One Riot One Ranger

This is a call for an immediate offer of cease-fire by US forces in Iraq. United States’ forces of occupation in Iraq should immediately undertake to open cease-fire discussions with any armed faction in Iraq that has a telephone and an e-mail address. Any serious proposal by any American politician for dealing with the invasion of Iraq must contain an offer of a cease fire.

The national consensus for getting out of the fracas in Iraq has been ratified by the recent victory of the Democratic Party. It is apparent to even the meanest intelligence and I do mean dubya that there is no more political support for the occupation. The American people have concluded there are no strategic objectives that can be gained by fighting in Iraq. There is no reason for us to fight anymore.

Bush acknowledges as much. All this dithering since the mid-terms in search of a new rationale for fighting shows the absence of any state interest in Iraq that can be advanced by military means.

Instrumentalities for withdrawal are left to national leadership to work out. That is, after all, what they draw their weekly envelope for. We can’t be expected to figure out everything. How we get out is up to them.

They want an international conference? Fine. They want a regional pact? Terrific. They want to re-jigger the Green Zone PTA? Knock yourselves out. Don’t want to talk to Iran? Don’t blame you. You want to engage the Security Council, NATO? More power to you. But, if you need us to tell you how to do your damn job, we’ll just get somebody else to do it.

The right tries to infect national discussion with confusion by claiming popular indifference to how we get out of the fight is the same as popular disinterest in getting out of the fight. The right will exploit the confusion to continue and even escalate the fighting in Iraq. Bush’s phony consultations are intended to fascinate the barking media and “frame the debate” by “fixing the facts” around further military campaigning in Iraq and smothering the movement to withdraw.

Bush will come out with his New Way Forward or Great Leap Forward or whatever they call it and present it as his plan for withdrawal. He will mock the Democrats and challenge them for their withdrawal plans, then we will have dueling plans and there will be four month plans and six month plans and two year plans and ten year plans and demands for more plans and Bill O’Reilly will have a plan and there will be arguments about withdrawal plans right through to January 2009 when the GOP is expelled from the White House.

Meantime, our troops will continue fighting without end, for no end.

Let the wrangling proceed over how to get out. But stop the fighting. Everyone has agreed we are withdrawing, we only seek agreement on the details. While we do that, lets just chill.

Its probably true that any withdrawal of US Forces will be complicated. We have enduring strategic interests in the region and the invasion of Iraq makes it very tricky to secure them. We have friends who must be rewarded and enemies who must be punished. That will not change. Withdrawal of forces will have to be managed in a way that does not do further damage to our interests, never forgetting that the presence of our forces in Iraq itself jeopardizes our interests. So, I understand the whole deal has to be handled with delicacy, with care.

Fighting in Iraq between the various armed factions in Iraq will not change either. It’s a sad fact that US troops can’t effect.

Personally, I favor Plan 747. That’s the plan where we put our people and all the gear they can carry on 747’s and fly them to Crested Butte for an all expense paid weekend but there’s still a lot of stuff to work out so we’ll skip over that for now.

It is felt the disgraceful lynching of Saddam and his minions provides a brief lift or “surge” to the appearance of US power in Iraq. At least, the righties and the barking press are mightily impressed. Propped open on every Sunday breakfast table in the country is the morning paper with Saddam’s scalp flying from its masthead and his shrouded remains sticking out from behind the jam jar.

If the right thinks this is a great victory, let them make the most of it. Dispense the mercy of the victor at this moment of pretend triumph and offer a cease fire with anyone who will take us up on it. Let the debate over how to withdraw our troops begin. Just stop shooting at them.

The S.O.B. Speaks

Hello all, I am guest blogger #3(?), the infamous Sister of Dr. B or S.O.B. for short. I feel a bit of a weight hanging over me as not only is this my virgin attempt at blogging, but I have my big sis to live up to. Besides, if I fuck up she will give me the evil eye so I have to be careful, very careful.....I thought I'd start off with a little story which illuminates the true nature of your beloved Dr. B. Let us turn back the clock to 1977.....

I was just a wee innocent, with nothing but total devotion for my big sister. In this story I am S and she, of course is B.

B is laying in her room reading as always. I quietly and respectfully walk in.
S-"Will you play with me?"
B-"No."
S-"Pleeeese! We can play whatever you want."
B-"No!"
S-"Come on, it will be fun" (picture sad disappointed puppy dog eyes)
B-"GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"

I depart with some measure of dignity intact and eventually find something fun to occupy myself. Shortly thereafter in walks B.

B-"Okay, I'll play with you."

I drop everything.
S-"Yeah! What do you want to play?"
B-"Let's play horses in your room."
S-"Okay."
B-"Let's make horse blankets for our horses. We can use your socks."
S-"Okay." (dramatic music indicating foreshadowing)

So we cut up numerous pairs of socks to make blankets for our Breyer horses. Twenty minutes later....
B-"I don't want to play anymore, I'm going to read. Bye."
S-"Wait! Help me clean up!"

B departs and does not return. Our mother however walks past and looks in on me.

Mother-"WHAT IS THIS MESS?"
S-"We were making horse blankets."
Mother-"WITH YOUR NEW SOCKS?"
S-"It was B's idea."

Mother was not impressed, nor did she give a hoot that it was not my idea. While B enjoyed finishing her book, I was paying penance for our game. This pattern would repeat itself throughout our childhood.

Now I know you all might be shocked by the revelation of B being so magnanimous towards her little sister, but you see, all along she was helping me develop character and fortitude to face the trials and tribulations of life. I love my big sis.

Guest Blogger Apologizes, Changes Subject

This is from Guest Blogger, Stroll.

How could this happen to lovely me? -- Jacqueline Susann

Regarding my previous post, on the subject of prophylactic mastectomies, I’d like to apologize to y’all for suggesting things I didn’t mean to suggest. First, I wanted to entertain the subject that “a woman’s right to choose” is about more than abortion. What I conveyed is that I think women’s choices on their bodies should be scrutinized and regulated, which is not the case.

I also wanted to convey that I distrust medicine, which came out as “I distrust women”. You might be interested (or not) to know that I have a number of my own medical conditions, one of which is a neoplasia that requires frequent monitoring. In fact, the doctor that I see about it is a pioneer in his field – kind of famous even. Over the course of having this pre-cancerous spot (which is nothing so serious as an actual cancer) I have been poked and prodded, in clinical trials and experimental treatments, zinged, zapped, and made to sign hundreds of papers. I’ve been misdiagnosed, had things overlooked, and been rushed with my interest in my own condition. I’ve seen some shady things go down, and some real God-complex attitudes from doctors. All this from the top of the food chain of these kinds of conditions. I’ve seen the money that changes hands, which is necessary – money makes the world go round as they say – but still makes me squirm. I’ve taken to seeing just the nurse practitioner (who can do everything the doctor does) who I love and who is the only “doctor” who has never made me feel like an idiot for asking questions, and never been impatient with me. I love him. I haven’t been through anything like Tuskeegee, or breast cancer for that matter, but I’ve learned over the years that doctors and the medical arts do not know everything and they’re not always up front about everything either. They get things wrong, which is why I question, maybe irrationally, things about which they are certain. 80%, for example.

Anyway, my own decisions have not been questioned. I should extend the courtesy, I know. Additionally, I wanted to convey sympathy for the woman – a real person – in the article, but came off sounding like I think she’s crazy and has no idea what’s best for her. That’s not the case either. The bottom line, as pointed out to me quite nicely, is that what a woman decides to do to her breasts is none of my damn business, which is the case. I wanted to express that I feel queasy about the choice during her youth, that I thought that maybe a psycho-social phenomena was happening to her leading her to make an “extreme choice”, but that got me onto a topic that I don’t know anything about. I’m good for one thing and that’s running my mouth when I have no clue. My heart was in the right place, but I also know that the road to hell—or misogyny as it were—is paved with good intentions. I’ll watch it. In any case I wish that woman all the best, as I do all of you who are dealing with any health care matters.

I got information on breast cancer prevention and treatment, which is good. Part of me was like, “just delete that shit”, but your comments make it worth leaving up.

So anyway a new topic for a new day. This may be a little incoherent. I’m sure you’ll tell me.

In the “gay community” (and the world at large really) image is a big deal. Like women who deal with This Is How You Should Look from the images they receive in our culture, gay men have the “gay mainstream” (our magazines, advertising, etc), which sends images of young, flawless, zero-percent body fat, and hairless. I like to think of myself as immune to the messages of advertisers and the media. But I’ll admit, I want to be pretty too. All is vanity.

The gays—within that set there are of course lots of other identities—are a people who, as a group, largely prize youth and good-looks, two things that are fleeting, which has led many a gay man to hunt them down and keep it at whatever cost. A professor of mine once said, “Capitalism can absorb anything.” A little political leeway and a bit of acceptance in the mainstream, and now gays are a marketing demographic. And like any other demographic, a good way to get us to buy things is to tell us, “this will make you hot.”

Sexual orientation, or whatever you want to call it, is a social construct, or so I’m told. Whatever it is, there is something in us all that tells us what equipment we like on the people we have sex with. A lot of the hatred and disgust over homosexuality in our society has to do with the fact that sex, of any kind, is something dirty and to be avoided, or at least not discussed. By being identified as gay, we have our sex practices identified too, and they’re different than the majority’s. Gay people have much more to their identities than just “gay” or “lesbian” but nonetheless that part of your identity – the gay or lesbian part – is there because of the kind of sex you have, or want to have. There are plenty of queers married and pretending, but they are gay because of their true desires of the sexual variety.

What I’m getting at is that while gays fall in love and have relationships just like strait people do, the reason any of us -- gay or straight -- get in the relationships with a person of the sex we do is because of the sex we’re eventually going to have.

There are people of both sexes that I think are amazing people, that I relate to well, that I think of as awesome human beings and I love them. There could even be what you might call "chemistry". But there's not an interest in intimacy. So why wouldn't I imagine myself married or "dating" one of them? Sex.

Two questions for your consideration. Does concern about how we look boil down to “am I sexually desirable”? And whether we are gay or straight, can romantically committed love (as opposed to the way you love your mother or a dear friend for example) exist between two people without sexual desire between them?

Alienation and the Family (and the world)

Hello, loyal Bitch readers. I am M. LeBlanc, my blog lives here, and I am an alcoholic. Okay, that last part's not true. I'm not much for introductions, so I'm just going to launch into the first of what will likely be a series of unnecessarily tiresome and wordy ramblings. But hey, with guest bloggers you can't be too choosy.

I used to think that my alienation from my family was unique. Not my immediate family, with whom I feel a close bond, like we are a little army apart from the world, struggling to maintain our structural integrity; my extended families. I come from a bi-cultural home, and I don't think I've ever vocalized my feeling of otherness very well. In fact, I've had a feeling of otherness everywhere I go. I'm half-Egyptian, half-American, raised in a family whose finances are upper middle class by Egyptian standards, poor by American standards. But we always behaved like rich people. I can't exactly describe how it is that we behave like rich people; it's not in the things we have, but in our blustery lack of doubt. There are two particular things we value, and pursue with such a certainty, that it perplexes everyone related to us: 1) travel, and 2) education.

Valuing travel the way I do makes people who don't know me think I'm either rich or crazy. Since I moved to the United States six and a half years ago, I've left the country seven times, and I left Egypt probably ten times over the course of my four high school years. Every time anyone finds out that I'm traveling, they'll say "oh, I would love to travel, but I just can't afford it." Unfortunately, I can't afford it either. I've gone into debt and lived off ramen just for a chance to see someplace new.

Education's been kind of the same way. Neither my sister or I had any support to go to college, but we did it anyway. She has completed, and I am about to complete, graduate degrees, programs that we started out without any idea of how we were going to pay for them. I realized that our cousins and aunts and uncles must look at us and feel like we're aliens. My Egyptian relatives don't understand our choices; how my siblings and I all left home, with no second home to go to, and just started living on our own, doing as we please. I think in their minds, they explain our differentness with money, and with American citizenship, which gives us freedom to traverse the world (and, e.g., get federal student loans from the American government). But with my American relatives, I think it's a bit more perplexing. They know we don't have money. And further, they believe that we endured a handicap by being raised in a single parent household, because my mother died when the youngest of us was seven and the oldest fourteen (my father never remarried).

When we visit with out Egyptian relatives, it's painfully awkward. They see us as coming from a different world, and they're right. And this Christmas, I realized the same thing visiting my American relatives. We're like this curiousity, these oddballs, poor people who behave like rich people, who speak multiple languages, who they like but who make them feel like they have to defend their choices, their lives.

But my alienation spreads beyond just my family. I have cultural alienation, too. When I go to Egypt, it feels like home because I spent my entire childhood there, but not because I feel like I blend in. More than anywhere else in the world, when I'm in Egypt, I feel painfully American. My sense of self-reliance, my confidence, my stubbornness, my (flawed as it may be) moral compass, are all American. But living here in the States, I feel like an outsider, too. It fades, the longer I live here, but it's still there. I'm virtually ignorant of pop culture, particularly television, and I approach life with a characteristically Egyptian, laid-back "insha'allah" attitude that many people find maddening.

I didn't fit in in college. I went to a mediocre state school where it felt like I was the only one who gave a shit about learning. I think I made two or three friends the whole time I was there; I didn't like anyone, and my classmates resented me and thought I was arrogant (I'm sure I was, but there was also a little bit of the ol' sexism going on there). In law school, again, I'm alienated. I'm not as driven as everyone else and come from a much poorer background than most of my classmates, I haven't worked a real job when most of my classmates have. Luckily, I've had much better luck making friends, and I was thinking today, about how all my friends feel in some sense the same way I do: alienated from family or from classmates, not purposefully so, but by virtue of not fitting in in some way, not possessing some common trait. It binds us together.

After all, isn't alienation part of the human condition? I've been thinking, and I wonder if my feeling of otherness in every environment I've ever been in isn't an unqualified good. What would it be like, to feel as though you fit in exactly somewhere? Has anyone ever felt that? Isn't that how we maintain our sense of self, our identity, by comparing ourselves to others? Part of our necessary struggle, too, is searching for the place where alienation isn't. That's what, e.g., sororities and fraternities are about, and the search for love, and the labors of friendship. So maybe I'm not so unique. If you look on any blog, you'll find Christmastime kvetching about family, complaints of inscrutable colleagues, romantic woes. Who is it, among us, that never goes places where she feels like an outsider, an alien, an other? I dare say that would be a lesser kind of life.

Removeable Parts

It’s me, your old friend Stroll from The Butch Stroll, back to Guest Blog and fill up space here at your favorite blog, Bitch, PhD.

ITEM! This morning on my way to work, I saw that people were already lined up around the block on both sides of the entrance to the Apollo Theater, and news crews were all set up rolling film. James Brown will lie in state there today, beginning at 1:00 PM, when he is brought in via horse-drawn carriage. This song from the nineties becomes current again, by the way. Its title was going to come true eventually.

ITEM! In other recently-deceased-people news, you’ve probably seen the headlines by now, that Ford disagreed with Bush on the Iraq invasion and criticizes his own former cabinet members, Cheney and Rumsfeld. I guess it’s an ex-presidential custom to wait until you’re dead to say things like this? Interesting, from the man who, in his time, was unfairly called “the only U.S. president to lose a war”.

ITEM! Now for what I really wanted to ask you people about. A woman’s right to choose – but not to choose what you might think.

You may have noticed from my comments here and elsewhere that I have a lot of trouble choosing sides on issues. Here is a prime example.

This article about a woman who had both her breasts removed to prevent cancer is a kind of old news—I blogged about this when I first read it in October—but it has remained on my mind as one of those “case studies” in medical ethics that is not as easy as it looks on the surface. I turn to you, Bitch PhD. Readers, for your expertise on these kinds of things. I know you are feminists out there, many of you are academics and philosophers, and probably a variety of medical professionals are in the house too. I’ve only seen the strait-news article, but no commentary on this decision.

The story is that a young woman of 23 is so terrified of getting the breast cancer that killed her mother, that she gets tested for the "breast cancer gene", which comes back positive. (An aside: her biggest concern seems to be how this would affect her ability to have children.) I'm not sure how accurate the article is on this but it says that when that gene shows up it means you have an 80% chance of developing cancer. (Is there really a test that can tell you how likely you are to get breast cancer?) I'm of course no expert on cancer, so correct me if I'm wrong, but if you detect breast cancer early the survival rate is very high.

It seems to me that this woman's problem is psychological. That a doctor would actually provide her with a double mastectomy at such a young age and with no tumors is kind of unbelievable. Then she gets breast implants which are not without their own potential (though less likely than commonly believed) problems, more so, I'd imagine, in a woman with no breast tissue.

I’d hope that a doctor, or any medical professional, would have given her comfort and encouragement along with the knowledge of how to check yourself for cancer and the ways to live a healthy life without amputating something from her body as a preventative measure, and then referred her to a mental health professional to at least allow her time to consider the option she is choosing more deeply with a little guidance. It's so...extreme.

I believe in patient autonomy, but I believe in the autonomy of doctors too. Judging what's in a patient's best interests can be a difficult task, but here...it’s difficult. I’m comfortable with plastic surgery and, for example, a biological woman’s right to remove her breasts as a transitional gender-identity thing – so why am I so uncomfortable with this?

"I didn't push her into it," [her doctor] said. "The decision has to be 100 percent driven by the patient. It's an option a doctor shouldn't sell, but shouldn't withhold."

Initially, I entirely disagreed with the above quote, but the more I think about it, the more I am troubled by whether this should be an option we (society) allow. No doubt, the woman paid for it herself because no insurance company is going to pick up the tab for this kind of measure. Also, it is her body, so while I think it’s an over-the-top, unnecessary measure, I can’t find a reason to keep her from doing what she wants, be it a tattoo, or a breast removal.

ITEM! I am obsessed with the song “Listen” from Dreamgirls, as it is the story of my life…only not really.

ITEM! I went to the gym for the first time since 1897 last night and had forgotten how it feels like torture. However, whether or not I have fat rolls hanging off or not, I will be wearing box-cut swim trunks on Fire Island this coming summer, so let's hope I stick with my New Year's Resolution for every-other-day-work-outs lest the world be forced to see me not flat and tight, which is how God wants me to be. ;)

ITEM! Taddy Porter will be with you on Sunday, New Year’s Eve, to take you into the New Year right.

ITEM! M. Leblanc and SoB (Sister of Bitch) will be appearing soon too!

ITEM! As well as a mystery Guest Blogger, maybe!

Okay. Over and out.

One day cock of the walk; next, a feather duster.

It’s me again, your Guest Blogger, Stroll. Thanks for the welcomes in yesterday's post.

My friend the Notorious S.D.A. had a round of job interviews a while back. He returned from them and informed me that the Devil may in fact wear Prada, but sometimes he wears Ann Taylor. Well, where I work, the Devil wears Cold Water Creek.

As Frumious B mentions in the comments, the Pope also wears Prada on his feet. And after it has been associated with Satan, no less! There are rumors amongst the gays in Italy that his holiness is not only materialistic as evidenced by his love of high-dollar footwear and designer sunglasses, but that he’s also fruity as communion wine.

Who knows, but I do know that there are a lot of queens out there working their vestments. I have been in a lot of churches over the years, for my work, and no matter how hardcore the preaching, there are so many gays running up and down the aisles, playing the organ, directing the choir, and shoutin’ at the devil you wonder if it’s not an after party or a Sunday tea dance. But gays and their numbers in churches far and wide is a topic for another day.

Dr. B herself has asked me to define The Butch Stroll for you all, which I will try to do soon, though it is multi-layered and kind of complicated, and in the end it means something different to me than it might to your average joe or joanne.

In other news, both James “The Hardest Working Man in Show Business” Brown and Gerald “The Only Unelected President” Ford, have passed away in recent days. As we all know, famous deaths come in threes. So, with sincere sympathies to the families and friends of the deceased and hopes that they find comfort, I’m telling you – keep your eyes peeled for Number Three. (Maybe Gerald Levert was the first in this chain, though.)

Is this thing on?

Hello! I’m Stroll, found at The Butch Stroll, one of your Guest Bloggers here at Bitch PhD, while the good Dr. Bitch is busy regulating on their asses at the MLA. There are others to follow: Taddyporter, M. Leblanc, and Sister of Bitch. I’m not quite sure I’m supposed to go first, but I’m throwing caution to the wind. I think we all got too busy with the holidaze to set a firm plan.

I am honored to be here, because this is, as you are well aware, one of the best blogs in all of blogdom. Bitch’s is one of the first blogs I started reading, when I discovered it via Rob Helpy Chalk’s. I found his blog searching for information on genetics for a paper I was writing, and then found Bitch’s which became useful for a paper on abortion I was writing at the time. I was an academic, see, and my blogging “roots” are firmly rooted in academia. Were it not for that damned thesis on autonomy in the medical context I gave up on. Well, not so much “gave up on” as “accessed my own autonomy and quit because it was making me physically ill to think about any longer.” I still owe CUNY $450, but I digress.

I am but a bit player on the blogosphere stage, focusing mostly on nuanced yet highly important matters such as celebrity adoptions from Africa and Britney Spears’ exposed cooter. While Bitch is funny and personal and entertaining, among other things, she is also an academic and a scholar. So I warn you that I am not nearly as smart as she, nor am I as good a writer. In fact, I expect many comments on my poor spelling and grammar, which is fine. While I’m at it I might as well warn you also that I’ve been told my sense of humor doesn’t translate well on the internets. So bare with me.

What I want to report to you on this first day of Guest Blogging, is that, the War on Christmas was once again a huge failure. Christmas still happened! People still gave gifts! No one forgot the Reason for the Season! It seems like we made zero headway. I’m telling you, we have to plan better for next year. Stay the course and all that.

I live in the illustrious Queens, NY, and I’ve just returned home from my parents’ bungalow in the woods of NC, where I was forced to stuff my face repeatedly and mingled with family and old friends. It was pleasant, I suppose, but I have to kind of walk on eggshells around my brother. He is both a volatile recovering drug addict and a volatile born-again Christian. In fact, my upbringing was deeply religious of the Southern Baptist variety. I hadn’t been in the truck with my dad from the airport more than ten minutes before he asked me if I’ve seen The Da Vinci Code, a question to which I replied, “No, but it’s funny you ask because I just bought the book at the airport and have been reading it.” My cousin’s husband had apparently given them a (bootleg!) DVD of the movie and he was asking me what it’s about. I told him it has something to do with Christ marrying and having kids. Then he told me how the Discovery channel is always showing programs about how Jesus wasn’t who “he said he was”. I reminded him that the Bible says that Jesus did so many things over the course of his life, that if they were all written down the world itself could not contain all the books.

Richard Dawkins, at his infamous talk that appeared on C-SPAN recently, spoke a little bit about “coming out” as an atheist. He claimed that there are a lot more atheists out there than people realize, because so few people want to get into it with their families, friends, communities, etc. I myself am haunted by religion. As I said, I have my upbringing, and just life in the Bible Belt in general, and now I find myself employed by one of the largest religious organizations in the world. They do good work, and are progressive in some regards, but they are unmistakably Christian. So it’s hard for me to “come out” with my religious beliefs (of which there are none). Rather than shatter my parents hopes for me spending eternity in the arms of the Lord, I just keep it to myself. It’s easier. Kind of like being gay, honestly.

Philosophically, I’m an atheist. But in my “heart”, I think there might be something greater out there, something that guides the universe and allows nature to happen, etc. I bet there are Real Life philosophers who are reading this rolling their eyes at the contradiction in those two statements. I can’t blame them. For one thing, I’m not one of those “I’m not religious, I’m spiritual” people, because, as my friend Mike says, “as if one is better than the other.” I’m also not one of those “agnostic” people, because they are just atheists who are afraid of commitment. So I am what I am. Torn. When I doubt my doubts, I wonder if it is the 30 years of indoctrination or if it is the Lord God himself. This is what I think about all the time.

Anyway, I’m home for Christmas, and one of the gifts my brother gets is a five book set of sermons by some famous preacher-man in the 1800’s. During discussion of this man’s life, it comes up that he was a Baptist and a Calvinist. My brother used the opportunity to tell me the tenants of Calvinism, which include “unconditional election”, which I asked him to define. Basically, your name either is or isn’t in the Book of Life, and you can’t do shit about it. Which led me to ask, “Then what’s the point?” As I said, I was once a pretend-philosopher, and I was pretty good at Philosophy of Religion, so I know the problem with that is that if God knows who’s going to heaven and who’s going to Hell beforehand -- then what the heck can you do to save yourself, or others for that matter? This angered both my brother and my dad, and they went into all kinds of illogical explanations for why they make any sense whatsoever (which they don’t). I mean, I can understand a religious belief system to an extent, but how can anyone believe this crap? Because if you believe that, you believe that your Creator created people just to send them to hell.

Later I went to a Moravian Love Feast which is one of the few things you can pretty much find only in NC. It was lovely. I even sang.

Incidentally, there’s a man in Times Square lately that wears a sandwhich board that says, on both sides, “Hell is for Fools”. He is clearly not familiar with the Gospel of Pat (Benetar), which proclaims that “Hell is for Children”.

Well…I’ll shut up for a bit now. Next time I won’t be so long winded. I’m just excited for day one of this! An audience besides my few friends and people clicking “next blog”! I love a little attention so indulge me. Holla.

P.S. Here is an article on Myths about Atheism via Susan in the previous post's comments.

Not even a mouse

Merry Christmas, y'all.

Notes from our Xmas eve present opening:

1. My aunt was truly charmed by the mice, which kinda made my night. She and my cousin both held them for quite some time.
2. PK stopped opening presents halfway through his pile. While I was pleased that the paper airplane book I gave him was such a great present he wanted to stop and build airplanes for two hours, I definitely decided that the "one present per relative" policy has to be more strictly enforced. And yes, I'm one of the worst offenders.
3. Crispy goose skin = teh yum.
4. Xmas in SoCali means walking to the car in bare feet. It also means that everyone gives everyone else exotic tropical plants! Me: jade (in bloom, even) and two pots of birds of paradise, all of which I'll transplant to much bigger pots so that I can take 'em with me when we buy a place. Mr. B.: sanseveria to replace the one he had from his mom that we couldn't transport this time. Aunt: an orchid for her room in the nursing home, which I'll be visiting often enough to take care of it.
5. Thank god my sister warned me about one of my presents, so that I didn't haul the "Bitch PhD" shirt out of the box and wave it in front of my dad. However, I'm going to have to have a talk with her about the enormous ashtray with the surly smoking little girl painted on it and the slogan "too young to die," which I did not exactly enjoy trying to explain to PK, thankyouverymuch.

Now I'm hoping PK gets to sleep quick so that Santa can deliver the balance board (for budding skate punks and surfers everywhere) and Star Wars figures before going to bed.

Hope everyone else is having a happy. Starting Tuesday, look for New! Exciting! Voices!

Give til it hurts!

If you missed Katha Pollitt's January 1 column in the Nation, good: because this post will be new to you. If you didn't, feel free to skip it. Unless you want to know which of the charities she listed are Bitch-approved.

Herewith, three new charities that are well worth your holiday check/tax return-funded donations.

The Indigenous Women's Political Caucus. Out of the fight against the South Dakota abortion ban and the spirited local campaigns of progressive Native American women comes the IWPC. Founded by brilliant organizer Charon Asetoyer, this new group will support grassroots activism on women's rights and social justice. They'll be lobbying the solidly antichoice state legislature, building skills and support for future races--all the things the Democratic Party should be doing but isn't (NACB/IWPC, Box 572, Lake Andes, SD 57356).

Women's Health and Justice Initiative. Fifteen months after Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans is still a disaster area--especially for women of color. They were the most vulnerable before the hurricane and are much worse off now. The WHJI is opening a women's health clinic on the site of a shuttered clinic in Treme, one of America's oldest black neighborhoods. This is a new grassroots organization for which even a handful of donations would make a huge difference (Box 51325, New Orleans, LA 70151). Ed: You can hear an interview with the founders here.

New Orleans Musicians Hurricane Relief Fund. Because where would we be without jazz, zydeco, Cajun, gospel and blues? This group gives a helping hand to local musicians with such pressing problems as housing, instrument replacement, finding work. If you ever thrilled to Irma Thomas or Professor Longhair, it's time to say thank you. (800) 957-4026; 828 Royal St., # 833, New Orleans, LA 70116. Ed: My own sentimental favorite NOla charity. Do check out the "events" column on their website. If you're in Cali on New Year's Eve, you might really want to go to the Hatter's Ball at the Sonoma County Fairgrounds--they'll be raising money for NOMHRF.

And a couple of magazines, for last-minute gift subscriptions or, if like me you plan on writing off the costs of all magazines and newspapers as business expenses, last-minute tax writeoffs.

In These Times. The left seems to think its magazines can live on air, then slaps its collective forehead--oh noooo!--when yet another publication gasps its last. Right now, before you forget, subscribe to our Chicago-based sister publication and help this lively monthly provide in-depth reporting, provocative commentary, reviews and, of course, the Appall-o-meter. ITT has lots of new, young talent on board, so prepare to be challenged and surprised. Already a subscriber? Give it to a library, a high school, your doctor's waiting room--at a low holiday rate of $19.95 a year (Box 1912, Mt. Morris, IL 61054).

The Women's Review of Books. How many of you who complain about the paucity of women reviewers and the slighting of books by/about women subscribe to the WRB? I thought so. Well, give yourself a treat, and get up-to-date on everything from Doris Lessing's latest novel to Ayaan Hirsi Ali's latest polemic, with sharp analysis from Vivian Gornick, Dorothy Allison, Ann Snitow and other great minds that do not think alike. Spread the word with gift subs, at $33 (Old City Publishing, 628 N. 2nd St., Philadelphia, PA 19123).

What rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

The antichrist is due around Christmas.

Two captive female Komodo dragons have had virgin births by a process called parthenogenesis, when an unfertilised egg develops into a normal embryo without being fertilised by a sperm.

The eggs of one of the lizards - a female called Flora at Chester Zoo - are due to hatch early in the new year, said Kevin Buley, one of the zoo's curators.
....
"Essentially what we have here is an immaculate conception ... and it is a possibility that the incubating eggs could hatch around Christmas time," he said.

And if the male offspring of these dragon virgin births mate with their mothers, well, then, it just proves Milton was right not only about the snake thing, but also about Sin and Death.

. . . the Portress of Hell Gate reply'd;
Hast thou forgot me then, and do I seem
Now in thine eye so foul, once deem'd so fair
In Heav'n, when at th' Assembly, and in sight
Of all the Seraphim with thee combin'd [ 750 ]
In bold conspiracy against Heav'ns King,
All on a sudden miserable pain
Surprisd thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzie swumm
In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast
Threw forth, till on the left side op'ning wide, [ 755 ]
Likest to thee in shape and count'nance bright,
Then shining Heav'nly fair, a Goddess arm'd
Out of thy head I sprung; amazement seis'd
All th' Host of Heav'n back they recoild affraid
At first, and call'd me Sin, and for a Sign [ 760 ]
Portentous held me; but familiar grown,
I pleas'd, and with attractive graces won
The most averse, thee chiefly, who full oft
Thy self in me thy perfect image viewing
Becam'st enamour'd, and such joy thou took'st [ 765 ]
With me in secret, that my womb conceiv'd
A growing burden. Mean while Warr arose,
And fields were fought in Heav'n; wherein remaind
(For what could else) to our Almighty Foe
Cleer Victory, to our part loss and rout [ 770 ]
Through all the Empyrean: down they fell
Driv'n headlong from the Pitch of Heaven, down
Into this Deep, and in the general fall
I also; at which time this powerful Key
Into my hand was giv'n, with charge to keep [ 755 ]
These Gates for ever shut, which none can pass
Without my op'ning. Pensive here I sat
Alone, but long I sat not, till my womb
Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown
Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. [ 780 ]
At last this odious offspring whom thou seest
Thine own begotten, breaking violent way
Tore through my entrails, that with fear and pain
Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew
Transform'd: but he my inbred enemie [ 785 ]
Forth issu'd, brandishing his fatal Dart
Made to destroy: I fled, and cry'd out Death. . .

Introducing Xmas Guest bloggers!

Wow, there are tons of you who want to blog in this space. I'm honored! It's the header image, isn't it?

Okay, so, having read various people's blogs and faux blog entries and introductions and alla that, we'll start (in time-honored pageant fashion) with the runners up:

Heebie Geebie and Choosy One (who's going to start a new blog any minute), get calendars, and go into the virtual Bitch rolodex for my next vacation. Alas, Heebie's grandmother might not be annoying her any more by that point, but she's a clever one. Plus I know where to find her. Choosy says she wants to talk about work/life balance, which is still too fresh a topic on this blog for even more ranting on it--but in a couple months, y'all will be so damn bored of my stay-home mom nonsense that you'll be thrilled to hear from a woman with an actual paying job for a change.

And the winner! I'm a happy camper, because Stroll over at The Butch Stroll is willing to blog here for a wee bit. He's too modest about his spelling and such, but even when he's kissing my ass his smart aleckyness shows through. And usually he's not kissing my ass, but just being one of my favorite diaristic bloggers. Plus he's a big ol' fag and he liked PK's sword fight with Darth Vader, and he hates Christmas. What more could one ask for?

He'll be helping out Mr. Taddyporter, who lives (so far) in the comment boxes. I'll let those of you who don't yet have a sense of him get one as he moves up to the front page.

Also, because she threatened not to get me anything for Christmas, my little sis will do a couple guest posts. She's been wanting to get even with me since we were teenagers, and out of the magnanimity of my heart, Ima give her this opportunity.

M. LeBlanc, on the other hand, threatened to tell everyone about our shameful past, plus she's going to be buying me drinks tomorrow, so I'm going to have her do a couple posts as well.

So them's the people that'll be entertaining you starting the day after Christmas, when I'll be jetting off to Philadelphia to be entertaining people at the MLA. I'll be back in this space on the 8th of January.

And a happy hanukkah to our jewish friends!

In a nice gesture of outreach to Jews, the Mormon church announced on Tuesday that it won't baptise Simon Wiesenthal to help him get to heaven, after all.

And are the Jews grateful? I ask you.

Last minute feminist gifts!

Okay, folks, there's still time to get things in the Priority Mail for Xmas giving! Quick, run!!!!!

Now that you're in the properly panicked state of mind, here are three final suggestions.

1. Not a book, but you so know someone who needs these "Gayest Spot in Town" hand towels. Scroll about halfway down the page, and tell me that that isn't the perfect $10(ish) gift.

2. Do you know a cool chica? Buy her the new essay collection We Don't Need Another Wave: Dispatches from the Next Generation of Feminists. Seriously, some very cool essays in there on the "young feminist" topic--but though it seems aimed mostly at high school/college-aged women (Jessica of Feministing fame's got a nice piece in there on the subject of why the "I'm not a feminist but" crowd needs to just get over it, already), this older feminist really found some of the pieces quite moving. Especially, dear god, Kat Yoas's piece, "I Went to College and All I Got Was this Trailer-Trash T-Shirt," which should be required reading for feminist academics and is right up there with the late Allison Crews's "When I Was Garbage" in the "best feminist essays of recent years" category. Come to think of it, Breeder would be an awesome present for any young mothers or mothers-to-be on your list; paired up with We Don't Need Another Wave, it would be great reading material for the first few weeks of nursing. Or hell, give 'em both to anyone you know who teaches composition or women's studies.

3. An oldie but goodie, out in a much improved fifth edition: Guide to Getting It On! Let me admit right up front that there's something about the tone of this particular sex guide that kinda bugs me: it's a little too clearly written by a man trying a little too hard to be feminist and hip. That said, the content? Is awesome. It's aimed at (straight) young people, but (for example) the chapter on cunnilingus is for once in the history of sex manuals properly informative about both technique and anatomy--oh, *that's* why the area above my pubic bone is so involved in the good orgasms! It also, as author Paul Joannides pointed out to me, has a pretty darn good chapter on "The Historical Breast and Bra" that emphasizes finding a good fit and warns women and men alike not to just assume that what looks good online or in (shudder) Victoria's Secret Slag Heap is worth buying. If you want to be the cool aunt or uncle, this is the book to buy for your nephew or niece, my qualifications about tone notwithstanding. After all, it's not like people are overloaded with feminist-ish sex advice and information. Extra bonus for the aunt or uncle gift-buyer: essentially the book's approach to sexuality is fairly conservative, of the "better to wait than to push" variety. You can point this out to grandpa if he raises an eyebrow.

Update: If you order the Guide to Getting it On through this link, I don't get the Amazon bonus--but you get a signed copy in a gift box with a card, a bookmark, and a "do not disturb" door hanger.

Completely pathetic and shameful bleg

Does anyone happen to know where the fuck to get one of those goddamn 4" Luke Skywalker figures? And get it shipped to me by goddamn Xmas? Not the new ones that are all freakishly buffed out, please. Preferably one of the sorta standard ones with the white tunic or somesuch rather than the orange flightsuit.

Yes. This, this is what parenting does to you. God forbid that PK's probable last year of believing in Santa should be marred by his possibly wondering why Santa failed to provide him with his Favorite Star Wars character in his stocking.

Feel free to leave mocking, rather than helpful comments. I realize that this post is completely risible and deserves mockery.

The spirit's unwilling, but the flesh is weak

I don't want to quit smoking (again. Yes I started up at some point about three months after I quit last spring, goddamnit). And yet, as with the last time I quit, I'm out of cigarettes and feeling rather lazy about going to get more. Which is going to win out, my desire to smoke or my laziness?

Don't forget to factor in the following variables:

1. I like smoking, goddamnit. That is to say, I like smoking the brand I smoke, which actually are nice, and which don't taste like crap the way most cigarettes do.

2. I have a bit of a phlegmy cough this morning. Yeah, I know. Shut up.

3. Must admit am not especially crazy about the 'smoker's breath' thing.

4. PK is after me to quit, and I told him I would when we moved to California, and I haven't, and I'm setting a Reallly Bad Example.

5. My goal is to do the 2-3 cigs a day thing and really enjoy them. Preferably when PK isn't around (which is really the entire point of smoking anyway; to chill out for ten minutes).

FUCK.

Heroes of the week

Diana Bijon and Mike Buday.

On the marriage license application, which now costs $70 to file in L.A. County, Bijon could simply fill in her last name or her soon-to-be husband's last name.

But if Buday wanted to become a Bijon, he would have to get an order of the court to do so — and not before he had filed a petition, paid $320, advertised public notice of his intention to change his name for four weeks in a local newspaper and then appeared before a judge.

"It strikes both of us — especially me — that this is not on equal ground," said Buday, now married to Bijon for more than a year but reduced to still using his, well, maiden name. "This is about gender equality."

More power to them. It's always cool when men file lawsuits for gender equity that involves claiming a traditionally feminine 'privilege,' rather than in order to retain their manly rights or to undermine women's equality.

Best wishes to the Bijons for a long and happy marriage.

christmas contest

I have, for purposes of reader gifties, four George W. Bush Out of Office Countdown calendars, courtesy of the folks at Sourcebooks. And a copy of Bob Woodward's State of Denial, courtesy Simon and Schuster.

So whaddya gotta do to get your hands on 'em? Well, I need a couple guest bloggers over the holidays so that I can travel worry-free. Taddyporter has already agreed (bless his heart) to be one of 'em. And while I usually just randomly pick someone who either already has a blog that I think needs more attention, or who I think *should* have a blog, this time since I have freebies, I figured I'd make a contest out of it.

So. If you want to publicize your blog here, or if you just have some shit you want to get off your chest, or if you just think it'd be fun to practice being Bitch for a couple weeks, here's what you do:

Send me an email with the header Guest Blogger (otherwise it's gonna get lost in the shuffle). In it, write me a short intro of who you are (if you're a regular commenter, you don't need to worry about this bit). Provide a link to your blog (even if you're a regular; save me the hassle of searching my memory, please) if you've got one. And then write me a short sample blog entry (like a couple hundred words, max) on whatever: a pretend introductory post, a news link you wanted me to blog on but I didn't, your opinion about some aspect of academia or work or parenting, some fluffy shit about shoes or xmas presents or whatever your little heart desires. And yes, if you've guest blogged here already, you can go ahead and make a pitch for a second stint.

And then whoever I pick gets the Woodward book and a calendar. Runner-up gets a calendar. Taddyporter gets a calendar, just 'cause. Fifi gets a calendar because I owe her one from this contest. Fifi, I need your mailing address--drop me a line. (If you don't contact me, I'll have no choice but to send your calendar to Ogged, whose mailing address I already have--but since I sent him plenty of stuff when he was pretending to have cancer, he doesn't need anything more from me.)

And yes, the prize for that last contest is way late. I promise for this one, however, to get the gifties in the mail by next week, priority mail, in time for Xmas giving if you are so inclined. In other words, if you want the gig, email me your entry by Sunday at the latest.

Excerpt from Woodward's book below the fold.

State of Denial by Bob Woodward

Chapter One

In the fall of 1997, former President George H. W. Bush, then age 74 and five years out of the White House, phoned one of his closest friends, Prince Bandar bin Sultan, the longtime Saudi Arabian ambassador to the United States .

"Bandar," Bush said, "W. would like to talk to you if you have time. Can you come by and talk to him?" His eldest son and namesake, George W. Bush, who had been governor of Texas for nearly three years, was consulting a handful of people about an important decision and wanted to have a private talk.

Bandar's life was built around such private talks. He didn't ask why, though there had been ample media speculation that W. was thinking of running for president. Bandar, 49, had been the Saudi ambassador for 15 years, and had an extraordinary position in Washington . His intensity and networking were probably matched only by former President Bush.

They had built a bond in the 1980s. Bush, the vice president living in the shadow of President Ronald Reagan, was widely dismissed as weak and a wimp, but Bandar treated him with the respect, attention and seriousness due a future president. He gave a big party for Bush at his palatial estate overlooking the Potomac River with singer Roberta Flack providing the entertainment, and went fishing with him at Bush's vacation home in Kennebunkport , Maine -- Bandar's least favorite pastime but something Bush loved. The essence of their relationship was constant contact, by phone and in person.

Like good intelligence officers -- Bush had been CIA director and Bandar had close ties to the world's important spy services -- they had recruited each other. The friendship was both useful and genuine, and the utility and authenticity reinforced each other. During Bush's 1991 Gulf War to oust Saddam Hussein from Kuwait and prevent him from invading neighboring Saudi Arabia , Bandar had been virtually a member of the Bush war cabinet.

At about 4 A.M. on election day 1992, when it looked as if Bush was going to fail in his bid for a second term, Bandar had dispatched a private letter to him saying, You're my friend for life. You saved our country. I feel like one of your family, you are like one of our own. And you know what, Mr. President? You win either way. You should win. You deserve to. But if you lose, you are in good company with Winston Churchill, who won the war and lost the election.

Bush called Bandar later that day, about 1 P.M., and said, "Buddy, all day the only good news I've had was your letter." About 12 hours later, in the early hours of the day after the election, Bush called again and said, "It's over."

Bandar became Bush's case officer, rescuing him from his cocoon of near depression. He was the first to visit Bush at Kennebunkport as a guest after he left the White House, and later visited him there twice more. He flew friends in from England to see Bush in Houston . In January 1993 he took Bush to his 32-room mansion in Aspen , Colorado . When the ex-president walked in he found a "Desert Storm Corner," named after the U.S.-led military operation in the Gulf War. Bush's picture was in the middle. Bandar played tennis and other sports with Bush, anything to keep the former president engaged.

Profane, ruthless, smooth, Bandar was almost a fifth estate in Washington , working the political and media circles attentively and obsessively. But as ambassador his chief focus was the presidency, whoever held it, ensuring the door was open for Saudi Arabia, which had the world's largest oil reserves but did not have a powerful military in the volatile Middle East. When Michael Deaver, one of President Reagan's top White House aides, left the White House to become a lobbyist, First Lady Nancy Reagan, another close Bandar friend, called and asked him to help Deaver. Bandar gave Deaver a $500,000 consulting contract and never saw him again.

Bandar was on hand election night in 1994 when two of Bush's sons, George W. and Jeb, ran for the governorships of Texas and Florida . Bush and former First Lady Barbara Bush thought that Jeb would win in Florida and George W. would lose in Texas . Bandar was astonished as the election results poured in that night to watch Bush sitting there with four pages of names and telephone numbers -- two pages for Texas and two for Florida. Like an experienced Vegas bookie, Bush worked the phones the whole evening, calling, making inquiries and thanking everybody -- collecting and paying. He gave equal time and attention to those who supported the new Texas governor and the failed effort in Florida .

Bandar realized that Bush knew he could collect on all his relationships. It was done with such a light, human touch that it never seemed predatory or grasping. Fred Dutton, an old Kennedy hand in the 1960s and Bandar's Washington lawyer and lobbyist, said that it was the way Old Man Kennedy, the ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy, had operated, though Kennedy's style had been anything but light.



Bandar planned his 1997 visit with the Texas governor around a trip to a home football game of his beloved Dallas Cowboys. That would give him "cover," as he called it. He wanted the meeting to be very discreet, and ordered his private jet to stop in Austin .

When they landed, Bandar's chief of staff came running up to say the governor was already there outside the plane. Bandar walked down the aisle to go outside.

"Hi, how are you?" greeted George W. Bush, standing at the door before Bandar could even get off the plane. He was eager to talk.

"Here?" inquired Bandar, expecting they would go to the governor's mansion or office.

"Yes, I prefer it here."

Bandar had been a Saudi fighter pilot for 17 years and was a favorite of King Fahd; his father was the Saudi defense minister, Prince Sultan. Bush had been a jet pilot in the Texas Air National Guard. They had met, but to Bandar, George W. was just another of the former president's four sons, and not the most distinguished one.

"I'm thinking of running for president," said Bush, then 52. He had hardly begun his campaign for reelection as governor of Texas . He had been walking gingerly for months, trying not to dampen his appeal as a potential presidential candidate while not peaking too early, or giving Texas voters the impression he was looking past them.

Bush told Bandar he had clear ideas of what needed to be done with national domestic policy. But, he added, "I don't have the foggiest idea about what I think about international, foreign policy.

"My dad told me before I make up my mind, go and talk to Bandar. One, he's our friend. Our means America , not just the Bush family. Number two, he knows everyone around the world who counts. And number three, he will give you his view on what he sees happening in the world. Maybe he can set up meetings for you with people around the world."

"Governor," Bandar said, "number one, I am humbled you ask me this question." It was a tall order. "Number two," Bandar continued, "are you sure you want to do this?" His father's victory, running as the sitting vice president to succeed the popular Reagan in the 1988 presidential election was one thing, but taking over the White House from President Bill Clinton and the Democrats, who likely would nominate Vice President Al Gore, would be another. Of Clinton , Bandar added, "This president is the real Teflon, not Reagan."

Bush's eyes lit up! It was almost as if the younger George Bush wanted to avenge his father's loss to Clinton . It was an electric moment. Bandar thought it was as if the son was saying, "I want to go after this guy and show who is better."

"All right," Bandar said, getting the message. Bush junior wanted a fight. "What do you want to know?"

Bush said Bandar should pick what was important, so Bandar provided a tour of the world. As the oil-rich Saudi kingdom's ambassador to the United States , he had access to world leaders and was regularly dispatched by King Fahd on secret missions, an international Mr. Fix-It, often on Mission Impossible tasks. He had personal relationships with the leaders of Russia , China , Syria , Great Britain , even Israel . Bandar spoke candidly about leaders in the Middle East, the Far East, Russia , China and Europe . He recounted some of his personal meetings, such as his contacts with Mikhail Gorbachev working on the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan . He spoke of Maggie Thatcher and the current British prime minister, Tony Blair. Bandar described the Saudi role working with the Pope and Reagan to keep the Communists in check. Diplomacy often made strange bedfellows.

"There are people who are your enemies in this country," Bush said, "who also think my dad is your friend."

"So?" asked Bandar, not asking who, though the reference was obviously to supporters of Israel , among others.

Bush said in so many words that the people who didn't want his dad to win in 1992 would also be against him if he ran. They were the same people who didn't like Bandar.

"Can I give you one advice?" Bandar asked.

"What?"

"Mr. Governor, tell me you really want to be president of the United States ."

Bush said yes.

"And if you tell me that, I want to tell you one thing: To hell with Saudi Arabia or who likes Saudi Arabia or who doesn't, who likes Bandar or doesn't. Anyone who you think hates your dad or your friend who can be important to make a difference in winning, swallow your pride and make friends of them. And I can help you. I can help you out and complain about you, make sure they understood that, and that will make sure they help you."

Bush recognized the Godfather's advice: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. But he seemed uncomfortable and remarked that that wasn't particularly honest.

"Never mind if you really want to be honest," Bandar said. "This is not a confession booth. If you really want to stick to that, just enjoy this term and go do something fun. In the big boys' game, it's cutthroat, it's bloody and it's not pleasant."

Bandar changed the subject. "I was going to tell you something that has nothing to do with international. When I was flying F-102s in Sherman , Texas , Perrin Air Force Base, you were flying F-102s down the road at another Texas base. Our destiny linked us a long time ago by flying, without knowing each other." He said he wanted to suggest another idea.

"What?"

"If you still remember what they taught you in the Air Force. I remember it because I spent 17 years. You only spent a few years. Keep your eye on the ball. When I am flying that jet and my life is on the line, and I pick up that enemy aircraft, I don't care if everything around me dies. I will keep my eye on that aircraft, and I will do whatever it takes. I'll never take my eye off."



Former President Bush continued in his efforts to expand his son's horizons and perhaps recruit future staff.

"George W., as you know, is thinking about what he might want to do," he told Condoleezza Rice, the 43-year-old provost of Stanford and one of his favorite junior National Security Council staffers from his White House years. "He's going to be out at Kennebunkport . You want to come to Kennebunkport for the weekend?"

It was August 1998. The former president was proposing a policy seminar for his son.

Rice had been the senior Russia expert on the NSC, and she had met George W. in a White House receiving line. She had seen him next in 1995, when she had been in Houston for a board meeting of Chevron, on which she served, and Bush senior invited her to Austin , where W. had just been sworn in as governor. She talked with the new governor about family and sports for an hour and then felt like a potted plant as she and the former president sat through a lunch Bush junior had with the Texas House speaker and lieutenant governor.

The Kennebunkport weekend was only one of many Thursday-to-Sunday August getaways at Camp Bush with breakfast, lunch, dinner, fishing, horseshoes and other competitions.

"I don't have any idea about foreign affairs," Governor Bush told Rice. "This isn't what I do."

Rice felt that he was wondering, Should I do this? Or probably, Can I do this? Out on the boat as father and son fished, the younger Bush asked her to talk about China , then Russia . His questions flowed all weekend -- what about this country, this leader, this issue, what might it mean, and what was the angle for U.S. policy.

Early the next year, after he was reelected Texas governor and before he formally announced his presidential candidacy, Rice was summoned to Austin again. She was about to step down as Stanford provost and was thinking of taking a year off or going into investment banking for a couple of years.

"I want you to run my foreign policy for me," Bush said. She should recruit a team of experts.

"Well, that would be interesting," Rice said, and accepted. It was a sure shot at a top foreign policy post if he were to win.



Bush raised an important issue with his close adviser Karen Hughes, then 43, a former television reporter who had worked for five years as his communications czar in Texas .

He said he needed to articulate why he wanted to be president. "You know, there has to be a reason," he said. "There has to be a compelling reason to run."

Hughes set out to come up with a central campaign theme. She knew Bush had three policy passions. First, there were the so-called faith-based initiatives -- plans to push more government money to social programs affiliated with religious groups. That enthusiasm was real, but it couldn't be the backbone of a presidential campaign.

Second, Bush cared about education. But America 's schools are run at the state and local level. It would be tough to run for president on a national education platform.

Bush's third belief, in tax cuts, held promise. It could provide the rationale. The campaign autobiography Hughes wrote with Bush -- A Charge to Keep, released in November 1999 -- included 19 provisions about "education" and 17 entries under "taxes." "Faith-based organizations" are mentioned three times. The phrase "foreign policy" occurs twice, both in the context of free trade. There was a single reference to Iraq , no mention of Saddam Hussein, terrorists or terrorism.

During one of the 2000 primaries, Bush called Al Hubbard, a former deputy chief of staff to his father's vice president, J. Danforth Quayle, and one of a group of advisers the elder Bush had recruited to tutor his son on economic issues.

"Hubbard," Bush exclaimed. "Can you believe this is what I'm running on! This tax cut!"



Bush invited Richard L. Armitage, a former assistant secretary of defense in the Reagan administration, to join his team of foreign policy advisers. Armitage, 54, was Colin Powell's best friend. Barrel-chested with a shaved head, a weight-lifting addict who could bench-press 330 pounds, Armitage was a 1967 graduate of the Naval Academy . He signed on because he believed that the Clinton administration had no theory or underlying principle for its foreign and defense policies. It was ad hoc. The Republicans had a chance of getting it right. Armitage was an admirer of Bush senior, who he felt understood the necessity of a strong foreign policy tempered by restraint.

The U.S. military was preeminent in the world and could dominate or stabilize any situation, in Armitage's view. Clinton and his team had failed to develop adequate exit strategies for getting out of foreign entanglements such as Bosnia or Kosovo in the Balkans.

A big job for the next president, he thought, was no less than figuring out the purpose of American foreign policy. Rice's team called themselves the Vulcans. The name started out in jest because Rice's hometown, Birmingham , Alabama , known for its steel mills, had a giant statue of Vulcan, the Roman god of fire and metal. But the group, which included Paul Wolfowitz, the undersecretary for policy in Cheney's Pentagon, liked the image of toughness, and Vulcans soon became their self-description.

In 1999, Armitage attended five meetings with Bush and various Vulcans. He found good news and bad news. The best news was that Bush wanted Powell to be his secretary of state.

At the first Vulcan meeting in February 1999, Bush had asked, "Is defense going to be an issue in the 2000 campaign?" The advisers said they didn't think it would. Bush said he wanted to make defense an issue. He said he wanted to transform the military, to put it in a position to deal with new and emerging threats.

To do that, the advisers said, the military would need new equipment to make it more mobile and modern, and more advanced training and intelligence gathering. This might take 15 to 20 years before the real advantages would be realized. It would certainly be beyond a Bush presidency, maybe not in their lifetimes.

Bush indicated he was willing to make that investment. Armitage and the others worked on a speech that Bush gave at The Citadel, the South Carolina public military university, on September 23, 1999.

"I will defend the American people against missiles and terror," Bush said, "And I will begin creating the military of the next century.... Homeland defense has become an urgent duty." He cited the potential "threat of biological, chemical and nuclear terrorism.... Every group or nation must know, if they sponsor such attacks, our response will be devastating.

"Even if I am elected, I will not command the new military we create. That will be left to a president who comes after me. The results of our effort will not be seen for many years."

Armitage was pleased to see realism in a presidential campaign. He thought that terrorism, and potential actions by rogue states such as Iraq, Iran and North Korea, could be trouble, but not lethal. The big issues in defense policy were the great power relationships with Russia , China and India .

But there was also bad news about Bush. "For some reason, he thinks he's going to be president," Armitage told Powell. It was like there was some feeling of destiny. Bush talked as if it was a certainty, saying, "When I'm president..." Though not unusual for candidates to talk this way in speeches, Bush spoke that way privately with his advisers. It was as if Bush were trying to talk himself into it.

And there was Bush's smirk, Armitage said.

The big problem, Armitage thought, was that he was not sure Bush filled the suit required of a president. He had a dreadful lack of experience. Armitage told his wife and Powell that he was not sure Governor Bush understood the implications of the United States as a world power.

Back to main page

Ask a Bitchy Feminist

Before we get to our own advice today, I want to give Dan Savage (who I like, but who occasionally strikes me as a wee bit sexist) full props for his "advice" to Janice Crouse of Concerned Women for America (barf; don't click the link, which is there only out of a misplaced sense of scholarly integrity).

I knew I had to speak up after Janice Crouse of Concerned Women for America called Cheney's pregnancy "unconscionable." A few thoughts for you, Janice:
. . . .
. . . they're condemning Cheney for creating a "fatherless" child, a child that will have no masculine role models. Have you gotten a good look at Heather Poe, Mary Cheney's partner of 15 years? My son has two fathers, but Heather's left labial lip is butcher than both of us put together. Even if Mary and Heather planned on raising their child on a deserted island somewhere, their kid wouldn't want for masculine role models.
. . . .
Third, Concerned Women for America doesn't think Mary Cheney should have a baby. Great, fine, whatever. But Mary Cheney's uterus belongs to Mary Cheney, Janice, and she can do whatever the fuck she likes with it. She can have babies with it or keep her car keys in it or fill it up with potting soil and plant tulips in it. It's her fucking uterus, Janice, not yours. And if you keep inserting yourself into it people are gonna think you're a dyke too, or Heather Poe is going to show up on your doorstep and beat the holy living hell out of you.

I only need add that I hope Dick Cheney and all the folks who were offended by John Kerry's reference to Mary's lesbianism during the 2004 elections take the time to condemn CWA equally firmly.

Okay, now on to you and your own, personal questions! Question one:

I have a question for you. I was talking to a woman in her late 30s and the subject of babies came up. (btw, I'm a 20-something male.) She asserted that almost all women want to have at least one biological child. This shocked me a little bit, coming from a feminist. I mentioned some friends of mine as counter examples. She replied that all of that changes by the late 30s. Is this true?

No. Next question?

I am a student ( a woman) and I am very ambitious. Now really, tell me what you think of this..Why is it that as woman I am ashamed of being so ambitious? ( I am ashamed to tell anyone, I do not tell this to any male student etc...stupid, isn't it?) I tell myself it is fine, but it makes me feel "bitchy" LOL. Is this the way we were brought up as women? I actually think sometimes that something is "wrong" with me for wanting to achieve so much, PhD, write, success..a great dream..but sacrifices will be made for that too. I think that society judges me, do you understand? I fell in love with someone a while ago, a fellow student, and I actually thought that if he knew how ambitious I was that he would not like me anymore, because it is not "feminine". How do we women get these things in our minds? We can still be feminine and ambitious, it is not one or the other. I actually thought that if I pursue my own dream, of getting a PhD and writing, I would never get a man or a long-term relationship, because an ambitious woman is "just not what a man wants". Strange that I think this way. What do you think? Is this just the way we as women were brought up? Are there men who do like ambitious women? It is so strange: even though I know this is just a problem I have, I feel the following: If I make myself "small" and am quiet and do not speak up and if I do not speak about my ambition openly, I think I am "acceptable" and attractive for men. When I am really myself, open, strong, sincere and argumenttive in discussions, I feel that men will think I am 'bitchy" and that I will never meet anyone who will accept me FOR WHO I AM, that means passionate and ambitious.

Honey. There are TONS of men who LOVE ambitious bitchy women. I'm married to one of 'em and dating another, and I get propositioned all the damn time. Cultivate confidence and you'll have men a-plenty.

As to where it comes from: parents, teachers, and other adults who encourage girls to be "good," and praise them for being "nice" and "sweet" while frowning on them if they "show off" or get too "loud" or "bossy." Now, certainly there's something to be said for temperament. Some girls really are nice and sweet and quiet, and more power to them. PK currently has a crush on a little girl like that in his class. To her credit, though, pretty polite little Amanda is smart smart smarty smart smart and has, if you catch her out of the corner of your eye, a little twinkle of mischeviousness in her eye. (In other words, I already approve of PK's taste in women.) But he also has a crush on a little girl (whose name he doesn't know) who is a li'l older, a li'l hoydenish, and (judging by appearances here) a bit of a bad, wild girl. (I'm so proud of my son.)

So I'm not dissing niceness or sweetness. But I *am* dissing the insecurity that comes from feeling like people (boys) won't like you if you aren't all sugar, all the time. The only boys who expect that shit are jerks, and you don't want 'em anyway. God knows the so-called feminine virtues of consideration and modesty are good ones; but there's nothing wrong with ambition or passion or a little bit of righteous bitchiness. Get yourself involved in something physical, like martial arts or weight-lifting, build up some physical confidence, and practice speaking your mind without qualification. Your letter's full of hesitation and unease (I edited out a lot of LOLs), and yet it's clear you know what I'm going to say and just want a pep talk. So here's your pep talk. You know what to do.

And finally, another question from a boy.

What advice do you have for a guy who is working towards a research career in academia and doesn't want to marry a homemaker, but also doesn't necessarily know if he is willing to sacrifice his career (whatever that means)? I would like to live up to the feminist ideal, but don't know how to do that while gallivanting around the world from post-doc to whatever positions and so on. I just don't want to wake up in 20 years next to someone who has given up their potential just to be with me.

All right, I'ma give it to you straight. My advice is to bite the bullet, keep that feminist desire front and center, and realize--just like the girls--that that means it isn't always going to be cherries and roses. It doesn't have to be an either/or situation. You can marry someone (or not, you know; you don't have to get married) and both have careers.

But. Depending on what those careers are, y'all are probably going to have to do a lot of communicating and compromising to ensure that you both have lives that you can, well, live with. First of all, figure out what your bottom line is: what does "whatever that means" mean, to you? What kind of research do you want to do? Must it be in academia? Might you be willing to get a job in government--say you're in the natural sciences--or private industry? Is yours a career choice that requires "gallivanting around the world," and if so, is doing that absolutely central to what *you* want to do with your research? You already know that you want to marry a career woman, so at least you've got that figured out. What about kids? If you don't want 'em, that simplifies things enormously. If you do, then you--not just your potential future wife--need to figure out how to create a career that's compatible with children. Is gallivanting around the world really going to work with your ideas of what you want your kids' lives to be like? If so, awesome: be up front and clear with the women you date about the fact that you intend to take your kids on field trips and figure out how to work that out with the schooling (maybe homeschool, I dunno). Or that you fully intend to put them in boarding school and arrange your work schedule so that you and they can spend summers in Puerto Rico, where you'll be conducting interviews. If moving your kids all over the place or sticking 'em in boarding school or unschooling 'em isn't your idea of how you intend to raise kids, then you--again, you, personally, not your future wife/partner--need to figure out what your bottom line is, kid-wise, and how to adapt your career to accomodate it.

Start there. And then when/if you meet some smart chica who you admire and respect and have the hots for, start talking.

How Michael Bérubé made me stop blogging for a while

This is sort of a review, in two parts, of Bérubé's new book, What's Liberal About the Liberal Arts?, along with a pathetic explanation of my absence from blogging for the last week or so.

As I was reading, I kept thinking "who is Michael writing this thing for?" On the one hand, it's a somewhat polemical and very erudite (but accessible! and funny!) rejection of the right-wing bullshit about liberal indoctrination in the universities. Enjoyable for me to read, but do I really need to be reading it? I thought. I mean, I already know that the right-wing bullshit is bullshit; I hardly need to be convinced on this point. And it's clearly not really directed at Horowitz or my dittohead Uncle; the polemic, while funny, is precisely the kind of thing that those who aren't already in the choir will dismiss as, well, polemic. Is it aimed at my dad, who's politically liberal but has no clue what goes on in universities? My mom, who prides herself on being "smarter than the average bear," and mortifies me fairly often by pretending to know what goes on in universities without actually doing so? My aunt, the retired school teacher and Ph.D., who's suspicious of "theory" but equally impatient with arguments about right-wing takeover of education?

I couldn't figure the answer to the question out. Mind you, I really liked the book: Bérubé has a knack for writing stuff that I read thinking "yes, yes, of course, yes." He manages to flatter my intelligence by saying complex things very clearly; I always feel like I could have written this my own damn self if I weren't so lazy, and damn him for being so prolific and important while I'm not! I had a similar experience, btw, at the first MLA I ever attended (before I went on the market--I was just dropping in to check out the scene, man). I happened to decide to go to a panel he was on and came out of it thinking, that Bérubé guy knows how to give an MLA paper that actually presents an argument (as opposed to just describing interesting primary material, which is another conference paper format I really like) while making the argument comprehensible and interesting (which is the downfall of most of the more theoretically sophisticated conference papers I've seen). So despite being confused about the intended readership, I found myself jotting notes about things I want to ask him about when I see him at the end of the month in Philadephia.

Of course, I also found myself arguing with things in the margins, e.g. the entire opposition between "the good" and the "moral imagination," on the one hand, and the idea of an innate universal sense of moral truth, on the other that he talks about in the chapter about postmodernism and how he teaches it. But of course, clever bastard, he ends up leading a recalcitrant student (and hence, the reader) through the argument by acknowledging that this opposition seems inherently paradoxical and then saying that of course that doesn't mean that there's some universal moral truth; it just means that each individual has his own idea of what constitutes "the good," and the entire goal is to argue about it.

In other words, Bérubé turns out (in this chapter, at least) to be arguing--I think--that the liberalism of the liberal arts is primarily what I would describe as formalism: a liberalism that's dedicated to the method of argument, rather than to any particular content. Being as I enjoy formalism my own damn self, I'm inclined to like this claim. I'm also inclined to like books that present me with a conundrum that causes me to jot furiously in the margins "but, but" and then ten pages later resolve the conundrum by acknowledging precisely the objection I've been gnawing on. And of course, one realizes as one works through Bérubé's own method here that the man is a darn good teacher--not just because of what he describes in his classroom, which (again), uses methods I recognize and think "yes, I do that too" about, but because he is, blast him, teaching me something as I read, and doing it in a seductively witty and gratifying way, by making me think that I'm coming up with the very arguments he's presenting on my own, rather than because I'm being led to them.

Which, you know, is part of why the right wing dislikes good teachers like Bérubé (and myself). Bérubé says this is because higher education actually works (on which more in the second part); I think it's because good teachers are essentially formalists, which is to say we teach well, part of which means leading students to come to their own conclusions. Dangerous stuff, that, because conclusions one reaches on one's own are more enduring than the simple content dump that conservative educational reformers want us to be doing (on the one hand) and accuse us of doing (on the other): that is, we're not supposed to be indoctrinating students, but merely giving them neutral information; the problem with us (liberal academics) is that we're giving them liberal information and therefore indoctrinating them. It's a stupid and easily refuted argument--as Bérubé cites a colleague saying, we wish we had the power just to get them to do the reading, let alone indoctrinate them. But because it's so stupid, it's kinda easy to blow off. We worry about the effects of this argument on things like political funding for higher ed, but we don't worry about the content of the argument much.

Which leads me to my second point, and the reason I said in my last post lo those many days ago that I realized that I my own damn self (and, by extension, you, dear reader) are the audience for this book. The most bothersome part of the right-wing attack on universities "because they work" (as Bérubé says) is (he doesn't say this; this is me musing after finishing his book) the extent to which we, the professoriate, have swallowed the kool-aid. We are the university; we and the students. We know we're not indoctrinating them, and they know (most of them) that we're not indoctrinating them.

But. We've gotten so defensive about the right-wing criticism that professing is a cushy job that we've psyched ourselves out. "Professors only work a few hours a week," someone claims. "I see my neighbor the college prof mowing her lawn every Friday just before lunchtime." Or, "You only teach three classes? Damn, high school teachers teach six." And instead of smiling and saying, "yes, it is a great job," we get defensive about how our time "off" is, after all, working time, and how hard it is to research and write, and how a lot of the "work" going into writing doesn't look like work, but when I'm out there mowing the lawn on Friday I'm thinking about this intractable problem in my research and how in the world can I account for these unexpected results?

All of which is fine, sort of. At least, inasmuch as the right-wing attack is that professors have it easy, and therefore there is something wrong with higher ed, we're right to argue.

But we're arguing with the wrong half of the attack. The fact is, professor's lives are easy; and this shows that there's a lot right with higher ed. What, after all, is the point of spending half your life reading and writing and thinking, and the other half teaching, if doing so isn't a good thing to do? And I don't mean good in the sense of noble sacrifice; I mean good in the sense of, it's enjoyable. It isn't work, in the pejorative sense of its being a burden, to stand around and talk with my students after class; I like talking to students. It isn't onerous to read; I like reading. It certainly isn't drudgery to argue; few things are more fun than explaining an idea.

And all of these (god, I sound like a reactionary) are the reasons why education is a good thing. By focusing so much on "proving" that we "work hard," we've managed to convince ourselves that it's a drag; and this, even more than anything David Horowitz says, risks convincing our students that knowledge and learning are a waste of time. If they believe us, they might as well drop out and get a job where they can watch tv after 5 pm, instead of doing even more of that awful, difficult thinking. If they look at us bitching and griping and say "bullshit; all this reading and writing look like fun, but all you do is gripe about how menial and dull it all is," then they're likely to decide, at best, that we're ill-qualified to be doing our jobs, and should be replaced by people who actually like teaching and learning; or, alternatively, that the end effect of education is to turn people into malcontents.

Yes, there are things that are frustrating about higher ed, just as there are things that are frustrating about any big group effort. But the funding cuts and higher teaching loads and adjunct outsourcing and such are frustrating because they get in the way of our being able to read and think and write and teach. That is to say, the essence of the job--reading, thinking, writing, teaching--is a good one. And we should say so, and we should defend that idea as being, after all, the entire point of the American Dream: we've found the good life, we should be able to pursue it. We--all of us, not just the professoriate, but the rest of the country and damnit, while we're at it, the rest of the world--should be able to assert without apology that leisure to think is a good thing, one of the primary advantages of being American (that is to say, living in a society in which our basic needs are basically met for most of us).

So in conclusion (as my students would write, but I have to go pick PK up in eight minutes and have put off writing this post long enough), What's Liberal About the Liberal Arts turns out to have a pretty broad audience: people who are smart and like thinking and want to take a seminar on literary theory and/or contemporary politics and/or the state of higher education for about $27.

Unfortunately, having scribbled in the margins of my own copy, I'm going to have to actually buy a couple more copies for Christmas gifts. I expect that these purchases, along with the fact that I have finally purchased a plane ticket to the MLA, thankyouverymuch, will cause Professor Bérubé to reconsider his statement that I'm "way teh lame" for having put off said ticket purchasing until just a few days ago. Ironically, though, despite his teasing, he's more right than he probably realizes (as usual, the bastard): one reason I put it off, just as I put off finishing this review, is that I have internalized a lot of stupid anxiety about "work" and academe, and said anxiety leads to procrastination. However, newly emboldened by my realization that in order to reject (and prove wrong) reactionary nonsense about the value of what I do, I need to stop worrying about impressing people like Bérubé, anonymous editors, and unknown MLA auditors, and just have fun with this shit. Because, you know, it is kinda fun.

And if you're going to make an ass of yourself by saying something stupid, where better to do it than at the MLA?

Way teh lame, here I come.

Where the fuck is that bitch?

I know that all of you are either

(a) worried sick;
(b) bored shitless for lack of new reading material;
(c) thinking "that goddamn bitch, it's just like her to disappear without warning";
(d) assuming that I'm holed up with some hottie in a motel somewhere.

In fact, however, my fucking ISP decided to shift serves sans warning, and I'm only online now b/c PK's TaeKwonDo dojo has wireless access. Supposedly fucking ISP is going to be back up tonight or tomorrow, which is good, because the great Michael Bérubé Book Event happened last month, and as usual I'm late with my contribution, and because of fucking ISP I'm gonna be even later.

So! Once my internet is back up (damn, the withdrawal!), I shall explain to everyone why I read the entire book wondering "who is the audience for this thing?" before finally deciding that, as far as I'm concerned, the audience is my own damn self, and whether you might want to buy the thing and decide if you, too (or maybe your in-laws), are the audience for it. Also, I'll tell you why Professor Bérubé called me "way teh lame," and let you judge whether or not this gratuitious and wholly uncalled-for insult has affected my assessment of this book he's trying to flog.

Jose Padilla, 21st century America's version of Josef K.

Not too long ago I read something about Jose Padilla having been held for three years--it's been three years already--in solitary confinement and thought, fuck. I wonder if he's still sane.

Apparently not.

Warning: reading this literally made me feel queasy, which doesn't happen very often.

According to prosecutors,

His basic needs were met in a conscientious manner, including Halal (Muslim acceptable) food, clothing, sleep and daily medical assessment and treatment when necessary.

Not even for animals are "food, clothing, sleep and medical treatment" sufficient treatment. Fish, maybe. Bugs. But most mammals require more than that. Even PK's mice require companions. Social isolation in mice has been shown to cause aggression, despair-like immobility, and immune system and heart damage, among other things.

Now, imagine the effect of doing this to a man. For over three years.

Mr. Padilla was held alone in a 10-cell wing of the brig; that he had little human contact other than with his interrogators; that his cell was electronically monitored and his meals were passed to him through a slot in the door; that windows were blackened, and there was no clock or calendar; and that he slept on a steel platform after a foam mattress was taken from him, along with his copy of the Koran. . . .

Don't skim over his deprivation of the Koran too quickly. It's surely the only thing he had to read or look at, his only contact with human language other than orders or hostile questions.

When he leaves his cell (for a root canal), he has

noise-blocking headphones over his ears and blacked-out goggles over his eyes.

Apparently one of his lawyers

"was told by members of the brig staff that Mr. Padilla’s temperament was so docile and inactive that his behavior was like that of ‘a piece of furniture.’ ”

He also

"remains unsure if I and the other attorneys working on his case are actually his attorneys or another component of the government’s interrogation scheme.”

Bluntly, at this point, Padilla has been destroyed. His case will be written into textbooks in a decade's time, and hopefully students will learn from it. Practically speaking, any hope Jose Padilla had for due process (Fifth Amendment), a fair and speedy trial or adequate legal representation (Sixth Amendment), or freedom from cruel or unusual punishment (Eighth Amendment) disappeared a long time ago. Whatever the outcome of his situation is--and I do hope that ultimately the man regains his freedom, given that the government has not charged him with anything they supposedly retained him for--effectively the only hope left is that we'll learn something from having literally used all the power of the government to ruin a man without so much as charging him with a crime.

Padilla, if anyone needs reminding, is an American citizen. He has not been convicted of anything.

I truly wouldn't do that to a dog.

Sunday ideological purity quiz

Your 'Do You Want the Terrorists to Win' Score: 100%

You are a terrorist-loving, Bush-bashing, "blame America first"-crowd traitor. You are in league with evil-doers who hate our freedoms. By all counts you are a liberal, and as such cleary desire the terrorists to succeed and impose their harsh theocratic restrictions on us all. You are fit to be hung for treason! Luckily George Bush is tapping your internet connection and is now aware of your thought-crime. Have a nice day.... in Guantanamo!

Do You Want the Terrorists to Win?
Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Beat that, motherfuckers.

Yours via my brother in Gitmo, Adam Kotsko.

World AIDS Day

Today is World AIDS Day. Shelley remembers the first Presidential press conference in which AIDS was mentioned. If you don't, go read the transcript she posted.

And then think about how goddam impressive it is that despite all the money we spend on "abstinence education," kids are still smart enough to use condoms. Which for all the moralizing about abstinence and teen pregnancy (btw, it's down--because kids use condoms. See the link), save lives.

And think how preferable that is to a situation where traditional ideas about girls and sexuality mean that child rape is met with silence and not coincidentally, AIDS is a public health epidemic rather than a tragic, but manageable disease.

You know, I started this post feeling pessimistic and pissed off about our government's fucked-up rhetoric. But now I feel pretty proud of us for doing the right thing, even if it involves/demonstrates a lot of false consciousness.

And since I'm feeling better, here's a fun little link for you: RU-486 may prevent breast cancer.