PMS Sucks.

I'm having my monthly hormonal swings, courtesy of the sick joke that is PMS, and feeling very sad about the looming departure of the toddler niece, who will return to her mom late next month. It's not simply PMS, of course; I will most definitely be sad when she goes, but right now I'm having irrationally sad thoughts, thinking of her tiny little self being all confused and thinking we didn't want her and sent her away. I'm not deranged, really. I mean, I know she will be with her mother (and, soon, her father) who love her even more than I do, if such a thing is possible. And I know that I will see her again, and that we will always be in each other's lives. And I know she will be loved and cared for, and I know that she will not remember any of this when she's 5, or even 3, or maybe even by Christmas, for all I know. But it's the first few days and nights I imagine that she might be confused and the thought of it breaks my heart. If she were older, I could not only explain it to her, I could also talk to her on the phone, etc. But she's not. She's 16 months old and I will miss her desperately.

Keep in mind, won't you, that I had all these same concerns when her mom had to go to Cuba. I knew I was taking care of her, and that she was loved and safe and happy most of the time, but I still couldn't help feeling undone by what might have been going through her head in her quieter moments.

You've heard of those so-called "victimless crimes?" Well, I feel like we are, all, crimeless victims. (Unless you consider George W. Bush the criminal--and I do, really, but that's another post for another day, isn't it?) My sister-in-law and brother did not want to be away from their child. Even if they did want to serve their country or fulfill their obligations or whatever, they never for a minute wanted to be away from this little girl. And I never wanted them to go. But here we are, all of us having our lives turned upside down once again. It's not like one of those horrible custody battles where we adopted a child 3 years ago and kept being sure we'd get to keep her but one appeal after another finally ended with her being sent back to her biological parent(s). No, it's not like that at all, but the effect is the same.

One good thing that's come of it, though, is that I know that I can do this. I can be a parent, and even more importantly, I can open myself fully and completely to someone with no expectation of anything in return, and with the certain knowledge of pain with no recourse. You know, Lisa and I have been together for nearly 13 years and I have given myself to her as completely as I think is healthy for a couple. Meaning that, I think it's healthy to still have your own friends, your own hobbies, and activities---your own thoughts, for Pete's sake. And I know that if Lisa were to ever leave me, I'd at least have the option of feeling anger at her for it. But this little girl is leaving me and I can't be angry at her, of course, or at anyone. It just IS, and it's sad and I KNEW it would be sad, but I'm proud that I still did it and I still let myself love her without limits, because she doesn't deserve anything less than that.

It'll make your fillings rattle.

And I can say that, finally having received my first-ever fillings over the past few years. What is the "it" of which I speak? Why, the charming sound emitted from any car driven by a young man with hunormous speakers. (Yes, hunormous...similar to katrillion.) Anyway, these cars are, surprisingly often, total pieces of shit, yet they have boomin' systems that must have cost more than the car itself. I'm sure that "boomin' system" is hopelessly out of date, but I confess I have no idea what the current slang is. I do know that expensive, after-market wheels are called dubs, but that's the extent of my knowledge.

Anyway, these cars roll down my street with the bass up so loud that the entire tin-can-with-wheels--a rolling speaker holder, if you will--just rattles, sounding as if it might fall apart right in front of my house, or perhaps on the side street between here and the park. And I wonder, would I want to do anything that would make my car sound that cruddy? Probably not. But, in honor of them all, I excerpt here the lyrics to a wonderful gem (circa 1990) by L'Trimm:

CARS WITH THE BOOM

How many kinds, where can we start?
yeah
I like the ones with the pretty eyes,
Well i like all kinds of guys.
Stop. What happened, how about the ones we especially like?
Which ones?
You know the ones with the cars that go..
I hear you..
Hit it!

It was me and the posse with Bunny (G)
We were cruising in the Jag or the Lamborghini,
When lo and behold there appeared a mirage,
He was hooking up a car in his daddy's garage.
We stopped short, did a double take,
He was looking so fly, I thought I wasn't awake.
He was obviously hooking up bass, I assume,
But then he turned a little button and the car went boom.

We like the cars, the cars that go boom,
We're Tigre and Bunny and we like the boom.
We like the cars, the cars that go boom.
We're Tigre and Bunny and we like the boom.

We like them short, and we like them tall,
We like them one, and we like them all.
They're always adding speakers when they find the room,
Coz they know we like the guys with the cars that go boom.
And see my boyfriend really knows where it's at,
He's got 50 inch woofers all along the back.
He makes a comment on going to my room,
I'd rather stay out with his car that goes boom.

Oh, give me just a tiny friggin' break.

SAN FRANCISCO (AP) -- Barry Bonds used to commit any spare time before games to lifting weights, working meticulously to build up his leg strength for long nights of standing in left field and on the basepaths following his many walks.

His bum right knee no longer allows it. He is carrying a few extra pounds around his middle and vows to spend the offseason bringing his playing weight down from more than 228 pounds to about 200.

"I'm going to be skinny," said Bonds, who weighed 185 pounds as a rookie in 1986 but has not been near 200 for many years.

Bonds still defends his powerful swing against anybody else's in the game, though he acknowledges he no longer might be able to hit homers at the same rate he has in recent years.

Shortstop Omar Vizquel is eager to see how fans react to his teammate on the road, where Bonds can expect plenty of chatter about steroids.

Though Bonds never has tested positive for performance-enhancing substances and repeatedly has denied using steroids, the San Francisco Chronicle reported that Bonds testified to a federal grand jury in December 2003 that he used substances prosecutors claim were performance-enhancing drugs.

Translation: I have stopped taking steroids now so that I will not test positive. Hence, you should all be prepared to see what the natural evolution of my body would have looked like, in which it would have been normal for an adult man to gain 15 or so pounds as he entered middle age. Also, without the 'roids, I will still hit home runs, but not at the obscene rate I have in the past.

You are now entering the GULF OPPORTUNITY ZONE.

I see that last night, the leader of the free world coined yet another of his stupid little names, christening the reconstruction of New Orleans and Mississippi as the "Gulf Opportunity Zone." He then told the people of the region, "You are not alone."

To which he should have added, "Anymore. Now that I've seen what a shitstorm my normally lackadaisical attitude has caused. And that it might keep some Republicans from getting elected next year. But not me, 'cause I don't have to run again. Ever."

What a fucking moron.

Anyway, onto more pressing topics, I'm so pleased to see that Britney & Kevin have finally had their scuzzy little kid. And the Chesney-Zellweger marriage didn't take? Shocking.

Vacation, all I ever wanted...

My friend Shelli posted this, and I received it in an e-mail from my sister's boyfriend, who knew it would do my liberal little heart some good to have a laugh at the expense of Bush & Shrub.When the stupidity of the son makes you long for the kinder, gentler stupidity of the father, you know it's a sad, sad thing.

Is it just me....

or does George Bush look like an Oompa Loompa?

It seems an odd thing to think of saying goodbye to an American city, a major city that was--10 days ago--home to about a million people. Yet I feel more and more certain that New Orleans may never again be what it was, and will take a very long time to be anything close.

I lived there for two years, and all of the things I had loved about it when I visited, became exactly the things I did not enjoy about living there. In short, it just wasn't for me. But it's one of those places that I think everyone should experience at least once, and it is definitely "home" for some people. You know, that elusive place that just sort of fits your soul? We don't all find that place in life, but N'awlins is so distinctive, so entirely unique, that if it is your city, it doesn't take long to realize it. (If it isn't your place, you'll know that pretty quickly too, but you'll always be a welcome guest.)

My thoughts now are not just with the families of the dead and injured, but also with the families who made it out alive...and who now find themselves in far-flung places not of their choosing: Houston, Dallas, San Antonio, St. Louis, Baton Rouge (still Louisiana, but definitely not New Orleans), and so on. I've been lucky enough to live in 10 states, to visit 44 of them, and to even do a tiny bit of foreign travel. No place I've ever been seemed any more distinctive to me than New Orleans; at no time in, say, Belgium, did I ever feel I was in any more of a foreign place than I felt every day I lived in New Orleans. The people are different, the language is different, the architecture is diferent--even the feel of the place is different. (A large city doesn't usually seem so horizontal, or so quaint.) So to imagine a New Orleanian, especially one whose travel outside the area might have been relatively limited, having to suddenly acclimate to life in another place--especially traumatized, and with limited resources--well, it overwhelms me, and I'm not the one who's waking up in a city with no job, no home. If you are a New Orleanian, a "yat," that is a great part of your identity, a huge and important hook on which you can hang your sense of self. To no longer have that would be a much bigger loss than property.

Are you as twisted as I am?

Do you ever shop at Bath & Body Works? And, if so, when you're showering with the shower gel called Coconut Lime Verbena, do you ever find yourself humming the Tone Loc song Funky Cold Medina? No?

Uh, me neither.

An interesting website

Shelli posted several weeks ago about a movement to have everyone add a cell phone entry for ICE (In Case of Emergency), and to then key in a number for that entry that would connect to a close friend or family member who should be notified on your behalf if you are sick or hurt. It seems emergency personnel often have no idea who to contact, especially if you are an unmarried adult living on your own.

I ran across a website today called the National Next-of-Kin Registry. It's free to sign up, and aims to be a resource for emergency personnel, as well. While I think it's a new idea and would probably take a long time to become all that they envision, I've signed up and it seems like something that could do a lot of long-term good. In our transient, mobile society, with people often living far from family, it probably can't hurt.

One friend accounted for...

We're happy to report that one of our many friends in New Orleans has gotten in touch and she is ok, staying with family in rural Louisiana. No power, but they are ok, have food and water and are out of the melee that is currently New Orleans. I'm grateful for any good news right now.

New Orleans.

Lisa and I used to live in New Orleans. We are so grateful we don't live there any longer. A friend of ours is safe and sound, we know, and is lucky to have left with her pets and to have a place to stay for as long as needed with her sister. We have many more friends who may be missing; we've e-mailed them and have not heard back, which leads us to fear that they are still in the city, and did not or could not evacuate. (Because, if you DID get out, you'd be checking your e-mail, wouldn't you, knowing people are worried?) It's mind-boggling to me, the conditions, the lack of planning....New Orleans and the state and the Federal Emergency Management Association has known forever that this is a poor city, with more than 120,000 families who don't own cars. They've known they could be hit and devastated by a hurricane. This one, which was supposed to be a Category 5 and hit them head-on, mercifully devolved to a Category 4 before veering slightly eastward. My point is, it could have been so much worse, and still the city, state and federal governments seem utterly unprepared. I've been preoccupied for days with trying--and failing--to imagine the horrible conditions. I understand looting for food, bandages, medicine, diapers, water. I don't understand stealing TVs, when you have no power and no home. I don't understand beating people, raping people, shooting at police officers and MedEvac helicopters. And I know it's the minority who are doing this, because most are too tired, scared, hungry and angry to even think of it. It's as if this is an excuse for people to commit crime as a hobby, not as a means to an end.

There are people dying there, waiting for help. Our government is on TV--George Bush, you fucker--saying "try to remain calm, be civil, we're coming." Hey, dumbasses, no one there has a TV, or a radio, or a newspaper. All they need right now is food and water and someone to drive around with a bullhorn giving them INFORMATION so they don't feel so alone and so hopeless and so scared. They truly think no-one is ever coming to help. I've seen people on the news wondering why the outpouring of help that came after 9/11 isn't coming to them. They wonder why Americans aren't caravanning down to get them. They don't know that money is being donated everywhere; they don't know that we can't come to get them, and that even if we could do that without hampering rescue efforts, there would not be enough gasoline for us to turn around and drive them back to our homes, to anywhere that is not New Orleans.

Older people, sick people, and babies, are dying in a major American city because we can't get food and water to them. Alexis is my niece. She is my child, for now, but not MY child. Yet there is nothing I would not do to get food for her. So I guess I was lying when I said I couldn't understand beating people, because if I had to do that to keep her from dying, I would. But for those people, even killing someone won't help. The thought of having to watch a baby die and be unable to help, when all she needs is something we take for granted every day, well, I can't fathom that any feeling would be worse.

Donate money if you can. If your company has a matching program, use it. If you have clothes and shoes around your house, ready for Goodwill, save them. They can't take them now, from what I understand, but they will soon be sorely needed for those who survive this hell on earth.