determine the location where the plane went into the water. After the spot was pointed out, the remains of the aircraft were promptly found.

It took FAA more than 72 hours to find one aircraft, an aircraft that the President of the United States and the world press corps were actively interested in finding. Given the number of flights daily, it is clear that the FAA does not begin to have the resources to track and bill every flight.

Tracking every IFR flight would be somewhat easier, but many of those will switch to VFR if there is a substantial money saving. And if it comes to that, safety will suffer. Isn't safety what ADS-B was for in the first place Don't you detect something wrong here

This is just a single example of Bushco's active undermining of regulatory agencies in providing essential public services and safety protections for Americans.

Anti-terrorism?

Bush policy is a joke - and that joke is deadly and at the expense of all Americans.

"It Takes A Network To Defeat A Network"

[UPDATE: Craptastically, I forgot to include General Abizaid's take on the Iraqi military mission. Because it just may be relevant to the rest of the post, it's this: The US military presence in Iraq is buying the country time to progress in governmental development and to buy time to build its army. Buying time.

Why is it that I have yet to hear Bush, Cheney, Gates, Rice or any member of Congress utter that phrase when referring to the express use of US military combat operations in Iraq?

Care for a little air sickness bag to go with that cognitive dissonance and spin?]

Northeastern University hosted retired Central Command General John Abizaid to speak to its Middle East Center for Peace, Culture, and Development students about the U.S. and the Middle East this morning.

General Abizaid, a Colorado Rockies fan, apologized for competing with the Red Sox homecoming parade.

However, the NU Middle East Center host, Professor Denis Sullivan, let him know that his presentation would end in plenty of time to take in the festivities.

Northeastern's President Joseph Aoun, a professor of linguistics, introduced General Abizaid with this intriguing proposition: America is unique in being "hyphenated". People can be Arab-Americans, Latino-Americans, African-Americans, etc., and in America, this enrichment thrives and cultural and ethnic heritage is celebrated and valued, instead of the enforced assimilation that occurs in other countries policies toward their immigrants.

Were that it was so. President Ayoub has not perhaps lived in homogeneous communities in the South or Midwest, for example, where immigrants are not only not rewarded for cultural pride and immersion, but are discriminated for it. However, I digress, and this optimism is not a bad thing.

General Abizaid used a few maps of the Middle East to highlight the major points of his presentation.  The first was a plain geographical map of the countries and nation/states of the broader Middle East and adjoining regions.

He gave himself away when he produced this anecdote:

"A few years ago The Secretary of Defense called me to ask a question.  You can't say that he didn't consult the military.  At that time I had 25 areas under my command in the Middle East.  I didn't have Lebanon and Syria.  The Secretary asked me if I would take them on.  I replied that I would rather not.  After a period of reflection and consideration - about 5 or 6 seconds - he replied, 'you've got them.'" (The audience dutifully laughed.)  "I replied, 'why don't you give me North Korea, too?'"

Har.  Har.

But in that little funny is contained Rumsfeld's contempt, hubris and stupidity, and Abizaid's acknowledgment of it.

Back to the presentation.  Gen. Abizaid proposed that the current conflicts are representative of what he views as the first battle of globalization, where there are elements of the population that are trying to remain local and separate from the world, while other elements are trying to engage in world trade, politics and the economy.

With that as his meta view of extant Middle East conflicts, he repeatedly asserted, "You can criticize how we got where we are, but we are where we are, and now we have to move forward."

He then produced the map but with US military perceived conflicts superimposed on the region.

The four major meta problems he perceives include:

• A rise in extremist organizations which include religious indoctrinated extremist views
• Al Qaida - stateless and centerless, a complex and dynamic network including infrastructure, economies and cyberstructure relationships - difficult to infiltrate, understand and contain/minimize
• A rise in Shi'a extremism - nationstates - Iran
• seeks to dominate the region/Persian Gulf
• Arab/Israeli conflict where he perceives a "sense of hopelessness in the region"
• Oil - the Middle East fuels the global economy

Next up is the map with US military goals and objectives superimposed:

• Containment of Iranian aggression
• Control of the Afhan/Pakistani border with an emphasis on the Pakistani side with the aim of reducing the strategic leadership presence of Al Qaida
  
  
• Notably, the Taliban was not mentioned throughout this presentation, and no questioner mentioned it, either
• Stabilize Afghanistan
• Work to stabilize Arab/Palestinian/Israeli relationships
• Monitor extremist groups flowing into North Africa to ungoverned areas
• Monitor Darfur

Interestingly, there are three operations locations generally superimposed in Iran, but Abizaid didn't refer to them specifically.  Does that mean that military operations are officially underway there?  Or does it refer to covert intelligence operations? (Hello, Valerie Plame) Or does it refer to special ops units?  Something else?  Again, no questioner asked about it.

Then Abizaid, who answered one question with the preface, "I may be a retired general, but I still uphold my oath.  I won't criticize this president, the vice president or the secretary of defense," flashed his model of Al Qaida which portrayed a complex network of relationships, information and material and human resources. This was titled simply, "The Network of Al Qaeda."  And after this was Abizaid's policy recommendations and philosophy hidden in plain sight with the US response to that titled, "It Takes A Network To Defeat A Network."

In this representation was diplomatic efforts, international aid, regional policy development and participation (sort of a neighborhood watch model), economic aid, nation building, global relationship building and the engagement of Iraq's government in driving its national security and thus providing the means of egress for US military presence and involvement.

Abizaid repeated this nugget:  "The Iraqis don't want us there, and the military doesn't want to be there." Ahem, Washington.

He also referenced every single remark about the presidential role relative to the Middle East as "what the next president will have to do...." Digby has so presciently remarked that the Repubs are disappearing George W. Bush, and this is evident as well with retired military who would like to criticize by speaking to everything which should be done (and should be happening now) by fast forwarding to January of 09. Essentially, if you want to know what Abizaid thinks about Rumsfeld, Cheney and Bush, just pay attention to what he recommends for the "Next" administration, and fill in the gap between that and what this administration is doing.  The criticisms will reveal themselves quite clearly.

Abizaid also spoke to concerns about Bush's remark about WW III.  His take?

"I don't think we're heading for war in Iran.  It would be terrible for Iran.  I don't think we're headed for WW III."

He emphasized the need to actively discourage Iran from becoming a nuclear state. But he also stated that the US could live with Iran as a nuclear state, saying, "We lived with Russia and Korea having nuclear states, didn't we?  Don't underestimate out power.  We tend to forget how powerful the US is."

The Northeastern students, many of whom are from areas in or near the Middle East, asked intelligent, thoughtful and informed questions which were answered, for the most part, in optimistic tones.

One NU professor of comparative religion asked about the US role and responsibility for creating the extant problems.  Abizaid skirted the issue and emphasized the need to understand that Iraqis are for the most part, not extremists, are trying to get along with the same concerns that citizens have around the world: work, live, and support their families in their communities.

Overall, there was a lack of depth of substantive specific information in the General's presentation, which was remarked upon after the presentation by a faculty member to the university president.

However, I think that if one understands that the message delivered was in the model of the "network to defeat a network" as Abizaid's policy stance toward containing and addressing terrorism, then the lack of the US diplomatic, economic and infrastructure/humanitarian aid and development efforts and policies to do just that are ample criticism of Bush/Cheney  and the Departments of State and Defense.

Abizaid also spoke to the need to draw down the Army presence in Iraq.  He used a five year time table, and he didn't address the 20% broken soldier rate, the 10% exodus of junior and mid-level officers, nor the 18% recruitment waiver rate as parts of the Army sustainability picture, but he did in passing, reference the Army's overstretched situation. He also expressed his opinion that presidential candidates should be asked about this.

Except for his overly optimistic stance about POTUS/Cheney and Iran, his presentation was helpful to understand the complexity of the situation, its timeframe, and the meta-military role of the US - extant and optimal.

With regard to Iran, all I will say is consider the Balad CSH which has been made enormous and permanent and which is fully staffed jointly by the USAF and the Army.  It's ideally situated to receive Iran airstrike and ground forces casualties and to fly them out of theatre.  Where air evac, triage, and treatment facilities are robust and ready, the action isn't too likely to be too far behind or too far away.

General Abizaid engaged with students immediately after the Q and A portion of his presentation. He became very animated when one student identified himself as a sergeant in the Army Reserve who had served a tour in Najaf. Abizid immediately thank him for his service to his country (he had previously exhorted all of us to do the same when we encountered military personnel regardless of personal feelings about military action). Then he encouraged this student to speak to his fellow students about what he experienced there.

Communicate, communicate, communicate.

Abizaid gets the message across. Clearly. Effectively.

Criticize Washington?

Just fill in the blanks.

Too Many Notes

A novice to jazz, I attended the NEC's tribute to George Russell with an all Russell composition performance. I plunked down in a seat on the aisle in the middle of the hall.

The students, all dressed in beat-wannabe black, clomped on stage, but the pianist was smiling a genuine toothy smile, and he didn't appear to be any student! Bradley Hatfield was "subbing" for the scheduled pianist.

And then the music started and I was blown away - literally - by the amped up volume, but also by the must-move beat and rhythms.

Just behind me, a tremulous voice was offering some syncopated running commentary. Very pointed and informed commentary.

I was busy, busy with "getting" the sound - there was some five chime steam engine horn (EXCELLENT AUDIO SAMPLES AND MUSIC REFERENCES HERE) - approaching and leaving/fading. But the tempo wasn't right for it - too frantic.

The students were featured in riffs, and all of them seemed to be in the spirit - smiling, moving, transported in the moment and the music.

The audience was moving, too, and the first half of the performance sped on by - a definite express.

By that time, I learned that the commenter seated just behind me was none other than the composer himself. Mr. Hatfield and the NEC Jazz Ensemble conductor, Ken Schaphorst, came down to have a chat and to say hello. George was asked what he thought of the performance so far.

"Too many notes," he asserted. Then he sang some busy, busy scat to illustrate the busy-ness of the students.

Bradley - seemingly always smiling and diplomatic, covered by responding, "It's the day in which we live, George." "It's a new generation."

I thought about that during the second half of the performance, which was still too loud for my taste, but enthusiastically and genuinely played.

How many of those performers rode trains cross country? How many have heard, listened and paid attention to the sound of a five chime horn, learned and felt the pacing of a train - accelerating, maintaining momentum and deccelerating into a station? How many grew up hearing trains as an everyday event?

They might do well to listen to some soundtracks of steam locomotion and also of riders on horseback, as both of those rhythms, tempos and musical sounds are rife throughout classical and jazz music.

Russell was lauded throughout the evening, but I admired his honesty throughout. Age allows for raw honesty, and George provided it if the students will only hear it.

The program was magnificent:

Cubano Be Cubano Bop
Stratusphunk
All About Rosie
Ezz-Thetic
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
African Game
It's About Time, Part II

George wasn't so bad, either. What luck to have a private tutorial by the master himself.

Take the trains, kids.

Will Work For Housing/Food

Coming on three weeks of homelessness and hunger. The response so far? One offer to sleep in my car (don't have one) for a fee to park it, two offers of prostitution (contingent on photos), and multiple (lost count) responses of I don't believe you, and I'm sure it isn't so bad, and you never know what's around the corner, and I just want you to tell me you're alive (so I don't feel any guilt - it's all about me and really not about you at all. Hey, I asked, didn't I? That's helping - sort of - well, who cares - it's the thought that counts, right?).

The Royal Bank of Scotland commercials get it.





Suicide is the only escape. For real. There is no recovery from homelessness, from black listing, from whistle blowing.

Hope is false. Optimism is delusional.

And suicide hotline that promised anonymity and then called the cops? They can't find us ghosts who don't have an address to trace. Liars.

All In the Family

Check the brothers Agwunobi: John and Andrew

John Agwunobi was a Bush HHS appointee (had the rank of Admiral in the Public Health Service and was an assistant Sec. of HHS) under Michael Leavitt: totally bollixed pandemic flu planing public health information - used Greg Dworkin (Dem from CT) to front for him on the bogus HHS Pandemic Flu Leadership Blog. Here's good old Johnnie backstroking to try to close the gap between the false information that he spewed on the blog and Greg's "reality has a liberal bias" blog contributions.

Last week I met Dr. Greg Dworkin - in the flesh - at the HHS Pandemic Leadership Forum. It was nice to put a face to the man whose postings I have read on this blog. His comments at the forum highlighted his unique insight into the importance of the flu blogging community. As founder of FluWiki, Greg is clearly a respected “elder” in the pandemic influenza blogging community. He has helped me understand the power and unique importance of the flu blogging community and its collective voice.

I have learned a lot from the comments I have read on the blog and my conversation with Greg last week. In my first posting, it was not my intention to dissuade advanced preparation or to down play the gravity of pandemics. Advanced preparedness is critical and individual preparedness and a culture of self sufficiency are essential. No one can afford to wait until after an emergency begins in order to prepare.

No one can predict with certainty what the next pandemic will look like. There are no guarantees or promises that can be made regarding its impact on society. The next pandemic may be mild, as in 1957 and 1968, severe, as in 1918, or somewhere in between. The next pandemic could even be worse than 1918. There is simply no way of knowing.

It’s important to know that the Federal government alone cannot respond to and address the unique challenges brought on by a pandemic. We are urging a sense of shared responsibility, as it is the only way we can help each other, those less fortunate, and ourselves. Shared responsibility includes all levels of government, private sector, civic organizations, businesses, faith-based communities, education sector, communities, families, and individuals.

He recently resigned from his wingnut welfare job at the HHS and went directly to Wal-Mart as its new "Director for Health/Wellness" - selling the point of care retail health clinics and putting spin on horrible worker health insurance benefits.

John's brother is Andrew Agwunobi, who appeared in the WSJ report 10/25 about the WellCare raids. The brothers have almost identical histories: med school, MBAs, then political appointments as wunderkinds - all courtesy of the Bush clan.

Current and former WellCare officials have been unloading shares as the company's share price climbed higher and higher, the WSJ reports. The company, which provides managed care plans for Medicare and Medicaid patients, was raided by federal agents yesterday, and its stock tumbled today.

Andrew Agwunobi, who now heads Florida's Medicaid agency, served on WellCare's board from June until December 2006 and sold $1 million worth of shares in December of 2006, according to an SEC filing. Agwunobi wasn't immediately available for comment, the WSJ said.

The Atlanta Daily World story includes a picture of Andrew Agwunobi and more of his bio.

Agwunobi joined Grady on June 1, 2003. Dr. Andy, as he has become affectionately known, has been on the forefront of change for the health system during a very difficult period faced with financial challenges.
"We have been fortunate to have had the leadership, energy and skills of this remarkably talented individual at the helm of Grady during this sensitive period in the history of the health system," Brown said. "He will leave a legacy to be remembered and admired."
During his short tenure, Agwunobi negotiated the potential merger of Hughes Spalding Children's Hospital with Children's Healthcare of Atlanta, launched a public information and transparency campaign to raise awareness and brand the health system, oversaw a portfolio analysis with KPMG to identify financial strengths and weaknesses in all service areas in Grady, created a plan to grow revenues within the profitable service areas to help fund the mission of Grady Health System, created a plan to eliminate services to the uninsured who live outside DeKalb and Fulton counties (ed. note - my emphasis), served as a catalyst for philanthropic support, improved pharmacy operations and won much recognition and praise.
Grady's new interim chief also has a list of accomplishments and awards that are numerous. They include being the past chairman of the board of the Georgia Hospital Association, past regent of the American College of Healthcare Executives, service on the regional policy board of the American Hospital Association, the board of the Atlanta Chamber of Commerce and the board of the Georgia Chamber of Commerce.

How's that for stories of heartwarming and pocket-picking brotherly love?

Admit One

I'm working on a novel outline for this year's National Novel Writing Month: NaNoWriMo.

Something wicked this way comes. A synopsis of the plot I'm working on:

A very conservative senator who may or may not resemble Inhofe from OK - known for untreated strain of Bush rabies, anti-science and boot strapping non-torture has a businessman Bush pioneer brother-in-law. B-I-L has an auto accident (he may or may not have imbibed a beer or two hours before the accident). He is med-flighted to his state's premier level one trauma center where he is treated for his traumatic brain injury, multiple fractures, blunt chest and abdominal trauma (of course he doesn't wear a seat belt, and yes there is a gun rack in his dually -why do you ask?) by a crew of conservative emergency department physicians and nurses.

After maxing out his insurance bennies (with lots of hilarity during the claims denials and appeals process), he incurs enough debt and slowly goes bankrupt. The senator, meanwhile, of course, is still voting to kill children via S-CHIP vetoes. He follows the twin religions of fundamentalist xtian dominionism and Bush boot strap conservatism.

As B-I-L is discharged and tries to get into a rehab facility to treat his TBI, he rooms with an Iraq veteran who is also suffering from untreated TBI's who was drummed out of the Army with a Chapter 5-13 general discharge.

More hilarity ensues.

The ending?

Haven't decided yet - but consider the possibilities: red state turns blue, homelessness, joblessness, homicide, suicide, domestic violence, conversion of the heathen from Repubs to progressives....

Whaddya think?

Also - in the hospital subplot, patient delays based on reimbursement source and diagnosis will predominate, the schism of faux nurse leaders who are organizational prostitutes instead of nurse advocates will have a supporting role, and passive aggressive nurses who blame everyone except themselves for their working conditions (who needs collective bargaining or self-governance?) will get some face time.

Who's the hero/ heroine? Stay tuned.

NaNoWriMo begins at 0001 on November 1. Watch for updates.

Street Walker

Weeks on the street have proved several truths: the homeless are ghosts - invisible, unseen, unheard and ignored. Not human, not fully counted - not even 3/5ths.

They - we - haunt in broad daylight.

Life in the Balance

She looked at the entry labeled simply, "help". Opening, then snapping closed the cell phone, she vacillated.

But then, with nothing risked, she clicked the entry and listened while the number rang. And rang. And rang.

The telephonic greeting was just as artificial and plastic and unreal as every other business non-greeting greeting. After ignoring the instructions to push one if Spanish was desired, she simply sat mutely with the phone to her ear, but hearing nothing.

Three times there was a long silence while a disembodied robotic voice instructed patience during the call transfer to who knows where.

"Can I help you?" a fuzzy voice queried in a slow, unanimated voice.

"I don't know if you can. I'm looking for a reason not to commit suicide."

"What?" the man's flat response half questioned, half dismissed.

"I can't find a reason not to commit suicide."

"You are looking for a reason NOT to commit suicide?"

"Yes."

Silence. And more silence.

"Do you want to commit suicide?"

"No. I don't have a reason not to."

"Do you have friends?"

"No one."

Silence

"Do you have family?"

"No."

""

""

"Do, uh, er, you have a job?"

"No. I whistle blew and was fired. I've been blacklisted, and I can't compete for any job."

""

""

"Where are you living?"

"I'm homeless."

"Are there shelters?"

"I won't go to a shelter."

"Oh."

"How old are you?"

"50."

"That's not too old to get a job. Can you work at McDonalds?"

"My hand doesn't work. I can't physically do that kind of job. But I have applied for jobs requiring no skill set. I'm over qualified. No one who sees my resume or work history will hire me for an unskilled job."

"You could work for a hotel. You know - cleaning rooms."

"I can't lift and do that work. I have bad arthritis."

"You could go to an employment bureau."

"I can find open jobs. I can't compete for them. I've been blacklisted. I played by all the rules, and I can't sustain myself."

""

""

"Maybe you could get disability."

"I am not disabled in my field. I wouldn't qualify. I don't fit any need category."

"Oh."

""

""

""

"I won't take any more of your time. Thank you for speaking with me."

"You're welcome," said the uninterested, but relieved voice.

As I thought and now have verified. Worthless. I have no reason to prolong this unending suffering.

If Music Is Played In A Deserted Hall, Does It Make Any Sound?

Jordan Hall is a literal gorgeous music box of a hall. The acoustics are stunning - every seat in the house feels intimate with the performers, and the music washes over and through the audience.

Boston has its share of music venues, but Jordan Hall is special. Its entire program season is underwritten by generous philanthropic gifts, and so the admission price is - zero! The New England Conservatory of Music calls Jordan Hall home, and one would expect to find the not-quite-comfortable - but-just-right-for-staying-alert seats to be filled to overflowing.

One would expect, but one would be very wrong.

Tuesday evening found a two-thirds filled hall of appreciative listeners for the piano and viola duo of Robert Levin and Kim Kashkashian, respectively. They transported us into far away places with JS Bach's Sonate No. 3 in G Minor, BWV 1029; with Benjamin Britten's Lachrymae, Op. 48 (Reflections on a song by John Dowland); with Carlos Guastavino's Se equivoco la paloma, Abismo de sed, Pampamapa, Bonita rama de sauce and La Rosa y el sauce.

While savoring those over the intermission, the chimes rang to call us back for the remainder of the program. We were enchanted by Alberto Ginastera's Triste and cancion a la luna lunanca. Next, Enrique Granados' El majo olvidado and El majo descreto lfew out and around us. Carlos Lopez Buchardo's Oye me llanto and Prendiditos de la mano followed.

Just when it seemed that we were being carried to lands of sun and warmth and tender memories, Levin and Kashkashian gently led us on their magic carpet back to the romance of Johannes Brahms and the Sonata in F Minor, Op. 120, no.1.

The applause was insistent, and the standing ovation was heartfelt. The encore was light, loving and a real gift back tot he audience - what little there was of us.

Wednesday evening, I arrived to find a hall only one quarter occupied. And to those of you who didn't bother to attend, you missed an amazing performance of the self-led (conductor-less) NEC Chamber Orchestra. The began with Handal's Concerto Grosso in d Minor Op. 6, no. 10, HWV 328, changed gears completely with Frank Martin's Etudes for String Orchestra, and then finished the evening with Piotr Ilych Tchaikovsky's Serenade in C Major, Op. 48.

You can enjoy a sampling of Frank Martin's work for yourself, again courtesy of the New England Conservatory of Music.

Thursday evening, the rain kept just about everyone away from the music hall, and this time Boston missed two gems: the composers Peter Child and Barbara Kolb were in the audience. Glass listened to the premiers of his work, Triptych, and Kolb was pleased with the performance of her All in Good time. Charles Peltz got the best of his performers, who are obviously enamored of him.

He began the program with Six Dances from the Dansyre by Tylman Susato, and bang! There we were in the 16th century!

Mozart's Divertimento in E-Flat, K. 166 followed, and one could almost hear the sounds of dining in the Great Hall as we time travelled to the 18th century.

Glass' Triptych whizzed us to the present, and then we hopped a couple of squares back to revisit the twentieth century for Darius Milhaud's from Suite Francaise: Bretagne and Alcace-Lorraine before finishing with a thunderclap of Kolb's All in Good time.

Boston better get with it if it wants to cultivate musicians and classical music.

Money isn't the sole means of supporting the arts. People must attend, learn about the music, the musicians and the aspirations of the venues producing artists.

An empty house is a devastating message to send musicians, faculty and their communities.

Each and every musician, composer, conductor, teacher and supporter deserves at least a modicum of support from its neighbors.

Does Boston no longer field a body of people who appreciate music and the pursuit of it?

TC Hate Crime IS Terrorism

There was a hate crime at TC earlier this week. Teachers College - the graduate school of education at Columbia University - is where I took my masters and doctorate. I enjoyed my time there and appreciated what the education I received did for me personally.

To read that some sick soul placed a hangman's noose on the door of an African-American professor makes me physically ill, but not perhaps for just its threat to her.

I have been threatened - explicitly threatened - several times over with death. By an elected official and by an adjoining property owner who land-locked my property, as well as by being assaulted by another adjoining property owner.

I have been stalked, threatened, harassed, had my home broken into and vandalized - I think by local law enforcement as well as private individuals, had my property defaced, vandalized, destroyed and ruined by elected officials and private individuals who were organized and informed me of that, and I was threatened by agents of a law enforcement agency and officers of the court.

In my world, there are no good guys. All of the white hats are bad guys in disguise. I have been threatened with loaded weapons pointed at me, with a post hole digger swung like a baseball bat at my head, and by people shooting weapons behind tree lines, so that I could hear that I was in firing range, but I couldn't see where the firing was coming from.

Neighbors had motion detectors operable so that they were alerted whenever I left my house, entered my farm buildings or moved around my property.

Sometimes they shouted obscenities from the road which was just feet away from my front windows. Sometimes they blasted hate radio so loud that I couldn't hear someone literally speaking into my ear. Sometimes when I called the sheriff's department just to have a record, the responding deputy would allow the tresspassers onto the property, and on one occasion, a deputy pointed out my security camera locations to a terrorist. Sometimes they just tresspassed and swore at me at my own home.

They peered into my windows. They intruded into every aspect of my life.

They followed visitors in their cars and trucks and blocked them in my driveway. They swore at me when I was outside with visitors. They scared everyone, and they scared me, so I stopped having visitors. I didn't want anyone to be hurt or intimidated.

Those who knew - and know - what happened - did nothing.

They terrorized.

They still do.

So learning that terrorists have invaded a school that I found refuge in for its academic rigor and freedom of ideas and expression causes real grief and anger and - terror. For the professor who is the victim of it, and for me, because I feel terror every day. It wakes me every night. I am never free of it and never without it. It has sickened me, and I hope for her sake, that the culprit is found.

Stuck in the Middle With(out) You

The breast beating by the progressive blogosphere really cracks me up They are all SHOCKED! Shocked - that the meany low-down, no good wingnuts are targeting a family whose 12 year old was used by the Dems as a pushback to Bush's veto of S-CHIP.

How could they! they screech.

Well, just a year ago, the progressives did that and more to me. And after they stalked me in real life, intruded in my real life, and entertained themselves to no end - at my expense in real life, when I told them to stop it, they attacked me directly - or as directly as cyber cowards can - with vitriole, venom, ad hominem attacks, and then by banning me from responding on the offending site, Daily Kos.

The hypocrisy is palpable.

The progressives, Dems, liberals, wingnuts, conservatives, neocons and Republicans are all one and the same. They use people. They objectify people, and they are inhumane, albeit through the use of different labels. But the underlying values - or lack thereof - are identical.

Users to the right of me. Users to the left.

Stuck in the middle with(out) you.

Soulless, bankrupt hypocrites, every last one of you.

Ducklebunny Tag

Chance, Rex and Spot are bachelor bunnies living with a duck, Quackers, in a very comfy straw-bedded horse stall.

The three buns met under unlikely circumstances, and getting acclimated to their duck companion was a bit dicey at first.

Who gets the carrots? Aren’t you going to share that duck chow? Hey, pal, that’s my branch!

But after a bit, the four figured out the bachelor pad arrangements, and for the most part, it seems to be a good roommate assignment. They share a heated watering station, and they have their choice of many hideys and cozies from which to nibble carrots, dream beautiful bunny dreams, and launch into riotous games of ducklebunny tag.

Sometimes, ducklebunny tag becomes as vicious as thugs playing paintball, and I have to be careful not to get ambushed! But everyone remains friends at the end.

In the summer, ice filled soda bottles are placed in the stall, and the bunnies luxuriate by stretching out along side them and rotating themselves for an even chill.

Quackers could care less as he splashes in his private wading pool.

But in the winter, large bales of straw are placed intact in the apartment, and the fun really begins.

Furious little bunny feet dig and tunnel their way through and under the bales. Soon, a complex maze of tunnels and hideys is in place.

Bunny tag excludes Quackers and humans who are too big to zip through the tunnels. And UP leaps a bun upon being spied.

SPIN, DIVE, ZAP!

Chance disappears into the maze.

Up pops Rex, closely followed by Spot.

But wait, Chance tags Spot and off they all go again.

Zoom bunnies!

Quackers roots them on with soft little duck calls.

Even the big horses, hearing the rustle and bustle, come to peer in through the stall gate which now takes on the appearance of a betting booth.

Around and around, up, down, in and out.

And there’s a winner by a hare’s breath!

After hours of this, they all settle down for bunny naps.

Quackers settles on his big webbed feet and shuffles in the straw until just the top of his back rises from the golden nest.

In the evening, with their supper, two shiny red apples are placed for them as a treat.

But instead of nibbling on them right away, the buns start a rigorous game of bunny bowling!

They butt and shove the apples across the straw. Now one. Wait, the other is behind. A team effort goes into keeping the apples rolling along with steady progress. Back and forth across the stall roll the apples.

After several close races, team bunny goes to work on the apples until not even the last bit of core remains.

Sleepy bunnies yawn and show gleaming teeth. Round, liquid brown bunny eyes blink, once, twice, and then start to droop drowsily.

The three bachelor bunnies snuggle closely to one another and snuffle in the straw. And yawn…and blink….and sleep…and dream contented bunny dreams

Dumpling

Dumpling, a regal, clear thinking Collie and a little something-else mix, had suffered tremendously.

She was found on someone’s lawn, and she looked for all the world to be dead. In fact, the homeowner called the dog warden to “pick the dead dog up” from his yard. When the agent arrived, Dumpling was lying still, but had her eyes open and intently gazed at the person who picked her up and gently laid her in the truck.

At the noisy dog pound, something about those eyes – clear as glass and with a steady direct gaze, made the warden call an animal rescuer and tell a pretty big lie.

“Why, this is a pretty, middle-aged Collie girl.” “You’ll like her, just come and see.”

When the rescuer arrived at the shelter, she was directed to the first pen on the right, where a starved, ancient old dog lay in a fetal position. Her gaze didn’t even lift up to look around. She had the look of defeat – that look that says, “I’m done in this world.”

Horrified, the rescuer struggled to regain her composure and simply told that agent that she would adopt the dog immediately. She paid the fee, and then put away the leash to kneel down to the old, shriveled dog.

“Would you like to let me carry you to a pillow in the car?” she asked the Collie.

Gently inserting her hands under and around her, the rescuer discovered that each rib jutted painfully through the frail skin and worn-away coat.

Carefully, akin to holding a gossamer strand of glass, she lifted the Collie up and into her arms.

The hind legs dangled at crazy angles, and the dog’s spine seemed curved and bent beyond what any rules of nature would allow. The old Collie hung her head and showed no effort to help or to resist the move.

Even the dog warden watched silently and held her breath.

The worn out Collie was placed on a large pillow in the back of the SUV. In spite of the sunny autumn day, the rescuer turned the heat up in the car, and covered the dog with a soft blanket.

She murmured in whispers to the dog on the way home.

“What’s your name? What is a pretty name for such a beautiful soul? How about Dumpling? Would you like that?”

Glancing at the dog through the rearview mirror, the rescuer didn’t see any signs of movement. When they arrived home, Dumpling lay still and in the same position as when she was placed in the car. She was carried into the house and placed on another large pillow on a bed.

The phone call to the veterinarian went thus: “I think she’s given up and that she’s in incredible pain. Shall I bring her in to be euthanized?”

“Let me see how she does through the night and whether she tells me she wants to fight or to stop the struggle. Yes, tomorrow will be fine. See you then.”

The rescuer gave the dog some warm baby cereal and broth, and Dumpling weakly lifted her head with help and licked at it. She stayed passive while a lambswwool coat was placed on her, and her overgrown claws were clipped and removed from the pads of her feet, where they had been embedded.

That night, she was placed on a large pillow next to the rescuer on her bed, and Dumpling went to sleep with the rescuer’s hand cradling her head.

In the morning, the rescuer bustled about, greeting the other animals and getting ready for the day ahead.

First thing on the agenda was to take Dumpling to the veterinarian to be euthanized.

Sadly she bundled Dumpling into the car, but she noticed that Dumpling was taking notice of her surroundings with an intent, clear gaze.

During the ride to the clinic, the rescuer was already grieving for the dog who had endured such agonies, and she didn’t quite see Dumpling struggle to sit up and look out the window.

However, when they arrived, the rescuer did notice that Dumpling had moved herself and was trying to sit erect, although her hind legs splayed out from beneath her in odd angles. When she went to lift her from the car, Dumpling struggled to stand, and the rescuer noticed how hunched and distorted her back and legs were. But Dumpling insisted on walking unaided into the clinic.

The vet spent a long time in listening to her heart and to her lungs and looking at her back and legs.

He thought for a long while and said, “Why don’t we take this day by day and see what she tells us? Let’s start by taking a picture of her spine and legs and feeding her good groceries.”

When the X-rays were developed, the vet and the rescuer collectively groaned.

For every part of the spine from the ribs back to the tail had been broken and left to mend on their own. They had fused into odd angles, and that accounted for Dumpling’s strange sideways and crab-like walk.

“She has to be in pain, so let’s treat her with anti-inflammatories and see how she does.”

Dumpling also had several large tumors on her back and face, and her coat was almost gone over her hips and tail. She was placed into a large tub of warm bath water, and for the first time, she let out a whimper. Of relief of being able to feel some comfort or just to acknowledge the pain, she relaxed into the bath.

Over the next few weeks, Dumpling ate and ate, and she walked a little bit more each day. What a surprise when she climbed up steep stairs on her own the first time!

Since Christmas was coming soon, and cold weather meant a need for more dog coats for the others, the rescuer planned a trip to Petsmart (www.petsmart.com), where animals are invited to shop along with their people.

Dumpling now stood by the gate, always waiting to be invited to ride in the car. Since she had visited the vet so many times, and each visit resulted in feeling better and receiving treats, she loved the car, and the good times the rides brought for her.

This time, Dumpling was helped onto her favorite travel pillow and eagerly looked at the passing scenery. Before long, she was “whooping” to let the driver know that the route wasn’t the way to the vet. By the time they arrived at Petsmart, Dumpling wasn’t at all sure about what was to come next.

She was carefully lifted from her pillow and placed on the ground. Wearing her prettiest collar and lead and sporting new and healthy hair coat on her back and hips, she sidled into the store and….

Hey! This store has dog stuff! And food! And people who pet you! And look over there…!

Dumpling carefully, oh so carefully, inspected each and every article found at Collie nose level. She greeted all of the other shoppers by coming up to say hello and placing a long Collie muzzle on their knee to pet.

She was careful to give not-so-friendly looks to other dogs, lest they interfere with her “ Petsmart” experience.

However, her Collie upbringing prevented her from growling or being unfriendly with them. Her clear, intent, and wise gaze was eventually fixed on the food manager of the store, who came over to meet her. Apprised of her history, his eyes softened, and he offered her a treat.

After visiting with the songbirds and listening appreciatively to their warbling and trills, Dumpling was finally ready to check out with her rescuer. Discreetly, she placed her conveniently elongated muzzle into the rawhide bin and selected three choice pieces as they were waiting on line.

By now, the manager had shared Dumpling’s tale with other store staffers, and her feat at the rawhide bin did not go unnoticed. Applause was given to the now regal Collie who once again was interested in living and giving pleasure to those lucky enough to be near her. Dumpling accepted her due with grace and calmly deposited her treats on the counter.

But I wonder, who received the finest gift that day?

Hobbes

Hobbes and I found each other when he was just a large puppy.

At that awkward age when puppies look like dogs but definitely act like puppies; Hobbes had been given up by his owners. A new baby, and a new apartment, and Hobbes landed with a breed rescue group.

He was produced by an anonymous backyard breeder. You know, the ones looking to make a quick buck with any old dam and sire. You see their ads in the newspaper classifieds and now on the Internet. “Collies, tris and sables, AKC Reg. $150 Parents on premises.”

Translated that means, “I bred the first male I could find to the first female I could find. The American Kennel Club doesn’t care –all the registration papers mean is that the family tree is known. Not that I give a hoot if it’s a good line of breeding. Vet care? That costs too much. Blind? How would I know? I need some extra cash for the holidays. And people always love puppies. What happens if they don’t get them altered? Why should I care what they do with them after they’re sold. Pet overpopulation? Not MY problem. I have RIGHTS, you know. This is AMERICA!”

And so Hobbes, his extra long collie muzzle ducking toward his tail, shyly allowed me to hoist him into my car and off for the ride home.

He was so shy, this tall, dark and handsome collie. I didn’t know that collies came in colors other than the TV issue “Lassie sable and white with a white stripe on the face.” But Hobbes had a rich dark brown coat with just highlights of sable eyebrows and sable legs and white stockings on his elegant feet.

By the time we arrived home from the foster family's house, Hobbes had crawled into the front seat and was leaning against my side very politely. We were fast friends as he bounded out of the car.

I learned of the official collie burp. It’s produced solemnly and with dignified presence. It’s subtle, yet distinctive, to purebred collies.

I learned of the fondness of a collie for a cool floor on which to luxuriate. Collies stretch from their noses to their tail tips, and Hobbes was masterful at his stretching.

And I learned of the collie’s absolute love and enjoyment of all things snow-related. Want to throw snowballs? Call a collie to be your partner. Snow Angels? Make that snow collies, too! Call a collie in from the snow, and you will find a collie with a large ball of snow attached to his nose. His face will have an open smile exuberance about it, or perhaps a hint of a pout for curtailing such wonderful fun!

Hobbes had an affinity to watch over his very own herd of cats, most of which were older and sedate. In the first Spring we were together, I have several pictures of Hobbes posing before newly blossoming daffodils, when in each subsequent picture; a tabby cat face a la the Cheshire Cat emerges from the yellow conga line of swaying daffodils. And then Sir Cedric Cecilwycke Tabby Cat (pronounce that with a “Sufferin’ Succotash” lisp), approaches the posing Hobbes for first a friendly nose to nose sniff, and then on the last frame, a very friendly full body cat rub on Hobbes, to which Hobbes is bent over Sir Cedric looking for all the world to be his biggest best friend and protector.

Later, when it became clear that a retriever Hobbes was not, the veterinarian checked his eyes and with alarming directness, instructed us to make an urgent appointment to see a referring veterinary specialist at once. He thought Hobbes was developing a large brain tumor at age two. I had visions of dealing with a very untimely demise of a much-loved dog.

At the visit with Dr. Wyman, the nation’s foremost canine ophthalmologist, I nervously held a calm and polite Hobbes during the eye examination. As he gently held Hobbes’ long muzzle, Dr. Wyman, without anything other than sincerity, soothed to Hobbes, “You are SUCH a fine gentleman.” And I knew exactly what he meant.

There was good news and not so good news. Hobbes had not a brain tumor, but he was blind. And he had been since birth. In collies, there is a condition where the cells that hold the retina in place, that in mammals turn wavelengths into vision; Hobbes had failed to develop the supporting structure. And so with the retina fallen flat into the eye orbit, there was nothing on which the wavelengths to convert to vision. Dr. Wyman stated that categorically, Hobbes was blind and always had been.

I was giddy with relief. For this dog had already been through obedience classes and had passed with flying colors. Hobbes was titled as a CGC – Canine Good Citizen, and that, he was! How he knew where to place his feet and his body, I could never tell. But until his last day, he was unerring in his footing.

Hobbes was such a gentle and sensitive soul, and he served as a greeter and big brother to uncounted animals who came into rescue and later the animal sanctuary that was founded in his honor. He is directly responsible for the rescue and rehoming of many animals that had been deemed unadoptable and un-savable.

Early on, Hobbes enjoyed car rides, and he went with me everywhere. As he gradually became more of a homebody, I often had to seek him out, as he stayed out of the general hubbub of younger and more energetic animals.

Over the past month, the other two eldest collies – both rescued from awful abuse situations and taken to high kill shelters, died after fading. Hobbes had been very connected with them, and I held my breath to see if he would survive his grieving for them.

We - the rescued dogs and I - celebrated his 13th birthday on December 22, and I knew that he hadn’t much time left with me here. Without much hearing left and with increasingly unsteady legs, he still enjoyed rooting for a passing bicyclist, but he was slowing a bit more each day.

On Christmas Eve, I insisted that he sleep inside, rather than on the three-season porch, as was his wont.

On Christmas Day, his gaze was unfocused, and his breathing was shallow and rapid. I knew that he was quickly leaving.

So with plenty of hugs and a liberal dose of tears, I released him to travel on and join his friends, Toby and Dumpling and Napoleon. And on Christmas night, I buried his body next to his other collie buddies and planted daffodil bulbs to remind me of other times and gentle breezes and young collie cavorting.

I miss my dear friend terribly, and I am so grateful that I had such a wonderful collie friend in Hobbes, the throwaway blind collie. But how I long for just one more time to find a long collie muzzle resting on my leg, demanding a pat and a smooch.

Three More Days

Yet more desperate applications for jobs which will never be. And more silence. One day closer to the end.

The most idiotic thing I have done with this blog is to give it a title which is an invitation to other people. What people? I live in a crappy suffocating putrid world which doesn't have real live people in it. Only peripherally do people appear, and then it is only to attack, humiliate, steal or defraud - and always, there are those who terrorize.

To whom, then?

I should have left it untitled - a void. That would have been accurate.

I am so exquisitely hungry for comfort and for relief. Every kind of unending pain. Words - I'm stopping, because words aren't a part of this enveloping, oppressive, stabbing, raw, electric pain. Unending, world without end pain. Only three more days to have to awake and deal with it. Alone. Silent.

If a human falls in the forest and there isn't anyone to hear, did she exist? No. Absolutely not. Did she matter? Only to the extent that the detritus of the body nourishes the worms and the ground. Worthless.

Project Propaganda

Here's what I wrote to Brian Williams, who in his Daily Nightly blog column, was peddling Peggy Noonan's Democratic-bashing tripe.

Peggy Noonan, on the "Opinion Journal" (and isn't the title a clue for you?) wrote only a single line which has some legitimacy: "Americans should not fear talking--and listening--to those whose views we loathe".

The rest of innuendo, unsupported fallacy and right-wing propaganda with the always-present Democrat bashing. It is readily apparent that Democrats are the people to which she references loathing.

Mr. Williams, your work on behalf of the Republican Party is legitimate when it is on your own time and your own dime as a private citizen. However, in this venue, as an employee of GE, to put forth political propaganda of any stripe is unethical and is just sleazy.

Stop it.

Wanna bet that it will never be posted in the comments?

Here's the seemingly innocuous lead in to Noonan by Williams:

After months in new (temporary) quarters, we're back on the 3rd floor of 30 Rock in our old space made new -- part of the huge consolidation of NBC News and MSNBC that will be complete in just a few weeks. Everything looks great, and while we will all head home tonight wearing the light white sheen of a day-long dusting, its exciting to stake a new claim to our old floor. Tags hang from chairs, workers come through armed with punch lists and my old trash can may be lost forever. Then there's the matter of tonight's broadcast...

First, what I thought was a terrific piece of writing by Peggy Noonan, artfully taking on a big issue here in New York last week.

Here's a noxious, but not lethal, sampling of Noonan's poison:

Americans should not fear talking--and listening--to those whose views we loathe.

You don't want to judge Christ by Christians, someone once said. He is perfect, they are not.

In a similar way you don't want to judge capitalism by capitalists, or the legitimacy of democracy by the Democrats, or the vitality of our republic by the Republicans. You have to take the thing pure and in itself, while allowing for the flaws and waywardness of its practitioners.

I say this because here in America we have reached a funny pass. People are doing and saying odd things as if they don't know the meaning of the thing they say they stand for. In particular I mean we used to be proud of whom we allowed to speak, and now are leaning toward defining ourselves by whom we don't speak to and will not allow to speak. This is not progress.

Conservatives on campus are shouted down. A crusader against illegal immigration is rushed off the stage at Columbia University. Great newspapers give ad breaks to groups with which they feel an ideological affinity, but turn away ads from those they do not, such as antiabortion groups. And they call this a business.

So much silencing. It seems so weak, so out of keeping with who we are. We love the tradition of free speech in America, but you don't want to judge its health by what we've done with it lately, or to it.

Not a single fact, no evidence, just innuendo, propaganda and slime. Oh, in Noonan's piece, too.