06 August 2008

iraq has how much of a surplus?

are you f'ing kidding me?

today’s ny times reports that the iraqi government has a surplus of $79 billion dollars, with another $50 billion expected to accumulate by the end of 2008, sitting in the bank, while the us has spent $23.2 billion of our taxpayers’ dollars in iraqi security, oil, electricity, and water since the 2003 invasion. further, $453.6 million is owed iraq by us banks in interest earned on that fat surplus sitting in the reserves. are you fucking kidding me?

look, i don’t need to get started again on my weekly rant about spending us dollars here in the us, as opposed to iraq or wherever else our government sees fit to abuse our money, but this little tiddy just fuels the fire i’ve been raging for months.

i don’t even know what else i can say that hasn’t been said in any number of the 71 blog entries sitting below this one. but i’m flabbergasted beyond what i was this even this morning, before i picked up today’s paper in the st. louis airport. now i’m sitting in a seat, en route to dallas, “on my way” to san francisco, a raging ball of fire. my already boundless fury with the ineptitude of our current administration grows every single day, my ability to comprehend why anyone in this country could even consider voting for another republican jumps by leaps and bounds, and my patience with the douchebag administration, already running on the shortest fuse of my adult life, just shrunk by yet another mile.

how is it even within the realm of possibility that we could allow the iraqi government to squelch american taxpayers’ “generosity” (i use this term very loosely as i have neither voted for nor supported any act related to our iraqi occupation) while squirreling its own billions at the expense of american interest dollars? hasn’t america suffered enough for the greater good of the iraqi people? hasn’t the american economy suffered enough for the loss of jobs, safety, security, infrastructure, and sanity for the sake of iraq’s development?

05 August 2008

i'll tell you david, where the landslide is...

my response to david brooks' column in today's (or maybe yesterday's) ny times, http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/05/opinion/05brooks.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin

all this talk about polls this and polls that and the polls say this and why don't the polls say that. the polls said hillary was going to take the crown in iowa's caucus that kicked off the primary season, while obama was a shoe-in for the new hampshire primary a few weeks later. wrong, and wrong again. the polls said obama was closing in pennsylvania, and we lost by double digits, that hillary was going to kill us in indiana, and only won by .6 of a point.

and still, pollsters and the main stream media talk about polls as though they mean something, or anything at all. david brooks today asks why obama isn't killing mccain in the polls and then goes on to answer it (quite thoughtfully and with interesting thoughts on a matter that is as close to meaningless as anything else).

i've never been polled, never received a single call in all my years as a registered voter. i don't even know anyone who's ever been polled. i do know that pollsters don't call cell phones, and i don't know anyone born past 1974 who has anything but a cell phone. so, who exactly is getting polled and what exactly are the pollsters asking when they poll whoever it is they're calling?

my theories are as follows: landlines get the calls, only older and simply old people answer landlines. the questions pollsters ask are phrased in such a way that they get the answers they crave. those craved answers are whatever it is the main stream media needs to hear to keep whatever story it is they wish to keep telling.

in the case at hand, the story they wish to tell is that obama and mccain are in a dead heat. cuz it's a good story that, really, no one can believe. and the reason no one can believe it's true is because there's no way it's true. so david, i'll tell you where the landslide is. it's right under your nose, but you can't see it because you don't want to see it, because to see it would ruin your story and your column and your paper's sales. but regardless of your willingness to see the truth or write the truth, believe me when i write the truth that obama is going to kick mccain's ass this november, regardless of the predictions of your silly little pollster's games.

04 August 2008

but i'm not the only one...

all this thinking time has probably been more than good for me. until this short reprieve from the world of insanity from whence i've longed for rescue, i've been so wrapped up in the simultaneous whirlwinds of starting a new job and starting over within the obama campaign in los angeles (and flailing about trying to figure out where i fit into the grand scheme), that i haven't really been able to give much thought to me, where i am in my personal life, and where i want to be after november 5th.

sadly, the first thing that has to be on my mind is my age. i'm going to be 34 in a few months, i'm as single as a girl can get, and i want to have a family. for a girl with no real romantic prospects, that's a humdinger of a realization (and one that would've sent me to the kleenex box if my tear ducts wouldn't've stopped working of late). add to that tiddy the fact that i'm working 80-100 hours a week, half of that to the day job, the other half to my volunteer efforts, and it starts getting a little bit more than scary that my suitable match may be out there somewhere and i might not even notice him. even more complicated than that is the fact that a suitable match for me is a 1 in a million guy, and i'd rather be alone than settle for #2 or #3...

you see, i don't want to spend my life in a 9-5 corporate gig, working for "the man". i want a life of adventure and extraordinary non-conformism (did i just make up that word?). i want a life partner who wants to _share_ his life with me and be a father to our children. i don't want a burden or a ginormous pain in my ass. i don't want to be with someone who tells me what i want to hear because he thinks i'm the closest thing to the right girl he's ever met. i want to share my life with the guy who madly loves and wants to be married to this flight-fancy writer whose goal as a parent is giving, teaching, and sharing an epic amount of love. i want to raise culturally superior children who speak five languages and always strive to be better people and make the world a better place. i want travel and cultural experiences to be as big a part of my children's lives as it is mine, and i want to write my best sellers sitting in a cabana on the beaches of thailand one year and the south of france the next.

tell me where i can find the guy who wants to share that kind of life...

yeah, in an ideal world where we can all sit around and fantasize about living our dream life, that guy is around every corner. but in my world, where i believe anything we can imagine is possible, because i make the shit i dream happen, it's a different story. i'm a doer, as much as i am a dreamer, i_make_my_dreams_come_true, and i want to share my life with that other rare but enlightened and hard-working soul who does what he says, who is what he says, who does what he dreams. does such a boy exist? and is he out there waiting for me too? i can't possibly be the only dreamer who does, can i?

thicker skin

i used to be the biggest crybaby i knew. i used to burst into tears anytime the going got tough, at home, at work, at play, and everywhere in between. i used to feel guilty when i couldn't help people and when i had to put myself ahead of others. not sure if it's a single bitty or a combination of all the complications that've planted themselves in the path that is my life these past coupla years, but something is keeping my tear ducts dry and my heart pangs dull and distant.

i'm at "home" this weekend, in a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere (seriously, the closest city is well over a hundred miles away), chillin' with my family, catching up with my indiana obama team, swimming my body into soreness in places i didn't know muscles existed, and catching up on a few z's i've deprived myself these past several months on the campaign trail. my first night in town, i went out with a gal who'd once been one of my dearest friends, someone i considered a sister (and still do, deep down where my heart still beats for others). and have since been contemplating the different roads our lives have traveled...

we were both super smart girls in high school, though i pulled off better grades (i had a parent at home whose expectations included honor roll grade cards while neither of her parents ever thought to ask after that progress report or probably even knew what grade she was in). her grandmother (the only person who ever really gave a shit about her) thought i hung the moon, while my mom begged the stars to keep the girl out of my life (i can't really blame her for being a bad influence as i was a willing participant in the obstreperous conduct). but i loved her (i still love her). she was beautiful, funny, and fun, and had a heart as big as anything i'd ever seen. her troubled childhood didn't affect my adoration for her... nor does it now, but today adds an element of perspective i couldn't see then.

i went to college, while she went into labor (a few times). i went to law school and she went to jail. i got a job, she took her place in the social welfare line. so many times, i tried to empower her. i knew she wanted more and better, i tried to get her to believe in herself (i'm a hopeless optimist after all). i tried to get her to go to community college, to just try taking a class or two (she really is as sharp as a tack). she told me, over and over and over, all the things i wanted to hear, about how she was going to start school in the fall, or get this job or that, all the things she needed to say because she believed i wouldn't love her unless she lived up to my success. but she never followed through, and i never stopped believing in her or loving her...

and i never will. but i cannot and will not rescue her. i won't be her savior, not until she's willing to step up the plate, accept responsibility, and make better choices. that's why i told her "no" tonight when she texted me to bail her out of jail tomorrow morning. could i? sure. i could go to the bank, pull $500 out, and bail her out. i could listen to her tell me all the way home that this time she's going to do things differently, this time she's going to regain custody of her scattered children, this time she's going to get a job, start taking classes, and be a grown up. but i know, deep in the parts of my heart that will never stop loving her, that it's all lip service for my sake. that once i step onto that plane bound for the shores of the western sea, she'll forget that moment she wanted to believe in her ability to make great changes in her life, and she'll go right back into her own ways. and i'll be disappointed but not surprised, and i'll still love her as much as i did the very first time she wanted to believe... but not this time.

though i love her as dearly today as i did two decades ago, this time i shed no tears, i feel no guilt, and i say no because for me it's right to walk away from the calamitous woe she invites into her life...