Mary in a Can

Been in Seattle for nearly a month and a half. I have most of my wedding business squared away. I have a job, fingers crossed, squared away. I have a place to move to in September squared away. Now comes the hard part. I started writing this passage thinking that I was going to say something really distinct and profound about my life. But, at this present moment, I am so completely shocked at how ordinary everything is; I'm at a complete loss for words.

After 4 agonizing years in the rat race that's come to be my home, I am returning to god's country. Returning to good friends, family, and a city that I can't live well without. In tow, I bring another kitty and a freedom fiance, by the name of Antoine. We will bring our weary selves to the doorstep of a modest home set on a hill overlooking the bay. I am beside myself with excitement. The main event is in september. Contact me to get your ringside seats. Dress to impress. I will be wearing a simple white gown with a clown nose for comedic relief. Toine will wear the pink phro with the monkey suit.

Yesterday, I went with my cousin to a recording studio. She's applying for a music scholarship for college, and needed to send in some tapes. The guy runs this studio out of his basement, and, after watching me coach my cousin, asked me to sing a few lines. Always eager to play my pipes, I bust out with a little "They Can't Take That Away From Me." The guy turns out to be a Jazz musician, and plays with Joe Byrd, Charlie Byrd's brother. I've been watching Joe Byrd play for several months now. Mind you that I've been watching Joe Byrd, in his jazz trio, for several months now, at this coffee house in downtown Annapolis. This coffee house has basically become my second home. They play every other wednesday night. Sometimes they've got an open mic and will accompany anyone who wants to sing, and I've gone up a few times. Apparently, as the studio-guy informed me, they've been looking for someone to sing with them, and they're gonna see how it goes with me. I get to audition next week with their ensemble. How cool is that?! I'm so excited to have the oportunity to sing again! yup. good news today.

Additionally, I'm going to Chicago tomorrow to meet with with V. It's going to be awesome! I'm in great need of a vacation, and in great need of my best friend, even if it's only for the weekend.

I just thought up a really cheesy pick up line:

Know what my favorite letter of the alphabet is? "Q" because it's useless without "U."

Hahahaha!!! I crack myself up!

With much relief, I finally have a slow work day. It's been months, but I've finally caught up. I know it won't last long, but I'm going to enjoy it whilst I can. So... Now for the big news. There is a possiblity (knock on not wood) that I might be moving back to the great northwest. Antoine's interviewing for a fairly lucrative job in the alcoholic juice business, and (if he gets it) we'll be moving. Prolly in the next two months (God willing). I'm really nervous about it. Not the move itself, because I'm really excited about the idea of moving back. I'm nervous about it not coming true and being disappointed. I really have my heart set on moving out west and I'm trying to keep myself from getting too optimistic. I just don't care for the rat race here. It's got me sooo tired. Say a prayer. Cross your fingers. Find a four leaf clover. Rub a rabbits foot. Whatever it is that you do. I really want this to work out.

Moving on... My sister, C.C., had her 21st birthday last week. Literally, all week long. We went out Tuesday night for dinner. We being the family. It was pretty awesome because we just had some cousins move here from Hawaii, so they came too. Then, Friday night, we cruised the mean streets of Annapolis. There were 20 people. It was a pretty motley crew, especially when you throw Antoine and I into the mix. It was a lot of fun, and nobody got too drunk, as we banned the taking of non-mixed shots. At one point we had 20 car bombs lined up on the bar, I wish I'd got a picture of that one. I've never seen anything like it. I could've sent it into Guiness. Maybe they could've used it as a marketing tool or something to immortalize my sister's 21-run. lol And the very last thing we did: Crab Feast! That was Saturday night. it was at the pool I used to lifeguard at. It was really strange. All the kids that I used to sit underneath my chair are lifeguards now. Apparently I'm some sort of living legend there. The scariest lifeguard to ever walk the pool grounds. I chained a kid to the lifeguard chair on Labor Day Weekend at the last whistle, and nobody had seen him stuck there. They found his bones when the pool opened the following summer. Sometimes, late at night, you can hear his pleas for help, and a shadowy figure is seen clinging to the chair. I'm known as Scary Mary. lol... It was nice to know that I'd impacted their lives. And, I thought it was hilarious that they're making up scary stories about me. I should get one of those local celebrity T-Shirts. sike.

yeah... I think that that's about all I've got to say for now.

Life can be such a lovely thing, and it can be the worst torture imaginable. It's been torture lately. Two weeks ago, tomorrow, my friend Jeb died. Friday night, Antoine and I met up with Brian and Sara. They're good friends of ours and were really really close to Jeb. After an evening of much celebration, because it was Sara's birthday, we decided to visit Jeb's grave to say hi. A morbid activity, but who knows why the mourning do the things they do? Sara and Brian didn't know where Jeb was buried (they were in Iowa visiting family). Needless to say. I just had this strange feeling that he was right there with us, and laughing with us. At some junctures, I think he was trying to participate in the conversation. If there are ghosts, and everyone can see us after they physically leave, it must've been refreshing for Jeb to see people laughing, sharing good stories, and NOT crying (despite the large lumps in our throats). When we finally had to call it a night, because the sun was coming up, I swear to you that I saw him standing at the grave. He had his jeans on with a tan colored shirt. There was this look on his face that seemed to be asking, "Why are you leaving?" He looked sad to me. Antoine told me last night that he saw Jeb's face there, and Sara told me yesterday that she saw it too. I know that I'm not cracking up. I've always thought that ghosts were real. I just don't know how they factor into the whole "cosmic order."

What's even more ironic, as I was standing there Joey was slipping. Make sure that all of you send Jenny an email, phone call, myspace comment, anything. She lost her brother on Saturday, and needs all the support she can get right now. Joey was one of the sweetest guys. The world has really lost someone special.

Thank god June is over, and you guys better take care 'cause I might crack up if anything else happens.

Geez, work is really starting to make me a little nutty. I'm starting to go a little crazy. Ok... so that's a bit of an understatement. I'm very truly and badly in need of a vacation. I wish I had more vacation time, but the firm made me use what I'd accrued for the funeral. As if that was any kind of a vacation!

Whilst I was sitting at my desk today, about to lose my mind, I decided to take a break, and surf the internet. I stumbled upon one of those fun little quiz websites and I noticed a name generator for monster names. Turns out that I'm the "Undead Worm." Let me introduce myself. I enjoy fingernails, hiding in closets and terrifying priests. As a worm, I secretly dream of a long watch on the beach, but the sun would most likely cause me to shrivel, which would prevent me from ever seeing my cousins, the boogeymen, ever again. This would make me sad. Perhaps I've already lost my mind, and just don't know it yet, as a mind is a prequisite for knowing. I just can't seem to be able to puzzle this out.

Well... whatever. Last night I went and saw one of my favorite local bands, which is this funk/jazz fusion band. Really awesome stuff. Plus, one of my old swim team buddies is the lead singer, which is pretty awesome because we get to catch up on stuff. You should check them out if you ever get the chance. They're called the Written Prisms. Very neat stuff. You know that when a band can turn Vince Gerauldi's "Linus and Lucy" into a funk song that they freakin rock. no joke.

I am angry and tired. Angry because I can't be superwoman. I can't go everywhere at once. There's so much to life and it makes me angry to miss it. I would feel the same if I were anywhere else. I'm also very tired. Everyone's calling me a party-pooper, but I don't care. They don't know what I'm going through or what I saw. If they knew, they wouldn't have such high expectations for me. My mind is still scattered. Though the pieces are coming back together. The energy consumed by maintaining a cheerful attitude is tiring. I've also come to the conclusion that Antoine's mom is a total narcissist. She would ask me: "How's your family? I was sorry to hear about your grandfather." I would start to talk about the whole thing, then she would promptly cut me off to tell me about her beautiful new home or hair or something else of little consequence about herself and her "beautiful" life. Beautiful is her favorite word. Not to mention the fact that she and Cappy, Antoine's sister, were picking out all of the fixtures for Cappy's new house. It was unbelievable. Cappy would see something that she really wanted for the new house, and the mom would promptly shoot her down. They would get into an arguement. The mom would throw a temper tantrum (no joke, with pouting and everything) and someone would walk out of the store. At one point, I cracked when they were going over the master bathroom. So-and-so wanted a stainless steel sink the other wanted a marble pedestal; arguement ensued. Naturally, I politely suggested that Cappy ditch bathrooms altogether and simply place a Honey Bucket in her backyard. I also promised to supplement said Honey Bucket with a stainless steel bucket that could function as a powder room/shower. Cappy laughed... the mom blew her stack. I was not-so-politely informed that I had poor interior decorating skills, but, in truth, I knew that I had impeccable comedic timing. It was all down-hill after that, because we started lighting. I thought that, since Cappy has cathedral ceilings, she should have wall mounted torches instead of recessed lighting. The aforementioned powder room/shower bucket could also function as a resin holder for the torches. I mean, who needs to bathe anyway? It would give the home a really nice, medieval feel. oh well... at least Cappy thought I was funny. Perhaps I went too far? Nah... not for all the crap I've received in the past. Vilija, you would have been proud of me, because, when it was all over, I immediately went out and got my second pedicure... ever. Moral of the story kids: don't be angry and hang out with other people, 'cause you might have poor interior decorating skills.

It has now been 48 hours since they pulled my grandpa N. off all life support systems. He's still going. Only just though. I don't know what he's holding on for. Maybe a miracle. Another chance. I've been thinking about eulogies. It's really pretty incredible to think about my grandfathers life. He loves life and appreciates all of the beauty to be found in it in all its forms and farce. He was a lover of history. Did you know that our word history is derived from the greek "historien" which means: to narrate, which is further derived from "histor," a judge. My grandfather was a narrator, a great storyteller. He held the family captive with stories from his childhood and stories about our childhoods. He wrote hundreds of letters, maybe thousands, over the course of his life. He was also a shutter-bug, who devoted hours to compiling albums of his friends and family, with notes about every picture and the context of the pictures. He emailed constantly. Email was a labor of love for him, as one sentence could take him 15 minutes to type out (he hen-pecked), and there were always pictures with associated pop quizzes with respect and admiration for prizes. As a judge, he ordered and gave meaning to the lives around him through his storytelling, even with the hard lessons and sad stories. Like I said, he appreciated the beauty of life in all its forms and farce. One line that's truly appropriate: In a letter dated September 6, 1975, he wrote: "P.S. Not too many people know that my confirmation name is Matthew. I got it out of a comic book." Little did he know how appropriate that name would be. He recorded a sort of gospel of the lives of his friends and family. He loved life so much that he wanted everyone to see what he saw and remember what he saw. He didn't want us to forget how beautiful we are. That was my grandpa. What a guy!

The vortex pulls me in. The Vortex spits me out. - B-52's

Life and time seem to churn away at an extraordinary rate. Sometimes it leaves my head spinning. Both of my granfathers are at Swedish right now. Grandpa N. is, by far, in the worst shape. He's unconscious and on a respirator. The doctors are running tests to see if he'll ever be able to breathe on his own again. His living will states that if he is unable to breathe on his own for 48 hours that he wants the plug pulled. Grandpa B. has a blood infection that's attacking his organs. They're both surviving on sheer will. Looks like I'll be leaving for Seattle by Wednesday at the latest. Right now... I'm praying for a couple of miracles.

So ends and idiot's career. - P

February 8, 2006

A Young Bush Appointee Resigns His Post at NASA
By ANDREW C. REVKIN
George C. Deutsch, the young presidential appointee at NASA who told public affairs workers to limit reporters' access to a top climate scientist and told a Web designer to add the word "theory" at every mention of the Big Bang, resigned yesterday, agency officials said.
Mr. Deutsch's resignation came on the same day that officials at Texas A&M University confirmed that he did not graduate from there, as his résumé on file at the agency asserted.
Officials at NASA headquarters declined to discuss the reason for the resignation.
"Under NASA policy, it is inappropriate to discuss personnel matters," said Dean Acosta, the deputy assistant administrator for public affairs and Mr. Deutsch's boss.
The resignation came as the National Aeronautics and Space Administration was preparing to review its policies for communicating science to the public. The review was ordered Friday by Michael D. Griffin, the NASA administrator, after a week in which many agency scientists and midlevel public affairs officials described to The New York Times instances in which they said political pressure was applied to limit or flavor discussions of topics uncomfortable to the Bush administration, particularly global warming.
"As we have stated in the past, NASA is in the process of revising our public affairs policies across the agency to ensure our commitment to open and full communications," the statement from Mr. Acosta said.
The statement said the resignation of Mr. Deutsch was "a separate matter."
Mr. Deutsch, 24, was offered a job as a writer and editor in NASA's public affairs office in Washington last year after working on President Bush's re-election campaign and inaugural committee, according to his résumé. No one has disputed those parts of the document.
According to his résumé, Mr. Deutsch received a "Bachelor of Arts in journalism, Class of 2003."
Yesterday, officials at Texas A&M said that was not the case.
"George Carlton Deutsch III did attend Texas A&M University but has not completed the requirements for a degree," said an e-mail message from Rita Presley, assistant to the registrar at the university, responding to a query from The Times.
Repeated calls and e-mail messages to Mr. Deutsch on Tuesday were not answered.
Mr. Deutsch's educational record was first challenged on Monday by Nick Anthis, who graduated from Texas A&M last year with a biochemistry degree and has been writing a Web log on science policy, scientificactivist.blogspot.com.
After Mr. Anthis read about the problems at NASA, he said in an interview: "It seemed like political figures had really overstepped the line. I was just going to write some commentary on this when somebody tipped me off that George Deutsch might not have graduated."
He posted a blog entry asserting this after he checked with the university's association of former students. He reported that the association said Mr. Deutsch received no degree.
A copy of Mr. Deutsch's résumé was provided to The Times by someone working in NASA headquarters who, along with many other NASA employees, said Mr. Deutsch played a small but significant role in an intensifying effort at the agency to exert political control over the flow of information to the public.
Such complaints came to the fore starting in late January, when James E. Hansen, the climate scientist, and several midlevel public affairs officers told The Times that political appointees, including Mr. Deutsch, were pressing to limit Dr. Hansen's speaking and interviews on the threats posed by global warming.
Yesterday, Dr. Hansen said that the questions about Mr. Deutsch's credentials were important, but were a distraction from the broader issue of political control of scientific information.
"He's only a bit player," Dr. Hansen said of Mr. Deutsch. " The problem is much broader and much deeper and it goes across agencies. That's what I'm really concerned about."
"On climate, the public has been misinformed and not informed," he said. "The foundation of a democracy is an informed public, which obviously means an honestly informed public. That's the big issue here."

I just got this from my Dad. My Dad is the most level headed person I know and not given to paranoia. He's currently in Costa Rica, and being followed everyday by one of Deutsch's men. The guy's name is Mike something-or-other. It's got me scared for my dad. It's got me depressed too. My father has given his life to this job. He's been at this Ozone stuff for so long because he believed that he could make a difference. He believed that his research would help save humanity and the earth from cancers and photo-pollution, and it did for a time. Bush, during his stay in office, has managed to nearly destroy NASA. He pours funding into the space program in an effort to draw funding away from the pure science, and the scientists, like my father, who work with the scientific organizations of the world's nations to create treaties and technologies that will preserve and aid the recovery of our environment that would be affordable for all nations. This has got to stop.

In all seriousness, the NASA HQ public affairs (PAO) person (George Deutsch) has been doctoring press releases and badgering scientists since his appointment by the White House. He redrafted our 2005 ozone hole release to give the indication that ozone was recovering! This is a serious problem, since it directly infringes on how policy is set by the US policy agreements. I forwarded all of the material on this release and my original write-up to my bosses at NASA and then told them to compare it to the version on the web released by Deutsch.

We are now supposed to have a PAO approval prior to talking to any press person. In addition, a NASA PAO official has to be present for all interviews, and they're supposed to "record" our words. Deutsch is telling everybody that this is only to make sure we're not misquoted. Most of us believe that this kid is collecting material for future show trials. A large number of words such as "air pollution" are now banned from releases. We have to say "air quality" instead. It really is a heavy handed effort to modify science to conform to politics. Jim Hansen's complaint is only notable because it made its way into the newspapers.

Deutsch has zero credentials. He's a 24 year old journalism major from Texas A&M. His sole qualification for the high level PAO position at NASA HQ is the work he did for George W in the 04
election. He was appointed by the White House shortly after the
election. The Goddard PAO folks tell me that he believes his job is to make the President look good. This kid is doctoring up science press releases to conform to republican political positions.

>Dad,
>
>Aren't you scared to be sending these emails? What can anyone do to
>make this better?
>
>Mary

Nope. The truth doesn't scare me. If we don't confront people like
George Deutsch then we'd be cowards.

I'd rather not work for NASA if they can't get rid of people like him.


****Technically, as a civil servant, my dad can get canned for sending these emails.****

Every muscle in my body hurts from the sheer effort to not collapse from moving. I've been moving since I woke up. If my body wasn't moving then my mind was moving. This is the first moment I've had today where I don't have to think. I think that I'll do just that... (just in case you didn't notice the "..." denotes that my train of thought is getting out of dodge)...

I don't necessarily agree with everything this guy has to say, but I think he's got some good points.

------------------------

The State Of Our Cynicism

By George F. Will

Tuesday, January 31, 2006; Page A17

"Time after time, observers have questioned whether this country, or that people, or this group, are 'ready' for democracy -- as if freedom were a prize you win for meeting our own Western standards of progress."

-- George W. Bush

Nov. 6, 2003

"The beginnings of reform and democracy in the Palestinian territories are now showing the power of freedom to break old patterns of violence and failure."

-- George W. Bush

State of the Union, 2005

"The effect of liberty to individuals is, that they may do what they please; we ought to see what it will please them to do, before we risk congratulations."

-- Edmund Burke

In State of the Union addresses, the childish events in our civic calendar, presidents list numerous proposals pursuant to the supposed presidential duty to be omnipresent and omniprovident in our lives. Every 48 seconds or so -- last year's address was interrupted by applause 66 times in 53 minutes -- legislators of the president's party erupt with approval, while those of the other party use stolidity to signal disappointment. But if you are a glutton for punishment and tune in tonight, you will at least not hear a reprise of the passage cited above from last year's address.

The success of the terrorist organization Hamas in the Palestinian elections is but the latest proof of what happens when the forms of democracy are severed from what the president, with a cosmopolitan shrug, dismissively called "our own Western standards of progress." Now comes wishful thinking, and then cynicism.

Regarding the latter, the watery materialism of much thinking -- the theory that social structures and economic incentives trump ideas as shapers of behavior -- will interpret the Hamas victory in the benign light of the Garbage Collection Theory of History. On Sunday, on ABC's "This Week," Sen. Barack Obama (D-Ill.) said: "My hope is that as a consequence of now being responsible for electricity and picking up garbage and basic services to the Palestinian people, that they recognize it's time to moderate their stance." Perhaps. But their stance -- Israel must die -- is, they say, the will of God, who has not authorized moderation in the name of sanitation.

Regarding cynicism, Jimmy Carter, an even worse ex-president than he was a president, responded to the Hamas victory by quickly suggesting a way to evade the U.S. law against providing funds to terrorists. He suggested that the executive branch of the U.S. government could launder money destined for Hamas, passing it through the United Nations. This suggestion has a certain piquancy, coming as it does from someone who was elected president as a national penance for President Nixon's lawlessness, and coming as it does after the oil-for-food program in Iraq, which demonstrated the United Nations' financial aptitude.

Four days after Hamas provided evidence that the United States cannot anticipate, let alone control, events, the New York Times inadvertently suggested this thought: If the Times and the Bush administration each had sufficient self-awareness, they might be mutually mortified by recognizing their similar mentalities regarding America's power.

On the front page of Sunday's Times there began a 7,800-word story on Haiti's descent, not for the first time, into murderous anarchy. The story about the progress of nation-building and democracy-planting in our hemisphere carried a symptomatic headline: "Mixed U.S. Signals Helped Tilt Haiti Toward Chaos." The story's thesis was intimated by its subtitle: "Democracy Undone." The thesis was that if U.S. diplomacy had been more deft and single-minded, the Times might not now be reporting this about Haiti:

"Today, the capital, Port-au-Prince, is virtually paralyzed by kidnappings, spreading panic among rich and poor alike. Corrupt police officers in uniform have assassinated people on the streets in the light of day. The chaos is so extreme and the interim government so dysfunctional that voting to elect a new one has already been delayed four times."

Tonight, on the 1,050th day of the Iraq war (the 912th day of American participation in World War II was D-Day), the nation needs an adult hour, including a measured meditation on overreaching, from the Middle East to Medicare's prescription drug entitlement. But in State of the Union addresses, rarely is heard a discouraging word.

The Democrats have already been heard from. In their "pre-buttal" to the State of the Union, they promised, among much else, that, according to House Democratic leader Nancy Pelosi, if they come to power, "every American will have affordable access to broadband within five years."

Which tells you something about the state of the Union.

The case for past livesBY DAVE BARRY(This classic Dave Barry column was originally published on Jan. 19, 1997.)
To be honest, I had completely forgotten that in a former life I was Mozart.
You know how certain things tend to slip your mind, like where you left your car keys, or the fact that you used to be a brilliant Austrian composer who died in 1791? Well, that's exactly what happened to me.
I was reminded of my former life recently when I received a book called ''Spirit at Work,'' by Lois Grant, who has had a number of former lives.
(I realize that some of you may be skeptical about the idea of reincarnation, but there's a lot of evidence that it's real. Exhibit A is Vice President Al Gore, who obviously, at some point in his previous existence, was a slab of Formica.)
Besides having been reincarnated, Grant is in close personal touch with many spiritual entities, including her deceased cat, Fluffernut, and the Archangel Michael, who has written a nice blurb for the cover of ''Spirit at Work,'' which he calls ''a key to the rebirth of the planet.'' (I myself have never gotten a blurb quite that positive, although one of my books was described as being ''heavy on the booger jokes,'' which is similar.)
Anyway, it turns out that one whole chapter of ''Spirit at Work'' is devoted to some correspondence that Lois Grant and I had back in 1991. It began when she wrote me a long letter, in which she said that she had been asking herself the question -- I bet you've asked this question many times -- ''Where is Mozart now?'' So she decided to contact Joya Pope, who serves as a ''channeler'' for a spiritual entity named Michael, who is ''a group of 1,050 souls who have completed their cycle of lives on the Earth.'' (Sounds like the U.S. Congress!)
Through Joya -- who according to the book ''is available for channeling by telephone'' -- Lois Grant asked Michael about the current whereabouts of Mozart.
The answer was: ''He is a writer living in Florida.'' On a hunch, Lois Grant sent Joya a photograph of me from the newspaper, and the answer came back that the current reincarnation of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is none other than -- you guessed it -- Wayne Newton.
No, seriously, according to Lois Grant, Joya/Michael says that I used to be Mozart. I was quite surprised to learn this, and you would have been, too, if you had seen me take piano lessons. This was in 1956, when the piano teacher, a woman named Mrs. Ugly Old Bat, used to come to my house every Saturday on her broom and point out to my mother that I apparently had not been practicing.
This was, of course, true. I was 9 years old, and I had better things to do with my time than sit around staring at a music book filled with tiny, inscrutable black marks and trying to figure out which ones corresponded with which specific keys on the piano. As far as I was concerned, our piano had way too many keys on it anyway. I would have much preferred a piano with a total of two large keys, one white and one black; or maybe even just one really large gray key, so you'd never have any doubt which one you were supposed to hit.
But our piano had thousands of keys, stretching out for approximately a mile in either direction, and if I didn't hit exactly the right one, Mrs. Bat would make a federal case out of it. She'd stand over my shoulder and harangue me about sharps and flats for an hour -- and in those days a Saturday hour was the equivalent of 53 weekday hours -- until finally she'd give up and go outside to catch moths for dinner.
In other words, I was not a natural piano student, in stark contrast to Mozart, a brilliant musical prodigy who by the age of 9 had already composed his classic work ''Porgy and Bess.'' I did eventually take up the guitar, and I even played in a band in college, but we didn't play complicated music. We played songs like ''Land of 1,000 Dances,'' which only has one chord, namely, ''E.'' In fact, a lot of our songs basically consisted of ''E.'' Usually we'd play ''E'' for an hour or so, then we'd take a 15-minute break, after which we'd change over to ``A.''
So even though Lois Grant seemed to be a nice, sincere person, I frankly doubted that I had ever been Mozart, and I pretty much forgot about our correspondence until I received my copy of ''Spirit at Work'' and saw the chapter in there about me. I began to wonder: What if I really was the reincarnation of Mozart? I mean, I don't want to get too spiritual here, but if Joya/Michael is correct -- if I really am the embodiment of one of the greatest musical minds in history -- then anytime anybody plays any Mozart music, I should get royalties, right? So just to be on the safe side, if you use any of my songs -- ''The Marriage of Figaro,'' ''The Magic Flute,'' ''Summertime,'' ''Happy Birthday,'' ''Mony Mony,'' etc. -- I'd appreciate it if you'd send me a check. Make it out to Dave ''Wolfgang'' Barry.

The god of traffic is tricky. First, he parts his welcoming arms to allow you passage through the bumper to bumper traffic. Then he throws a semi at you. Finally, after an arduous 30 minute journey, you find yourself at work and traffic god chuckles: "SUCKA!"

As clear as you may be about your motives, they don't easily translate into practical experience now. There is a bit of disjointed energy between your intentions and how others perceive you. Since there may be little you can do today to change someone else's mind, don't waste your energy trying. Simply hold true to your values and work under the assumption that others will see the true you emerge, replacing their misconceptions.

it fits... it definitely fits...

There was little fanfare involved in my birthday yesterday. In fact, I spent the vast majority of it working or alone. It's funny how it really is "just another day," if you don't have your friends and family around to celebrate. I did however go out with Antoine and my friend, JB. We went out for Korean food and killed a bottle of Soju (which really isn't difficult, as it's simply watered down vodka). I also had a chance to sit around and do nothing, so I read Goblet of Fire in preparation for this weekend! Tonight, I clean like a madwoman because Vilija is coming on Thursday!!! YAY!!! That's the best birthday present! Thanks to everyone for the Birthday Wishes! Sorry if you tried to call last night, but my phone died from getting used so much then I went to dinner!

"The unemployment benefits that France's generous social welfare system provides to these youths may have bought the stylish clothes and grooming many of them display in the television interviews. But it has not bought their satisfaction or acquiescence in the system that feeds them and isolates them. Those payments may have enabled these youths to be as disdainful of the kind of work their parents eagerly came here to find as are the other "French.""

-Jim Hoagland, Op-Ed columnists for the Washington Post

The "French" are not disdainful of that "Kind of Work." That's a projection of arrogant American opinions about the French. That's the American government at work telling you to buy Freedom Fries instead of French Fries. How childish can you get? The French government is not the French people. Nowhere in their creative government documents to you find the words: "We the people." The French government is a SOCIALIST government. Don't let the media fool you into thinking that the "other French" can waltz into any job they please while these poor african and muslim youths cannot. The truth is that, with the French welfare system, these youths have only to ask for a job and they will be given one. The only kind of jobs that are available are "that kind of work." The "other French" have to wait in line for job approval. good grief... These youths have more money, power and voice than the ordinary French citizen. The "other French" are angry about that. They are resentful for that reason and that reason alone. France is not America and anyone that attempts to parallel the two in terms of freedom and economic power is an absolute fool. I know they're harsh words but this just makes me angry. The media beating that the French have been dealt is wrong. Ask any Frenchman what they think of their government and they'll probably tell you that it's corrupt, inept and impotent. Perhaps, in the end, the "other French," and the arab and muslim communities are all in the same boat. Equally downtroden by government officials and rich people that siply want to keep their wallets fat and their chins doubled. I'm sick and tired of having to deal with people, even my own family, making fun of the French, because GW couldn't keep the rockets in his pocket.