Lucky me got an invite to Amama’s house Monday night. She had some left-over ribs (man, can that beach-boy of hers rock a grill! mmm!), some other good sides, and – oh baby – her famous home made lemon meringue pie. I would say that I’m not worthy, but obviously I am, so, YAY ME!
We had a good time. We got to play with baby*, eat all that good food, half-watch some good flicks (HP and Shrek), and have some much-needed grown-up girl time. We were out on the porch at one point, and I asked her what she thought of my Dream Catcher tribute to her (she was the willow circle) and the other girls. She liked it, and it caused her to think of and speak of how very much she feels she has changed in the last year. I told her that I agreed wholeheartedly, and I described her change by saying that I thought she had “biggened”. She is still very much the same wonderful maniac that she always was – thank god. She is Her Self, and a good and conscientious mom, but she has not become suddenly hypocritical of her self, of her past, or of other people**. She is the same woman, but she seems deeper and more centered, and as if, psychically, there is more of her. I guess that’s what having such a close connection with another little being*** will do for you. Well, should do for you.
I don’t think you have to have a baby to “biggen”, though that seems to be one of the things that should cause an automatic biggening. And obviously just plain old hard-knock life xp doesn’t do it, even if you work really hard to understand all of it, because I remain 'unbiggened'. I guess I know this – feel this – the same way that I feel that Andi has. I just started thinking about it later, when I was alone, and I realized that this is the case.
Maybe it’s unimportant? Like the whole “old soul” thing. I’ve heard people talk about ‘old souls all my life’. I think I know what they mean, I’ve kinda’ gotten the same feeling about some people. And I have the same kind of feeling about the fact that my soul is brand new, original to this body, untrained by the Ancient Cosmos, as it were… Admittedly, I do have some off-the-wall ideas about string theory, the chemical weight of the soul, force of will, Mervyn Peake and early 20th century China, but that’s neither here-nor-there. That’s just physics. Maybe I’ll never ‘biggen’. Maybe I’ll always be this sort of five-year-old, “pudgy-handed”, emotionally clumsy, easily distracted and amused, ridiculously optimistic (at times****), exuberant, playful soul who likes to color, can pitch a helluva fit when she is not happy, and always needs a nap. And maybe that’ll be ok. Maybe I’m big enough already? Maybe I biggened early? Maybe this is as big as I’ll ever get.
Come to think of it, everyone in my family, except my oldest brother (and he’s just good at pretending to be Mr. Big Grown-Up Man) feel like “new souls”, like perma-pre-schoolers. I don’t mean that as an insult, not even when I say it about myself, but if you knew all my people, you’d see what I mean. I’m not the left-field weirdo I often seem to be, at least not when in the company of my relatives – despite what they say.
Growing up? Over rated? Let’s discuss.

And now for the good stuff - the News (courtesy of “The Quibbler” and other sources):
I received this tidbit under the subject heading “Here’s a cage match for you”:
‘Brad Pitt has been branded a "wimp" by Hollywood actor Val Kilmer - who claims the Troy star's muscle-bound physique on film posters have been "air-brushed". Kilmer, 44 - who will appear in rival epic Alexander later this year - has challenged Pitt's widely publicized weight training, claiming his beefy figure was faked. The Batman Forever star
says, "I saw those pictures of Brad Pitt, that's all air-brushed in, you know. He's a nice guy but he's a wimp."
-source unknown (but still funny as all get-out.)

This little chunk of yuck is something I normally wouldn’t post, but I thought it might be nice to put this guy’s photo out there, in case he moves into your neighborhood.

And here’s something that is just worth seeing 'cause it's so dang cute and novel. Stewart turned me onto this new hybrid (he's my good friend, and knows me well, so he sends me lots of pictures of cute, ugly baby aminals) yesterday via some cnn link. I assumed it was a new and relatively unknown hybrid, but apparently these cute little mookies have been around for years. I couldn't find the original link he showed me either, so it may be out of date. I dunno.

...and sadly, connecting these last two stories (WARNING: if you are easily offended or under 18, DO NOT click these links), is the personal observation from your very own Q.ot G., that “furries” are HANDS DOWN the most frightening, disturbing, sad group of geeks out there. Frankly, they just SCARE me.
“Ewwww…” just doesn’t cut it sometimes.

And finally, let me publicly state, in this EXTREMELY public format, that if I ever say anything here that you all disagree with, or think is hurtful and wrong, well, I just hope you all know that I expect to be called on it. You can write me, you can call me, you can tell me to my face. (The same goes for anything I say out loud, too. Even if you’ve just heard it second-hand, ask me.) I don’t like to be called on anything, of course - I am a human, a woman, a Leo, and a know-it-all with pretty damned good credentials and record, but I am also wrong sometimes (not very often, but still...), and I respect the hell out of people brave enough to say so. I will defend myself, or I will apologize, but what I will NOT do is pretend that this is a private forum here and be stupidly indignant about anyone reading this. I have readers in Spain, Iceland, Norway, England and other foreign climes, as well as all over the US. I am proud of this fact, and if I were going to be an idiot and b*!@# about people reading my “private thoughts”, well, (a.) – I’d hope that my readers would write/call/come over and kick my @$$ for being so !@#$ stupid, and (b.) I’D GET A !@#$ DIARY AND A PEN AND KEEP IT UNDER MY !@#$ MATTRESS.
*sheesh *
Idiots of the world unite. Preferably in Baghdad. Wear red shirts, with concentric circles on. Do it for the good of mankind.

much love – and a little castigation,
-s

*am hoping that she is not traumatized for life by my beanie-baby rendition of ‘The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies’…
**unlike several folks in my own blood-clan…
***who takes up a pretty considerable chunk of psychic real estate herself…
**** – as howlingly bleak as only migrants from the Chunky Spunky Planet of Mary Lou Retton Clones on irregular doses of psycho-active drugs can be, at other times.

Today, I am happy to continue in the vein of celebrating some of the wonderful women that I am lucky and blessed to know.
Today is the birthday of one of my most magical, mystical girlies - sometimes I almost feel as if she is an imaginary friend. Those of you who know me well know that sometimes I can be closer to this kind of friend than any other. I seem to see her often in shifting shadows - not the scary kind, but the kind that turn the forest floor into a chiaroscuro of dancing light and shade, the kind of shadow that hides the rabbit from the hawk. And sometimes she's the shadow of the hawk... She is the inscrutable Crowgirl*.
I work with her everyday, but I see her rarely, and though I've known her now for years, there is still so much that I don't know, and I am looking forward to patiently** learning. It is definitely worth the wait. Her mystique is sweet and sad.
She is piercingly intelligent, uniquely beautiful, genuinely mysterious (without trying***. bless her heart, I think sometimes that she wishes she wuzzn't.), she is clever, talented, loving, optimistic, generous, passionate, broken-hearted, fierce, and above all, one of a kind. Her soul has wings, big enough to fill the sky, and dark, but with an irridescent shimmer like the northern lights. My wish for her birthday is that more of my friends could know her better, that I could coax her out of her shell, into the light, just a little more often. Selfish me, baaaad kitty that I am, I want to enjoy her more, and I want to share her. I think she has no idea how wonderful she really is, and I wish she would let us celebrate her more.
So here, at least I can sing her praises, and reveal her to you all just a little.
Happy birthday, Crowgirl. Thank you for making me a special part of celebrating your young heart and your old soul!
veryvery BIG fat love,
-sambolina, queena the geeks
(here is a very good poem for this very good day!)
CACOPHONY OF CROWS

We turned, and leaned against the world.
I rested there, with my eyes closed,
even the eyes of my eyes closed,
while the fray of my nerves
lay fallow and healing.
The earth itself turned; the red dirt
leached and emptied,
long after the fertile fire had gone out
and my face was painted with its ash
and broken seeds.

My little love, it was such a long winter.
Even after the Equinox, the earth refused
to be dried out. The rains kept coming,
and that hanging chill, even in early June,
refused to leave the air or the fields,
still left dormant.

At market, the farmers say
no seed will take in the running rains,
the floodplains created by the thaw,
or within the chill itself.
When they say,
"the growing season will come in her own time,"
the tone is less of statement and
more of simple prayer.

Above their voices, I could hear the crows.
When I opened my eyes and left the leaning
against to stand along the axis of the earth,
I could see them in the trees.
Beneath their wings was the sky, a blue
too enormous to be owned by a name.
I could feel the sun, finally,
in my hair, unbound.
The wind was there in it, too…
talking to her,
almost whispering.

-Dora E. McQuaid

and here are some more special crow poems, sites and art, just for you!


*in this comic, she's the one next to me in the board meeting, thinking about the knife. :)
**ha! me! patient!
***we all know how yukky the opposite is. ugh. i had a professional poseur aquaintance in college who said (yes, out loud) "i want to be cloaked in an air of mystery." in my opinion, that's kinda' hard when you're cloaked in an air of stale cigarette smoke, old ramen dishes and ass.

I am very grateful to be able to say that I am loved by a lot of people. A lot of wonderful, amazing, kind, intelligent, beautiful, talented, brave, funny and funky people. When I think of how many special people give so much of themselves to me, look after me, look up to me and, thank god, overlook me when need be, it stupifies me. As hard as I try to deserve this, I think I will never feel that I really do, but I am grateful, nonetheless, and mightily inspired to keep trying to be worthy.
There is one little particular circle of friends who inspired today's rant. They are three (and 1/16*) ladies whom I met completely by chance. They were the best of friends before me, but they assimilated me and my **Ego with the greatest of ease, and now I don't know how I ever lived without them. We definitely do not get together often enough, but when we do, we make up for lost time. When last we met, one of us suggested that we needed to make a point to do this once a month. I agree whole-heartedly, and to that cause, I've written this poem, partially as a little "making" (words have a lot of power), but mostly to honor these women that bless my life.
I love you very much, my Ladies. Can you guess which element is you?
xoxox
-s

DreamCatcher

Start with a willow circlet,
woven ‘round, limber strength,
symbol of eternity, openness, air,
the beginning and end
of all things;

Wrap with fire-hued spider silk and
the darkest forest-green wool,
bits of blue, black and white,
warmth and color, threads the symbol of
unity, passion, labor, love and light;

Stretch with sinew, knotted in the pattern of
the structure of earth, of life itself,
pulling tight, drawing together,
holding the good, and letting the bad things
breeze on through;

Hang with feathers, fishbone, sparkling stones,
shells and bits of sea glass like shining drops of water,
symbols of the flow of life’s salt-sweet blood,
of power and mercy, rain and storm, beauty, desire,
and change.

Bless and suspend this thing of beauty,
spinning, shining, protecting, and reminding
us to carefully sift the dark from the light,
respect them both, and be grateful for Her
myriad gifts of Elements and Dreams.

-sll


*Baby makes five, and that's the Big Mama in the Sky's most magic number...
**Terrible Horrible

So, I suppose you’ll all be wanting a completely unbiased review of “The Chronicles of Riddick”, right? Ok. Here you go.
But, if you want to know what I thought, read on.
For starters, let me say that the whole movie felt very much as if a SERIOUSLY nerdy guy* simultaneously got a really fantastic body and a basically unlimited sum of money to produce a film version of his most dear RPG campaign. This is, of course, a GOOD thing. The plot/world seemed to be a hybrid of AD&D, Cyberpunk and Starfleet Battles. Spaceships, strange creatures, knife-fighting Galactic Barbarians, lots of big muscles and cool-@$$ clothes, and spiky armor and sweat-soaked leather…
ooooh, yeaaaahhhhh, mmmmm…. whu? who? huh? oh, where was I? oh right. Review…
In short, for me, there was only one thing wrong with this movie, and that was that it was over too soon. Yes, the plot was a bit bologna and there was a lot of cheese, but you know what? There were many times in my youth when all there was to eat was bologna and cheese, and that was some fine eatin’. Still is. People have often given me $#*! about being too easily pleased (???) or “the great American consumer”, because I can be pretty forgiving if something has enough merit to make me be able to live with it’s flaws. I think that my friends who have complained about this should really be counting their dadgummed blessings, personally, but you know people.
This movie was rich with geek fantasy elements. In my opinion, it had it all. There was beautiful art and architecture, lovely costumes, lovely people, cool ships, cool monsters, cool weapons, bizarre landscapes, good fights, bad villains, gorgeous women, the hint of a much bigger imagined universe, oh, and of course, Vin.
The biggest surprise, however, was the additional bohunk factor. As soon as Riddick’s nemesis appeared on screen, I thought “MMMMRrrooOWOWwwwwRrrrrrr!!!” (mm, gotta love those Mullets of Fury!). Then I thought “Why does this fantastic bohunk look so familiar?” It wasn’t until the credits that I realized that this young man was none other than Karl Urban – aka our EOMER! Wow! Who’da thunk he had the makings of such a fabulous orc-boy! And him vs. Vin*** was just, well, special. Let’s just say it gave me a really warm feeling all over.
All cool sci-fi geeks stuff aside, I think my very favorite thing about this movie is the reaction that the majority of men seem to be having toward it. I have now heard half’a dozen guys say that it sucked, and that the reason it sucked is because it was a CHICK FLICK! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yeah, baby! Welcome! You’re in Sam’s World now! Buckle up! Wheeeeee!!!!!!!!
Stewart and Chris loved it, and I know for a fact that neither one of them would say that to mollycoddle me*****. One guy actually had the nerve to tell me today, after I laughed at him for calling it a chick flick, that it was “stupid, and who wanted to see all those guys running around half-naked, anyway?”
Ummm… ok, for one thing, there WAS no half-naked – believe me, I’d’ve noticed. Basically all you ever see of Vin is bare arms and head (even in XXX, his sexiest scene was thermal underwear and a shearling coat. A little bare chest … …*sigh* …was all you got), and Mr. Urban is literally covered from neck-to-toe throughout the entire film.
I don’t hear anyone complaining about all the LESS than half-naked action starlets we’ve all seen running around for the last 60 years or so. Hell, that’s one of the absolutely necessary elements of a good action film – and this movie has those too. Not to mention some hot starlets with more than just a little moxie, too. (I liked “Jack” a lot, both in Pitch Black and C.o.R.). I said something to this weenie about the essential naked-ish action movie babes and mentioned Bond girls. He said “Yeah, you don’t see James Bond running around naked, do you?” No you don’t, and mores the pity! It’s about time that ladies like me (and there are LOTS of us) were being lured to the cinema to watch this wonderful new breed of "Chick Flicks". Three cheers for the action heroes who pull us in, too. They know what’s up. The rest of you sad-sacks can sit at home and piss and moan ‘cause your woman is off, sitting three rows back from the screen with all her girlfriends, oohing and aahing over this great new strain of action hero, or you can get off your butt and BE ONE. Admittedly, my beau is not at all physically like Mr. Diesel – though he is as fine as blackberry wine, if you ask me and, well, basically all the other girls I know – but instead of being a big-ole-sissy about me loving this film for such, um, esoteric reasons, he enjoyed it with me, and afterwards told me how lucky he felt to have a girlfriend who thinks of movies like that as Chick Flicks. Now that's a hero, folks.

Sure there were one or two cute/sweet moments (just like in XXX), but that’s classic action film stylie, which you’d know if you love the Hong Kong Action Cinema like I do.
They made the movie human, and gave our heroes some depth. I am sure that there are some folks out there, men and women alike, who just take life WAY to dang seriously, and just didn’t like the movie because it was basically high-grade B sci-fi. And that’s ok. But those of you who I KNOW liked “Conan” or “Highlander” or “Aliens”, and yet claim that this flick is crap – ESPECIALLY because it was a “chick flick”, shame on you. Shame, shame, shame. Your Queen does NOT approve. May you be sentenced to Meg Ryan movies for the rest of your miserable lives!
Well, I’m going off to build a spaceship now, and maybe do some crunches.
BIG (flexing, sweaty, oily) love,
-S

*and trust me, I know from seriously nerdy guys.
**via some cosmic alien experiment, or some sort of cyber-surgery or similar – of course.
***and then him PLUS Vin****… but I don’t want to give TOO much away…
****Smelling salts? Anyone? My goodness, these spells of the vapors are troublesome!
*****They damn well KNOW better. They liked it because it was a fun, funny, bad@$$, exciting geek flick. No more, no less.

As you all know, geekboys and -girls (especially girls), "The Chronicles of Riddick" opened up last night... I guess I'll go see it... if i HAVE to... *sigh*. I suppose it's my duty as the Queen of the Geeks to go and just be sure that it's up to par, right?
Riiiiiiiiggghhhhht. :D
Y'all are probably all shocked that I didn't go last night, but we had Chris' family b'day dinner at Outback, and tonight he has to work, so we're going tomorrow night. YAY!!!! :D :D :D
Stewart sent me this great interview, and as we are gearing up BIGTime for con - plotting and planning LOTS of fun uber-nerd activities* - and also starting up our own D&D campaign again, finally, I thought I would share just one excerpt from this lovely man's lovely interview:

"Diesel is that rare breed of Hollywood star, one that tries not to take himself too seriously as a star, but as an actor, well that is a horse of an entirely different colour. This is a man who was brought up on a world of fantasy, and, like a grown-up child, sparkles at the very mention of one of his primary influences: Dungeons and Dragons. Or perhaps, one questions, it was just a rumour that Dungeons has spoken to the child within for some two decades. He rolls back on his chair and merely smiles. "I never play D&D," he begins with mock seriousness. "For some reason, they thought that I played D&D for 20 years. They thought that I spent years playing Barbarians**, Witchunters the Arcanum. They thought I still played D&D back in the '70s when it's just the basic D&D set. They thought I continued to play D&D when it became Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. They thought I played D&D when there were only three books - the Player's Handbook, and the DM's Guide. They thought I played D&D as it continued onto the Unearthed Arcanum, Oriental Adventures, Sea Adventures, and Wilderness Adventures. They thought I played D&D at the time when Deities and Demigods*** was the brand new book. They thought I played D&D when I used to get up to a place called The Complete Strategist in New York." We get the point as he smilingly mouths: I'm into D&D a lot****. "It was a training ground for a lot of my adventures."

Y'all KNOW he wants me, right?
Sorry about all the photos, but you know I just can't resist. I found it interesting that this particular magazine cover had both "The Next Big Thing**" and "Greatest Show on Earth***" (quite interestingly placed) on the cover...
*sigh*
Go see 'Chronicles' (and all the other great nerd-films coming out this summer - Harry Potter III was by FAR the best HP yet! WOW!), dust off your DM screen, get out your dice, and GEEK OUT! Hope to see you ALL at con! SHARKBAIT, OOHAHA!
MUCH love,
-sambolina 'pie QotG!


*"SHARKBAIT! OOHAHA!" heh heh heh...
**it's ok, i'm ok, i'll be fine... just let me get up off the floor...
***, no really, i'm fine. i'll be fine.
do you think they're dating? oh my god. ok, maybe i DO need some smelling salts, or a cold shower, or... something.
****on behalf of the Geeks of the world, we thank you, Vin. *MWAH!* xoxoxoxox

So FINALLY I have the sort of boyfriend who will lie in bed with me, being lazy and fantasizing about ...
... how GREAT it would be to have a tank*! Yay, me!
I was telling him that I’d always wanted one of those mini-bulldozers, anyway, and wouldn’t that make a great little cute little tank? (moogiemoogiemoogie!) I mean, it’d be really hard to actually hurt much with it... I probably couldn’t run over a whole bunch of po-lice (pronounced 'po-leese') cars or any, um, completely random and hypothetical auto body detailing shops... near Tryon. But actually in South Carolina....
... durnit.
Chris then said that it might be neat to just build something to squush**, and we began to dream up this GREAT "installment/performance art" idea.
What I would do is get some nice city to lend us a bit of park area (which we would take good care of while we did this). We would designate our work area, and then set up two building spaces in there (cordoned, and with good safety parameters, of course.). One corner would be the place for building the tank onto the minicrawler. The other would be for the building construction. I would get a crew together, six people total, maybe. Three for the buildings, three for the tank, (ooh, paintball gun turrets, loudspeaker…) and we could interchange between building projects as needed. For example, we’d probably need all six to lower the tank shell over the crawler frame... Maybe 8 people, who knows. Six seems about right, though. We could spend, say, 42 days, camping on site, and building this little tank and this little ‘city’. Maybe we could get an outside crew – like my brother – to build some little scale cop cars… mooowahahaha! The public could come and watch us do this, all throughout the process. At the end, I would get to climb into that little tank and RAMPAGE!!! RAAAR! YEAH! WHEEEEE!
Wouldn’t you like to come see that? And kids would LOVE it. We could take up donations to pay for the materials, and, and, and, maybe they’d let me keep the tank...
No?
Oh well.
So, if any wealthy art aficionados read this, or any brave city managers with something extra in the budget for community art, or anyone with a used minicrawler they’d like to donate, then please, sign my guestbook and let me know! We’d LOVE to bring this show to YOUR town!
Support the arts!
love,
-s

*you know, after reading this sentence, I thought 'wow. What a couple of weirdos. We deserve each other.'
**that’s pronounced "skwuhsh". rhymes with "mush", as in "rooms".

Today's rant is courtesy of Aunt Sue. I wrote her a long e this morning and realized that it encapsulated today's news just fine. I did edit out a personal thing or two, just so Susie and I could keep some things between us, but I didn't think she'd mind me sharing the news. I left in the good links I sent her, too.
Much love,
-Sam

Good morning, SusieQ!
Well, I got depressed last night and did something drastic. I did the SECOND worst thing a woman can do when she is down and craving change (#1 is getting married.) I cut my hair.
I've only ever trimmed my bangs before - never the "full nelly". My early attempts at cutting my bangs were TERRIBLE. I put up with months of bad hair after those miserable failures (one right before my wedding. *sigh*). I finally learned to trim my bangs nicely - and sparingly (thanks to Baron, my wonderful barber), but that took about 30 years!
Last night we were trying to get ready to go to Asheville to see our friends' sitcom, like we always do on Wednesday night, and I felt fat, and yukky, and discontent with my whole life. I cried, threatened to shave my head, quit my job, run away from home, etc. and poor Chris sat there with me and encouraged me to tell him all. I did - and he still likes me (go figure), but then I convinced him to go on without me, because it was his birthday-eve, and our friends were expecting us.
As soon as he was out the door, I got up, poured a glass of wine, and went straight to the bathroom and got the scissors. Nearly two hours later - the glass of wine still almost untouched (if you can believe THAT!) I had me one of the cutest little haircuts you have ever seen! It's a nice, neat little 20's bob, slightly longer at the front than the back, which is cut close to my hairline at my neck, in a little curving arch. Yes, I even managed to cut the back myself! I still have some chin-length curls to frame my face and set off mama's cheekbones, too. I can't wait to see Baron and ask his opinion. I don't think he'll be mad at me for cutting it myself. He has often told me that he believed I'd be a really good hairdresser. The last time I went for a trim, I told him that if I was a hairdresser, I would think of each head as a sculpture, and then cut the hair like that, so when I pulled out the scissors last night, that's what I thought about. That's also why it took so long - that, and trying to get to the !@#$ back! ;)
I thought you'd be proud of me for that. We both know that it could have been a TERRIBLE disaster, too. In fact, probability-wise, it should have been. I found out this morning, when I called to see if he'd be in after I get off of work, that Baron (and his parents, the other two employees of Smith's Barber Shop) have gone to DC, and won't be back for DAYS! :O Lucky me, huh? I would have had to wear a hat and scarves to work for the next three days!!! :D
I scared Chris to death last night, too. He knew I was sad when he left, so when he came home, I made him go in my room and sit down and turn off the light, while I waited in the bathroom. I told him that I had done something drastic - and he remembered me saying that I was going to shave me head - so he had to wait in the dark to find out. I played it all serious, too. I came in and sat beside him - he tried to feel my head to see if I was bald!!! I told him that I had cut my hair, and I wanted to prepare him. Then I turned on the light. I wish I had a picture of the look of relief on his face!!! :D You would have laughed SO hard, Susie!
Today is his birthday, and we have the whole day planned. This morning I got up early, bathed (put on a pretty dress and some lipstick to show of my new do), then got him in the tub, fixed him and iced coffee, and then out on Billy Joels' greatest hits (he LOVES Billy Joel. Man after your own heart, huh? :) He got dressed and said he was going to treat me to Waffle House.
On the way, I stopped by Mr. Camp's house at the bottom of the hill. He cut me a whole bunch of pretty gardenias so I could do my yearly "Gardenias for Ladies" day. He is such a nice man.
I had Chris drop me off at the Waffle House on his way to get $, I told him I'd get us a table. I had a little birthday candle in my purse, and I slipped it to our waitress and asked her to bring him a Honey Bun after breakfast with the lit candle. We had a nice breakfast. I talked with everyone around us, and gave away several of my gardenias. After we ate, Kat brought the Honey Bun out with the lit candle, and we sang happy birthday. Then she told Chris that it wasn't an official Waffle House Birthday unless he got "smudged", and she smooged whipped cream on his nose!!! THEN she told him his breakfast was on the house! Nice, huh?
Then he drove me to work, and headed back to the house. One of his presents from me was a video (that I got brand-new in the book sale for $1.00 - woohoo!) and he said he was going to go home, watch that, and nap. I worked on Tuesday morning for Gigi, so I get off at 1:30 today. He's going to pick me up, and then we're going to go to his mom and dad's for a cookout lunch and his favorite cake (another good reason to dress up a little. I like to impress his mom. :). After that, we'll go to the grocery and pick up some snacks for tonight. Stewart is running our first d&d game in MONTHS - maybe almost a year, at his nice house tonight. Sarah, my best co-worker girlfriend will be there, and our friends Jamie and Erin. We're going to make lots of bad junk food (Chris and I are making chips and queso and Texas caviar), and Chris has requested a store-bought red-velvet cake (Ingles, not Bi-Lo), which is also Stewart's favorite. And I will make my famous iced coffee. Woo! We are gonna' be awake all night! :)

Oo! We just had some minor drama in the library, too. This older gentleman came in, and he was looking a little... 'chemically distracted'. He started saying some wild - but not mean - things, and then HE STARTED TAKING HIS CLOTHES OFF!!! :O
He really wasn't a bad man, just a little drunk and a lot mentally ill, I think. But when he went into the children's section and opened his shirt to a sweet Grandma, Miss Ann Stewart, and her little grandaughter, Heather. He was asking them how old they thought he was and if his shirt being open bothered him - thank the Lord Jesus that Miss Ann had the wherewithal to nicely tell him "YES!", so he did button it up for a minute, but that distressed me, so I called the police station (which is maybe 100 yards from here). There was no answer, so I called town hall, and Doris sent our wonderful new Town manager, Ernie Williams down (he is absolutely fantastic. I keep telling him I wish he would run for president...).
Ernie came in and gently engaged the man in conversation, got him to sit down, put his shoes on, and then walked him down to the cafe for a cup of coffee. (Andy Taylor style. :) THEN, five minutes later, the Chief of Police, Kevin (who's also a very nice guy), and his sidekick ... (let's just call them Barney and Gomer) pulled up at the front door. I heard Kevin say "I'll go around the side!", like we were having a hostage situation in here or something! Then 'Gomer' came in the door WEARING RUBBER GLOVES!!! *sheesh*.
Well, that's our excitement for the year here in old Saluda! ;)
I love you SusieQ. Here are some fun word-puzzle sites to loosen up those cogs, and I think that, since this letter comprises all of today's news, I am going to reprint it as my 'rant' today. Thanks!
Wishing you an unrusty mind, some big love-feeling, and gardenias today [and that goes for all of y'all out in Day-Off land, too!),
-Sambolina

Ursula - one of my Non-Imaginary Badass, Smartass, Redhead, Frazetta-type (but with MUCH bigger... BRAINS, you perves) Heroines - said something really wonderful to me a few weeks ago, I think during Faire breakdown. She said that she'd been listening to this album lately, and every other song on it made her think of me. When I asked what it was she said "'Still in Hollywood', Concrete Blonde." What a fantastic compliment, Ursi. Thank you. Great album, too, but then neither Concrete Blonde nor Johnette have ever made a bad album, so there.
She mentioned this again at the party on Saturday and I told her that I would love to hear that album again (she had it with her, and she shared! YAY!). Somehow, mysteriously, every CB album I buy disappears. Maybe that just goes to show that (a.) they really are one fantastic band and (b.) I have had some pretty !@#$% acquaintances over the years. Oh, I forgot (c.) both of the above.
Johnette is one of those women - like Ursula - that I could not help but admire. Ms. Napolitano is certainly not the natural beauty that our Ursi is*, but they both are WAAAAAY smarter than the average bear, they are brave, tough as hell, and not afraid to say what they think. YAY!
Johnette also has a voice like no other, and their sound is like Johnette says in 100 games of Solitaire, "... a train from Mexico to New Orleans and back again..." and don't forget to throw in the bottle of Tequila, too.
I told Ursula that I could probably guess the songs that made her think of me, but after the bulldozer rampage rant, and my ensuing train of thoughts, I thought this might be a good one to share.

Probably Will


They say I may be crazy,
I only say I've had my fill,
They say I'll throw it all
I probably will.
They'll only give you what you're taking,
But lately I've been unfulfilled,
They say I'll probably blow it off someday I probably will.
The way they talk about each other,
The way they talk about themselves,
Well they could talk, talk, talk forever,
And they probably will.
You know they probably will.
Now I'm not really bitter,
You know I'm just a little chilled.
They say that things can just get better,
And they probably will.
And they will only make us stronger,
If they should try to keep us still,
And we could rise and take it all,
Someday we probably will.
The way they talk about each other,
The way you talk about yourselves,
Well you can talk, talk, talk forever
And you probably will.
You know you probably will.

***

GO BUY SOME CONCRETE BLONDE, PEEPS! And I will leave you with a few other lyrics of theirs, from a favorite - 'Bloodletting', that echoes my sentiments very well today - and lots of days:
"I got the ways and means
To new orleans I’m going
Down by the river
Where it’s warm and green
I’m gonna have drink, and walk around
I got a lot to think about oh yeah..."

(but you gotta have that bass line to get it all...)
much love, peeps. Meet you on the levee?
xoxox
-s

*though I do think she's pretty darned cute. She looks like Wendy O's baby sister... :)
here's some more Wendy O pics, just for comparison's sake... not just to up the Badass factor of this rant by 10,000 points. Really.
And not to just make 9 out of 10 moms mad, either.

In recent news:

The cast part at Bruffy's was GREAT! When we got there, there were about a MILLION people there. Ok, not really, but it seemed like it, and it was SO great to see so many of the crew and find that they were happy to see me - slave-driving director that I was. It looks like the plotting and planning for next year has already begun. In a subtle maneuver that might have moved even Machiavelli, I managed to help water the seed of next year's plot (suggested by Brett and Stewart), shift MY old job off onto - I mean into the capable hands of some folks who will enjoy it, and will kick some major BOO-tay at it. I made a few suggestions about cast structure and good ways to limit the main cast and number of shows and keep things simple, while still utilizing everyone who comes to audition; and otherwise generally passed the buck. Everyone that was in on the discussions seemed both excited and motivated about the possibilities of the plot, so yay. And it just happens to conveniently go right along with what we are planning to do, too. I also liked the suggestion of changing the ad-title to [in small print]
"Mountain Renaissance Adventure Faire Presents: [in large print] MountainFaire!" That is just SO much better, and it keeps the whole history-nazi issue at bay, too.
I joked that discussing faire AT ALL so soon after was making me twitch, but since I am just talking in a purely advisory capacity, it really wasn't so bad. I think people know that I have a good idea of what the headaches are now*, and I can answer questions and give suggestions on all the creative aspects, and it's nice of them to ask without expecting me to just DO IT. Those days are WAY over. Red tape and bad management in general have burned me out BIGtime. Plus, I've done my MRAF miracle for the decade. I just wanna play my scenes, busk my crowds, have a beer after with my cronies, and go home. [contented]*sigh*

In other news - LISA IS COMING TO DRAGONCON!!! For those of you saying "Who the !@#$ is Lisa?", well, Lisa was one of my co-miracle-makers (directors) this year - she directed the chessboard (which was FABULOUS) and she was also the lady with whom I took my overnight trip to Fat City last October. Lisa is gunna have a BLAST at DragonCon!!! :D Woohoo! One more Virgin!
Chris, MAYbe Kaysha, and Lisa! MoooWAHAHAHA! Looks like there's gunna hafta be a Geek Patrol Initiation Ceremony this year! (SHARKBAIT OOHAHA! SHARKBAIT OOHAHA!)
WHEEEE!
ok, time to go. More news later, taters!
xoxox
-sam


*HA! understatement of the week, at least!

Well, the non-frosted side of the Mini-Wheat that is my soul - the side that wants to be a cheery, positive person, a good example to the kids, etc. - wants to be able to say that the following news item is just sad, and that there is nothing positive about this, that the poor victims who suffered damage to their property and the poor family and friends of the "perpetrator" will have a hard time coping with the aftermath, and that the poor perpetrator did a foolish thing, etc.
However, the frosted side of the Sam-Mini-Wheat says "ROCK THE !@#$ ON, DUDE!!!"
I am sad that things were destroyed, and I am sad that this man felt that he had to do this and then take his own life, but he didn't hurt anyone else, and you all know how I feel about well-timed self-euthenization*. All that aside, though (and taking into consideration that no one else was hurt, and that - hopefully - nothing too precious was destroyed, this is EXACTLY how I feel sometimes, how a LOT of us feel sometimes. Man, the things I could do with a tank... I wouldn't want real guns, though. Maybe paint balls? But there are definitely some things that HULK WOULD LIKE TO SMASH!
Well, I'll just let you read this yourself, and hope you won't think I'm glorifying bad things. But I will say this - if you think this is a totally bad thing, I'll think you're fibbing.


Grand County Emergency Management Director Jim Holahan confirmed that the driver, identified by the town manager as Marvin Heemeyer, appeared to have shot himself.
Heemeyer plowed the armor-plated bulldozer into the town hall, a former mayor's home and at least five other buildings Friday before the machine ground to a halt in the wreckage of a warehouse.
City officials said he was angry over a zoning dispute and fines from city code violations at his business.
Authorities detonated three explosions and fired at least 200 rounds against the heavy steel plates welded to the bulldozer [whoa!], which looked like an upside down Dumpster. After the third explosion failed, officials cut their way in with a blowtorch, Holahan said.
A statement from Grand County Undersheriff Glen Trainor said the driver was found around 2 a.m.
Holahan said Heemeyer was armed with a .50-caliber weapon but appeared to be deliberately avoiding injuring anyone during the rampage, which began Friday at about 3 p.m. No other injuries were reported.
Trainor said the dozer's armor plates consisted of two sheets of half-inch steel with a layer of concrete between them [Jen, can I have a welding torch for Xmas?!?!].
Grand County Commissioner Duane Daley said Heemeyer apparently used a video camera and two monitors found inside to guide the dozer. Two guns were mounted in front and aimed through portals. Other portals were cut in the back.
It was unclear how many guns were found with Heemeyer. Authorities speculated Heemeyer he may have used a homemade crane found in his garage to lower the armor hull over the dozer and himself.
"Once he tipped that lid shut, he knew he wasn't getting out," Daly said.
Investigators searched the garage where they believe Heemeyer built the vehicle and found cement, armor and steel.
Residents of this mountain tourist town of 2,200 described a bizarre scene as the bulldozer slowly crashed through buildings, trees and lampposts, with dozens of officers walking ahead or behind it, firing into the machine and shouting at townspeople to flee . [you know those cops enjoyed the HELL outta this...]
"It looked like a futuristic tank," said Rod Moore, who watched the dozer rumble past within 15 feet of his auto garage and towing company.
One officer, later identified as Trainor, was perched on top, firing shot after shot into the top and once dropping an explosive down the exhaust pipe.
"He just kept shooting," Moore said. "The dozer was still going. He threw what looked like a flash-bang down the exhaust. It didn't do a thing."
A flash-bang produces a blinding flash and earsplitting boom designed to stun a suspect.
"Gunfire was just ringing out everywhere," said Sandra Tucker, who saw the bulldozer begin the rampage from her office on Main Street. "It sounded to me like an automatic rifle, firing about every second."
At least 40 deputies, Colorado State Patrol officers, federal park and forest rangers and a SWAT team from nearby Jefferson County were at the scene.
Town manager Tom Hale said Heemeyer was angry after losing a zoning dispute that allowed a cement plant to be built near his muffler shop. Heemeyer also was fined $2,500 in a separate case for not having a septic tank and for other city code violations at his business, Hale said [DOWN WITH THE MAN!!!].
When he paid the fine, he enclosed a note with his check saying "Cowards [HELL yeah!]," Hale said.
"We felt he was venting his frustration that he didn't get his way," Hale said of the note. "We didn't think he was going to do something like this."
Trainor said he believes Heemeyer spent months armoring the bulldozer, and investigators were looking into whether he had help.
Hale said owners of all the buildings that were damaged had some connection to Heemeyer's disputes.
The buildings included the cement plant, a utility company, a bank, a newspaper office, a hardware store and warehouse, the home of former Mayor L.R. "Dick" Thompson and the municipal building, which also housed a library [the personal home kinda' sucks, and the library is a bad no-no, but man, haven't you ever wanted to do something like this?!?!].
Crumpled patrol cars and service trucks lay in the dozer's path [WHEEE!!!!]. A pickup was folded nearly in half and had been rammed through the wall of a building [Maybe it was a Ford...].
Gov. Bill Owens traveled Friday night to Granby, about 50 miles west of Denver and 10 miles south of Rocky Mountain National Park.
State aid will be available to help rebuild local government buildings, and state officials will help businesses seek federal help, said Mike Beasley, director of the state Department of Local Affairs.
William Hertel, owner of High Altitude Audio, said the bulldozer drove by his business at mid-afternoon, crushing aspen trees and light poles after the rampage began around 3 p.m.
"I was up on the roof when he came by. I got down and got my wife and kids out of the back of the building," Hertel said. He said he had heard numerous shots.
The scene was reminiscent of a 1998 rampage in Alma, another town in the Colorado Rockies. Authorities said Tom Leask shot a man to death, then used a town-owned front-end loader to heavily damage the town's post office, fire department, water department and town hall."

I NEED A TANK! I wouldn't run over anything important...
HONEST.

FIGHT THE POWER!
-Tank Girl

*at least, I think you do - I'm all for it. I think that Dr. Jack Kervorkian is a saint.

I always wanted a little sister. And then, when I was 16, I got one (just a few days before my birthday), and then almost immediately lost her. It took me years to recover from the anger (and fear) and contact her, and by then I was very afraid that it would take her a long time to get over the anger that I'd night have caused by being absent almost all of her life. I've missed ALL of her important events so far... Even is she can and does forgive me, it may take me the rest of my life. It can certainly be a vicious circle. Parents who put their kids through this kind of shite should be put in some sort of work camp for a while - until they repent and make it all right.
She didn't hate me. I also think that she doesn't really understand all the why's, but that doesn't seem to faze her. Lucky me. Now I just have to hope that I can keep from dropping the ball.
Mandy is 16 years younger than me. She is a beautiful girl, I think we resemble in some small ways - we both look a lot like our dad and our brothers Jeff and Shawn*, but she is a lot different than I am, too. She is very tall, for one thing, and she is extraordinarily fair skinned, and then her hair (which is also thick and curly) and eyes are almost black. She's also really smart (which I think we have in common) and she's a good student and Nice Girl (which I think we don't).
We didn't really grow up together, sadly. For reasons that I won't discuss here (out of common courtesy to her), I was removed from her home before she was even a year old, and it is obvious that I have missed out on a LOT.
Today she sent me a link to her webdiary. It's pretty new, so I will be able to read it from the ground up. The best thing about it (besides being able to read my sissa's diary) is that I am learning little things about her, and finding out that she and I (and the rest of our sibs, Joe, Jeff and Shawn) have lots in common, despite the years apart. She likes hot wings. And good, odd music. And she cusses like a sailor, likes to talk music and film and poetry. She likes to read a lot, and she's boy crazy. She's interested in language, and she digs forensics. She likes to people-watch.
I can't wait to find out more.
I really hope that somehow time and tides conspire to bring us closer together. I want to know her. I want to watch her talk. I want to know what her hands look like. I want to become familiar with her voice. I want to know what she believes in. I want to be someone that she might like and maybe even respect one day.

Each of you that reads this, make a wish for me today, wish that this happens. I like the idea of the five of us being a Family. I want the chance for us to understand each other, and the past, to the best of our ability. I want us to be able to help each other, support each other, believe in each other, and not let the Big Shadows that the previous generation cast over us darken our world and diminish our chances any more.

To the Lovelace Kids - SLAINTE!
:)
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
-sam

*though they all have dark eyes and darker hair and skin, like dad. Joe and I got mom's anglo coloring. pretty too, but different. mom and i are peaches, they are cocoa beans (dad) or brazil nuts (mandy) or hazel nuts (shawn) or just nuts (jeff... :D just kidding... well, sorta! ;)

Rant-o-rama fest, 2004

1. It’s probably pretty damned odd how many times I’ve been told "You know, everybody can’t like you, Sam..."
I’m usually told this when I am telling someone that I was hurt because I was treated badly by another person, and it was only this last time that some helpful soul said this to me that I realized cohesively - and was able to explain coherently - that I really don’t care if people like me or not – AS LONG AS THEY STAY THE HELL OUT OF MY FACE. I mean, if I don’t know, I can’t care. And if I am forced – by work or association (friend of a friend, etc…) – to be around that person, then why can’t they be civilized (like me, of course :) and just be civil and/or ignore me until our necessary transactions are finished. This can go for the smartarses who give me that b.s. about "Everybody can’t like you, Sam..." Gimme some !@#$ credit here, people. I started out my life with my own MOTHER not liking me, everything and everybody after that is just coffee stains on the old sweatshirt of life.

2. Perfume in public... PEOPLE, if it makes YOUR OWN EYES WATER, then you probably shouldn’t wear it around OTHER INNOCENT BY-SMELLERS!
(sorry, this is a very current - as of RIGHT THIS SMELLY MOMENT - rant. RAAR! *snork!kerchoo!*)

3. Floods. *sigh* My washer did it again last night. I’d repaired the busted pipe (how smart is X?* to bugger off to work while I’m doing these projects, anyway? ;) but then the damned run-off pipe busted, too. Raar. Well, not much more was ruined, as that pipe was in the bathroom – and I got my bathroom clean.
I’ve lost a lot of stuff in all of this - books, mags photos, art and art supplies, etc., and the deeper issue is raised now, that I need to get rid of the things that are holding me back emotionally and physically. It feels cathartic to even think about this – to even try... more about this in a bit.

Here’s something else I wonder. A lot of you read my page, and I am grateful. As I said before, it’s nice to think that someone thinks I have something word spending a few minutes considering, or is at least amused by me. But do y’all also think I am just sad? Do y’all read this stuff and think, "Man, she is just pathetic!" I hope not, but there are definitely some days when I couldn’t blame anyone for thinking that. As I said earlier, it doesn’t matter if people like me, or like my words, but it DOES matter if I do, and the world is a mirror.

On that note - and this ties in to my issues of loss and acceptance - "Amama", thank you. It is an honor to be loved and heard by you. Your attention and consideration of my words and beliefs as wisdom is an astounding honor.

You see, "Amama" was having a mother's very natural fears - especially at a time when the world seems to be a powder keg - about something happening to her beloved girl. I told her what I'd discovered through my own personal 'Iditarod' of loss and grief that began a couple of years before (and led up to) my moving here. What I am learning is that if you love someone or something so much that you fear losing it or them, then you will cling too tightly (which is a crushing, suffocating thing) and you will live in fear and dread. That automatically diminishes your ability to love, because so much of your energy is taken up with this bad stuff. Coming to the realization that life is really all about loss, that eventually you will absolutely lose everything is actually a good thing, because once you realize it, then you can accept it, get past it, and then you can love without any reservation. This is a basic zen principle, I believe, but it was the wonderful writer, Marge Piercy who first opened my eyes, in her poem:

To Have Without Holding

Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.

It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.

It hurts to thwart the reflexes
of grab, of clutch; to love and let
go again and again. It pesters to remember
the lover who is not in the bed,
to hold back what is owed to the work
that gutters like a candle in a cave
without air, to love consciously,
conscientiously, concretely, constructively.

I can't do it, you say it's killing
me, but you thrive, you glow
on the street like a neon raspberry,
You float and sail, a helium balloon
bright bachelor's button blue and bobbing
on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
as we make and unmake in passionate
diastole and systole the rhythm
of our unbound bonding, to have
and not to hold, to love
with minimized malice, hunger
and anger moment by moment balanced.

-MP

The greatest gift that I can be given is to be told that I have made a significant and positive difference in someone else's life. This little webspot may be pathetic sometimes. It may be shallow (01/31/03) or sad and hurt (12/03/03) or just plain mad and silly (11/12/03), but it is ME, nonetheless. I told Chris last night that I might be a "motor mouth"**, but I honestly feel that I don't say anything that I don't mean, and that I don't think is important. He said that he agreed - and he listens to me a lot.

"Amama", for you to say what you did in my guestbook is worth all the sparkly shiny things, all the trips to Tristan de Cunha, all the be-wife-beatered bohunks and all the Godiva truffles in the world, and THEN some. To think that I may have helped you and your little Ama (and of course my Bribro too) to have a closer bond, to have a bigger love, to have more peaceful days - there is NO greater joy. None***. You have honored me beyond the possibilities of even my preposterous imagination****. My prayer to our Big Mama in the Sky is that I just be worthy of such honor, and that I be given the grace and strength to keep trying.

Wishing you all Grace and Strength, folks - not to mention Hope and Honor,
-s

*and how CUTE, too. He cut his hair all off, and it is GORGEOUS. He was pretty damned nice to look at before, but he is just... phwoa! with this new short, messy, fancy rock-star do. It’s like having a brand-new boyfriend (in more ways than one, he looks younger, too) without having to go to all the trouble of GETTING one. This morning he went to the Bakery to get me a cuppa (decaf, of !@#$ course) and before he got back, my friend that works there called me and said "This REALLY cute guy came in to get coffee, and I was just talking to him (she was FLIRTIN’, y’all KNOW it! :) and then he said ‘Sam said to put this on her tab.’, and I thought ‘Oh yeah, I KNEW I’d seen him somewhere before!’ Man! (etc.)" Yeah, I gotta cute beau... who gets me coffee (and does a million other nice things too). YAY, ME!

**yet another $#*!!% thing my mother used to call me...

***I also believe with all my heart that your little girl will grow up and be a force for change and peace and inspiration, too. She already is, but I believe that she will be a right active little "Sunshine Soldier" all of her life. She will take all that rich unlimited love that you (and every single person that meets her) give her, that joy of being alive that shines out of her sweet little face (man, I wish I could post one of those new pics of her here!), and turn it into the energy that will hopefully help to keep this big old creaky machine-planet going. I HAVE to believe that (to stay sane), and I am doubly (ok, quadzooply) honored to think that I might be one of the tiny quantum forces that will inspire her. moo.

****this from the person who is still hoping for a spot in People Magazine's "50 Most Beautiful" issue someday... :D

Well, lads and lasses, I've been wishing for water, and I got it.
Chris, Stewart and I went to see shrek on Thursday night. When we got home, I opened the door, and over Luna’s excited noise and Chris' bonky boy noises (keys, big boots, fussing at Lu), I heard some horrible sound.
It was my washer. It was spraying a huge jet of water up into the air in my bedroom, directly onto the top of the cabinet where I keep my photo albums and onto the stacks of books next to my bed. The floor was an inch deep in water, and it was pouring out into the rest of the house. There was no light in the room because the power strip had cut off (thank goddess) and there is no overhead light. After going into a horrible, destructive rage, kicking over chairs, knocking the fan across the room (it exploded into parts), hitting the wall repeatedly, throwing the brooms out into the yard, storming outside and kicking all of my garbage cans into the woods*, then breaking down and crying until I was almost sick**, we assessed the worst of the damage, rescued as many books and photos as possible, picked my wet art up off the floor, and started laying it out to dry. Chris suggested calling Stewart and asking if we could come and crash. We did, and after Chris got out of class the next morning (he left early to come help me) we began to tackle the cleanup.
I managed to save most of my photos - all of the really important ones*** as well as my art. It will have to be ironed, and then I have to see if it is water stained. If it's ok, I’m going to sell it all on my web page. A lot of my books were ruined, but they were mostly easily replaceable ones. My heart was most broken at losing my beautiful art paper that was given to me by Paul and Diana for my birthday - fat flax clay coated Bristol board (this is Sam-porn paper), a whole huge pad, short one single page - and the big drawing pad that Sarah gave me for same birthday. Trying to save my photos and art and a few very important books was pretty intense and nerve-wracking, too. The photos are, of course, the most important, and I think that the damage to them will be undetectable. I also went and bought some new Rubbermaid tubs to store them in from now on.

So, what did I learn from this? Well, that I have a long way to go, Zen-wise, for one thing. I realized that I was SO angry and upset, raging and crying, because I was mad at myself for being so attached to STUFF. I broke down in Chris' arms and told him - almost to my own surprise - that my life has taught me that it is terribly dangerous to be so attached to anything, but especially STUFF. Some things really never change. I have been hurt in the past by being referred to by close friends as “broken”, but it’s true.
I was upset because I have so much stuff, and all of it means something to me. My house (the building, the yard, the stuff) is overwhelming to me, and I can’t have that. I can’t have the burden of owning so much that I can lose, so much that can hold me to a place, so much that I have to be responsible for. I have decided to try really hard to get rid of as much as possible. I have decided that there will be no limits on the amount of art supplies that I own – because that is my life and livelihood; and no limit on my Legos, because I just don’t have that many, and if I lost them, it wouldn’t kill me. Books are going to be hard – but I can do it. I can limit myself (one tub of National Geog's, 10 favorite Playboys, 10 key philosophy books, etc.) Same with my sentimental objects. I will just have to give them (sparingly – I don’t want to overwhelm all my friends and family either) to people who can and will appreciate them.
I will try to sell a lot of my art – because it is just not doing me any good sitting in my house, making me stress about something happening to it. Someone could be enjoying it (at least, I hope…).
I can’t limit my photos either – I’m a replicant. But I can scan and save and share many of them (Stewart has already done that with many of them) and try to keep them safe, store them "small" and portable. I can limit my sentimental stuff to two trunks, and the rest goes to yard sale or Ebay.

So, if you’re in the mood to own some bigger pieces of Sam art, let me know. And if you don’t want to be on my “SAX-list” - “Sam-Artifacts for Xmas” - say so. Otherwise, you may be gifted with some of my dearest possessions, whether you like it or not. I've gotten rid of a lot of things over the years (though OBVIOUSLY not enough), so the things that remain are very dear indeed, and I promise not to burden anyone with too much.

Wish me luck – and send good thoughts out to Chris, who really is one of the best guys in the whole wide world ever. He is patient, and kind, and beautiful, and he really knows me AND really likes me AND is still able to stand up for himself in the midst of all of this. He also turns me on (this is way important) and makes me laugh and isn’t afraid of me or my past and all it’s sundry fallout. He also knows EXACTLY what to do in the midst of Sam-rage, and this is amazing in and of itself, and he loves me, and I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt. Even after I kicked the chair and fan across the room****.

Peace, beloveds.
-Sam

*I’d like to professionally recommend this as a VERY satisfying form of venting with a minimum of destruction, by the way.
"9 out of 10 pissed-off psychos say..."
**Chris, bless his sweet heart, stood patiently aside (I suspect this was a form of possibly subconscious camouflage, ala hiding from the dinosaurs in Jurassic park) while I raged, and then when he realized that he was safe, even if the furniture wasn't, began to mop up the water. Then when I had gotten over the worst of the crying, he came and put his arms around me and said "It'll be alright, honey. We'll take care of it." moo. LOTS of boy-points for Mr. Riddle.
***Growing up in the !@#$'d up situations i did teaches you a lot of practical and amazing skills.
****props, too, to my beloved Rory, who survived a fit-flung TYPEWRITER rage. :(
Please let me say in my own defense that these rages are VERY rare, I can count them all on one hand, I think. I can’t even remember when the last one was, prior to this one. I am ashamed of them all, and yet I cannot deny the truth of them, the source of them, or even the necessity of them. And, not since I was a kid, have I hurt anyone in the midst of one. Apparently I did at least once as a kid, I saw the resultant scar on the human being I love most in the world last summer, and even if neither of us can forgive me for the injury, at least I know that both of us understand this rage better than anybody else ever could.

Today's rant is courtesy of Mr. Terry Jones, Python Extraordinaire. This is from the Observer section of the Guardian Unlimited site, which i linked to from Bartcop.com - an EXCELLENT news site. (click and scroll down for the picture of Viggo's handmade shirt. YAY, VIGGO!!!)
And here is Terry's article:

I'm losing patience with my neighbours, Mr Bush
Terry Jones
Sunday January 26, 2003
The Observer

I'm really excited by George Bush's latest reason for bombing Iraq: he's running out of patience. And so am I!
For some time now I've been really pissed off with Mr Johnson, who lives a couple of doors down the street. Well, him and Mr Patel, who runs the health food shop. They both give me queer looks, and I'm sure Mr Johnson is planning something nasty for me, but so far I haven't been able to discover what. I've been round to his place a few times to see what he's up to, but he's got everything well hidden. That's how devious he is.

As for Mr Patel, don't ask me how I know, I just know - from very good sources - that he is, in reality, a Mass Murderer. I have leafleted the street telling them that if we don't act first, he'll pick us off one by one.

Some of my neighbours say, if I've got proof, why don't I go to the police? But that's simply ridiculous. The police will say that they need evidence of a crime with which to charge my neighbours.

They'll come up with endless red tape and quibbling about the rights and wrongs of a pre-emptive strike and all the while Mr Johnson will be finalising his plans to do terrible things to me, while Mr Patel will be secretly murdering people. Since I'm the only one in the street with a decent range of automatic firearms, I reckon it's up to me to keep the peace. But until recently that's been a little difficult. Now, however, George W. Bush has made it clear that all I need to do is run out of patience, and then I can wade in and do whatever I want!

And let's face it, Mr Bush's carefully thought-out policy towards Iraq is the only way to bring about international peace and security. The one certain way to stop Muslim fundamentalist suicide bombers targeting the US or the UK is to bomb a few Muslim countries that have never threatened us.

That's why I want to blow up Mr Johnson's garage and kill his wife and children. Strike first! That'll teach him a lesson. Then he'll leave us in peace and stop peering at me in that totally unacceptable way.

Mr Bush makes it clear that all he needs to know before bombing Iraq is that Saddam is a really nasty man and that he has weapons of mass destruction - even if no one can find them. I'm certain I've just as much justification for killing Mr Johnson's wife and children as Mr Bush has for bombing Iraq.

Mr Bush's long-term aim is to make the world a safer place by eliminating 'rogue states' and 'terrorism'. It's such a clever long-term aim because how can you ever know when you've achieved it? How will Mr Bush know when he's wiped out all terrorists? When every single terrorist is dead? But then a terrorist is only a terrorist once he's committed an act of terror. What about would-be terrorists? These are the ones you really want to eliminate, since most of the known terrorists, being suicide bombers, have already eliminated themselves.

Perhaps Mr Bush needs to wipe out everyone who could possibly be a future terrorist? Maybe he can't be sure he's achieved his objective until every Muslim fundamentalist is dead? But then some moderate Muslims might convert to fundamentalism. Maybe the only really safe thing to do would be for Mr Bush to eliminate all Muslims?

It's the same in my street. Mr Johnson and Mr Patel are just the tip of the iceberg. There are dozens of other people in the street who I don't like and who - quite frankly - look at me in odd ways. No one will be really safe until I've wiped them all out.

My wife says I might be going too far but I tell her I'm simply using the same logic as the President of the United States. That shuts her up.

Like Mr Bush, I've run out of patience, and if that's a good enough reason for the President, it's good enough for me. I'm going to give the whole street two weeks - no, 10 days - to come out in the open and hand over all aliens and interplanetary hijackers, galactic outlaws and interstellar terrorist masterminds, and if they don't hand them over nicely and say 'Thank you', I'm going to bomb the entire street to kingdom come.

It's just as sane as what George W. Bush is proposing - and, in contrast to what he's intending, my policy will destroy only one street.

END.

GO, MR. CREOSOTE!
Maybe I will send Mr. Bush a link to THIS article in today's letter.
Much love - and more PEACE,
-s

*sigh*
blah.
Blar.
BLAR.

As you can probably tell, I'm feeling a bit, well, blar.
So, for therapy, I am going to attempt to pile 3 fifteen year old guys into my truck cab and go see Shrek2.
Yes, I know I am out of my mind, but you know what? Life is short.
If I didn't do this, I would almost 100% surely go home (after feeding Boo*), veg out, eat some blar food and watch Triplets of Belleville (again). Instead, I will be making 3 kids that I honestly dearly love (even though they*** can be some !@#$ brats sometimes) very happy, and I'll get to see Shrek2 with a suitable audience.
Wish me luck. And good traffic. And safe driving. And a minimum of fart jokes.
*sigh*
-s

*Boo is Stewart's A.S.B.** cat.
**Anti Social Butterfly(tm)
***Dusty, Ethan & Simon

I am trying really hard to keep a positive outlook.
I am trying really hard to keep a positive outlook.
I am trying really hard to keep a positive outlook.
...
There are so many good things in my life, and I am grateful for all of them. My dog is healthy and happy and loves me, my friends are some of the best people on the planet and they love me, Chris is veryvery good to me and he loves me, and I think his folks do too, my job is a good one, I live in a beautiful place, the sun is warm on my aching shoulders right now - and so on. It's a long list, and that's wonderful. But I can't help but feel like it isn't fair. How can some of us be so happy or satisfied and some of us be carrying our dead children out of the wreckage of a few men's nuclear- and money-powered dick-wagging contest?

I am still writing to Mr. Bush every day. And in some ways, it is helping me. I am really learning a lot about myself and my beliefs about peace and forgiveness. In today's letter, I told him about how, when Hamilton met Boonkie* and saw his precious face, and his thin little trembling, cowering body, he said "People who do things like this deserve a good thrashing.". I realize that this is the most natural way in the world to feel (of course I do, I am The Warrior, ferchrissakes) but then I realized that something I've been saying to the kids for sometimes is what you should DO. I tell them that the kids who are mean to them, or obnoxious, are the ones who need love the most. When Hamilton said that about the person who did that to Boonkie, I realized that they were probably hurt themselves and that they were taking their pain out on something more helpless than themself. Oh, god, how well I know this routine.
I told Mr. Bush that it is the hardest thing in the world to love that "bad" person, but it's the answer.
It was patient love that kept me from being an abuser, from continuing the cycle in my family. That doesn't mean indulgence, obviously, because discipline is important, too, but discipline doesn't have to be bloody. It doesn't have to leave scars. It should leave memories and strength. And appreciation for the person kind enough to set you straight without hurting you.

Peace is possible. I KNOW it is. I believe.
-s


*the little pup-pup i am helping to rehab. he was beaten and abandoned...

a very elderly friend sent me this (gee, i don't know WHY), and i appreciated it very much*. i thought y'all might appreciate it as well, and we can all use a little break from The Seriousness of Late.

RESIGNATION

I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year-old again.
I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four star restaurant.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.
I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.
I want to return to a time when life was simple, when all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you, because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care. All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.
I want to think the world is fair.
That everyone is honest and good.
I want to believe that anything is possible.
I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
I want to live simple again.
I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.
I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.
So . . . here's my checkbook and my car keys, my credit card** bills and my 401K statements**. I am officially resigning from adulthood.
And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first, cause...

..."Tag! You're it."

xoxox
-s

*MUCH more than the coupon she sent me from Frederick's of Hollywood, along with a suggestion on how much A Certain Item would spice up my love life AND a story from her own past about these same items... :O
**as if i even HAVE any of these!
...at least, i don't think i do...

Our Elizabeth sent the following article to me, and I am sad to say that I could not agree more. All of this is true, undeniably so, but it is not too late to recover. It is not too late for us to show, if not through our Government and Administrators and Leaders, then through our nation of individuals, the people who REALLY matter, the people who REALLY make this country what it is, what it is SUPPOSED to be - that we can be better than those terrorists who - for whatever reason - committed the horrors of September 11. We can make a change, we can make a difference. We can do our damndest to heal the wounds of our own country and of the world. I know that 99% of the people I am close to (actually that number is false, I am close to only one person who defends this war) are sorry for what happened to us on that horrible early fall morning in 2001, and that we are sorry for all of the horrors committed since then - theirs and ours.
You may feel helpless and hopeless in the face of this huge mess, but the little candles that we each light in the darkness combine to make a light so bright that nothing can hide from it.
Love the whole world. It needs it, and it feels it.
I promise that this is true, because I experience this every day.
Sometimes standing up and speaking out are far more powerful than fighting.
Keep trying to make change, people. The future of the whole world depends on it.
-s
(I think that I may send a copy of this article to Mr. Bush as my letter for today, just in case he hasn't had a chance to read it yet.):

The War is Lost
By William Rivers Pitt
t r u t h o u t | Perspective

Monday 10 May 2004

We have traveled a long, dark, strange road since the attacks of September 11. We have all suffered, we have all known fear and anger, and sometimes hatred. Many of us have felt - probably more than we are willing to admit it - at one time or another a desire for revenge, so deep was the wound inflicted upon us during that wretched, unforgettable Tuesday morning in September of 2001.

But we have come now to the end of a week so awful, so terrible, so wrenching that the most basic moral fabric of that which we believe is good and great - the basic moral fabric of the United States of America - has been torn bitterly asunder.

We are awash in photographs of Iraqi men - not terrorists, just people - lying in heaps on cold floors with leashes around their necks. We are awash in photographs of men chained so remorselessly that their backs are arched in agony, men forced to masturbate for cameras, men forced to pretend to have sex with one another for cameras, men forced to endure attacks from dogs, men with electrodes attached to them as they stand, hooded, in fear of their lives.

The worst, amazingly, is yet to come. A new battery of photographs and videotapes, as yet unreleased, awaits over the horizon of our abused understanding. These photos and videos, also from the Abu Ghraib prison, are reported to show U.S. soldiers gang raping an Iraqi woman, U.S. soldiers beating an Iraqi man nearly to death, U.S. troops posing, smirks affixed, with decomposing Iraqi bodies, and Iraqi troops under U.S. command raping young boys.

George W. Bush would have us believe these horrors were restricted to a sadistic few, and would have us believe these horrors happened only in Abu Ghraib. Yet reports are surfacing now of similar treatment at another U.S. detention center in Iraq called Camp Bucca. According to these reports, Iraqi prisoners in Camp Bucca were beaten, humiliated, hogtied, and had scorpions placed on their naked bodies.

In the eyes of the world, this is America today. It cannot be dismissed as an anomaly because it went on and on and on in the Abu Ghraib prison, and because now we hear of Camp Bucca. According to the British press, there are some 30 other cases of torture and humiliation under investigation. The Bush administration went out of its way to cover up this disgrace, declaring secret the Army report on these atrocities. That, pointedly, is against the rules and against the law. You can’t call something classified just because it is embarrassing and disgusting. It was secret, but now it is out, and the whole world has been shown the dark, scabrous underbelly of our definition of freedom.

The beginnings of actual political fallout began to find its way into the White House last week. Representative John Murtha of Pennsylvania, the House Democrats’ most vocal defense hawk, joined Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi to declare that the conflict is "unwinnable." Murtha, a Vietnam veteran, rocked the Democratic caucus when he said at a leader’s luncheon Tuesday that the United States cannot win the war in Iraq.

"Unwinnable." Well, it only took about 14 months.

Also last week, calls for the resignation of Defense Secretary Don Rumsfeld became strident. Pelosi accused Rumsfeld of being "in denial about Iraq," and said U.S. soldiers "are suffering great casualties and injuries, and American taxpayers are paying an enormous price" because Rumsfeld "has done a poor job as secretary of defense." Representative Charlie Rangel, a leading critic of the Iraq invasion, has filed articles of impeachment against Rumsfeld.

So there’s the heat. But let us consider the broader picture here in the context of that one huge word: "Unwinnable." Why did we do this in the first place? There have been several reasons offered over the last 16 months for why we needed to do this thing.

It started, for real, in January 2003 when George W. Bush said in his State of the Union speech that Iraq was in possession of 26,000 liters of anthrax, 38,000 liters of botulinum toxin, 500 tons of sarin, mustard and VX, 30,000 munitions to deliver this stuff, and that Iraq was seeking uranium from Niger to build nuclear bombs.

That reason has been scratched off the list because, as has been made painfully clear now, there are no such weapons in Iraq. The Niger claim, in particular, has caused massive embarrassment for America because it was so farcical, and has led to a federal investigation of this White House because two administration officials took revenge upon Joseph Wilson’s wife for Wilson’’s exposure of the lie.

Next on the list was September 11, and the oft-repeated accusation that Saddam Hussein must have been at least partially responsible. That one collapsed as well - Bush himself had to come out and say Saddam had nothing to do with it.

Two reasons down, so the third must be freedom and liberty for the Iraqi people. Once again, however, facts interfere. America does not want a democratic Iraq, because a democratic Iraq would quickly become a Shi’ite fundamentalist Iraq allied with the Shi’ite fundamentalist nation of Iran, a strategic situation nobody with a brain wants to see come to pass. It has been made clear by Paul Bremer, the American administrator of Iraq, that whatever the new Iraqi government comes to look like, it will have no power to make any laws of any kind, it will have no control over the security of Iraq, and it will have no power over the foreign troops which occupy its soil. This is, perhaps, some bizarre new definition of democracy not yet in the dictionary, but it is not democracy by any currently accepted definition I have ever heard of.

So...the reason to go to war because of weapons of mass destruction is destroyed. The reason to go to war because of connections to September 11 is destroyed. The reason to go to war in order to bring freedom and democracy to Iraq is destroyed.

What is left? The one reason left has been unfailingly flapped around by defenders of this administration and supporters of this war: Saddam Hussein was a terrible, terrible man. He killed his own people. He tortured his own people. The Iraqis are better off without him, and so the war is justified.

And here, now, is the final excuse destroyed. We have killed more than 10,000 innocent Iraqi civilians in this invasion, and maimed countless others. The photos from Abu Ghraib prison show that we, like Saddam Hussein, torture and humiliate the Iraqi people. Worst of all, we do this in the same prison Hussein used to do his torturing. The "rape rooms," often touted by Bush as justification for the invasion, are back. We are the killers now. We are the torturers now. We have achieved a moral equivalence with the Butcher of Baghdad.

This war is lost. I mean not just the Iraq war, but George W. Bush's ridiculous "War on Terror" as a whole.

I say ridiculous because this "War on Terror" was never, ever something we were going to win. What began on September 11 with the world wrapping us in its loving embrace has collapsed today in a literal orgy of shame and disgrace. This happened, simply, because of the complete failure of moral leadership at the highest levels.

We saw a prime example of this during Friday’s farce of a Senate hearing into the Abu Ghraib disaster which starred Don Rumsfeld. From his bully pulpit spoke Senator Joe Lieberman, who parrots the worst of Bush’s war propaganda with unfailingly dreary regularity. Responding to the issue of whether or not Bush and Rumsfeld should apologize for Abu Ghraib, Lieberman stated that none of the terrorists had apologized for September 11.

There it was, in a nutshell. There was the idea, oft promulgated by the administration, that September 11 made any barbarism, any extreme, any horror brought forth by the United States acceptable, and even desirable. There was the institutionalization of revenge as a basis for policy. Sure, Abu Ghraib was bad, Mr. Lieberman put forth. But September 11 happened, so all bets are off.

Thus fails the "War on Terror." September 11 did not demand of us the lowest common denominator, did not demand of us that we become that which we despise and denounce. September 11 demanded that we be better, greater, more righteous than those who brought death to us. September 11 demanded that we be better, and in doing so, we would show the world that those who attacked us are far, far less than us. That would have been victory, with nary a shot being fired.

Our leaders, however, took us in exactly the opposite direction.

Every reason to go to Iraq has failed to retain even a semblance of credibility. Every bit of propaganda Osama bin Laden served up to the Muslim world for why America should be attacked and destroyed has been given credibility by what has taken place in Iraq. Victory in this "War on Terror," a propaganda war from the beginning, has been given to the September 11 attackers by the hand of George W. Bush, and by the hand of those who enabled his incomprehensible blundering.

The war is lost.

in case any of you want to know how the letter writing is going, well, here is my third offering. i just want you all to know that i am not being ugly. i am trying to be both honest and kind.
if you want to know how the faire is going - it's wonderful. today was most excellent, and the wedding truly was lovely.

and now i am veryvery sleepy.
goodnight - and god(dess) bless us all.
-s

"Hello, Mr. Bush.

Sam Lovelace again.
I work for an organization that puts on a small festival every year, the proceeds from which go to help local charities. It's kind of a "historical faire" (medieval to Elizabethan times). This year, we also hosted the actual wedding of a young couple as a part of the festival. It was a beautiful spring day, warm and sunny, even though it called for rain. The wedding was lovely and the festival went well.
I only thought of the horrors of this war a few times today. Unfortunately, I also spoke of them once, without thinking, though fortunately in a relatively appropriate place and time, and my graceful friends and coworkers seemed to understand, and forgive me. Being Southern sometimes seems like a grace itself, doesn't it?

I came home tonight, tired and sunburned a little, but I still had to prepare for tomorrow. There was some laundry and mending to do, dinner, and preparing tomorrow's things for the kids and pets - you know. It was a relatively peaceful day. I thought I might even skip writing to you, because I was tired, and my mind was not as troubled as it has been ( 'busy hands...' ). But I thought I might at least check my email, and when I opened my web-browser, this was the headline that greeted me.
"U.S. battles militia in Iraq; 5 GIs die"

Now I have to go to sleep, and then face tomorrow. And so do you, and so do the surviving soldiers, and the families of the dead, and all the people, all over the world, who are trying to face what's happening to all of us.
God(dess), bless us all.

-Sam Lovelace"

Hey, all.
First I want to give y'all this year's goose update.
For those of you who don't know, there is a little pond just down the road from my house, I pass it every day, at least twice a day. For the first couple of years here, the pond was unoccupied. Then one day I noticed a Canadian goose there. Soon, that goose had a friend, and for the next couple of years, it was just them. Before too long, one of the geese disappeared, and I feared the worst - until one spring day, I saw three little grey balls of fluff waddling around them and realized that they'd had goslings. I watched those goslings grow, though they soon lost one of the three. The other two spent the summer eating bugs and before fall, they looked just like their parents. The next spring, only two geese came back, and I worried, but then soon there were two more, and by the height of summer, they had a family reunion of SEVENTEEN geese! The next summer - last summer - there were lots of grown geese, but no babies. Then this year, as soon as spring began, I started looking for geese, but sadly, only one came. That one goose floated around alone for a couple of weeks, and then suddenly, one day, there was another. Then, the very next day, I looked for them and there were SIX teeny tiny, just hatched yellow goslings huddling near the parents! I've now watched those six grow for the last couple of weeks - and they are growing fast (they are all now the size of the first three I saw year before last, just before they lost #3). I check every day to make sure there are still six (holding my breath as I count) and there are. (I keep thinking that maybe, if all six get big enough, they'll all make it.) And this week, they had eight other big geese grandparents and aunts and uncles visiting them and their goose-parents.
In other - yesterday's rant-related - news, I had a really bad, sad night last night. I thought a lot about all of this that is bothering me, and before I settled down to paint (sleeping is pretty much out of the question unless I'm just too exhausted to move) I talked to Chris. I told him what was happening to me, and he suggested that I write a letter to George Bush every day. So, I am.
For those of you (silly people) who feel compelled to warn me not to say "certain things" (*sheesh*, HELLO. This is Sam, remember? I may be crazy, but I am not STUPID.) I have decided to print a copy of my first letter here. I also encourage you to write to him yourself. You may not want or need or be able to write every day, but even one letter may help.
His e-mail address is: president@whitehouse.gov, his mailing address is:
George W. Bush
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, DC 20500
and his phone numbers are:
Comments: 202-456-1111
Switchboard: 202-456-1414
FAX: 202-456-2461
all of this information - as well as a lot of really stilted news - is available at http://www.whitehouse.gov/
and here is my first letter:

"Hello, Mr. Bush.
My name is Sam (Samantha) Lovelace. I am a public librarian in a small town in the not-so-rural South.
I don't watch the t.v. news - I gave up t.v. eight years ago, because of my strong empathic response to the suffering of others. Since the Gulf War, the insurgence of "reality t.v." and shows about people being arrested and suffering natural disasters, as well as the graphic media coverage of my own cousin's violent death at the hands of serial killers [nine years ago tomorrow], I cannot help but imagine everything I see and hear and read in the news very viscerally. I imagine the faces, their fear before they died, I feel the grief of the families, I can smell the blood.
In my job, however, I do have to see all of the major newspapers each day as part of my job, and I read the news on the internet and listen to public radio. Needless to say, the things that I am now seeing and hearing every day (for a few years, now) have led to a lot of physical and emotional problems for me. Especially the way in which things in the Middle East and here have accelerated in the last few weeks. I have lost the ability to sleep at night, I can not eat meat anymore because the smell of it reminds me of death and blood, it has become difficult for me to drive because when I am alone anywhere I am overcome by grief and cannot see the road for crying. I have fibromyalgia, a condition which causes intense muscle pain throughout my body. This condition is worsened by stress and sleeplessness, so I am also living in constant pain. This is affecting my job, and needless to say, any kind of real social life is simply not possible. I want to try to make the most of each moment, enjoy the spring and the sun, but I can't do that any more either, because I feel so guilty that so many people are suffering. I hold my friends' children and I think: Will they have a world to grow up in? Will it all be destroyed by then? Will they even be free by the time they are grown?
I try to enjoy my food, and then I think of the father of Nicholas Berg, lying crumpled on the ground, held in the arms of his surviving son. I smell the odor of fresh blood, and I collapse, too.
So why am I writing to you about all of this? Well, for several reasons. First, I hope that I can convince you that I am not some 'over-sensitive liberal'. I grew up in a Republican household, Trent Lott visited us often when I was small, and when my grandfather was dying of cancer, he came to see him often, despite the fact that he was very busy in Washington. He is a kind man, who helped me as a grown woman, too. I am not a "party" person, I believe in voting for whoever has the good of the people - all the people that they affect - in mind and heart.
As for being sensitive, I feel as though what I am feeling is the correct thing. How anyone can shut out the pain of the world right now is beyond me. I wonder how anyone can sleep at night now. I am finding that my friends agree with me. They are waking up to the pain and misery that the world is feeling and they are all trying desperately to find some way to make a change. I myself, wish that I could put my arms around Michael Berg and tell him that I understand the way he feels. And then go to the homes of every grieving mother, father, wife, child, and do the same. I have family there, too, and every day, I fear that they will be shot, beheaded, tortured, and that my dear cousin and her children will be grieving this decision for the rest of their lives, too. I was part of the local "Veterans for Peace" vigil, where we all got together to read the names of all our deceased soldiers on the steps of our local t.v. station that had the gag order put on them by Sinclair. The station let us come and pray and read the names by candlelight. That list was so long, and I could imagine the former lives and families of each of those men and women.
Still none of this has been enough. My conscience is heavy, my heart is heavy, and I fear that we are reaching a point which, if we cross it, we can never go back. The world and the future of all my friends' children and the children I work with every day, and all the children of the world seems in terrible jeopardy. Instead of feeling that freedom is being defended, and that terrorism is being stomped out, we feel that an ancient vendetta (going on since before the Crusades) is continuing and that our friends and families and freedom are just the latest batch of casualties.
If this "eye for an eye" mentality continues, then soon the whole world will be blind.

The main reason that I am writing to you is that I need to feel that I am doing something - anything - to try to make a difference. My impotence over the situation and my own fears is too much for me. I cried to my boyfriend on the phone last night about my desperation, depression and exhaustion, and he suggested that I write to you, every day, if i needed to, until I felt better. You are the 'Big Dad' of this country, you are the man with the power over all of this, and you are the only one who can really make a change. It is not too late for you to still be a REAL hero, and try to make a sort of peace out of this horrible wreckage, it is not too late to save lives, and make amends to the families of the dead and injured. It is not too late to excise the cruel and blind from your cabinet and perhaps confer with some others on the matter. Maybe Mr. Lott would be a good man to talk to. I don't know. I am just a citizen, worried over the division of our nation and our world, worried over the loss of military and civilian lives, worried over the apparent downhill slide to a world war, one that we cannot recover from. I thought it would make me feel better if I talk to you about my concerns. My own father is dead, nine years now, or I might have talked to him about my fears, but you are the Father of this great Nation, and we have lost our trust in you. You can give that back.
It's not too late to try to make this right, or at least better. Please.
My Aunt Sue gave me this line from one of her favorite gospel songs, and I have decided to make it my mantra in all that I do toward this cause:
"Let there be Peace on Earth, and let it begin with me."
Perhaps you will consider the same.
Sincerely,
-Sam Lovelace
samarei7@gmail.com"

God(dess) bless us, every one.
-sam