Doggedly searching for the crux of the biscuit.
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French doctors have just performed the world's first face transplant on a woman who was disfigured by a dog attack. The face came from a brain dead donor with the family's consent.
My old friend Andy, who is back in New Orleans again after a brief but lovely visit with us in North Carolina, sent another essay to me that I'm pleased and honored to share. I posted the story of her initial return to the city a couple of months ago, and if you missed it then, it's worth your time. Links to some of her published works are here. Her encounter with Hurricane Rita is below the fold.
Mystic Bowling with Tornado Warnings
It's mystic night at Rivergate Bowling, our first outing since Katrina. Most nights we're fine hiding away, watching CNN for a glimpse of what is happening to our home. But with Hurricane Rita now threatening, it is all becoming too much. Or maybe we are. In any case, our host wants us all to "do something." Since I fear that French movie night — a showing of Truffaut's Four Hundred Blows — might make the inside of the gas oven look really cozy, we settle on a night of bowling.
It is true that we need distraction. Simple pleasures are not easy to come by these days. The other day we tried to rent a movie in town and the girl said she could not issue a card without a utility bill. I asked her if she really wanted a utility bill from New Orleans. She said she'd have to ask the manager who was not here right now.
There are three of us "evacuees" in the house now. (Every time I think of this fact, I imagine us as a band. There was some debate in the media over whether we are "refugees" or "evacuees," and the terms merged in my head into "evacugees." I hear a radio voice: "The evacugees, coming soon to a city near you….") Khaled and I drifted into the shelter of this antebellum mansion in Natchez, Mississippi, a few days ago. Then I got a call from another friend in Texas telling me our mutual friend Kevin was sleeping in his van in a nearby parking lot. It turns out the hotel owner kicked out all the "FEMA people" — those whose bills were to be paid by the government agency — in favor of the immediate cash he could get from the new batch of those fleeing Rita. No doubt it is illegal, not to mention immoral, but who were they to complain to? Trying to talk to FEMA is like trying to talk to God.
So with the hard rain and high winds coming, as well as the threat of tornadoes surrounding the storm, we could not rest with our friend in his car. But how does one offer hospitality to someone when one has no home of one's own? Luckily, our host Gwen is a gracious and generous woman and offered to take him in.
When we get to Rivergate Bowling, we see that there is a strange blue glow above all of the lanes. A dry ice machine puffs out its smoke. Saturdays are "mystic nights" at Rivergate, which apparently means blue lights and smoke. We'll take it. The scene is frivolous and strange, and strange is a prerequisite these days for relating to anything.
We are all terrible bowlers, but the accoutrements of the sport distract us a little: the multi-colored shoes, the search to find the perfect ball, the muffled voice interrupting early 90s pop songs, the cold beer. We're doing our best to get in the groove when a red light blinks and a loud, long beep sounds. A voice comes through the intercom, sounding like it has been put through a blender. "This is the emergency broadcast system…" and I hearken back to those "this is only a test" interruptions of television kids shows. I had always frightened myself trying to imagine what would happen if it were not "only a test." Lately, I have not had to imagine. While I cannot make out the details preceding it, the gist of it is clear enough: a tornado warning is in effect for the county we are in. It is hard to believe we are skirting the edges of another emergency. My mind goes numb. We keep bowling.
The people in the next lane over start to chat with us, and soon we learn that they are also evacuees — from Texas, on the run from Rita. It starts to feel like a virus that can spread. Soon the whole south, the whole country, maybe, will be fleeing something, seeking refuge, finding camaraderie in others who've been infected.
We tally our scores, turn in our shoes, head out into the night. Gwen has talked us into going to a bar downtown. We don't much feel like continuing our foray into the social world, and bars remind us too much of our sunken city. But, trying to be gracious, we agree. As we drive through the town and approach the bar, we see that the power is out downtown. Everything is pitch, and it is hard to see where the outage ends. I have a moment of panic: it's happening again. Then I relax and feel a strange kind of relief. I know this story. This is life now. This confirms our new reality, our new disaster life. We sit in the darkened bar, look at the faces lit by candlelight, and drink a beer. Before we finish, the lights flicker, then stay on. It's over. The emergency, like a fever, has broken.
In some ways, being around others who are experiencing the same thing is a kind of comfort. Those of us whose lives have been thrown to the wind by Katrina have a certain understanding, as if we are a weird kind of club. They are starting to call us "Katrina victims," which makes me imagine Katrina as a vampire and us her neck-bitten prey. I have a friend who lives on the north side of Lake Pontchartrain and who has continued to stay in her tree-smashed house with no electricity, gas or water. She has gotten used to eating MREs (meals ready to eat) and bathing in a nearby cold spring. She says she is not ready to be around "normal people," and I understand what she means. There is a kind of bonding in going through trauma, the relief of not having to explain.
It is not that I don't want to relate to other people. But one of my recent attempts at being social — an invitation to a barbecue — made me feel more sad and isolated than ever. One of the conversations was about real estate. Between bites of chicken, they discussed the fabulous six-digit prices of houses, who the best real estate agent was, what part of town had the best deals. Knowing our city was smashed and drowning, the topic felt obscene, as if they were discussing their favorite porn site in front of my parents. People also have the distressing habit of speaking of the city in the past tense, too, as in "New Orleans was such a great city" or "I loved New Orleans." And then there is the look of pity and the awkward silence when you say where you are from, as if someone has just realized that you are the one who just lost her whole family in a tragic accident.
When we get back to Gwen's, we check in with the news, and see that water is pouring over the levees again in the ninth ward of New Orleans. Again, we see the streets fill. Again, we see the houses submerged. We are living some kind of recurring nightmare; we can only watch, unable to enter. It is like seeing someone get hit by a train, unable to help them off the tracks, then watching their heart slow as the blood pours out. I think of a man I read about who was hit seven times by lightning. He killed himself because he thought God was out to get him. And how could he not? It is difficult to avoid the thought that our city is being punished, that we are.
Somehow the rest of the world is going on, having birthday parties, making plans. Between shots of the suffering on television, there are car commercials advertising brand new trucks, no money down. This is an alien world. I am still driving the car I left the city with, a car that belongs to a woman I don't know. I have spoken to her once, and know I will give it back. But now it is a simple matter of practicality. The idea of ownership is ludicrous at this point. I have spoken with college professors who "commandeered" — a new, favorite word among New Orleanians — boats and cars to get out of the city. Policemen commandeered gas from sitting cars. Those who were lucky commandeered water from convenience stores. If we stuck to the usual notions of ownership, we would not survive.
We use the car to do things like go to the free clinic for evacuees. After our trip into New Orleans last week, Khaled developed a rash on his arm. From wrist to armpit, he was covered in pink bumps. The evacuee clinic is just across the Mississippi River in Louisiana. We decided to have his rash checked out, and I'd see a doctor to see if he could give me something to help me sleep. While I can fall asleep, I can't seem to stay unconscious for more than a couple of hours.
We got there fifteen minutes before it opened, thinking we'd be first in line. But there were at least ten people ahead of us. As we waited in line, everyone spoke of the particulars of their geography and their loss. The man next to us was from Chalmette. He told us how he saw a thirty foot wall of water come at his house "like a tsunami." He swam to his cousin's house where he found shelter on the top floor. He had come to the clinic for a wound on his leg that was not healing. Compared to his story, Khaled's rash seems minor, but everything has taken on a sinister overtone. What is the rash, and what is it from? In other times, it may not have been so worrying, but everything now has an apocalyptic patina. When we drive through a swarm of lovebugs, they seem unusually thick. The black clouds dim our view. Is this normal? Are the locusts next?
The doctor gave Khaled a prescription for mega doses of Tetracycline. He had no idea what the rash was. He would not give me sleeping pills, instead tried to get me to consider a prescription for anti-depressants. I refused this because I don't think there is anything wrong with being sad about what is happening. But if I could sleep, it might help. We settled on a short-term prescription for anti-anxiety medication. He said everyone who has come through should probably be on them. The other thing everyone must get is their shots. Being an evacuee is like being a dog. You have to make sure your shots are up to date. So we got injections for tetanus and hepatitis, then headed out to fill our prescriptions at a pharmacy that was giving them for free.
Like the free prescriptions, there are other benefits to being an evacuee. There are the care packages from family and friends. Boxes of clothes and shoes arrive, along with the occasional goodies. My favorite contained a bottle of good wine and a bar of "Nomad" soap, with a little picture of a man on a camel on the front. I am not sure if the brand was intentional, but it was certainly fitting.
And there are various agencies that offer help, usually in the form of plastic cards. The Red Cross gave us white debit cards with a small red cross on the front and the words "Disaster Relief" written on it. The State of Louisiana has given us disaster food stamp cards. We begin to identify with the word "disaster" and joke that it might be easier to get the word disaster or Katrina tattooed discreetly on our palms. Or maybe we could get red crosses tattooed on our third eyes so it is immediately apparent. Perhaps Khaled, being from Egypt, should get a red crescent.
Later in the night after mystic bowling, we are awakened by a wailing siren. We look at each other wordlessly, hoping it will pass. We try to convince ourselves it is a loud but distant machine of some kind. But it doesn't stop. The only time I have ever heard a sound like it was when I was in Hawaii and they were doing a tsunami drill. Strange as things are, I doubt there is threat of a tsunami in Natchez, Mississippi. But it doesn't stop, so we go downstairs to see if anyone is there who might be able to explain. Gwen and her daughters are watching the Weather Channel. "It's the tornado warning," one of them says calmly.
"What does it mean?" I ask.
"Well, it means there is a tornado on the way. Look, you can see on the radar," Gwen says. I feel a nauseated pain, as if someone has just punched me in the stomach.
"Don't worry," says Gwen's daughter. "You'll know it is coming." While I have been through my share of late, I don't know how to know if it is coming.
"You'll hear a sound like a freight train," she says. These people are originally from Kansas. This is apparently not a big deal to them. Khaled and I are verging on panic.
"And what do we do then?" we beg.
"You get under the stairs." I go to the stairs and see what we are dealing with: there is a small bathroom that would fit three people in a pinch. There are six of us. When I press the issue, it is decided that three can go into some hidden mysterious bathroom while the other three could take refuge under the stairs.
"Don't worry," says Gwen. Meanwhile her daughters are talking in cheerful voices about memories of streets in their hometown leveled in a matter of seconds.
We wait, watching the red blob skirt the edges of town on the radar, then finally pass. It is another near miss, and again we have come out unscathed. But we feel like we are standing at the center of some cosmic bull's eye, and the archer either has a sick sense of humor or terrible aim.
Three different views from Cassini of the geyser-like spray of icy material from Enceladus' southern pole.
Background information on the phenomenon.
Quick spin through the feeds:
Digby reminds us just what a rancid waste of skin Duke Cunningham has been throughout his career. No disgrace could possibly prove sufficient.
Laura Rozen explains that the new Shi'ite death squads in Iraq are likely the result of deliberate, well-rehearsed US policy.
Think Progress provides a much needed reality check on our "progress" in Iraq.
Pam Spaulding asks, "Seriously, is the President batshit crazy?" Similarly, is Iran's president as well? I'd like to move to the moon now, please.
Henry Farrell notes that Poland could get suspended from the European Union for providing prison space for the American gulags.
Atrios notes that the same folks who so badly screwed up this war are likely to screw up any withdrawal just as badly.
Juan Cole has a bunch of worthwhile Iraq-related links in this post.
And on an unrelated note, what the hell is going on in the Royal Marines?
The Conservative party's spokesman for homeland security Patrick Mercer said he had come across this sort of thing occasionally during his 26 years in the Army.
"I can't tell you how damaging it is," he said. "Just imagine a young man turning up in his unit and being made to wrestle naked in a field while his non-commissioned officers are dressed up in women's frillies. I mean, it's not very dignified stuff, is it?"
Twelve soldiers who had just finished their 32-week commando training were alleged to have taken part in the initiation ritual, while around 40 other marines - also stripped naked - watched. The fight appears to have been "directed" by two non-commissioned officers. One was dressed in a surgeon's outfit, the other dressed as a schoolgirl.
Ummm...
...'til I'm free, fly like an eagle once my family cremates me.
A man arrested for running onto the field during the Philadelphia Eagles' game against the Green Bay Packers on Sunday told police he was spreading his late mother's ashes. Christopher Noteboom, 33, of Tempe, Arizona, ran onto the field holding a plastic bag, leaving a cloud of fine powder behind. As he reached the 30-yard line, he dropped to his knees, made the sign of the cross and laid down on his stomach. Security personnel reached him moments later and he offered no resistance as he was escorted from the field. Noteboom, a native of Doylestown, said his mother died of emphysema in January 2005, shortly before the Eagles' Super Bowl appearance.
"She never cared for any other team except the Eagles," Noteboom told WPVI-TV after he was released from custody Monday. "I know that the last handful of ashes I had are laying on the field, and will never be taken away. She'll always be part of Lincoln Financial Field and of the Eagles."
Pictures here.
Professor Michael Scharf of Case Western Law School has put together a weblog focused on Saddam Hussein's trial. Opposing arguments to specific legal questions are juxtaposed and developments are placed in the context of other international war crimes trials such as those in Nurenberg and the Hague. The lineup of contributors is stacked and there is a plethora of supporting and related links and documents.
Surprisingly readable for a legal novice, too.
In my head, llamas have always been fairly docile pack animals. Until now. Mimi Smartypants links to an article about a llama attacking its owner, in which the llovable beast cracked his owner's sternum and bit through his bicep right to the bone. The animal was euthanized and its head sent for llaboratory analysis. But that wasn't the part of the article that frightened me. No, it was this llovely passage:
The noise graduated to a high-pitched squeal, whereupon Charlie spit, flattened his ears back and bared his teeth, including the three sets of razor-sharp "fighting teeth," which llamas use to rip the scrotum from male competitors in the wild.
Aaaaaaaaugh!!! Get that mental image out of my head! It's 5:30 and I can't get up from my desk to go home because it would require unclenching my legs. I see a new challenge for Tu Jin-Sheng in the offing. Also, why would anybody name a llama anything other than Lloyd?
I have returned from visiting family way down in Alabama, my first trip back down there since we buried my father in 1987. Lovely time and no matter what else can be said about the Deep South, they sure will feed you right. Between vacation and illness, I missed six workdays in the past two weeks, so I still have some serious catching up to do. Nonetheless, I should get back into posting form in the next day or so. In the meantime, today marks birthdays for both me and Froz's oldest son, so hooray for us! And to hold you over, here's a story (with work-safe pictures!) about a guy pulling a delivery truck with his genitals.
It is because of a tight schedule before leaving to be away from technology for a few days that this year's identification of things gratitude-worthy is rather short. It is not because I am a sour and ungrateful type. I certainly can be, but that's not the reason for my brevity. I like traditions and since I started one I should continue.
What I am particularly grateful for today is the Vice President of the United States, specifically to notice him finally starting to see the light. According to Dickie's own words, the most "irresponsible" of the most "dishonest and reprehensible" members of congress are the democrats who voted to authorize the President to use military force against Iraq, but now say the policy is flawed and was foisted on them.
Now the claims that congress had the same intelligence as the administration and that no cherry-picking occurred are clearly farcical. But watch Cheney's logic: by extension, according to Cheney, the folks who saw through the charade and had brains enough to see a fiasco before it started must have been the most what? 'Responsible'? 'Honest'?
'Right'?
I'm glad to know he's starting to come around and just trying to find the bright side; Happy Thanksgiving.
Everybody in the house is almost healthy again, but I have three missed days of work to try to make up before taking off for Alabama on Wednesday morning, so the dearth of posts is likely to persist. Felt I should mention that native North Carolinian Link Wray died earlier this month in Denmark. Credited with inventing the power chord and distortion (the latter by poking holes in a speaker cone with a pencil), Wray shaped the sound and feel of rock and roll as much as anybody. In 1958, his song "Rumble" got banned in several markets for promoting juvenile delinquency. Big deal, you say? Well, when you consider it was purely instrumental, then yes. Big deal. MP3s, including "Rumble", are available at the second link there and more info at Wray's website (and here), Wikipedia, and the Rockabilly Hall of Fame.
It's about a doorknob with so much embedded intelligence that it can even cast your vote for you - in your own best interest, of course - without you ever having to put down your bag of groceries.
Technology is wonderful, but untrustworthy.
What do you get when you cross RNC talking points memos with cheeseball, beer-commercial crunch-pop? The Right Brothers! Lyrics are here and be sure to preview their hit single Bush Was Right and the video for Tolerate This.
(via)
William Arkin makes three points today in the Washington Post:
(1) That the handling of the white phosporous weapon controversy has been typically disastrously mishandled by the pentagon;
(2) That many who are agitating against the war, or for withdrawl, or however they do (Froz: or don't) define it will knee-jerk their way into the claim that it's an illlegal weapon; and
(3) Whoever ordered the use of this legal but horrifically and inhumanely employed weapon will face no consequences.
The fact that this weapon was used is evidence of how poorly the campaign in Iraq is going, but not exactly in the way Mr Arkin defines. As it is evidence of the breakdown of commmand that accompanies panicky soldiers, haste, and misguided missions, it is the incongruence of battlefield tactics and battlefield strategy.
But it more poignantly evidences the divergence of political tactics and political strategy. It doesn't matter what technically correct statements will come from amateur or professional apologists and justifiers. In the campaign against Islamic fanaticism and the violence it employs to grow its power, aka the 'war on terrah' - a fight for which Commander Codpiece could have very effectively employed the strengths of the other half of his country if he was anywhere close to a decent leader - its use represents a disastrous reality. For whatever advance in the campaign for Falluja it accomplished, the costs are that the words "chemical weapons, white phosphorous, pentagon, burned skin, dead children, pentagon admits, US soldiers" are on the front page of every newspaper between Algiers and Mindanao. Hell, everywhere around the globe for that matter.
There are now thousands more who don't see us quite as clearly on the right side, thousands more who won't see us on the right side at all, and thousands more unlikely to care if Americans - soldiers or civilians - get killed. It is tactics and strategy becoming hopelessly divorced.
And it's the consequence of the insidious attempt to fold the war in Iraq into the envelope of the campaign we really should be fighting. That was done to further the former, but was accomplished at the expense of the latter.
I was going to write a quick post apologizing for the lack of new material here, blaming being swamped at work and having sick kids at home. However, an unfortunate new excuse has arisen: holy crap, but I'm sick like I haven't been in years. I'll spare you the gory details, but I spent much of the night rolling around, clenching my stomach, and moaning, between disoriented sprints to the bathroom. Okay, so maybe I won't spare you.
Since I clearly won't be going to work to roll around my cube, clenching my stomach and moaning, I may actually get some blogging done today. Or maybe I'll spend the day dry heaving into a mixing bowl, having pretty much perfected the maneuver overnight. Haven't decided and don't think it's really up to me in the end.
On the upside, I received props from The Editors for the game-winning assist in the Weekly Wanker Awards, so that's something. Anyhow, carry on and send any spare anti-stomach-bug mojo my way, wouldja? Now if you'll excuse me, I need to spend some quality time with my mixing bowl.
Update: Well, while I'm not feeling great by any stretch, I'm feeling much better than last night. Either it's a relatively short-lived bug or I've learned a valuable lesson. When you're standing in the frozen food aisle, go ahead and splurge on the 89 cent pot pies. Apparently the 69 cent ones leave out the secret ingredient that keeps your insides from turning to pressurized liquid.
I was away from civilization for most of the weekend, so pardon my confusion... But...
Did I actually read that Steven Hadley thinks congressional Democrats are equally responsible for the mess in Iraq, partly because Bill Clinton actually started the war in 1998, and that the public needs to just get over the whole controversy and move on to more important matters because it's unfair to the soldiers over there?
That is so pathetic. To what point does it have to get before "lying" is the appropriate word to use?
People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Especially those in $19,000,000 glass houses.
Pretty pictures: contour dunes on Mars, Mountains of Creation in the Cassiopeia constellation (and a movie about it).
I'm, afraid we're fresh out of true apes today, sir. 'Ave got a touch of small lemur, yet, though.
Hey America, glad you finally started to notice what was blindingly obvious back in 1999.
Most Americans say they aren't impressed by the ethics and honesty of the Bush administration, already under scrutiny for its justifications for an unpopular war in Iraq and its role in the leak of a covert CIA officer's identity. Almost six in 10 — 57 percent — said they do not think the Bush administration has high ethical standards and the same portion says President Bush is not honest, an AP-Ipsos poll found. Just over four in 10 say the administration has high ethical standards and that Bush is honest. Whites, Southerners and white evangelicals were most likely to believe Bush is honest.
Not surprisingly, those happen to be the same groups most likely to believe that the world is 10,000 years old and the fossil record is a clever trick played by the Devil. In other words, the ones most likely to believe any damn thing. Here's the quote that slays me:
"I know he is a man of integrity and strong faith," said Fran Blaney, a Republican and an evangelical who lives near Hartford, Conn. "I've read that he prays every morning asking for God's guidance. He certainly is trying to do what he thinks he is supposed to do."
Y'know Fran, I grew up a minister's kid in Southern Baptist churches and as such, I am very well acquainted with false piety. I don't buy Dubya's born again schtick for a skinny minute, and you shouldn't either. Of course, given the religious right's endless capacity for mistaking a complete lack of character for an abundance of the same (take a bow, Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, Pat Robertson, etc.), nobody should be surprised. Try this one on for size:
At the Republican National Convention in 1988, he was asked by a Hartford Courant reporter about what he and his father talked about when they weren't talking about politics.
"Pussy," Bush replied.
Now that's a man of deep faith and abiding morality for you. Read the subtext there: were Dubya and Poppy discussing their mother and daughter-in-law, respectively? If yes, then ewwww. If not, well, you do the math.
Anyhow, George W. Bush: combining the arrogance and corruption of Nixon with the incompetence of Carter to bring you the ugliest presidency in the history of the Republic. Thanks, red states.
Pat Robertson says, "No God for you! Hope you like locusts."
Tentacles. They aren't just for hentai any more.
Holy cow, but Serbs are tough.
And via Biomes Blog, this comforting news: "The Army now admits in reports never before released that it secretly dumped 64 million pounds of nerve and mustard gas agent into the sea, along with 400,000 chemical-filled bombs, land mines and rockets and more than 500 tons of radioactive waste either tossed overboard or packed into the holds of scuttled vessels." And the best part? They're starting to wash up on shore.
Found wandering through the website of Boston's Arden Gallery:
Robert Jackson's humorous still lifes.
Paul Beliveau's books.
Pamela Sienna's wrappings.
Tom Paiement's frets.
Anthony James' abstractions.
Anne Lilly's steel sculpture (none of the videos of them moving seem to work).
I was also intrigued by their Sebastián Picker exhibit, Dystopia, though found much more stuff at his site. And what's the deal with all the pears?
Voters don't like being made laughingstock. There will be consequences for your advancement of ignorance.
Emilia DiSanto, chief investigator for [Finance] committee Chairman Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa), arrived at her suburban Virginia home after work Wednesday about 6:30 p.m. As she was unloading belongings from her car, a 6-foot-1-inch white man dressed in black struck her repeatedly with an unidentified object believed to be a baseball bat.
After she screamed to her family inside the house, the assailant fled. DiSanto was transported to Inova Fair Oaks Hospital, where she was treated for significant upper-body injuries. Nine staples were needed to close her head wound. [...]
No evidence has surfaced that definitively points to DiSanto’s work on the Finance Committee as the trigger for the attack, but sources say there are a number of clues that suggest it could be. The assailant was trying to hide his identity, wearing a hood and black gloves. He also did not make any demands before attacking the 49-year-old staffer. A working assumption among investigators is that he was waiting for her to arrive home. Sources say acts of violence in DiSanto’s neighborhood are rare.
Grassley is known for his aggressive oversight of the public and private sector. Over the past year, he has scrutinized healthcare fraud, organ-donation procedures used by hospitals, drug-safety matters and the use of nonprofit groups related to former lobbyist Jack Abramoff.
(via Josh Marshall)
Well, isn't this interesting?
The Internal Revenue Service has warned one of Southern California's largest and most liberal churches that it is at risk of losing its tax-exempt status because of an antiwar sermon two days before the 2004 presidential election. Rector J. Edwin Bacon of All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena told many congregants during morning services Sunday that a guest sermon by the church's former rector, the Rev. George F. Regas, on Oct. 31, 2004, had prompted a letter from the IRS.
In his sermon, Regas, who from the pulpit opposed both the Vietnam War and 1991's Gulf War, imagined Jesus participating in a political debate with then-candidates George W. Bush and John Kerry. Regas said that "good people of profound faith" could vote for either man, and did not tell parishioners whom to support. But he criticized the war in Iraq, saying that Jesus would have told Bush, "Mr. President, your doctrine of preemptive war is a failed doctrine. Forcibly changing the regime of an enemy that posed no imminent threat has led to disaster."
On June 9, the church received a letter from the IRS stating that "a reasonable belief exists that you may not be tax-exempt as a church." The federal tax code prohibits tax-exempt organizations, including churches, from intervening in political campaigns and elections.
Now, I happen to believe they ought to tax all churches, but let's back up for a second. The entire Republican strategy is built around politicking in churches, and in a much more blatant fashion than this. I haven't heard of any similarly threatening letters being sent to James Dobson's church or to the bishop that insisted priests not give communion to John Kerry. Or, for that matter, any right-wing church, though it's possible I may have just missed the news. I doubt it, though, since they would have screamed to high heaven about the violation of their First Amendment rights.
So I have to wonder: where exactly did this originate? If the IRS is willing to apply this standard across the board, then more power to them. However, I somehow doubt that is in the plans. Accordingly, this ought to get somebody fired quickly and publicly.
Unbelievable.
A pair of Carolina Panthers cheerleaders were arrested early Sunday morning after allegedly having sex in the bathroom of a Tampa nightclub and getting into a fight with other patrons, according to published reports. Angela Ellen Keathley, 26, was charged with disorderly conduct and obstructing an officer, according to a police report acquired by the Tampa Tribune and Charlotte Observer. The second cheerleader, who gave police the driver's license of another cheerleader not present for the incident, was charged with battery.
The incident began at 2:10 a.m., according to the reports. Keathley and the second woman were having sex in a stall inside the bathroom at Banana Joe's, a nightclub in the Channelside district near downtown Tampa, police said. When the pair emerged from the stall, other women who had been waiting to use the bathroom got into an argument with the cheerleaders. The police report states that Keathley's companion, identified as Renee Thomas by WTSP-TV, Tampa's CBS affiliate, punched one of the women, identified as Melissa Holden by the Tribune, waiting to use the bathroom, giving her a black eye. Police were called while all three women were escorted from the club.
Keathley was allegedly so intoxicated she could barely stand and would not cooperate with police. The report states she began yelling profanities before pulling away while the officer cuffed her. Keathley and Thomas were held overnight and released on bond put up by other Panthers cheerleaders late Sunday morning. A Panthers spokesman said the team was aware of the incident, but would not have any comment.
I suppose "no comment" is the only reasonable response to that. The section of the Panthers' website dealing with the cheerleading squad has either been temporarily disabled or is getting swamped. However, because I know you're wondering, mugshots are here. Kinda ruins the fantasy.
Update: Official cheerleader shots here. Amazing what a little makeup can do.
Everybody else is doing it and I'm curious. If you wander through here regularly, be a lamb and add yourself to our sitemap, would you?
Every sand dune between Tybee and Daufuskee has your name on it;
every sea oat, gull, and shrimp boat.
Not having any more particularly pressing business to tend,
you immortalized these timeless features.
And if anybody was stubborn enough to immortalize something that was already timeless,
it was certainly you. And you did it flawlessly.
With no mountains around you for three hundred miles,
if you wanted to take a hike, you just made your own.
Finding flying foolish, you'd dive into your own clouds,
bobbing and swishing. Sunsets would erupt.
Your world around you spoke through you.
I see you crossing through your canvas, now, into it.
Able to be your subject and paint it with your heart at the same time.
When the seabreeze strokes the grass on the sand you'll be there.
When a net is tossed off a rickety pier you'll be there.
When a gull calls you'll be there.
Always.
Rest in Peace, Aunt Cissy
If what Colin Powell's former chief of staff says is true, then it's time to impeach Cheney. Now. No ridiculous bitching about the "criminalization of politics." When the Vice President's office is spying on the National Security Council in order to prevent their analyses from reaching the President, he should be considered an enemy of the state. Even if you are pro-Bush, this should be an easy call. No defense exists for this.
I swear, every time you think these guys couldn't get any worse, they go and prove you dead wrong.
At this rate, Tom DeLay's trial may never start.
A new judge was selected to preside over Rep. Tom DeLay's conspiracy and money laundering trial Thursday, after a GOP judge became the second to step away from involvement in the case because of political contributions he has made. Administrative Judge B.B. Schraub, a Republican who was to have selected the judge for the case, withdrew after Travis County District Attorney Ronnie Earle filed a request to have him removed. Two days earlier, District Judge Bob Perkins was removed from the case at DeLay's request because of his contributions to Democrats.
Schraub asked Texas Supreme Court Chief Justice Wallace Jefferson to name a judge to preside over DeLay's trial. Jefferson selected semi-retired Senior Judge Pat Priest of San Antonio, a Democrat. Earle, however, filed a motion requesting Jefferson be removed from the case moments after Jefferson's office distributed a letter naming Priest to the job. The validity of Priest's assignment by Jefferson was not immediately clear.
State documents examined by The Associated Press show that Jefferson's 2002 campaign treasurer, Bill Ceverha, also was the treasurer of DeLay's Texans for a Republican Majority Political Action Committee. The PAC is a codefendant in DeLay's case. Ceverha was a defendant this spring in a civil trial brought by Democrats who lost state legislative races to Republicans in 2002. Jefferson also was elected to his seat with the help of a $25,000 donation from the Republican National State Elections Committee, a group at the heart of the money laundering charge against DeLay. And he received $2,000 from a DeLay-run PAC whose executive director is a co-defendant.
Now that sounds like a legitimate conflict of interest. Here's the kicker, though: "DeLay attorney Dick DeGuerin agreed that the system of electing partisan judges is flawed but criticized Earle for setting the current situation in motion." Y'know, Mr. DeGuerin, I'm looking back at the timeline here, and it's pretty clear that it wasn't Ronnie Earle who set this situation in motion. You and your client established the rules of this game. Suck it up, you big babies.
Update: I wonder how religious conservatives feel about this quote from DeLay's aide Mike Scanlon:
"The wackos get their information through the Christian right, Christian radio, mail, the internet and telephone trees," Scanlon wrote in the memo, which was read into the public record at a hearing of the Senate Indian Affairs Committee. "Simply put, we want to bring out the wackos to vote against something and make sure the rest of the public lets the whole thing slip past them."
Update II: Oh, look. DeLay pressuring Jack Abramoff to use charities to funnel donations to his campaign. Needless to say, entirely illegal. Honestly, much more revelations like this and it won't matter who the judge ends up being.
What the hell is Prince Charles doing to Laura Bush?
Cracking the Gilligan Code.
Sticky legal situations:
Digby destroys one of the emerging GOP talking points.
For just $600,000, you get not only the 3-bedroom house in Denver, but the blonde wife as well.
"Investigators tell Eyewitness News the woman was upset at the man for not bringing home charcoal for the grill. The argument reportedly escalated to the point where the pair allegedly poured lighter fluid on each other. Someone apparently lit a match, and the man was severely burned. He later died of a heart attack."
I was aghast (but not really surprised) that Tom DeLay was able to have the judge in his case removed because - clutch the pearls - he'd donated money to Democrats. Well, if that's the game we're playing, then goddammit, let's play it.
In the retaliatory motion, Earle wrote that he was using the same rationale that DeLay's lawyers used to get Perkins removed from the case. He said Schraub of Seguin, like Perkins of Austin, is a fair and impartial judge with a "sterling reputation" of honesty and integrity. But Earle wrote that's "unfortunately no longer the standard in our state for the judiciary." He argued that Schraub could be personally biased for DeLay and against Earle.
According to Earle's motion, Schraub has given $5,600 — roughly the same amount as Perkins — to Republican candidates, including President Bush, U.S. Sen. John Cornyn, Gov. Rick Perry, state Sen. Jeff Wentworth and state Rep. Ed Kuempel. Earle wrote that the $1,500 to Perry was particularly troubling because Perry was a central player in DeLay's successful attempt in 2003 to have Texas congressional districts drawn to his liking. As governor, Perry called the special legislative sessions where the districts were redrawn to shift the balance of power in the congressional delegation from Democrats to Republicans. The prosecutor also noted that Perry appointed Schraub as presiding judge and Schraub is up for re-appointment in January.
How you like them apples, Bugman?
Mark Schmitt gazes into his crystal ball and sees good news on the horizon for Democrats' national hopes based on the governorships.
The British Home Office is proposing tests for people applying for British citizenship that will gauge applicants' knowledge of life in the UK. The BBC has a 10-question sample test you can take here. I got 7 of 10 questions correct (missing 1, 4, and 8), which is pretty impressive given that nearly every response was a wild-assed guess.
(via Farber)
Oh my. You'll laugh, but you'll feel dirty for laughing. Found it via Lex Alexander, who also has a short rant that I'd like to recommend and second wholeheartedly.
I come from two long lines of pissed-off Scots who do not suffer government fools gladly. If you work for the government, bitch, you work for me. I do not work for you. You are accountable to me. And if I have questions, you will do your dead-level best to get me straight answers or you will get your ass off my payroll and into the private sector, full stop. Because asking questions ain't just a right, it is an affirmative duty.
Look, regardless of what other issues you and I may differ about, every thinking American ought to realize that government secrecy is a cancer on democracy. The Bush administration's drive to classify everything and hide the workings of the government behind a shield of national security is unhealthy and undemocratic. That's why, even if it was a stunt, what the Democrats did by closing the Senate the other day is vitally important. A democracy cannot function without an informed citizenry.
And here's the crux of the matter: a large swath of what is being kept secret has no bearing on keeping any of us safe. It's all about not embarrassing the current administration and allowing them a free hand to do whatever they jolly well please, laws be damned. I don't tolerate that in a Democratic administration and I sure as hell won't tolerate it in a Republican one. As a smart fellow once said:
If America ceases to be a free country, you won't necessarily notice. It won't smell different, dark clouds won't gather on the horizon, the roads will remain open, movies will still play in the theaters, and television will, most assuredly, stay on.
Like the mass of people who lived in the Soviet Union, or who are now living in Iran, you'll go about your business, making accommodations, and trying to get by. In fact, in Iran, you can easily hop in your car, go all across the country, camp where you like, build big fires, leave a mess, and drive like the devil. In many ways, there are far fewer regulations there. But we rightly call it a repressive society because of the way it treats dissenters and the accused, and because there is little accountability and limited democracy.
We're a long way from a mullacracy in the U.S., but we're definitely closer to being one than we were a few years ago, and, I'll say it again: what's most disturbing is how many people are unperturbed.
Amen, brother. Amen.
I read this article this morning, inquisitive. Interesting but not particularly noteworthy until I got to the last paragraph. (end of p.2 and p. 3)
The timing of this year's Eid holiday also is another sign of the deep divisions that developed between minority Sunnis and majority Shiites under Saddam, a Sunni who persecuted many Shiites during his rule. The months of the Muslim calendar are lunar. Therefore, they start when the new moon is spotted in the sky by trustworthy members of the community. Based on that procedure, Sunni clerics decided that Eid would begin on Thursday this year, while Shiites chose Friday.
How much of a "sign of divisions developed under Saddam" this is I'm hesitant to say; That split is over a thousand years old and Saddam is what... 65? 70? But it's interesting nonetheless.
For shame to see Blessed Leader having to cave in to those secular humanists on this "Bird Flu" hysteria. They're just trying to whip up fear and distract us from the outrageous success dealing with Saddam and his WMD and distract us from all their scandals.
The president should just have the professionals in his administration stay focused on the things he knows will work and on which the American people clearly trust his leadership:
1. Good intelligence gathering and analysis about the spread of any threat, free from political or economic pressures.
2. Disaster preparedness.
All this silly talk about scientific developments is so sad. It is quite clear from scripture that this 'mutation' everybody is talking about can't happen. Random chance is not the way God works. Anyway, if a plague spreads across the land, it's all part of God's, I mean "the intelligent designer's" - wink wink - plan.
Harry Reid has invoked a little-used rule to shut down the Senate and pull it into secret closed session this afternoon to discuss the administration's "intelligence" on Iraq. Do read the statement he released about the move today. Every Democrat in DC should study this as an example of how it should be done. I was skeptical of him at first, but Reid has turned into a great leader for the party.
Give 'em hell, Harry.
Update: Watching CNN, I've now heard Wolf Blitzer pronounce "collegial" with a hard g three times. I've never heard that pronunciation before. And oh man, are Frist and Reid pissed off. The most amazing thing I'm hearing from the Republican mouthpieces is that this is a "stunt." Well no kidding. It's the United States Senate, chuckleheads. Everything, but everything, that happens in the Senate is a stunt, from the speeches right on down. That has to be the single stupidest talking point I've ever heard.
The Hubble Telescope has just detected what are likely the second and third moons of Pluto, making it the first Kuiper Belt object to be confirmed as having multiple satellites. About 20% of Kuiper Belt bodies have been confirmed to have orbiting satellites, though the actual number is likely higher.
Michael Bérubé is casting for the Plamegate movie, and puts together a good list. James Caan as Scooter Libby is perfect, as the picture demonstrates. The rest of his list is:
JOHN LITHGOW as Karl Rove
LOUISE LASSER as Judith Miller
PAUL GIAMATTI as Matt Cooper
MATTHEW BRODERICK as Patrick Fitzgerald
ALBERT FINNEY as Joseph Wilson
RANDY QUAID as Tim Russert
DON S. DAVIS as Dick Cheney
LORNE GREENE as Robert Novak
and
LISA KUDROW as Valerie Plame
Over at Unfogged, Fontana Labs says, "John Lithgow? No way. It must be Philip Seymour Hoffman as Rove." Yes, yes, agreed. So it must. And I'll propose the following amendments:
