Dru Blood - I believe in the inherent goodness of all beings: November 2006 Archives

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« October 2006 | Main | December 2006 »

Going to Hell.

November 30, 2006

Oh, man...I love this. Especially since, just this morning, I made Monk cry because I wouldn't buy him a video game that is rated M. What can I say? I am an evil fascist!

[link via comments on this post at Jesus' General]

Posted at 9:24 AM • Comments (2) • TrackBack

Life and such

November 28, 2006

Life and stuff
We have a houseguest today. A small, 6 year old houseguest, who is here while his mother has something taken care of. It's a traumatic day, and he is oblivious, which is a Good Thing. He and Coley are in the living room calling dibs on everything. Monk is reading. I am drinking coffee. It's going to take a bit to get me going this morning. I convinced myself to go on a walk late last night, after having spent much of the evening trying to talk myself out of it. I'm glad I walked, but I always pay for it in the morning in tiredness.

Saturday is Monk's birthday. He will be 10. I have a child who is double digits. Or will be. I am old. Old. Old. Old.

The Thanksgiving weekend was good for me. I had a lot on my mind. I thought over a lot of stuff and came to a lot of conclusions about my life. Mainly about the way I spend my time. I lack motivation in some areas that I need to work harder on. If I can be vague and specific at the same time. I spent the entire weekend shirking all social obligations and just hanging out with me and the kids, and it was wonderful. They are great kids. They are enough. I have to remind myself of that. Anything else is Extra. It might not be what I had ever imagined my ideal family to be, but three IS a magic number.

Like I said, I need to remind myself of that. Over and over again. Especially in the midst of a season in which the warmth and idealism of a two-adult family (with or without kids) is shoved down my throat at every turn. I swear I am going to have to avoid television, because if I see one more commercial about how I am worthless unless some man is buying me a car or a diamond ring, I am going to freaking vomit. And the worst part is that it makes me feel worthless in spite of myself. I don't even LIKE freaking diamonds. I would have to give someone a long, hard look (and not in a good way) if they ever gave me a diamond ring. But, you know, this shit is insidious. Hahaha.

At any rate, other than feeling like I am washed up and worthless in the romance department, I am doing great. hahaha. I have, you know, invented my very own holiday to avoid dealing with all of the christmas crap. The kids are not going to be with me for the solstice this year, so I'm thinking about just hanging out by myself or with one other person and staying up all night making art. I might even buy myself that huge canvas I have been promising myself so I can take a stab at painting. I want to create something big. Perhaps mixed media. I don't know. I want it to remind me of all of the beautiful things I harbor and nurture and never let die.

Anyway, yeah. Monk will be 10. The tenth anniversary of Monk's birth. It is difficult to believe. Wow.

Posted at 9:45 AM • Comments (3) • TrackBack

Peripheral people

November 20, 2006

I got to thinking this weekend about all of those people who are on the periphery of my life. In all of our lives. The woman at Tamale House, for instance, who knows me by my name and weekly order. The waiter at Kim Phung who always smiles and says hello. The guys who run the convenience store down the street. Our letter carrier. People I see on a regular basis, some of whom I have known in this way for years, but who aren't really part of my life. They know some of my intimate details, like my eating, drinking, and bill-paying habits...but I know nothing about them.

Plus, there is this element of time. Some of these peripheral people in my life have been there on the sidelines for years and years. I first went to Tamale house the weekend after I moved to Austin in March of '92, for instance, and the woman who works there and knows my order by heart (and always gives me whole wheat tortillas, even when I neglect to ask for them) has witnessed almost all of my life changes - all of my boyfriends, both of my pregnancies, the growth of my children...all of it. She has been there through it all, saying hello and making very casual conversation.

It's an interesting concept to me, and I wonder in whose life I am one of these peripheral characters. I wonder, too, what would happen if one of these people broke through the periphery and entered my day-to-day existence. What secrets would they share? What are their lives like? What do they order for breakfast?

Posted at 8:42 AM • Comments (6) • TrackBack

The Girl Who's Moving On.

November 15, 2006

Sometimes, you just have to wake up in the morning and play Valentine by Old 97's over and over and over and over again.

It's not the most cheerful song to begin the day with, but it is quite effective.

*****
Valentine

Heartbreak, old friend, goodbye it's me again.
Of late, I've had some thought of movin' in.
Of all the many ways a man will lose his home,
Well, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.

True love, I knew some thought of, some thought of leavin' you.
Bad thoughts I had, when valentines were due.
Of all the many ways a man will break his heart,
Well there ain't none meaner than he pulls his own apart

CHORUS:
Valentine, the destroyer, Valentine, you belong
In the stars, where you are, always rollin' on.
Cried, I've cried till I couldn't carry on.
It's a lonely, lonely feelin' when your Valentine is wrong.
It's a lonely, lonely feelin' when your Valentine is wrong.

Of all the many things that you were countin' on,
Well, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.
No, there ain't none better than the girl who's movin' on.

Posted at 9:06 AM • Comments (2) • TrackBack

Writer's Block

November 15, 2006

I am having trouble sleeping, which is rare for me. I am just laying here thinking about writer's block, which I am evidently suffering from.

Every night when I take my walk, I think of a million things to write about. But for some reason, I don't write any of it down. There are a couple of possible reasons for this. One is plain old laziness. I mean, I am working on something that I want to post on my last.fm page about the Jesus and Mary Chain...and I have some ideas for the project I am working on - both writing and artwork, but there is almost so much to write that it is daunting. I lack stamina, and I lack sufficient time to just sit and let it flow. I am hoping my upcoming looser work schedule next week will help with that.

But there is also this general idea that I have lately...kind of an idea that I have had for the past 6 months or so...that none of it really matters. This is kind of odd coming from me, as I have always been a firm believer in the spirit of "everything matters"ness. But when I think about the shit I want to write about...the current events politics have been done to death, and my personal politics are at the moment a little too personal and probably too confusing for me to try to sort through in public. This pretty much leaves me with the option of writing about memories (which I normally can do with zeal, but...lately? Meh.) or writing about my zany ideologies.

I am trying to convince myself that my sudden silence is a form of gearing up for something big. But who the fuck knows. I think, too, as far as my private journal goes, I got so tired of hashing and rehashing my thoughts and feelings about certain situations in my life that I just can't even pick up a pen anymore without wanting to throw it and my notebook, along with everyone involved in all of my life's tiny miserys, right out the fucking window.

So, who knows. I guess I did manage to write for 10 minutes or so about how I have nothing to write about. I hope that, at least, was somewhat entertaining to anyone who happens to read this. I now have a splitting headache and a sore throat and I really think it is time for me to give this whole sleep thing another chance.

Posted at 2:13 AM • Comments (1) • TrackBack

Inclusion

November 13, 2006

I am trying to go back to church. Not CHURCH church, as anyone who actually reads this blog knows I am a shameless heathen, but the UU church, where they accept my skeptical-optimistic ass down to the last dimple. Although, I don't know. The interim minister dude they have there mentions the G word way more than I can bear.

Which is why I found myself in Coley's* classroom yesterday, sitting on a tiny chair while he steadfastly refused to participate. First, he refused to color, then he refused to sit in the circle and share a story about his week, then he refused to watch the PUPPET SHOW (a puppet show that was, ironically, a native american tale about humility and gratitude. Then he got to play on the playground, which actually pleased his majesty. Then we went home.

In the past, when Coley has behaved this way, I have felt frustrated and victimized. Yes, victimized. In my frustrated mama brain, Sunday at church after a long weekend of having the kids with me nonstop is a time to recharge and not deal with the constant petty arguing. Coley's refusal to participate forces me to focus on him and his consistent refusal to go with the flow, and interrupts my hour of sitting idle that I have come to enjoy. Yesterday, however, since I really can't stand the interim preacher anyway, I simply stuck with Cole and observed, along with the R.E. teacher. And towards the end of the hour, to prove that he was listening even though he had spent the entire puppet show scribbling on a piece of paper with maker, he actually contributed something to the discussion. They had been talking about humility and gratitude as it relates to providing for those less fortunate. The instructor was moving the conversation towards a project where the uu youngsters are going to gather goods for the homeless, so she was talking about the things someone might need if they didn't have a home. The children were all interjecting items we could provide to keep people who didn't have shelter warm in the winter. "Boots!" "Gloves!" "Blankets!" and Coley, calmly scribbling away, pretending not to listen or care, said "A home!"

Hey, it wasn't universal health care, but I was proud of his little logician's brain in his little artist's body.

It occurred to me then, and double occurs to me now that Coley is not the only reason I have had a difficult time connecting with people at that church. I think it's the same reason I have trouble connecting with people in general as I get older. Mostly it is about me. I mean, it is not like people intentionally make me feel excluded. But I get tired of the attitude among the people I hang out with of "the poor" as this other entity that we must reach out to and provide goods to. Not because I am necessarily one of "the poor" - although in most situations I find myself in, I am probably less wealthy than 90% of the people in the room, but because it just feels odd and awkward. And it's not just about finances. In the last week, I have felt othered based on age, education, and marital status, as well.

I admit that I am generally an overly-sensitive sap about these things, but it does get tiring, regardless.

However, being of a solutions-oriented, generally optimistic mindset, I learned a lesson yesterday. In fact, I learned more from the story about humility and gratitude and from watching my kiddo otherize himself than I would have ever learned from the loathed interim minister. I figured out that, duh, I only get what I put in. In all of those conversations during the week where I felt as if my experience was being excluded, at LEAST the exclusion wasn't hostile or aggressive. AT LEAST I have the option to give voice to my experience without fearing further alienation. In choosing not to, I am being like my son - standing on the outskirts with my arms crossed. However, I also need to be kind to myself - as I was with my son. Sometimes I just NEED to stand on the outskirts. Sometimes it is tiring to have to assert myself as the odd woman out (even if in so doing I frequently discover I am not the only odd woman out) and sometimes I need to allow myself the space to build up the energy to contribute my thoughts.

And, too...I can't just blame myself. How much responsibility does a community have to actively attempt to include people? Last night on my walk, in thinking of ways I can participate in the community, I thought maybe I should start a single mom's group. And then I laughed, because I thought "Why isn't there ALREADY a single mom's group there?" and quickly was overcome with the prospect of having to organize ANYTHING in the midst of my chaotic, disorganized swirl of a life. So, how much of that is the church's responsibility? Or the responsibility of any given community?

I am not sure. All I know is that I crave some sort of community in which I am not quite such a freaking oddball. Perhaps it is true that I will have to create it myself. I am not sure how I am going to find the time, but it is becoming increasingly more important as my life gets more and more stressful.

*As an aside, we stopped going to church due to Coley's antics during a lovely flower communion. Coley has...certain issues...that cause him to behave inappropriately at the least opportune times. He's actually quite a challenge. So it was that when I showed up in church yesterday, the director of the R.E. program squealed delightedly "Oh look! It's MONK!" and then her delight slowly diminished as she said "And...Monk's mom...and, um, Monk's brother." So, yeah...Monk is well-loved at church, even if his demon-spawn brother and his hapless mother is maybe not.

Posted at 8:37 AM • Comments (2) • TrackBack

A different kind of blue hair vote

November 8, 2006

Likely 1st socialist senator from Vermont / Polls see 8-term congressman leading Senate race

"What is this doing to my image?" he quipped as he posed for photos with a student whose hair was dyed fluorescent blue. "I'll definitely win the entire blue hair vote!"

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Monk's Election Day Essay

November 8, 2006

Bush=evil!!! My writing book's still missing, so I'm blaming the bag o'waste. What's the bag o'waste? Prs. Bush. He only deserves a period! Wait, he doesn't know what one is! Other politicians blow wind, while he breaks it. Max i.q. 0.0000000000001, and that being generous! He wouldn't know 1+1 if it smacked him in the face, let alone the answer.

Posted at 1:53 AM • Comments (1) • TrackBack

Spc. Vanderpool

November 7, 2006

Does the Military Send Sick Soldiers to Iraq War?

He was deployed to Iraq after numerous hospitalizations at V.A. hospitals and was being medicated for depression. He arrived in Iraq at the end of October 2004 and was soon caught in a deadly firefight that nearly took his life. After the incident, his psychological condition worsened. Eccleston and Gomes remember Vanderpool walking around, never sleeping, acting strange. A sworn statement by his roommate, Sgt. Timothy Walsh, says Vanderpool complained of flashbacks and was telling bizarre stories about being trained by the CIA and killing people in Spain.
He was treated by a psychiatrist in Iraq who informed his command that "his weapon should be removed from him as he is a threat to himself and others." On Jan. 12, 2005, Sgt. Bien signed a memo putting Vanderpool on profile and taking away his weapons.

A month later Vanderpool returned to New York on leave, and while there was brought by a friend to the Northport Veterans Hospital emergency room. The friend told hospital staff that Vanderpool was acting strange and was nonverbal, and medical reports described him as confused and disoriented. After a meeting with a military liaison team, which reviewed Vanderpool's medical records, including those showing multiple psychiatric hospitalizations, Vanderpool was released from hospital, ordered to report back to duty and return to Iraq.

A few days later he showed up at the Nassau University Medical Center and was diagnosed with peptic ulcer diseases. After receiving treatment, he left the hospital with his Zoloft, Seroquel and Protonix, and was sent back to Iraq.

For five more months he was deployed with no weapon, even though his base was repeatedly hit by rocket fire, killing at least one and wounding several soldiers.

Vanderpool said he felt terrified without a weapon. Gomes said the command was prepared to send Vanderpool on a mission, defenseless.

"They were trying to send this guy on a mission to the fricking border with no weapon. Even the general turned around to 1st Sgt. [Bien] and told him he was crazy, not to let him off base without a weapon."

Bien said, "No soldier was ever sent out or asked to be sent outside the wire without a weapon."

Then he added, "We were also conducting training for Iraqis at another camp and I had to assign several personnel to run this camp. When I included VDP's (Vanderpool's) name on the list, he refused to go."

In July, Vanderpool said he "flipped out," tried to steal another soldier's rifle and attack a superior officer. He was flown out of Iraq, first to a psych unit in Germany and then to Ft. Polk, La., where he spent five months in medical hold under the care of psychiatrists.

Why would the military keep a soldier in Iraq who had attempted suicide and was clearly medically unfit?

"They kept him there out of spite, to use him an example to other soldiers, said Gomes who spent his whole tour with Vanderpool. "Bien wanted to use Vanderpool as an example to the rest of the platoon to obey him."

Bien said, "If every soldier that showed signs of stress was taken off the battle roster, there would be nobody left to fight."

I have nothing further to say about this. It makes me unbelievably sad to think about it, but it needs to be thought about.

Posted at 9:11 AM • Comments (0) • TrackBack

Breathless

November 7, 2006

I love it when the sadness breaks and suddenly, oh man...what have I been missing out on for this past week and a half? Like the lines of the trees against moonlit sky and sounds of laughter and playing in the other room that makes spine tingle instead of hair raise and all the everything that exists in me and all the everything that exists outside of me and all of the little things that are beyond me and keep me moving and moving and moving forward and upward and onward.

Last night, I had a visitor. Briefly. It was the ex. He came to drop something off and chat for a bit. I love talking to him. He makes me smile and laugh, and he always has something interesting to say or to offer. He is beautiful, as always. I adore him. And yet...there is always that moment that happens in the midst of the joy that I feel in his presence where he admits to his unabating sadness. Where he lets it slip that he is never really happy. He feels no joy. Anhedonia sucks ass. I gave up a long time ago on the nagging suspicion that it was ME that made him feel that lack. Although there are times when my unabating joy seemed to make the abyss seem more pronounced - and there have been times when his unabating sorrow has dragged me in.

I wonder if there is a way to coexist with that. I don't know how he keeps on. I get to feeling the slightest bit of sadness for a week, and it tears my entire world apart. I twist in midair, attempting to right myself. I panic, feeling sure that this time I will hit the ground with my back down and shatter into a million pieces. I have been there - in that place where nothing feels good. I have set up camp there for months and years before. But I haven't done that for a long time, and I can't remember what it was like.

So, I am thankful. I am thankful that I am somehow miraculously able to twist and right myself. I am thankful for the knowledge that I do have everything I need. Right here. Me. I just need to remember that, and remind myself how to access it. I am thankful for my warm and giving heart, but moreso, I am thankful for my unending ability to receive.

And I am breathless in the face of the beauty of it all...Grinning madly.

"Breathless"
Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

It's up in the morning and on the downs
Little white clouds like gambolling lambs
And I am breathless over you
And the red-breasted robin beats his wings
His throat it trembles when he sings
For he is helpless before you
The happy hooded bluebells bow
And bend their heads all a-down
Heavied by the early morning dew
At the whispering stream, at the bubbling brook
The fishes leap up to take a look
For they are breathless over you
Still your hands
And still your heart
For still your face comes shining through
And all the morning glows anew
Still your mind
Still your soul
For still, the fare of love is true
And I am breathless without you
The wind circles among the trees
And it bangs about the new-made leaves
For it is breathless without you
The fox chases the rabbit round
The rabbit hides beneath the ground
For he is defenceless without you
The sky of daytime dies away
And all the earthly things they stop to play
For we are all breathless without you
I listen to my juddering bones
The blood in my veins and the wind in my lungs
And I am breathless without you
Still your hands
And still your heart
For still your face comes shining through
And all the morning glows anew
Still your soul
Still your mind
Still, the fire of love is true
And I am breathless without you

Posted at 8:59 AM • Comments (1) • TrackBack

Bechtel Pulls Out

November 3, 2006

Bechtel calls it quits after more than 3 years in Iraq - Los Angeles Times

but, of course, it's not WHAT you know, but WHO you know:

Bechtel's government influence has also worked in the other direction, where company officers have served or consulted in government capacities. CEO Riley Bechtel was appointed in February 2003 to the President's Export Council, which advises the president on programs to improve trade. Former Bechtel Energy Resources President Ross Connelly left the company in 1995 and in 2001 was appointed executive vice president of the Overseas Private Investment Corporation, which provides financing and insurance for U.S. companies operating in other countries. Daniel Chao, Vice President of Bechtel Enterprises Holdings Inc., was appointed a member of the Advisory Committee for the Export-Import Bank in August 2002. The Export-Import Bank provides loans, loan guarantees and other financial support for U.S. companies abroad, and has enjoyed a good relationship with Bechtel. In addition to awarding the company several loans, it was headed from 1977 to 1982 by former Bechtel vice president John L. Moore, and former Bechtel CEO Stephen D. Bechtel sat on its advisory committee from 1969 to 1972. In addition, the Clinton administration appointed Bob Baxter, former president of Bechtel's Civil Global Industry Unit, to the Advisory Committee to the President's Commission on Critical Infrastructure Protection in 1998, and former Bechtel Technology & Consulting manager Larry Papay to the Panel on Energy R&D of the President's Council of Advisers on Science and Technology in 1997.

[source]

"We were told it would be a permissive environment. But to the horror of everyone, it never stabilized. It just went down, down, down, and to this day it continues to go down," said Cliff Mumm, who ran Bechtel's Iraq operation. "I'm proud of what we did, but had law and order prevailed, it would be a different situation."
At one Bechtel project, in the southern city of Basra, the company recorded this toll: The site security manager was murdered; the site manager resigned after receiving death threats; a senior engineer resigned after his daughter was kidnapped; 12 employees of the electrical-plumbing subcontractor were assassinated in their offices; and 11 employees of the concrete supplier were murdered.

All told, 52 workers associated with Bechtel projects were killed, most of them Iraqi. Forty-nine others were wounded.

In case you were wondering, we all knew they would fuck it up:

Activists say that the incestuous relationship between Bechtel and the US government bodes ill for the Iraqi people.
"Bechtel and privatization go hand in hand. As people learned the hard way in Bolivia and around the world, when Bechtel comes to town, you can expect costs to soar and accountability and local control to evaporate," says Juliette Beck, senior organizer at Public Citizen's Oakland office.

[source]

and, ummmmm....

The Center for Responsive Politics, a government watchdog organization, reports that all six companies that were originally allowed to bid for the contract are heavy donors to American politicians, particularly to the Republican Party. Combined, they gave $3.6 million between 1999 and 2002, 66 percent to Republicans. Bechtel itself contributed $1.3 million of this.
But Bechtel’s connections extend far beyond campaign contributions. The company has operated for decades as a halfway house for Republican politicians and military officials heading both into and out of government service.

One of Bechtel’s senior vice presidents is Jack Sheehan, who is also a member of the Defense Policy Board, which advises Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld. Right-wing forces closely aligned with Rumsfeld dominate the defense board. Its former head was Richard Perle, a vociferous advocate of war in Iraq who was forced to resign as chairman when conflicts of interest relating to his connection with telecommunications giant Global Crossing were revealed last month.

[source]

convenient timing? Funny how none of the news reports I heard or read mentioned this:

Bechtel's Iraq contracts are set to expire in October and, as David Snider of the U.S. Agency for International Development told me, Bechtel "is currently closing out and demobilizing from Iraq as scheduled." Bechtel should leave Iraq, but its misspent funds should stay.

[source]

I'd wager they're taking their money with them, and leaving the unfinished projects behind.

Posted at 9:43 AM • Comments (0) • TrackBack

Flickr Foto Friday: Version Halloween and Birthday

November 3, 2006

Halloween and Cole's birthday party photos are up at flickr! Enjoy!

Posted at 7:47 AM • Comments (0) • TrackBack

Debriefing Halloween

November 2, 2006

I found this link, with an excellent pre-OR-post-Halloween activity: via a discussion about offensive Halloween costumes I was pointed to by addicted to race.

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