Non-Profit Luka

Letter to a Friend in Iraqi

2007-07-15T12:27:00.001-07:00

I haven't gotten around to reading the Time article yet. So, I may be ignorant into what I have to say. But the idea of arming 'former' insurgents because they claim to be against Al-Quada is one of the worst ideas i have heard in this crazy war. (Let's ignore the obvious fact that they were fighting against the 'democratic' Iraq a few weeks ago.) It is on the same level on insanity as not bringing a large troop level in to capture Bin Laden during the first Afghanistan campaign.

When we first seem to have problems finding Bin Laden, I happen to be re-reading The Prince. (I was trying to impress a girl. Didn't work.) The one point that Micaville offers the prince that has stuck with me is his warnings against using mercenaries. Mercs are here just for the glory or gold and will be first ones to abandon you when the tide of the battle turns.

We know see former 'allies' in Afghanistan backing the Taliban again, because it's power is rising. How long do we think that these 'former' insurgents will remain on our side or on the Iraqi government side after we leave?

That being said, on Thursday, Bush held a press conference to speak about the 'surge', which just began. (Funny, I thought we agreed to a surge like six months ago. If the surge is just now starting it is not a surge but a slow drip.) He claimed success on Iraq was coming in the recent peace found in the Anwahr (sp?) province. He said that there Al-Quada had been driven out by the locals. This is true, the region is much more stable than months ago. However, it is not due to the fact that the people in the region love American Democracy. It happens to be that the Iraqi police no longer go in the area. Instead, the locals patrol their own area and have removed anyone they find as a threat to them: Al-Quada and the Iraqi government included. The region has been walking proof that the only way for a peaceful Iraq can be found in Sen. Brownback and Biden's proposal for three separate states sharing the oil revenue. Oh, well they will never be President. Instead, it is up between Giuliani who wants to attack Iran; Romney who wants to double the size of GitMo and Hillary who wants to prove she has balls and the toughness to stay in Iraq.

The other telling happening in the press conference was the first question Bush took was from Helen Thomas of the UPI. Thomas used to trade mental barbs with Kennedy so shaking Bush intellectually should be no problem. But she is also pissed off about the war, the way its been handled and Bush has only called on her once in his entire term, because she is seen as too liberal of reporter. Thomas took the bait. Instead of trying to question Bush and expose is failed logic, she went on an a-typical liberal rant about Iraq being a war of Bush's choosing and summed up with a question that was he aware that Al-Quada was not in Iraq until he invaded. Bush easily dodged the 'question' with statements about Saddam refusing to leave or have arms inspection.

This is the main problem with the liberal element in America, of which I am one. Anger at the administration clouds their minds, and their actions look silly and are ineffective. In the end, America will always choose the current course over raw anger. Look at Humphrey vs McCarthy, Reagan in 1984, Clinton vs. impeachment.

God's Blessings,

Luka

slow servers piss me off...

2007-07-11T19:27:00.001-07:00

I just wanted to say that.

It should not take five minutes for the blogger home page to load.

A Sad Situation...

2007-07-05T13:17:00.000-07:00

"I am glad that my sister is having a kid. That way when I am old, I can call him or her and ask if what I'm doing with my money is smart." A said playing with the lid of her Dr. Pepper.

"It is sad to see people taken in by pyramid scams." I sucked on a mint.

I had just relaid the story to A about a donor of our's who has invested in what appears to be an internet scam. The donor was calling us to tell us about the gifts he will be making once his investment pays out and encouraging us to get in on the good deal.

I spent an hour after lunch searching the net for something on the company. Something that would reveal the true intentions of the company that I could share with his pastor before he invested any more.

I had no such luck. The man will probably keep throwing money down the rabbit hole and keeping hoping for the big payoff which will never come.

A and I hope that never happens to us.

Read a Book!

2007-07-03T08:08:00.000-07:00

This whole song applies to all people of all races. Because I am tired of ignorant people walking around. And smelly ones too.

Reading's Grunk Song

Dubuque Airport-Live Blogging

2007-06-30T14:39:00.000-07:00

First every airport should have free wi-fi. Portland and Dubuque, IA have the right idea. Why should I pay like 8 bucks just to check my e-mail?

The fact that Dubuque has only one gate makes it an unique flying experience. Those who check you in are also the security personal and do baggage and airline taxing.

On the other hand, there is no food other than that from a vending machine. They do have an eatery, but that closed long ago like 1 p.m. There is nothing for us on the late 5:40 flight.

Small and clean that should be the new motto for Iowa. Everyone is friendly and the restrooms are usable. Of course, I really would like a drink while I wait for my plain. But some things must be sacrificed for a toilet seat not covered in urine.

Waterloo, IA

2007-06-29T20:18:00.001-07:00

No luck for the Luka. Nothing but dry skin, bad meals and a flight through Chicago. These are the times that try men's soles, at least mine. How could a trip that started out with so much promise and the feeling of a come squal of giving turn into nothing but a dry breeze?

A few more donors to see and than home to a fourth of July and hopefully a day off.

Peoria, IL Here I Come

2007-06-20T09:03:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I leave for Peoria, Illinois, home of Catapiller industries and not much else.

I've been in Peoria enough times now to know the good resteraunts and the haunts to stay away from.

Though I love my job and the travel, there is one thing that gets me down. I keep coming back to some towns over and over again that I begin to get the view of the high school seniors. "I can't wait until I am not stuck in this town."

I feel bad about this. I am sure Peoria has some nice spots, maybe even a good pool hall. But for the roaming Luka, it has little to offer.

In some ways, Lukas are like a high school seniors.

We have to be in bed to get up early for work/school.

Driving in the town is still new to us.

We have to answer to bosses/parents.

Finally, we may know the town, but we don't have the connections to dig deep and find the secret hot spots.

Those hot spots, whatever they may be either bar, blues club or coffeeshop are what makes these small towns fun.

Make It Stop…

2007-06-15T13:37:00.000-07:00

Both President Bush and the Democratic Congress poll numbers are in the garbage. Those who proclaim the fact that there is no difference between the two parties gain more ammunition.

The good news today: inflation ain’t so bad. Unless of course you count gas, then well it is fucking insane. And the price keeps rising and rising

Seriously, can somebody do something about this? How much money does corporations need? How much money do lobbyist give to make congress ignore America?

Seriously wake the fuck up and do something about this. I am really pissed because I support the Democrats almost blindly, work to get them elected and then they piss and moan more about an Iraq war they can do little about (sorry those on the left; the troops will not come home until Bush leaves) instead of trying to stop the price gauging.

Help us now. Gas can not continue to rise at the current rate before food and other necessities rise as well as the cost to transport them to markets skyrockets.

Idiotic greed may be what does America in.

Geneseo, IL

2007-06-14T14:20:00.001-07:00

Aged trees stand tall, their leaves whipping in the strong wind. “Old,” is how a gas station attendant described the town. Homes built before World War Two remain well maintained on manicured lawns. The main street is still filled with open shops selling bridal wares, cards and hardware. Flags fly in honor of those serving in the military.

Old indeed, in traditions, but the population is not aged. Families and young adults still move to this haven twenty-five miles east of the Mississippi. Two gun factories continue to provide jobs and growth. This town is a survivor.

When one doubts the general goodness of the country, a visit to Geneseo will restore the faith. Yet, there remains a conundrum.

While this town feels as pure as the driven snow, its economy is based upon weapons. Not just any weapons, but automatic firearms. Guns meant not for sport but for death.

A bill in the Illinois legislature would make it illegal to manufacture firearms in the state. Though this law would stop the production of automatic firearms in the state. The manufacturer would produce just as many weapons in another state or country. At the same time, the law would mean the death of Geneseo-one of the few remaining thriving small towns.

As the song goes: ain’t that America. We are one shining example of prosperity and high morals. We want to help others, but it may end up damaging ourselves in the process.

Bush! Bush! Bush!

2007-06-13T14:29:00.000-07:00

This has nothing to do with his politics I promise.

Last week, Bush was in Albania, one of the few countries left where he is popular. As the adoring crowd pressed to shake is hand, pat his back and rub his head (maybe, that's an Albanian thing). Somebody decided to take his watch.

Watch it Here.

Sure, the White House said it was dropped and returned by a guard. But watch the video. Somebody decided to swipe that swatch.

I wonder if it was a plan or a drunken impulse.

A Poor Explanation

2007-06-12T09:56:00.001-07:00

I take pauses in my writing because of the lack of the profound. I want to have something to say. My writing should not be alphabetical hot air. My stories must have a meaning, and my insights clear, crisp and original. The pressure for perfection drives me away from the pen and pad.

I do not require perfection in most aspects of my life. I am a sloppy homemaker, cook and sometimes in my verbal points. The desire remains to have my writing constantly breaking new ground.

I expect people to listen when I speak and read when I write. The permanence of writing gives me a disabling fright. All I want to do is write; poor thoughts, worn cliques and uneven logic prevent me.

No real reason Part 2

2007-06-05T16:14:00.000-07:00

Back in February I made predictions on how the early primaries and caucus would look for the Democrats. Since then Vilsack has gotten out and Clark never got in; time for another round.

Iowa

Edwards
Obama
Clinton
Richardson
Biden
Dodd
Kucinich
Gravel

Nevada

Richardson
Clinton
Edwards
Obama
Dodd
Biden
Kucinich
Gravel

New Hampshire
Clinton
Obama
Edwards
Richardson
Biden
Dodd (who drops out)
Gravel (I just believe that Gravel will beat Kucinich at some point)
Kucinich

South Carolina
Obama
Clinton
Edwards (I still support him and hope he his the nominee, but if he does not win 2 out of the 4 early ones he is out.)
Richardson
Biden (Out)
Kucinich
Gravel

Super-duper Tuesday comes and knocks out Richardson unless he wins Texas or California. I could see it happening. Obama also must win at least one of the big four, Texas, California, New York or Florida, on that date to keep his name alive. Clinton has the name. She has the most 'house money' and can loose a few before people question the eventuality of her nomination.

Memorial Day...

2007-05-28T16:14:00.001-07:00

The day to remember the fallen those who gave their lives for our country; a fullfilled sacrifice.

How did I spend it:

Like most Americans, sleeping in, eating at Bar-B-Ques.

I also moved a little bit from one home to another. My lower back is on fire. Anyone have a cure for that other than Asprin?

L Takes a Dip....

2007-05-24T19:20:00.000-07:00

Midweek, L and I share dinner outside The Royale. F joins us as we finish off ravioli and order another round of fresh squeezed juice.

The weather is perfect. The chill of the evening will come later, but with the last says of sun no one needs a jacket or coat.

We hang out, talk about nothing in general and enjoy the moment. A documentary on hobos (train riders) is shown outside. It is grainy, funny, poorly edited and completely enjoyable indie-movie I will never see again.

After the show, L excuses herself. She walks the narrow path between the chairs and fence. F and I stand up to leave. We are less considerate of others than L and walk across the screen rolling credits.

I stop and talk to the director for a few moments before making my way into the bar to await F and L.

L reaches me first, her hands spread in front of her and her jaw dropped. Her expression is one of “Look at the mess I made.” I notice a few water drops on her jacket.

“Oh, did the water from the sink splash up,” I laugh thinking of a similar incident.

“No, I feel into a pot.”

“A pot. Was there a pot of water out there?” My mind goes to the possibility that a careless cook left a pot of water sitting on the ground.

“No, a pond. I fell into a pond of water. I am wet from the waste down.” Looking down it is hard to notice that her jeans and sopping wet and half of her shirt is moist. “I was walking around and fell into a pond waist deep.”

“Are you alright?” I ask beginning to laugh.

“Yes,” she laughs back.

We both laugh about the incident and explain it F when comes back. He seems more shocked and caring: a much better boyfriend response than the chuckles I have.

L takes time to pour the puddles from her shoes, and I steal a napkin for her to sit on the car ride home.

The stench form an obviously scum filled pond fills my car in little time. We keep laughing the whole way home. Even after L takes a shower and dresses in my clothes, we keep laughing.

We have yet to go back to The Royale. When we do though taking a gander at the now infamous pond is a must.

Quad Cities...

2007-05-23T19:50:00.000-07:00

Here the Mississippi river runs from east to west-A geographical fluke that occurs only for about four miles. On the east, Illinois’ men and women work hard at the international headquarters of John Dear. On the west, Iowa farmers smile at the gradual rise of the corn and soybean prices and yell in anger at the skyrocketing price of fuel. They ask the question we all think, “When in Ethanol going to make a difference?”

It is that crush that brings them together. A sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs as the gas price rises higher and higher. Two dollars a gallon used to seem insane and now well over three is the norm.

It is the in ability to do anything that bothers them the most. Stop driving is not an option, work is needed to provide the daily bread. Elect new leaders, only they seem as incompetent at fixing the problem as the ones before. Even those with stock in gas companies are watching the price rise faster than their dividend.

Blame is put on the companies, OPEC, politicians and general greed. Though they may the theories have how we got here may be true and a simple solution seems impossible, it comes back to the lack of control and no idea when will it stop. How high is too high?

Dispatches From the Home front Issue 2…

2007-05-10T14:16:00.000-07:00

Last week, the GOP Presidential candidates, minus the still unannounced Fred Thompson and New Gingrich, debated at the Ronald Reagan museum in California. For the most part the evening was as boring as paint drying, which is why I mention it only now. (The Democrats would have been the same except for Mike Gravel.)

The GOPers, complimented Reagan a lot, told Arnold they wouldn’t let him run for President and tried to find someway to look tough on terrorism but ignore Iraq.

Personally, the highlights of the evening was watching Rudy piss off pretty much everybody by telling them he believes in abortion and Romney trying to remember what is positions where. If there is a winner, I would not give it to conventional thinking of Rudy or Mitt, but to Huckabee. Despite fundraising numbers lower than Vilsack, I believe he may still gain enough traction to hang on for awhile. At least long enough to gain VP interest.

Then again, I have been wrong so many times before I shouldn’t guess. After all, there was no way that Gore could loose to Bush.

Updates...

2007-05-09T07:45:00.000-07:00

Back from Potland, where I watched the GOP Presidential debate. Only Huckabee really impressed me. Thankfully, no one is talking about him.

Things are going well in The Lou. My father is retired, last party last night, and will be moving to Texas soon. I will move into my parents' home on the sky soon.

L has her Master of Fine Arts show this Friday. Check out her website..

Not much is happening except work and sleep, which is keeping life somewhat dull. Is this what it means to be mature?

Portland dayz...

2007-05-02T21:38:00.000-07:00

Another week, another Frontier flight, a trip to Portland, rain, hail and sunshine great me as I drive down towards Salem. Big visit is tomorrow, a nice gift. Today is for settling with a visit and then to the hotel.

Right in front of the hotel was the rainbow; I thought you would like it.

Final Thoughts on Boise…

2007-04-28T10:28:00.001-07:00

Sitting at the airport waiting to fly out of the dessert, I watch a teen rocker flip through a book and a bearded traveler eat McDonalds. When it comes to airports, once at the gate they all feel the same no matter what size: same obnoxious support beam in the sitting area, same chairs bolted together with never enough armrest, and same tacky carpet with grey patterns behind light blue background.

But that is the airport. Boise is a good town. It holds itself well. The additions of Californians moving in the 1990s have yet to take over. The West is alive out here; without the need to remind you of it every five minutes whether in store name, street sign or souvenir store. It is an authentic Denver. It is Denver maybe thirty years ago.

That is what makes this town fun. It is true to itself. Unlike so many American cities, it does struggle to be what it is not. It does not try to be a competitor to bigger cities; nor does it try to revert to its rural roots.

Not a top tier tourist spot, like Los Angeles or Miami. Not an economic powerhouse like Chicago or New York. Not a political hotbed, like Austin or Boston. It is what it is. And that is just fine with the locals.

Dispatch from the Homefront Issue 1: The First Democratic Debate…

2007-04-26T20:46:00.001-07:00

The long march to November 08 continues. The race began months ago moves with force and media attention never seen so early. The Democratic side of the storm settled in on South Carolina State University for the first debate among all eight contenders. Anyone expecting to see a person pull away was greatly disappointed. The time was too short and the rules strict that the gap threat was suppressed no need mention the knock-out personality.

Going in Hillary Clinton was the front-runner. She did little to loose the title and no one stole the crown. Yet, she did little to impress. Her answers were a shining example of talking out of both sides of the mouth. During one response, she both praised and admonished Wal-Mart. Her status remains safe, not because of her skill, but because she has yet to endure direct attacks by Democrats who need to challenge her support before the general least they learn the support is soft during a Republican attack more mainstream than Rush.

JRE remains a debate mystery. A lawyer, an articulate stump speaker, yet when the debate lights cone on he pulls punches. He did it with Cheney; he did it tonight. He remains cautious when he should open up. He lies back instead of being an assertive self he is on the sump. He still has many chances to move up in debate competition. Though, he did no real damage to himself, he did not convert anyone.

Obama performed the best of all the top tier. Like a championship boxer, his answers contained tight powerful combinations. While each answer was complex, it was short enough that it was not weighed down by verbal baggage like Sen. Kerry. He came out ahead and will be declared the winner. But the winner without knocking out anyone or claiming the crown of the presumed nominee.

Biden is worth mentioning, because of his one word, “yes” in assuring the population his mouth would not get him in trouble.

Richardson was the most forceful in saying he would use the military to strike back against a terrorist attack too bad that was not what the question was about.

Dodd faded into the background.

Kucinich only looked sane because of Gravel who at least is a comedian.

It is a long fight yet. No clear winner. The Democrats can get a rest of debating and enjoy watching the GOP beat up on one another next week.

Working in Boise…

2007-04-26T13:06:00.001-07:00

Drove through a desert thunderstorm yesterday, huge raindrops crashed into my windshield leaving small puddles to be swept away.

The storm lasted only a few minutes, heading at top speed in the opposite direction of my car. Dust from the previous days ran down the sides of the car and left streaks of brown down the car.

It is another day, another dollar in Boise. Making visits and pondering tonight’s debate between Democratic Presidential hopefuls in South Carolina, I keep trucking. Praise the good Lord, L’s test came back that the tumor in her neck is benign.

It is sunny, now. L is in good health. No thunderstorms on the horizon in Boise, it is time to get back to work. Truth be told, I would rather spend the rest of the day in this coffee shop reading and writing. It is just that mood.

It is morning in the desert...

2007-04-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

The man demands that Fox News stays on while we eat breakfast. He must know how the liberals are destroying America this time. (His excuse for the TV to be on is he wants to watch stock, but not on MSNBC the financial network.)

His wife talks loudly into her phone about how she can not wait to visit her kid and get some lunch with them.

A man in a suit and I bend our heads toward breakfast. Business has brought us here. We want to eat and get out as soon as possible.

A young lady, working the breakfast, looks at my mapquest map and directs me the quickest way to the main road.

All of this is watched over by the manager behind the desk glaring, hoping for some reason to speak up.

Lika a Rolling Stone...

2007-04-24T20:14:00.000-07:00

Flew into Boise, Idaho today, drove to Twin Falls, crossed into the desert and now am held up in a Holiday Inn Express. As I drove to this dry land, the radio blared Bob Dylan. He mocked an Andy Warhol’s model/movie star, and I pushed further into the American wilderness.

Here this land easily went for Bush, but now it is confused. The war drags down the whole country, even here people are asking ‘what is happening/is America going to loose yet another war?’. And Bob Dylan wails on.

Sacrifice is well-known here whether while working the cattle or going into battle. They are the doomed that Hunter S. Thompson asked Richard Nixon. They are the men and women who build the country only to watch their hard work either be misused in an Iraqi oilfield or be bought up by a dot-com millionaire from California.

Let us hope we do not as Nixon advised, “fuck the doom,” but learn from and take on some of their better qualities.

Born Jerks...

2007-04-16T14:52:00.001-07:00

Are people born jerks or do they become one after years of practice and self-loathing? It is the eternal question of nature vs. nurture. In this case, between having a heart and depreciating anyone in your radius.

I pondered these thoughts while in Wenatchee, WA sitting down to lunch next to two couples of aging Boomers. Middle fifties and still moaning about what the world owed them: a Barnes and Noble, a Target or something to do in this tiny Washington town. The town they thought of as quaint when they moved, but now owed them more, because it needed to be small, but fulfill every desire. They are overgrown, overpaid, over fulfilled teenagers.

One man boasted to the other that his wife now worked for the doctor that treated her cancer. She responded how nice and a little odd it was to be working for the man who saved her life.

The husband smiled and bragged that, “when people call in and complain and moan (in a mocking voice) ‘you don’t know what I’m going through’ she can be like yes I do.”

Way to show those cancer patients whose boss-after all, if it wasn’t for jerks like this guy how would we know how not to behave.

Lack of posting

2007-04-14T10:24:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I have been rather bad at posting recently. I have been working like mad and have not been in the writing mood, which I need to break.

Currently, I am in Seattle on a Saturday going to drop by a few more donors and then head to the airport and get home. Here is a picture from Seattle, ya'll can enjoy.

A Thriving Success…

2007-03-29T19:13:00.001-07:00

I’m in South Chicago spending the night in a growing community. Farm and woodland is being converted into homes and Targets as quickly as the builders can erect the structures. It is a growing middle class African-American community. The media angers me when they make it appear all African-American either by gang bangers or locked into the cycle of poverty with means out. Conservatives have fault in believing that we all start out with the equal opportunities and if not simple hard work will even the scale. Liberals assume that minorities are in constant need of parenting and that without aid they cannot do anything on their own. Both are dead wrong. While it is sadly true, that not all Americans are given the same opportunities or advantages in life, it is wrong to say that one’s life is out of their control. Middle class communities, such as these, do not come from purely hard work or an assisting hand. It is a combination of both. We can only hope for this type of success for others is if our leaders move from the polar extremes and into the middle.

Cancer knows no politics...

2007-03-28T19:44:00.000-07:00

In the last few days, it has been shown, once again, cancer does not care who you vote for.

Elizabeth Edwards, wife of Senator Edwards, cancer is back and in her bones.

White House Press Secretary Tony Snow's cancer is back and in his liver.

Shame on both liberals and conservatives who were happy about either of the cancers. Praise to those who reached over the aisle with best wishes for the family and friends.

Keep them both in your prayers.

I'm tired of it...

2007-03-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

I am tired of the fear. Everytime, I feel an extra heartbeat, which has been happening more often lately, I become scared that something will happen. I can't stand this sensation. It goes on a couple of times an hour. Yet, I don't want to tell anyone. For fear that I will be forced to endure the pain of surgery earlier than I need.

Fear, I say something or I don't, either way it has got me.

Four Years...

2007-03-23T14:07:00.000-07:00

In one way, four years can seem an eternity. It took four years for me to go from fourth to eighth grade. And four more years to complete high school. Four years, in the future then, seemed long and distant.

Yet, four years can be short. Four years ago, I was a teacher. Four years ago, B, R and I were drinking bourbon and soda interpreting the news as a team. Together we were able to decipher Chinese enough to understand how far America had advanced in its march to Baghdad and how many U.S. lives it cost.

Learning that U.S. blood had been spilt defending the nation from Weapons of Mass Destruction, we would toast to the men and women who had sacrificed everything for us. Slightly drunk, we would stagger off in search of fried rice and water dumplings.

I would come back to my room, check the Internet, pour another drink and read happy to know that victory was certain.

Now, a short four years later, I have been cheated and deceived. Deceived into supporting a war against a country that wished us ill, but had no way of hurting us, and cheated of the lives of brave men and women who did everything to save me-someone they never met.

For some these four years must have dragged. Men and women separated time and again from their family to go on yearlong tours in the dessert.

In four years, I have a master’s, built a career and started my life. In four years, others keep returning to Middle East nightmare with no end in sight.

One more thing

2007-03-20T14:48:00.000-07:00

For those who respond to the last post, please send a link of this blog to friends and family. I want to know their opinions as well.

Also, I am not giving away my thoughts just yet. I do not want to swing the voting one way or another. And since I am just a Yankee, I would rather hear from the nationals first.

A Query

2007-03-20T14:45:00.000-07:00

Since I have noticed from my Google Analytics that many readers come from Taiwan, (I still dream of that country from time to time and always in the highest sense.) I have a little question. Should Taiwan be an independent nation? Should it become part of China like Hong Kong and remain relatively independent? What is your solution?

This is not a 'yes' or 'no' question. Just give me what you feel in your heart is the correct response.

Quick Update

2007-03-19T07:07:00.000-07:00

Sorry, to post so little recently. I have been traveling with my job. My surgery is not until September; so, I am getting as much work done as I can between now and then. However, in the next few days, I have quite a number of posts stiring in my head.

Well, It Is Official

2007-03-05T12:49:00.000-08:00

Had a nice little chat with Doc on Friday. It is official; I will be going back under the knife in a few months. It will be second operation in as many years and my second open heart. They will crack my chest like a chestnut.

In the coming months, I ask for your prayers and thoughts not just for me but also for L and my parents.

It is an odd thing. The whole situation has not really settled in yet. I no longer am planning a long vacation next year to support Edwards at the Nevada caucus. (One of the biggest letdowns.) I am not planning anything beyond September, the tentative date for the surgery. At the same time, I am still traveling for work: Iowa this week, Illinois the next. I still see L. I go to movies with A. I sleep late on the weekends and watch boxing.

All too soon, my joys will be replaced my pain. My desire to read and write will be supplemented by sitting and staring. I will be unable to sleep on my stomach. My joy in life, which I just recently found again, will be taken away. I will be back to the dark days of last summer: days whose only memory is of pain, anxiety and suffering.

A small rant

2007-03-01T14:01:00.000-08:00

The blogs, the newspapers, TV and radio, they are talking about which Democratic candidate is the most electible. Who can win in the general election? (The debate is which moderate Republican can win over the conservative Republicans.) But no one, I think is asking the most important question.

Who would make the best President?

Of all the candidates out there, which one would bring the nation together, not tear it a part. (Remember, G.W. saying he was a uniter not a divider in 2000.) Who can restore American to its place as the shining city on a hill?

Maybe, instead of looking at who could win, the parties should be looking at who could do the best job?

Well, that's my small rant for the week.

Here We Go Again...

2007-02-27T08:16:00.000-08:00

Friday I have a meeting with my doc. From a prior phone conversation, I know he will recommend that I have open heart surgery to replace a valve. Funny thing is after the summer and early fall months of feeling like crap, the past few months I have never felt better. I have a good job. My health has returned. And to top it all off I have L.

Downer is not the word to describe it. 2007 is shaping up to be bad sequal to 2006.

Vilsack out...

2007-02-23T21:08:00.000-08:00

It was a shock to me.

Gov. Vilsack already out of the Presidential race. Nearly eleven months before the first caucus, and he already decides he can not do it.

Personally, this really lowers my opinion of him. What changed in the four months since he announced. No amazing unseen new candidate announced. He did not pull a Biden and say something remarkably stupid. Instead, he maintained his low-profile ho-hum approach.

Of course, I did not think he could win. But did he really think in four months he would go from 2nd/3rd tier to top material? Especially, while everyone else announced?

Come on, you have to give it a better shot. Why end your politicial career on such a weak note. At least go down in flames on your home state's caucus night fighting the entire way.

How quickly we fall?

2007-02-22T18:49:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday, I was in the Hyatt in Baltimore. Now, I am in a Super 8 in Peoria. How quickly I have fallen? All for work.

Bad Coffee, Bad Day…

2007-02-15T22:25:00.001-08:00

I spent from Saturday to Tuesday in Baltimore attending a conference of other non-profit Lukas. It was a time to share ideas, learn and network (a.k.a. drink at the bar).

M, E and I were to fly out on Tuesday, but due to the weather our flights were cancelled and this meant another night in Baltimore. Wednesday the weather was not improving, and with flights cancelled, we drove to Richmond, VA with hopes of a flight to Dallas and a connection to the Lou.

Valentine’s Day was not spent with L. E missed his pregnant wife and M her husband and two sons. Instead of a romantic dinner, I got bad decaf coffee at 10:45 on a flight to St. Louis.

At dinner in Richmond, I watched airport security pick up a serviceman holding an American flag on the tarmac. The security vehicle was followed by a baggage truck probably carrying the remains of a soldier.

On the flight to The Lou, I sat across from a man from D.C. who had been trying to get to St. Louis all day for his brother’s funeral the next day. In the process of catching whatever plane may get him there, he had been separated from a wife and grown child who may not arrive in St. Louis until after the funeral.

So, I had a bad day. I missed Valentine’s Day, lounged around airports, ate bad food and drank worse coffee. In the end, I get to go home. I will spent most of the weekend with L and hit the road again next week. But for one soldier, it was his/her final trip home, and one man will never share a joke with a brother. Why should I complain?

Doubt in Your Hometown...

2007-02-09T13:15:00.000-08:00

Personally, I like Bill Richardson. I like him because he appears to be a competent Governor, was Ambassador to the UN who actually cared about the institution and can be linked to the success of Clinton’s Presidency without having the same last name.

Though he may not win the nomination, he appears to be stuck in the 2nd tier with even Chris Dodd gaining more ground then he. I believe he would make a great Vice-President. A person who ever wins the nomination should have on their short-list from the start.

Bill Richardson is also an excellent example of how hard the 2nd tier candidates will have it this time around. Dean could be against the war. Clinton sounded like someone who understood our concerns. But this year, the media has already staked its reputation on the nomination being between Clinton, Edwards and Obama. Nor is Richardson getting any hometown help.

Granted, the article has not been printed yet. But the fact that the Albuquerque Journal will run a story titled, Despite his resume, Richardson still has to prove he is a viable candidate, shows just how little love his run is getting from even his hometown media.

No Real Reasoning Behind This...

2007-02-05T13:17:00.001-08:00

I have no real reason behind these predictions. They are just my gut saying what it thinks. At least, what it thinks in early February of 2007, about the first four contests of the Democratic Party and the order the candidates finish.

Iowa Caucus

Edwards
Clinton
Obama
Vilsack (who leaves the race after this)
Dodd
Richardson
Clark
Biden
Kucinich
Gravel

Nevada Caucus

Richardson
Edwards
Obama
Clinton (news stories flying around how Hillary is going down)
Clark
Dodd
Biden
Kucinich
Gravel

South Carolina

Edwards
Obama
Clinton
Biden (who drops out after this as the polls in New Hampshire do not look good, and he has been building a stand here for over a year.)
Clark
Richardson
Dodd
Kucinich
Gravel

New Hampshire

Clinton (news story: she finally wins one.)
Obama
Edwards
Richardson
Dodd (who is out and should have been long ago.)
Clark (who is out and should have never run.)
Gravel (yes, Gravel will beat someone at sometime.)
Kucinich

In the end, it will be four candidates heading into Super, Super Tuesday: Clinton, Obama, Edwards and Richardson. In the end, I have no clue who the Presidential nominee will be. But I predict that Gov. Richardson will be the Vice-President candidate.

Well, Why Not?

2007-02-05T08:28:00.000-08:00

Kinky ran for Governor of Texas on the slogan, “why the hell not?” Apparently, the people of Texas decided that being a song writer/country star/novelist is not the experience needed to be Governor. I am not judging the Texas voters decision, but the slogan got me thinking. Who is not a front-runner for the Democratic nomination, but could easily be a good nominee and why not President?

General Wes Clark ran a horrible campaign in 2004. He avoided Iowa and lost his lead in New Hampshire to the Kerry surge. He barely won Oklahoma and sputtered out after Wisconsin. Rumor has it, that Clark will once again seek the nomination. Clark still has a large support among liberal bloggers mostly from his stance of removing the troops from Iraq. But his stance on the war may not be his best draw. After all many of the Democratic candidates have the same stance on Iraq. However, he is the only candidate that is a retired General and what is more a former commander of all of NATO forces brining about a successful bombing campaign in the Kosovo crisis without loosing a troop. Should Iraq fall further into crisis or the saber-rattling with Iran continue a former General would make a formidable candidate. How could a man in uniform not support the troops? But if Clark runs an ineffective campaign in ’08 as he did in ’04, he will not find out if he can stand up to GOP attacks. Instead, he will find himself once again bowing out long before the convention.

After Chris Dodd announced that he was thinking of running for President, the media rolled its eyes. After all Dodd is a New England liberal who would be competing with the former nominee Kerry and the self-promoting Senator Biden for the mantle of representing New England values in a time they were not highly sought after by the party. The wind has shifted slightly. Kerry came to the same conclusion as everyone else and realized he would not win and dropped out. Biden started his campaign by making a comment that may end his campaign. Dodd is taking advantage of every free media opportunity to show he is in favor of a binding resolution against the war stopping Bush’s escalation. All of this seems to have broken him out of the third-tier candidates and into the top of the second-tier. Vilsack has been unable to gain any momentum after his announcement despite spending about half a million to do so. Richardson has become almost mute since his announcement. This has left Dodd the opportunity to rise. In the most recent National Review rankings of Democratic candidates, Dodd came in a surprising fourth behind HRC, Obama and Edwards. While it is not probable, Dodd will fine a way to surge to the top, he has a year to do it. After all a Senator for twenty-eight years and chairman of the finance committee is not a bad resume to be President.

So why not Clark? Why not Dodd? Why not Gravel, ok too far.

Aging With Joy Filled Responsibility…

2007-02-04T20:50:00.001-08:00

Both J and T are going to be fathers. Life long friends, they were in the same grade in school, now so will their children be.

We are getting older. We are past young men and becoming responsible adults. As we age our indiscretions become fewer out of experience, maturity, and expectation, while our responsibility grows.

I am nowhere near having children myself. Yet, the joy I see in my friends faces and excitement in their voices, I know that is the time should come it is a hurdle into full adulthood that may be filled with the most fear and fun.

Biden's Fall...

2007-02-01T20:47:00.001-08:00

And then there it is. One stupid comment ends Biden’s Presidential campaign the day that it begins. It may be a record for the quickest burn-up in primary entry. The sad fact is no one really believes that Biden is a racist. At the same time, Biden has never practiced the control needed to be a top tier Democrat. In another time, he would have been Kerry’s Secretary of State or someone’s VP. Now, he will just fade into the distance being a foot-note in Presidential campaigns going down in flames both in ‘88 and ‘08.

Rolling Arounf The Lou...

2007-02-01T20:12:00.000-08:00

Saturday night, C and I spent the evening driving from bar to bar, hearing horrid bands and talking about relationships past and present. It was a meandering night with subjects and bars changing frequently. In the past months, I had not seen much of C, and it was good to speak with him again. Others find him different or his conversation strange. For me, he acts as a good cognac relaxing and calming me while stimulating my mind. After an evening with him, I had a better idea where L and I were headed and that was greatly needed. Now, if I could just get him to stop smoking.

Exhausted

2007-01-26T13:47:00.000-08:00

These tiny river towns are nice. Sitting on the edge of the mighty Mississippi, they die slow deaths each generation of residents smaller than the one before. Few chain stores or restaurants have ventured into them. Minus a few rehabbed homes, they are the same as the pictures from the 1950s.

I spent two days in these towns yesterday and the day before. Visited with some great people and spent time in stores time trapped twenty years earlier. I enjoy these towns very much. But for some reason they sap my strength. Driving into each one drains me a little bit more. All I want is good sleep and a nice restful weekend.

Simplicity

2007-01-16T14:26:00.001-08:00

Porches, the calendar was of nothing more than porches: high in the Rockies with an oak chair; in the deep south with a high back rocking chair; and overseas so close to one another that their fences almost touched. The purchaser of the calendar would spend hours staring at the pictures imagining him or her out of the cubicle and onto the porch.

It is such a simple thing this porch. A convenience found even in the most poverty filled areas. A place where one can sit, relax and watch the world drift by.

Anyone can own a porch and enjoy its comforts. Yet, we live in a world hectic, crazed with demands that a simple porch is a fantasy held in a thirteen-month calendar.

Thoughts in Chicago

2007-01-15T17:34:00.001-08:00

College is far away. A mere six years ago seems to be a lifetime. Is it possible the body of mine was young? Was my mind ever carefree and confident? Was my income unregulated, small and easy-come easy-go as if the dollars spent on movies and beer was meaningless?

There once was a time when were producing was reading and thinking. No evidence exists of it here in this hotel bar in downtown Chicago. A plush couch engulfs my body as conversation between salesmen, sports fans and a May-December romance surrounds me. Here production is closed deals. Thought is on Grossman’s arm strength. An aura of success can bring you a woman your daughter’s age with a mouth of a sailor.

I have been in this real-world for almost three years. It still feels foreign and strange, but not as much as it used to.

Am I becoming one of them?

Behold, I Have the Truth

2007-01-09T14:43:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday, December 26, I drove into Austin to visit some friends from childhood and college: a loafing day after the continuous celebration of Christmas. On the way home, I scanned the dial eventually settling on Radio Free Austin home of conspiracy theories, alternative news and antigovernment rants all brought to the good people of the Republic of Texas free of Charge. What little I heard, until the station went out of range 10 miles out of Austin, was the that the ‘black Pope’ was trying to subvert Protestantism and the current government under George Bush was socialistic almost communistic. A charge few would level, but the truth according to the host.

On Wednesday, December 27, I flew home to The Lou after a relaxing five day Texas Christmas. A layover in Dallas-Love afforded me a second opportunity to hear an unknown truth. A truck driver on his way to KC to pick up a load was proclaiming that there was no cure for AIDS to a disinterested terminal.

I had been reading a few rows in front of him and kept hearing a commotion behind me. A lady walked past me on her cell phone thanking the caller for saving her. After a trip to the restroom, I investigated what was causing people to flee the area behind me.

Sitting down across from the man, I made eye contact with him as I found my page in the book. A second look was all he needed for him to determine I was a willing listener.

“You a student?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Work with computers?”

“Nope, I’m a fundraiser for a non-profit. We do ministry and social work in forty-one countries.”

“That’s great.”

“What do you do?”

“I sell poems. Here let me show. I wrote this and have sold over 400,000 copies.”

He handed me a brown piece of paper. On it was a simple rhyming poem describing his definition of love. Mixing references to the Bible along with laws of monogamy, marriage and heterosexuality, he painted a picture of an intimate relationship with little Gospel.

As I read the poem, he handed me his other life work, a well-worn laminated paper, which ‘proved’ that AIDS could never be cured, because it was a lack of love in the blood. To test his hypothesis, he showed every way to get AIDS, transfusions, intercourse, childbirth and drug uses were all cursed by all religious writing including the Bible, Koran and Buddhist teachings.

I explained my organization led some AIDS work in Africa. This turned him to how Bono might have used drugs in the past, and he thought still did. For the poet, the fact that Bono did drugs destroyed any good done.

Challenging him, I pointed out that blood transfusion was safe and people could give their own blood to themselves. He agreed that giving of blood to oneself would be all right, if the hospital did not screw it up. Later as I boarded my plane, he overly apologized for any offense made about transfusions. He did not agree with me; rather, he wanted to apologize to someone, and I was the only one listening.

In a confused nutshell, he had this thought out. That AIDS would never be cured, because an act by the victim forced the love out of his/her blood. The only way one could keep love was to follow a set of rules. Love was not an emotion, but an act. That was his truth.

It always shocks me to hear a conspiracy theory nut talk. Unlike bookmakers, consultants and advisors, the truth they know is hidden from all else and is an earth changing knowledge. Like the ego to say you should be President to say you have a truth we have all missed takes an ego few have and fewer need.

The Unthinkable Choice

2007-01-08T14:43:00.000-08:00

This weekend I watched The Howard Zinn Movie. As Dr. Zinn stated his desire for peace without military action, President Bush prepares to address the nation in which it is expected he will ask for around 20,000 additional troops for Iraq. Two widely differing views on how America should use its military power.

Personally, I believe there must be a middle ground. A spot where our nation can defend itself from military/terrorist attacks while respect the rights of those in other countries and restrain from brining terminal punishment upon the innocent. This middle ground is not hard to find or filled with contradicting nuances. It is as simple as any statement by Bush or Zinn. The late President Ford said best in an interview with Bob Woodward in 2004, "I just don't think we should go hellfire damnation around the globe freeing people, unless it is directly related to our own national security."

It is the first duty of all elected officials to provide security and safety for the people they serve whether a school board member, Congressman or President. As a public servant, you are a public defender. Sometimes force will be needed to achieve security. It is with this knowledge that the United States has a standing army: an army of volunteers who will put their life on the line to defend others.

War is a terrible thing. It mangles life and leaves scars on both the victor and defeated that take generations to heal. To enter war lightly is to give little value to human life. For an elected official to refuse military action in defense of the nation is degradation of duty.

A Post to SL

2007-01-04T07:19:00.000-08:00

SL:

I was wondering if you received my e-mail in reply to your latest post. I enjoy your comments and would like to continue in our debate. If you can not get my e-mails, I will post my response here. Also, do you have a blog yourself?

A Forgotten History

2007-01-01T20:36:00.000-08:00

On Christmas day near midnight, I was driving from Round Rock back to my parents’ place in Walburg. With Spanish music on the radio, I admired how much the much the outer limits of Austin had grown in the last six months much less since I was a small child. New subdivisions, strip malls, movie houses, and well lit access roads blurred by as I opened the car up on a traffic-less I-35. Cruising at 80, I passed Oxford Place one of the few buildings standing in my childhood.

Built in the boom of the early 80s, the Oxford Place was a typical strip mall that included an odd four story, three-football field long building. With windows in every room, I’m not sure what it was intended to be used for. In its history, it served as a nursing home before being evacuated in the late 80s never to be rented again. Repeatedly a sale sign would appear on the side of the strip mall starting in the bust of the mid 80s ending a couple of years ago. Most of the time, the whole place lay vacant with at most two stores tried to entice customers before dying out due to the lack of traffic.

The Oxford Place remains relic to the boom and bust economy and our need for newness.

As I write, construction surrounds the Oxford Place. New strip malls, restaurants, and stores appear in the months between my visits. Never does one rent into the Oxford Place, nor is it torn down. It is too expensive to dismantle too odd, old, and unlucky to make work. All the while, every prospector says this boom season will never bust.

Support

2006-12-28T11:46:00.000-08:00

His flight to Chicago is delayed. The day after Exodus day, he is beginning his first leave in the St. Louis airport. Twenty-five, he is just beginning his career in the U.S. Army.

“Where will you be stationed,” I ask.

“Korea, sir,” he replies unable to break himself from military discipline even when speaking to those in military clothes.

“A lot worse places.”

“I know, sir. I know.”

Our conversation is filled with starts and stops between times I read a book and he watches the planes land and take off.

His final destination is Raleigh, North Carolina where he will show off to his family his uniform with freshly polished shoes. He is making something of his life, making a contribution and the pride gives his face a glow. No longer will he be what he was six weeks ago; now, he is a proud member of the United States military. He will protect my freedom, engage the enemy and if need be lay down his life for the country.

Odd, how we honor him. We are given two choices. The first is a gun-ho supports the troops, but it can only be done by strict allegiance to national policy and popularity of leaders. Any question of policy or leader is an abandonment of the men and women in uniform. The second is to mock them. Believe ignorance, poverty or bad luck forced them to enter the military. Look down upon them and their value of duty as if it were an idea of a bygone era or a lesser mind.

While those two options rage for control in America, the men and women in the military work with little pay, poor housing, and when in combat equipped not with the most up to date safety equipment, but with Vietnam era surplus. Our elected leaders do not try to solve problems, but bicker. The citizens are barely better. As I watch him patiently waiting for his flight filled with pride and deserved self-respect, I ask don’t we owe them more?

“If Kim-Jong Il starts shooting keep your head down.” I offer my hand as my plane boards.

“Will do, sir. Will do.”

The best we have, let’s not waste him.

A Shorten Response

2006-12-12T14:22:00.001-08:00

I do not have much time today, but I wanted to get this out before I take a short business trip and forget about it.

Today, 12/12/06 is my birthday. Ol’ Blue Eyes and I share the same date of birth, and in my opinion the same level of cool. But that is not what I want to write about today. Instead, I want to concentrate on something that has been rolling around in my head since 12/07/06.

December 7th is the anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The sneak-attack brought America into the war. A war that started with America as an isolationist country and ended with it being one of two global superpowers.

On this blog, one of the readers asked: why do I think war happens? Are ‘isms’ the reason we fights wars, outside self-defense?

I agree self-defense, both real and imagined, is one of the main reasons we fight wars. America knew that if it did not fight back against Japan, Japan would continue to attack. While on the other hand, America ‘knew’ Iraq had WMDs in 2003 and would give them to terrorist. So, while self-defense can be a legitimate reason for the use of violence, it can also be a rallying cry aggressive action.

Are ‘isms’ the cause of war? Does communism, capitalism, socialism, fascism even feminism cause strive? I do not think it as simple as that. In fact, I think it is much simpler. War/violence is caused by man’s inability to live together, man’s inability to tolerate one another’s differences. It is possible for a fascist state and socialist state to live together-see France and Spain, or a communist and democratic state-see China and Japan. What makes tanks roll and bullets fly is the thought that the country next to you either has something you need or acts inhumanly. It is the inability for people to tolerate different thoughts next to one another or a state’s inability to tolerate descent in their own nation forcing others to fight to defend others’ rights-see World War 2 to save the Jewish nation.

It is not ‘isms’ that cause war, but the same question of: why can’t we all just get along?

Steady Going Nowhere

2006-12-04T15:13:00.000-08:00

Saturday night, L and I were supposed to go to Bahama Breeze a suburban restaurant where soccer moms and dads drink fruity cocktails and eat standard fish dishes with Caribbean names. L has a gift certificate and wanted to use it. But I did not feel like it.

Earlier in the day, my parents and I went to see Bobby. Estevez’s film on a day in the life of people at the Ambassador hotel the night Bobby Kennedy was shot. Even with the minor flaw of too many characters over too short a film, the writing and acting lift the movie to what it desires to be not just a picture honoring the values of RFK but an appeal to the audience to work towards a better society dedicated to respect for one another.

The film put me in the mood for conversation and community not usually found at Bahama Breeze. So, I called an audible. Instead of heading into the burbs, L and I went into city and The Royale.

There among pictures of the Kennedy brothers and other leaders of the past, I reflected upon the movie. With a faintly shadowed purpose, Estevez used old footage of RFK to speak about the issues of today: war, poverty, the environment and equal rights. As the director would have wanted, I thought about how little has changed in thirty-five years.

There are issues, even with the best efforts, could take generations to solve poverty, racism and crime remain stains on American prestige. None offer a sure fire solution; rather, they will require decades of patient toil.

The environment will not be corrected in a generation or return to its previous balance. Instead of focusing on how we can improve our actions towards the earth, America continues to stick our heads in the sand and increase our oil demand every year.

The war Bobby spoke of is one I learned in history books. In high school and college, Vietnam was pinnacle of American hubris: a blunder that tore both the American nation and Vietnam in two. Now, we are in Iraq and faced with eerily similar discussions. Why are we there? How do we best support the troops? Should we pull them out? What will happen if we pull them out? Is our force ever right or wrong?

This one bothers me the most, because Vietnam could have stayed in the history books. My generation X could have viewed it as an experience of our parent’s not to be repeated in our lifetime. And yet, here we are again facing the same questions against terrorism they faced against communism. All I could think of America was we are caught in a Fiona Apple line, "Steady going nowhere".

Snow Day

2006-12-01T22:19:00.000-08:00

Sleet, freezing rain and snow all day yesterday left The Lou closed down. Schools and offices, including my own, are taking an extra Friday off as the city workers clean the streets. From thirteen floors up, it is beautiful-a view overlooking a park with ice and snow hanging in the trees, untouched ground, and kids sledding down hills. Tea, stew, and fresh baked bread keep me warm. It is a day for reading, writing, and taking as many naps as I can.

After lunch, I sat down and started to look through the magazines pilled up on the coffee table. I picked up What's Up. The magazine sold by the homeless providing them with income and readers with news on the state of homelessness, social issues, and local flavor. It is a thing to buy like free trade coffee or a red iPod to show you have a moral conscious.

Flipping through the pages, I began to wonder what it must be like for the sellers of the magazine on a day like this one. A decrease in customers would be inconsequential problem to the fact that they were cold, wet, and hungry with some having slept outside last night. Instead of escaping to stew and tea, they escape to doorways, alleys, and crowded unsafe shelters. My gift only goes so far to help them.

I wonder if we are more like the Pharisees then the widow with our gifts. If what we give to charity is not what we sacrifice but enough to do what society accepts and get noticed. How many times have I sacrificed book, a game, or even a new shirt for a gift to charity? How many times have I given a gift to a charity not to help the ones in need, but because it is expected of me or I wish to fit in?

I like to think of myself as a giving person. Yet, when I compare how much I have and how much more I could give to how others suffer, it is shameful. In the end, though I pushed these thoughts out of my mind and went with A to the new Bond movie.

Early Skirmishes

2006-11-30T11:58:00.001-08:00

An unusually heavy fog filled the air in The Lou on Election Day. Less than a month ago, canvassers, poll workers, volunteers and candidates clashed in the thick haze similar to smoke from a Civil War battle. By 1 a.m., it was obvious the Democrats had won the day in Missouri and nationally.

Democrats will soon control the House and Senate. New leaders like Tester and McCaskill will replace Talent and Allen. As these leaders, choose which positions they wish to push in the coming months others are looking ahead to the next battle.

The Presidency is open in 2008. No re-election possible, no VP or favorite son is running. It is a hard fight coming.

McCain and Giuliani have sent out skirmishers in exploratory committees already. Romney may skip the committee and rush full into battle. Gov. Vilsack has already announced his intentions to be President and is firing rounds all over his home state of Iowa.

Clark will decide soon, as will Edwards. Kerry wants to be President, but has the gall to run after loosing and gaffing the past two years? We knew Clinton would run. Now, the rumor mill is turning out reports she may not. She may sit this one out. The reason the few comments by Obama. He may have not done anything permanent but his sniper shots have put holes in HRC’s confidence.
It is snowing here in The Lou today. We are a year off traditional primary season and already the battle in Iowa is echoing down in rolling thunder.

An Old Fear

2006-11-27T14:44:00.001-08:00

(Written on Thanksgiving Day)

I have been winning the war against anxiety the last few weeks. While I am nowhere near a panic attack as I would have been three weeks ago, two events have raised my fear.

The first is the loss of my cell phone. Yesterday, I used a small cup at the office. Half filled with water, it sat in my car while I drove home and over to a friend’s house for poker. After loosing early, I did a run to the store and without thinking I dropped my cell phone into its usual spot my driver’s side cup holder and into the cup. To this point, the cell phone has yet to recover.

Second, I am flying down to Austin for Thanksgiving Day. American Airlines assigned me the gate next to the one on the disastrous trip to Chicago.

As I wait for my plane, I watch the Loin-Dolphin game, write, pray and avoid bad thoughts.
(Update: A panic attack never happened. A nice lady waiting for the same plane was able to fix my phone.)

Contrasting Worlds

2006-11-21T14:39:00.000-08:00

Last night, A, his fiancée C, L and I hit the town for dinner. Appetizers at my home were followed by dinner down in the Loup. The evening was capped off with Fitz’s root beer and floats. A Monday out where a future wife and an old friend met and the world between relationship A and single A collided.

The night held the promise of great things yet to be done, life beginning and hope for the future a far different experience than a few days prior.

I spent the weekend down in Texas attending B’s funeral and hanging around with her family. The night after the service was spent playing dominos, eating tamales, telling old stories all while pretending to enjoy ourselves. I am not suggesting the laughter was forced or there was a dislike of people for each other. However, something was missing.

B’s presence was not there. She did not ask how I was calling me by both my first and last name. She did not yell and scream with the highs and lows of the games. She did not hurry around making sure all had enough to eat. Her children kept the food coming out of the fridge and the margaritas mixed, but they did so awkwardly constantly searching for the proper utensils. L tried to spice up dominos with jokes and B impressions, but they were poor shadows. No one called me by first and last name, not even in a joking way.

As last night made me look forward to the future, last weekend made hunger for the past. While my parents and their friends’ age, mine become more mature and move fully into adulthood. While I get to pass major life markers, I am forced to see those who have walked with me fall away.

None of this is unique or original I know. Yet when experiencing it, I can not help but feel unprepared. No class or book has described this accurately. No one can capture it for others, it must be experienced.

A Day in Red Bud, IL

2006-11-16T12:29:00.000-08:00

Spent a day in Reb Bud, IL talking to some fine people about how they can help others.

Had some of the best fried chicken ever cooked by these women.

Stopped by the high school football field were small town heroes play Friday nights.

A local country side selling grocery/liquor to the community.

Bought a case of Stag at the country side for $11.

Visits are all done, time to go back to my side of the river.

Sad

2006-11-15T12:01:00.000-08:00

J called about noon. He lost his mom at 10:30 this morning. She passed away with the family she loved around her and faith in her heart.

J and I have been friends before memories were formed. Neither has a conscious memory of meeting the other. We were just always together. B watched over me as if I was her own son. She corrected me when I was wrong, defended me when bullied, and many times feed and housed me while my parents were away. Of all my memories of B, two stand tall as examples of what a caring person she was.

In middle school, my dad traveled frequently with his job. Every time a Texas thunderstorm would roll across radar with warnings of tornados from the meteorologists, B would call my mom and I and insist we spend the night at their home.

The evening my father had his gallbladder attack B drove at a break-neck speed to meet us at the hospital. B waited patiently while the doctors spoke to my mom and I. She would tell me it would be all right, drive me to her home and drop me off at school the next morning.

B was a caring, loving, individual who should be held up as a role model for others. She deserves this honor, not because of any athletic, capitalistic or philosophical accomplishment, but because she was a shining light of how humans should act towards each other: a Christian whose works displayed her faith.

Unnatural Coexistence

2006-11-14T14:44:00.000-08:00

Saturday night, I spent a wonderful evening out at the Scottish Arms: the only bar in the Lou were waiters and waitresses are in kilts and scotch is separated on the menu by the region which distills it. Good friends, good food and a good Scottish band (pictured below) all made the night one of the most enjoyable in recent memory.

As is custom when I gather with this group of friends, the conversation turned to politics. With Tuesday’s elections, we had a great deal to discuss. I tried to be humble, showing my pleasure in victory, but not obnoxious. I was being a smartass though in joking that the revolution of the common man was coming and soon conservatives’ backs would be against the wall.

S and A rebuked me for believing I was one of the people. For them, I was another elitist Democrat who had no idea how the poor lived. Both A and S agreed that there were people who needed assistance, and they would go so far as to say that Democrats could provide better health care and education. But two things prevented them from voting Democratic and made them into GOPers.

The first issue was abortion. Both A and S strongly believe that life begins at conception. A human fetus is the same as a twelve year old. I respect their opinion and right to have it. As I have said in the past, if you believe that life begins the moment the sperm and egg meet then you should vote that way. Personally, I believe the GOP has used this issue to rally the troops and has tried little to actually make abortion illegal. So, while I respect their opinion and want them to vote for candidates who represent it, the Democratic Party is becoming a big tent party. Recently victorious, Senator-elect Casey of Pennsylvania believes abortion is wrong. The Democratic Party is beginning to get it right that pro-choice should not be a litmus test for the party. A person such as A or S may want better health care or education, but they need to be able to pursue their pro-life opinion as well.

The second issue was the people who are members of the Democratic Party. A stated it best, in that he viewed the party is that of self-labeled intellectuals who not only have little real world concepts, but be-little and mock those of faith and those who disagree with them. I can easily see his argument, and that is sad. Many times, the leaders and members of the Democratic Party appear as know-it-alls, not only know-it-alls, but those who smirk at the very foundations of many people’s beliefs. The idea of faith in God, working hard and the quite family life are cores, which guide the majority of our country. Yet, Democrats insist on being the popular, cool, and enlightened thinkers who not only know better, but will come to the defense of those who cannot take care of themselves: African-Americans, unions and the poor.

Friday night, I listened. As A said, most of his Democratic friends just listen and then tell him were he is wrong. I believe that he is wrong in this that all Democrats are what he described. The mass majority of Democrats are people of faith-mostly faith in Jesus. We desire a family to grow old with and believe those who work hard should be rewarded. We are not intellectuals or smarter than the average bear. We just want to help everyone have a fair shot at succeeding. We believe America is rich enough and strong enough that no one in our country should: go to bed hungry, not receive a good education or worry about medical bills. We believe America needs to reclaim its city on the hill light and point the way to democracy for other nations not through violence but aid and moral authority.

Like I said, I only listened, and soon the conversation turned to something else. Before we knew it, last call was on and the signing men in kilts struck up a tune.

All Apologies

2006-10-28T21:35:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I know it’s been a while since I have been posting regularly. Things have been busy with odd ups and downs. I look forward to get back to writing on a regular basis.

A Group Apart?

2006-10-27T10:51:00.000-07:00

“Your ears aren’t pierced.” I inform L as if it were a stain on her sleeve or spinach in her teeth a fact she does not know and will quickly correct.

“Yes,” she laughs. “Is that a problem?”

“I just assumed everyone our age had their ears pierced.” By everyone, I mean all females. Sexist, probably.

“So I should be like everyone else? I have to get my ears pierced?” Shameless, sarcasm.

I laugh. “No.”

Earlier in the evening, L and I discussed different groups, cliques, and stereotypes we were placed into by others. During the discourse, we spoke about how we did not truly fit into them. We liked to think of ourselves as independent, untied to groupthink. I believe L and I try to be ourselves rather than a part of a clique. But there arises a danger in that.

A number of people I knew in college who tried to define themselves as independent outsiders. It was a self-made brand of exclusion they wore with pride. Instead of doing what they liked, they constantly stated what they were not: jock, nerd, religious, liberal. In the end, others saw them as a group of negatives. They became a select number of people who let differences define them and pushed away those who did not fit into their mold of uniqueness.

L and I try to be ourselves: artist, writer, Christian, Democrat, student. We want to avoid stereotypes and avoid being known for what we are not.

What I Recommend…

2006-09-20T10:52:00.000-07:00

I ate dinner with B and R last week. D is doing well, had a kid and is enjoying life in Idaho. S and K also had a kid and moved closer to parents in Michigan. J got married to a national or so the website says. H is living in Vegas, baby. N finally got back and is looking for a job. We are spread around the world, with different jobs, and little contact. But we are still friends and share one intimate bond. We all survived our time in Taiwan.

The decision to go over there is one of the few choices in my life I have never regretted. Difficult sometimes: too hot, too humid, strange, gross and stinky all describe the county. The friends I made over there are life-long. The experiences will never be repeated. There are no do-overs.

I hope I contributed to the city of Chia-yi. In the perfect world, I had a permanent impact on peoples’ lives. It was not all for me; I wanted a chance to make a difference.

When every other job requires experience to apply, the time overseas did not. It let people live in new and different place and as they bent down to help found themselves lifted up.

A Proper Analogy

2006-09-13T11:02:00.000-07:00

It took several months and many poor comparisons, but I finally came up with an analogy of my fear-a prior experience in my life whose emotions run eerily similar to now. I played little league for only one year. Platooning in right field and third base, I was known for my chatter over athletic attributes. My fielding was poor and hitting was worse. The prospect of the ball beaning me scared me speechless. The fear drove me to jump out of the batter’s box no matter how far off the plate the ball was on the other side. Before coming to the plate, I would be confident that I would be hit. In the on deck circle, I was near tears at the prospect of the at bat. I would beg my coach to take me out of the game before something terrible happened.

I never got over the fear. My team, the cubs, won only two games and was demolished in the first game of the playoffs. I would not take another competitive swing until intramurals in college. Come to think of it, I did not take too many swings in little league.

Today, I face the same terror during daily activities. As sure as I was that I would be struck by the ball, I am positive I will have a spell while showering, driving, walking or being alone. It is confidence of failure, certainty of pain. I am not living in the field of competition, but am shrinking from the challenge.

In the end, I was never seriously hit. I escaped without a major bruise and .000 batting average. A month and a half since my last spell should give me strength. Saturday, I climbed all over the Scottrade center with no problems. Yet, the idea of showing without someone in the house frightens me to the core.

The Return of the Luka

2006-09-12T10:59:00.000-07:00

Key Rocky theme music and open shot of man checking his tie in the rearview mirror. Roll credits and the title, “A Luke Returns”. I admit that it is too overdramatic too vain. In reality, few need to know or care of my recent accomplishment, but for me it is a huge deal.

On Friday, September 8, 2006, I made my first visit with a donor since May. The visit went well, and it was an enjoyable time. (It is true I enjoy my work something to be loathed at 22 and to have pride about at 27.)

The real victory was not the visit’s results; it was the simple act of the visit. I fought fear, doubt, terror and fright to schedule this time and hold to it. All of the negative emotions melted away after the donor opened the door.

Friday gave me confidence that I can face more days with visits and soon be back on the road with whole weeks filled with talking to donors

Fantasy Football…

2006-09-07T10:54:00.000-07:00

There they were: all white, all with short hair, all with papers containing dynamite draft tips. Here in their late 20s or early 30s they have abandoned their hopes of athletic glory long ago and now focus on creating a fantasy football team to rival none other. They have left their wives, girlfriends, children or lonely apartments to meet in this smoky bar to hold their annual draft.

It is all business. No one is telling any jokes. No food has been ordered, just drinks. Names of football stars are the only conversation. After they finish, they quickly leave before small talk or discussions begin.

It proves to me, most of us live in dreams. Few of us achieve everything we strive towards. You may love your family, your job, and be wealthy, but there will be something you wish you could do or be. These men play as if they are genius GMs. Trekies wish they could live in outer space. There are many men/women still shuffling in many a band in many a city. I dream I am a writer and a pol. I love my family and think my job is great. I wish I had to do a book signing or write a victory speech.

The Worst Hotel Experience…

2006-09-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

This did not happen to me. The Luka who had this experience detailed the story for me over dinner this weekend. It was so bizarre I decided to blog it.

E drove into this tiny town in Wyoming with time to spare before his first visit. He took advantage of the opportunity to check into the hotel and place his bags in the room. Super 8 is no Luka's favorite spot, but it was recently built and looked well kept on the outside. Plus, it was the only place for miles where E could sleep. Bags into the room followed by a quick check of his tie and E was in the hallway headed for the car.

“Hey man,” A janitor called from a doorway.

“What’s going on,” E thought he was being nice and nor further conversation was needed.

“Where going to be on the news tonight.” The janitor’s eyes opened wide.

“Really?”

“Yeah, maybe even national. There was a film crew here earlier.”

“What for?”

“See that pile off foam down there.” The janitor motioned with his head.

E looked down the hall and saw a large pile of suds coming from the room next to his.

“Someone got killed down there last night.” The janitor grinned at the event, which had made his normal day exciting. “There was blood everywhere. You should have seen it.”

“Huh, what about the yellow tape did the police take it down already?”

“My manager took all that down. He’s cleaning the place now. He wants to get it turned around so we can use the room again.”

“Huh-huh,” E slowly back away from this strange conversation. “You have a good day.”

“You to buddy.”

E never turned on the evening news or checked in the papers for the story. He did have the best night sleep of the trip on the new mattress.

Decision Time…

2006-09-05T16:14:00.000-07:00

If I were overly dramatic, I would say: the time is upon us; it is zero hour; all systems are a go; it is now or never; the decision will change my life forever.

Maybe, I am that dramatic sometimes or try to be. But not now, now, I have one simple yes or no question in front of me.

To be honest, I did not think of the question early. It was Sunday when I first thought about it. Had that not happened, I probably would have doodled around until it was answered for me by time and lethargy.

Am I going to let this summer and fear take over my life and ruin a year maybe more where I spend time wallowing in doubts, or will I take risks push myself and grab for that golden ring of normalcy?

A long question answered with yes or no. Exceptions and explanations are not needed. Yes or no is the only part that will matter.

It would be easy to say yes. If I did nothing at all ‘yes’ would become the answer. It would be yes to my fears and doubts, yes to the lack of my inner strength, yes to being too tired to go. Yes takes little effort. It is not as if people could say a thing to my face. They could talk behind my back. Coworkers would whisper how I am just picking up a paycheck. Friends would think I am milking the sympathy. Relatives would believe I am a wimp/attention grabber. I could coast up to a year without pushing much.

I have taken the easy way before-many times. I have been known to turn and run at the sight of dogs. At 28, asking for a date is a Herculean effort. I do not play any sports choosing laziness over embarrassment. One more defeat in my lifetime would only further the trend.

I do have the option of saying ‘no’; I do not want this summer to extend into the next swimsuit season. I can force myself toward normalcy toward living by myself and working as before.

There have been times I have fought back. A semester was spent in heart failure. A relationship was started in a Chinese restaurant. Many of my success are muddied in the fact that they were done in ignorance or stupidity of the situation. To complete this epic, I must knowingly face the terror.

If I choose ‘no’, the road will not be straight and smooth. There will be times I will feel like giving up or worse that my health is in my head and my body is ill. Game plans must be written. Schedules must be set and revised. Goals need to be decided upon and then achieved. I must put all of my effort into it.

I am sure I want to be normal, and almost sure, I want to do the needed work. I am positive I do not want to use my heart as a crutch and scared about what would happen if I did not.

Ready aim, aim, aim, should I fire?

Labor Day Weekend Blues

2006-09-01T10:47:00.000-07:00

A three-day weekend and my last holiday until Thanksgiving, besides self-confidence, the illness stole vacation time-over two weeks.

S is cleaning.

K has a boyfriend, as do others.

Some have just moved.

C is still off the radar.

A and I will find something to do, or nothing and call it something.

The gang is all messed up. The glue is gone-no parties, no evenings out, no spontaneity.

I wish there was something to suggest. I am stuck in blah-land. I cannot think of something fun to do and spend my time daydreaming of Taiwan, healthy days and Kerouac.

Happy/Sad

2006-08-31T10:42:00.000-07:00

A came back into town, pushing his car out of Frisco, into Houston and back to the Lou tripling the miles on the odometer.

Saturday night, a few friends gathered at The Royal, drinks all around and laughter. I sipped pear juice and fought my nerves with frequent trips to the bathroom.

Monday, dollar pitchers at Duffy’s, A has nothing to do; drinking is good as anything else. I’m off the sauce and need to wake up early for work. We settle on dinner and run into P and her husband.

Five years, since I last saw P. She looks mature, not the giggling lady in cap and gown of previous memory.

We’ve aged. This summer has put miles on my body. No time to rest, back to work with you.

Where Can She Win?

2006-08-29T10:53:00.000-07:00

B, the priest turned nighttime doorman, doesn’t see it. McClellan’s expert is convinced it can’t happen. Old pols of the Lou shake their heads negatively. It is a national question that I don’t see how an affirmative answer can be given. Can HRC win the Presidency?

HRC is an amazing person. Her life story a 20th centaury experience. A Goldwater canvasser turned Watergate lawyer. A leading feminist at Brown changed into a First Lady who, “makes a mean tossed salad.” A Cubs fan donning a Yankee hat. She is a leader in her party and a role model for children. She will inspire people to do things unreachable by her or anyone in her generation.

She will never be President. There is just too much hate. Hate, deep loathing in the hearts of citizens. They see a greedy, power-hungry bitch that parlayed Billy’s tainted win into Senate seat and nearly American communism ala socialized medicine.

They will vote in the rain, the snow, and the heat to defeat her. They will insure many registered Democrats will be denied the vote by doing whatever is necessary.

So while New York, California and Rhode Island would cheer for her on election night, moderate citizens in states like Missouri, Ohio, New Hampshire and Iowa will have their voices drowned out by a chorus of boos against HRC. In the hearts of many, it will not matter who the other candidate is, the hate will drive them to vote against a woman who tries her best. A woman who cannot seem to get past the image of a power-hungry ice princess.

Expectations

2006-08-28T10:54:00.000-07:00

H has convinced me that I still need to view myself in a time of recovery, recovery both from both mental and physical assault. Physically, I am doing well. My strength is returning, and the pain is manageable. Mentally, it is slower going. I no longer fear walking, dressing or driving small distances and have returned to work. There remains a plethora of activities such as driving on the highway, being alone, and exercising that is a part of the general terror. Each day, I do a little more and feel a little better. It would be a mistake to say that I am a hundred percent.

A hundred percent is what is expected though. Supportive and caring, my parents are ready for me to move back to my place. Bosses and fellow employees expect the old Luka. The man, who slept in cheap La Quinta, drove dusty Neons and lived off tea and popcorn, off the radar.

I am not near what I was in April. I cannot do what I used to do, not yet anyway. There is no way to explain it. I look fine. I put on a good show acting normal complete with flippant comments. Friends assume ‘I’m back’, while at Wal-Mart I am one extra heartbeat away from a panic attack.

I am not back, despite what I want and most think.

What is in My Heart?

2006-08-25T10:57:00.000-07:00

Do I believe in my heart that I am well? Do I believe that I am cured and could be running at 100%? No. Honestly, without a doubt, I know ‘no’. I do not believe I am completely healed.

If I did believe, I would not have this fear. It has been two months since the type of spell that put me in the hospital. Yet, still when I feel the slightest bit lightheaded/dizzy I assume it is all beginning again. Over a month since my last trip to the ER, and still sweating palms and an increased heartbeat lead me to the conclusion this is the beginning of the end.

Everything medically checks out. The doctors promise me. When will I believe them?

Is it possible I will always have this doubt and fear in my life like my paranoia over dogs or terror in asking for a date?

Fear

2006-08-24T06:46:00.000-07:00

It is my prevalent emotion, present from waking to my last conscious thought. It never ceases its assault on my life. Always with me pressed in my mind while driving, talking, reading and eating.

Children who are afraid of the dark have the daylight to be safe. Snakes, flying and heights can be avoided with little difficulty.

I and the fear of illness are bonded, tied together. We are married in a seemingly undivorceable union.

Must make it stop.

Digging Myself Out...

2006-08-23T11:04:00.000-07:00

Each day, the layers of the summer fall off. Each day, I feel closer to normal. Each day, I am a little better.

There are still times, I feel the anxiety; positive, I am going to have a spell. In the copy room, the world becomes tilted. The air is thick. They are short now. These times do not ruin the whole day. Breathing deeply and sitting helps them pass. I have not had a spell in over a month.

Layers of the summer are falling off. The Luka is returning, productivity at work over video game victories.

A returns from Frisco on Friday.

C comes back from Texas.

S should be in Town.

K closed on his home.

Life is normalizing.

Facing Our Kong

2006-08-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

I like a movie whose symbolism is weak enough that I can see it. So, it should not come as a surprise that I liked the new King Kong. Liked, not loved, or best movie ever, I liked it. I was pleased with it, recommend it to a friend, but never buy it. Acting could be better and some of the computer graphics were overdone.

To my point, one of the obvious symbolisms of the show was that Kong was something we fear. Everyone has their own Kong, and we must challenge it or become like the natives of island and be slaves to its existence.

Though I like movies with easy symbolism, I take it to heart about as much as David Duke’s campaign platforms. Out of coincidence, I used this one. On Thursday August 17, I returned to work after a three and a half week disability layoff. My heart healed, my anxiety waning, it was time to get back to being a Luka.

I am not completely cured. I still feel nervous whenever my pacemaker stimulates my skeletal muscle. The drugs make me slightly dizzy and nauseous. I am afraid to drive on the highway. The apprehension of getting off disability and returning to work remains huge.

All of it is my Kong. A daily beast, I must face and stare down. That is too simple.

I am still the Luka I was in mid-April. Yet, I am hidden under layers of pain, shock, fear, terror and agony. An awful summer eclipsed my life. I must stand up, face the darkness and look towards the light of early fall.

Beer with My Grandfather

2006-08-14T14:22:00.000-07:00

Empty Natural Light cans and GPC cigarette stubs were permanently on my grandparent’s back porch, cheap brands for a minor cattle owner who lived off his garden and social security.

After a day of welding, fixing the tractor, moving the cattle from one field to another, repairing the cattle guard and a little fishing, my grandfather would come home strip down to his white undershirt and Dickie’s. He ate dinner late the plate sitting in the microwave waiting for him. I didn’t spend much time with him on the farm. I do not have a green thumb and ranching was never my thing. He respected that. While he sent the other grandchildren to work, he let me fish.

Going to the farm so little, most of the time, I was at his home before he arrived from the fields. My grandmother and other family members already playing games, in bed, or watching TV before his day was done.

Finished with the meal, he would retire to the back porch for a beer and a cigarette. I would always follow. Even with my heart problem, I would sneak a cigarette out of his pack and open a can of beer. Our conversations were mostly stories by him, advice given not outright or in fables, but in memories. The war, growing up and early days as a mechanic were his favorite subjects. He intertwined questions about my life with his narrative. Class, friends, and thoughts I explained to him. He listened and then would launch another verbal novel. His stories had the power to make me forget my worries, hunger for knowledge about his life, and feel the love he had for me.

October will be the second anniversary of when the man who taught me tic-tac-toe died. My grandmother’s backyard is without cigarette butts and Natural Light is absent from the fridge. As different as he and I were, we always had our time on the back porch.

Coffee at 5 A.M. at MoJo’s (no sleep)…

2006-08-10T08:29:00.000-07:00

I never believed this place would close. I pictured it would be available to generations of students to: ‘study’, sober up, bullshit, play chess, meet, and hang out. An Austin institution, its place in college lore cemented by film. Yet, all things must end.

In conversation with C about how quickly Austin was changing, he mentioned that MoJo’s had closed. He assumed I knew and stated it as a well-documented loss. I had not known.

Its layout was famous. First floor was coffee, tea, juice and the MoJo drink. Second floor was rumored to be occupied by the owner and his family. Rumored, because I never knew anyone who saw them and personally found it hard to believe anyone slept above the twenty-four/seven place. On the outside, every chair rescued from salvage and uneven table was occupied by students trying to escape the heat.
MoJo’s was always hot. It lacked AC, which meant that paying customers only appeared after sunset.

In underclassmen days, it was possibly for to be at MoJo’s three times a week. Honestly, I never brought a book to study. Many times MoJo’s was the final stop for the evening, 5 a.m., partied out, sleep deprived, mind fuelled by beer and caffeine. MoJo’s was the place to be when you wouldn’t go home.

MoJo’s was a fortress against the world of normalcy could not penetrate. It was the last escape of desperate kids running away from normalcy and towards invincibility.

Rooming with J (or part of the story)…

2006-08-09T10:01:00.000-07:00

It is impossible to describe rooming with J. Maybe with graduation on the horizon and graduate school assured, I would have had a good time with anyone who threw parties almost nightly. I do not believe it. J and my place was where I was happiest in college. I believe it came from the special bond J and I developed and the experience of rooming with him. Since, I do not hold the literary skills to give it its due; I will share what a typical evening was like.

The Corona was in the fridge. The port was cheap. The rum was spiced. J and I were drinking Tito’s Vodka iced from the freezer mixed with orange juice. Each screwdriver had well over two shots of vodka. Exact measurements melted away as the evening wore on.

Other people drifted in and out of the room. Girls flirted with J. I coordinated food deliveries for the boyfriends. Chicken wings and cheap beer cans stacked up as freshman rolled in announcing how many drinks they had consumed that night. What had started as an evening of J and I watching TV turned into an event.

I left my seat only to go to the restroom and mix more drinks. From my corner throne, I observed the whole party leaning forward and joining in when I wanted to, leaning back and drinking in silence when I felt like it.

Some people headed downtown to the clubs. Others looked to score from M. J and I stayed. More people came. Finally, at 3 a.m., I went into my bedroom and felt the world spin. J and others stayed up.

I got up for my early class at 9 a.m., grabbed some O.J. without Tito’s, and would do it all over again the next night.

My Odyssey-A Spell

2006-07-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

What does it feel like? That is what docs, friends, and family all want to know. Well, here it is the cut and dry of my existence.

Pro athletes talk about being in the zone: the point where the crowds, the coaches, the contracts and the pressure all fade away. A point where the game’s existence becomes so sharp and bright it eclipses the world’s existence. It is similar for me during a spell, only with negative results instead of a ticker tape parade.

It may start in several ways: a small amount of exercise, an extra heartbeat, some stress, or even entering a warm room. Though I never run a fever, my body radiates heat. My insides are an oven on low. The world closes in, and no longer can I concentrate on TV, conversation, etc. My palms and feet become clammy beyond any point I have ever seen them. My feet leave puddles of sweat on my flip-flops. It feels as if my heart rate is racing upwards; yet, my pulse rate remains normal. Like being in a sauna, I cannot draw a full breath. The doctors say my blood-oxygen level remains high and my respirations rise only slightly. Chest tightness is the least bothersome symptom; though, it feels as my torso has been bound by rope. Sometimes, I become a lightheaded or a little nauseous. These last symptoms occurred more frequently in the early spells than in the recent ones.

For hours, the spell continues: symptoms rising and falling. Moments of health are immersed with thoughts of immediate doom.

During this time, Israel fights in Lebanon; Talent campaigns; families eat at Ted Drew’s; people live their lives. I cannot see past my sweating hands.

Second Week Anniversary…

2006-07-30T18:52:00.000-07:00

So far so good. For the second week in a row, I have not had a spell that sent me to the hospital. That is a pretty good winning streak, one any ball team would envy.

I have had small spells--one that spooked me. I am not cured. In fact, I am no longer working and processing the request for disability. I have an appointment with a doc tomorrow.

But for fourteen blessed days, I have been outside of the hospital. Praise the Lord for this victory.

2006-07-28T13:17:00.000-07:00

Cutting Class, One of the Simplest Joys in Life…

I am not talking about cutting class, because I overslept, was hung over, forgot about it, or loathed the Prof. I am talking about the spur of the moment cut. The game time decision that I would not go to class sometimes made within sight of the building.

It was cutting class not to do something better, but to do something else. Occasionally, the cut would include friends and we may or may not have gone somewhere. However, it was never planned. The cut was fulfilling no schedule or plan.

Taking a nap, watching Law and Order or reading were how I spent the time. Some would call it doing nothing. Doing nothing, it may have been, but it was my time.

It was my time I had gathered back from others, my time to do as I pleased. It was not the weekend or the evening, time that was assigned to mew. It was my time stolen back from responsibility.

Now, with work/illness (especially the illness), I cannot cut anymore. I cannot take back the time and make it my own. I am forced to life in the assigned me time.

2006-07-27T12:39:00.000-07:00

Mt. Ali-Shan Tea, Possibly the Best Gift…

Growing up in the South, tea was rarely drunk hot. Usually, it was served over ice heavily sweeten with lemon. The best tea was sun tea simply made by putting water and tea bags in the sun all day. It tasted good with strong bite covered by a sugar after-taste.

During an illness, was the only time tea would be served hot at home. It kept the lemon, but the sugar was replaced by honey.

Growing up, the one place that always served hot tea was Chinese restaurants. It came in cups with only two gulps of tea, and the first thing I did after being served was to add a bag or two of sugar.

For me, that was tea as a kid. Growing up, I could not understand why the British and Chinese loved tea so much. Hadn’t they ever tasted a cup of fresh brewed coffee? Folgers’s crystals were better than any tea I ever had.

Before Taiwan, I tried tea with cream, drank loads of green tea in college and graduate school. But tea was still something with little taste that made a mess when I moved the bag from the cup. To tell the truth, I drank tea over coffee, because it had less of a caffeine rush.

Tea in Taiwan is part of the culture, like beer in red states and gin in blue states. It felt like as soon as I landed someone was offering me tea. The Hawaiians have lays; the Taiwanese have cups of hot liquid.

My first and many a cup came at a roadside dinner with dumplings. The tea was hot and sweet. Sweeter than any back home, with the exception of my grandmother who makes instant tea with a ratio of one cup of sugar to half a cup of tea. Unlike the Lipton tea of the South, this tea was strong and loaded with caffeine. Like a double expression at 5 a.m., the tea shocked my body out of jet lag. No wonder, the British and Chinese drank this in the morning. It was an alternative fuel source.

The longer I stayed the differences in tea became apparent. There was the American Lipton brand, which no one on the island nation would think of serving. Green teas and flower teas, which looked like potpourri to the Yankee eye, were clean and crisp used to relax after a long day or walk. There was the thick black tea served at roadside dinner and most tables at home. Then there was the ‘in’ tea of the moment. The tea that was served to guest as an honor and never seen in any of the roadside stands I ate at: oolong.

Oolong has a rich taste without the bitter endings. Caffeine filled, but not the point of exhaustion. The best of the best was high mountain oolong tea. Grown in temperatures that required a jacket, the high mountain tea was worthy of its reputation. Many a person was willing to pay top dollar just for a small cup.

I was a man without a tea making pot. I was ignorant of the proper way to make tea, and the tea I did purchase quality was barely above the roadside stand variety. I enjoyed being a guest in homes and the teas other teachers brought in, simple because I could not get a decent cup on my own.

On teacher appreciation day, one of my classes gave me a can of Mt. Ali-Shan high mountain oolong tea. Mt. Ali-Shan was the closest mountain to Chia-yi. Thousands of tourists each year took the train ride up to witness the sunrise and sunset with snow beneath their feet. My students’ gift of tea from there was not only a gift of local flair, but also the best of it.

The color of the first cup was tan. At first, I thought I had not brewed it long enough. The cheap drink I was used to came to a dark brown in the same amount of time. I sipped cautiously. It tasted good. I went for a larger drink. Smooth with an almost creamy after taste, this was the best tea I had ever had.

Before long, I was drinking cups of it a day. I did not use the traditional Chinese saucers, but American coffee cups. A cup every class, at least; plus, several in between. I shared it with all, but secretly hoped no one would ask for seconds.

I left the tea in the office. Just one of the forgotten items left during the SARS escape. The Camelot of drinking Ali-Shan tea while grading papers or answering e-mails is gone. Every time, I am in a Chinese grocery store, I look for it. As the song says, “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

2006-07-26T12:56:00.000-07:00

One of the Hardest Things I Know and Accept

During my illness, I have my church, pastor, and loads of Christian friends and family praying for me. This is good.

I also have my Muslim and Jewish friends praying for me. I appreciate their intent. Yet, I am sadden by the fact that though they hunger and strive for a relationship with God under their current faith it will not happen. This, for me, is the hardest fact of Christianity.

The virgin birth, the resurrection, the flood, Jonah and the fish, even the end of the world are all easier on my mind. They are all easy to accept once one accepts the idea of God. For if, there is an all-powerful God, then why would anything be unachievable? He is God, after all.

Christianity differs from other religions by the way to achieve perfection/union with God is not through our own actions. In fact, we can do nothing to better our stay. It is the love of God has for us that draws us into Him, His love to send His Son to save us from evil.

Many, including myself, have asked if He loves us so much why would He let anyone suffer or face eternal damnation? O.K. maybe we can accept that bad people will be punished. Hitler, Stalin and all the obvious dictators can go to hell along with child murders, etc. What about people of the Jewish faith (They are after all His people), Muslim, Buddhists or other faiths are they not striving to be good and, more importantly, searching for Him?

It goes back that we all have freedom, a choice in life. Angels, animals, cells and even the universe must obey/worship Him. Humans can do as we please. We can follow His word, follow our own ideas, or follow nothing. It is our choice.

When we reject Him and His Son and find other ways to heaven and Him that is when we foul. For me, it is painful, physically and emotionally, to watch people practice other faiths. To witness people wanting a relationship with Him, yet, because of sin and our free will, they are putting their souls at risk is depressing. (Actually, I can think of no word in the English language to describe the emotion of loss I feel for those.)

Now, the new question, for me, is how do we reach those firmly integrated in their practiced religion? How do we proclaim the Gospel? How do we do it in manner that is not boastful or full of pride?

2006-07-26T07:24:00.000-07:00

Things I Miss (and i can never have again)…

The list is in no particular order.

10. Mt. Ali-Shan tea given to me by my students.

9. Cutting class.

8. Rooming with J.

7. Coffee at 5 a.m. at MoJo’s on no sleep

6. Beer with my grandfather

5. The electricity of the green room after a standing o

4. Wayne Gretsky’s Hockey with T, N, P and C

3. Summers at Port Royal

2. Sharing a Dr. Allen class with K and A

1. Friday night at Joe’s Place

Due to maturity, death, age and even geographic locations all of these little Camelots are gone.

2006-07-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

One-Week Anniversary, Yippee!…

Not many people celebrate one-week anniversaries. Junior High daters, newlyweds and people with babies probably round out the whole list.

I am sure the newly retires, marines just back from Iraq think about what they were doing a week prior, but celebrate it?

Yesterday was my one-week anniversary since I went to the ER and had a major spell. I did not have cake or punch. It was just another day. Another day filled with extra heartbeats, shoulder pain and two naps to ward off what I felt were the beginnings of an attack.

One week and counting.

2006-07-22T07:16:00.000-07:00

The Most Frustrating Part of It All…

Is that sometimes I feel fine. I catch myself sitting or walking down the hall, and I feel like I did two and a half months ago. To write the overused cliché, it is like coming out of a dream. I ask myself: why am I here, why am I still at my parents’ house, why do I think that I am sick.

These moments can last from 10 minutes to several hours. Inevitable, I want to stand up and go home. The past few months appear not have happened. It was if a bad fantasy has ended, and I have returned to normal programming.

I am past the joy I used to experience when I feel fine. At one point, I actually jumped thrilled my suffering was over. Now, I no longer have the exuberance or optimism. At some point, an episode, small or large, or extra heartbeat occurs then I am back to square one.

What makes it frustrating is I can never fully enjoy the moments. They always end all too quickly

2006-07-21T09:10:00.000-07:00

Patiently Waiting, How is it Done?….

Every time someone tells me they or a close family member are awaiting the results of a cancer test, I wonder how.

How someone goes through a weekend or even several business days with it hanging over them. Would not every moment be twisted with concern? Every thought must be centered on it. Would not sleep be the only escape and then maybe not even then?

Even if the results were positive and treatments were to be done, at least, the waiting would be over. There could be some closure and knowledge of what was making them ill.

I have always dealt with my condition relatively well, I believe. I tried to be conscious of it; yet, not let it control my life. These last few months though everything has changed. I am patiently waiting for a cure that may never come or a diagnosis that may never be clear.

As the docs like to say, ‘do to your special anatomy.” It means most of what I experience is somewhat a learning experience for them and me.

In an odd way, I am still waiting the question. The docs have the answers; they believe. If only my body would start behaving with correct questions, it would be easier.

If only my left ventricle looked worse or my blood pressure/blood oxygen level rose and fell dramatically or my lungs became congested or my gallbladder hardened or I retained fluid, then answers would be forthcoming.

2006-07-17T19:00:00.000-07:00

What I Should and Should Not Be Doing….

“99 and in a suit,” my mom says driving me to yet another doctor’s office.

I frown. It should be me in the suit. I should be the one struggling against the heat with sweat forming under my arms and on the small of my back. I should be taking off my coat in search of relief, loosing my tie with a job to do, a place to contribute.

Maybe, it would not be in St. Louis.

Maybe, it would be in a tiny Iowa town forgotten even by the politicians. A place where the drugstore, meat market and bar/bowling alley are the only establishments open.

Maybe, it would be on a farm in Illinois. Out of the corner of my eye, I would watch the cattle graze as the donor spoke about his joy in spreading the Gospel.

Maybe, it would be in a log cabin in Oregonian woods. My car splashed with mud sitting under the never-ending shade of pine trees.

Maybe, it would be in Seattle. Driving back to the hotel, I would fantasize about tea/sushi dinner.

Maybe, it would be in the mountains of Idaho. A place I have never been, but need to be.

Wherever, it is I just want to produce.

2006-07-15T15:33:00.000-07:00

Just Two Men Talking in a Coffee Shop…

“The Middle East is on fire.” M shakes his head.

I nod while watching yet another new barista as she tries to mix my French soda

“I have my baby in this world. And I worry for her. What type of world is this that she will grow up in?” M asks me; his eyes pleading. He has come to America for a better life. He left his family and native land for a chance at something better. Now, he watches his region go up in flames, live over broadband.

Using Xs as states, M draws a quick map of Middle East on a post-it note. “Here is Iran. Here is Iraq with the British and Americans. Here is Syria. Here is Lebanon. Here is Israel. All on fire.”

“It’s no good. You know Clinton had a peace offer on the table where there would have Palestinian state and Arafat turned it town.”

“No, he was stupid. They will keep fighting, because the whole roadmap is gone. The whole roadmap is destroyed.” M corrects the barista on the way to make my drink.

“Jimmy Carter,” I begin.

“Jimmy Carter will go down in history as a great man,” M interrupts. “He got Israel and Egypt, the two biggest military powers, to peace. That dramatically eased a lot of tension. Now, ever since George Bush became President, he has done nothing. He has sent no envoys. For six years, the whole process is broken down.”

“America should do something.” I sound like a schmuck stating the obvious.

“There are no great leaders anymore. Clinton, Carter.”

“Sadat.”

“Yes, Sadat. Now all we have are idiots: President of Iran an idiot, Prime Minister of Israel an idiot, King of Jordan an idiot, King of Saudi Arabia an idiot, President of America…” M throws up his hands. “We need leaders.”

2006-07-14T14:42:00.000-07:00

Three Things Not in My Life Two Months Ago…

1. Zuma

2. Party Poker

3. Ryszard Kapuscinski’s writing.

Oh yeah, and a fear of walking forty feet. But I like the first three.

2006-07-13T12:54:00.000-07:00

Freedom at the Blackberry Café, Sort of…

Boom-bum-boom-bum-boom…. The day destroys the night, night divides the day… The Doors cause everyone to break into repressed dance. M, the owner, moves his shoulders as he prepares humus. E, the barista, sways her hips as she teaches the new lady how to make an espresso. The barista in training practices her craft while she nods her head to beat. I tap the counter and whisper the words along with Morrison.

Coming to Blackberry Cafe has become a nightly ritual. An opportunity to get out of my parents’ house, drive, listen to the radio, pick up a French soda, just a slice of freedom in my road to recovery.

M greets me with a huge hug. Our history together goes back to when I was a longhaired graduate student and he an employee of the former owner. If this were a normal evening, M and I may spend an hour discussing politics, news, and our families.

“See I told you, you would be fine.” M releases me out of his embrace.

“Getting better each day,” I smile and grab a muffin for breakfast the next day.

“You look good, really.”

“Thank you. How is your daughter?”

“Can you believe it she will be 5 soon.” M walks back to the kitchen.

“Time flies; I remember when she was learning to walk.” (Can I be that old?) I shout back at him.

E patiently shows the new barista how to make a French soda. The young barista splashes soda, syrup and foam over both the bar and back counter trying to master switching the drink from one cup to another and back again.

For some reason, I want to tell my story. I want to explain to E, the new barista, and everyone in earshot why I was here. Why I came in night after night. Why I order everything to go and never stay. Why I dress in warm-up pants and an old t-shirt, the same from last night. Why I was not a loser and this, my sole form of socialization. Or maybe, I just want to try to get sympathy from E. Or maybe, I have no goal in mind and just want to say something.

“I just had heart surgery.” I motion to M trying to explain the hug and compliments.

“I’m still recovering at my parent’s. That is why I come here. It is my little escape. A chance to get out other than work.” I ramble on, but do stop myself before I completely drone on.

“Wow,” E says, and the new barista nods.

They have the stunned look almost all do when I tell them of my condition. The face that says, ‘that sucks, you don’t look at death’s door. you are small, but I would have never thought this.’

“Well, you look good.” E says what almost all do. It is the generic compliment that they do mean, but sounds empty after the hundredth time.

“Thanks,” I take my drink, pay, and leave.

Today, I regret telling them. I put E and everyone in an awkward position. I never know what to say to someone who is seriously sick; why should I demand others come up with words for my problems? Why should I expect them to show new ways of caring I cannot? Also, is it worse to look like a loser who has no friends or a sad sick boy? Either way, you come up short. Maybe, I should have stayed a loser at least then some better clothes and a nicer car I could be redeemed. A sick boy is always a sick boy. It never escapes you, ever.

2006-07-12T10:33:00.000-07:00

What A Political Party Name Means….

Joe Lieberman made a great first impression on me. In late summer of 2000, he and VP Al Gore fly into St. Louis for a rally. Ol’ Joe looked like everybody’s favorite grandpa: kind, generous, and a Spiritual man. The type of Joe you could see on the street corner giving candy to kids. He cracked a joke with word damn in his speech. It was witty and shocking at the same time. He was a VP candidate who swore in public, but not offending anyone or directed at anyone. You could almost imagine him reading to his grandchildren before slipping out to have a whiskey at the bar.

Then we lost.

Then this nice old grandpa lost connection to reality. He aged mentally. Like many grandpas, his wit was gone, and he wandered around in a daze. During the 2004, Presidential race he had Joementum while Kerry, Edwards surged in Iowa. This nice grandpa was still living in the days you could ignore Iowa and win big in New Hampshire.

Then I stopped paying attention.

For me, he became a Democratic Senator who would never win the big one, never be VP, maybe a low cabinet post in his aging years. Overall a guy who will vote with you most of the time, and when he does not he will be doing that rare act of bi-partisanship. It may piss me off when Democrats reach across the aisle, but I respect them for thinking of the country’s well being over the party’s.

I have tried to avoid the Connecticut Senate race. Senator Lieberman vs. Lamont. Sure, I do not agree with everything Lieberman does. If Lamont wins the nomination and then the GOP wins the Senate seat, it will be another example of how lib-labs snatched defeat from the hands of victory.

For me, the logic is simple. We need all the seats we can get if we are to retake the Senate why blow a sure thing because you do not agree with everything Lieberman does? News flash: Lamont will do things you do not agree with.

I digress from my point. Last week, Senator Lieberman announced that if he looses the Democratic nomination he will still run as an independent. The name of the party will be Connecticut for Lieberman. I think that’s wrong. Maybe, I am no position to question, and maybe, I am making a big deal out of nothing.

Connecticut for Lieberman sounds like the state is working for him. Shouldn’t it be Lieberman for Connecticut? Isn’t he there to serve the people? Is he not their representative?
No matter what his party’s name, he is better than a Republican is.

2006-07-11T09:56:00.000-07:00

Waitin on the Fizz-Life’s New Catch Phrase….

After yet another doctor appointment, I stopped by Blackberry Cafe. An old haunt, I spent most of time in graduate school there reading the intellectual history of the Whig Party and surviving off humus and green tea.

My anxiety, which had been down in previous days, rose as I became stuck in traffic getting there. Deep breathes and talking to the barista as she made my French soda calmed me down. Well, at least to the point I could get in the car and drive home. Close enough to see normal, but miles away from it.

Blackberry has one of the best French sodas in St. Louis. The difference between Blackberry and all other cafes is at Blackberry the baristas take the time to blend the club soda and syrup by shaking the drink martini style. The result is the syrup becomes mixed with club soda; instead of down at the bottom of the cup.

This also produces a lot of extra foam from the soda. Several times while she made the drink, the barista had to stop and explain she was, “waitin on the fizz.”

I smiled. The phrase made a lot of sense to me. One of my doctors had been talking about how I had to just take it slow with this anxiety.

“Don’t try and rush to do everything. It is ok not to do some stuff. Instead of saying, you have to do this by today. Say, I want to do to this by the end of the week.”

I think that is what she said, probably, not an exact quote. It is something many people have told me: my parents, workers at their condominium, friends, etc.

I am beginning to think that they are right. Obviously, I am not back to normal. For one thing, I have money left at the end of a weekend. Nevertheless, I am getting back. Instead of always embracing Less Yacking More Whacking way of life. I need to slow down at be content waitin on the fizz.

2006-07-10T06:36:00.000-07:00

World Cup Final, Parent’s Living Room…

Two months after my small procedure, I am still recovering. Translation is: I still feel horrific: shortness of breath, anxiety, extra heartbeats, and general torso pain. All of these wonderful symptoms still confine me to my parent’s home for the better part of the week. I do make it out for such social events as appointments with doctors, checking the mail at my house and picking up prescriptions at the pharmacy.

France and Italy played the World Cup final to millions, perhaps, billions around the globe watching. I watched it in my parent’s living room having popular sporting fare as water, water crackers, and banana nut bread.

In the past month, I have learned little about soccer. In fact, I have actually lost respect for the game. When the World Cup started: I was excited to learn about a sport that fascinates the whole world, except America. I learned the following.

A one-one tie in hockey is thrilling; in soccer, it is just boring. In fact, since most games have few shots on goal, the whole game is watching a team move the ball twenty yards and then loose control.

All players are wimps. I am not saying I can run as much as them. They are in a state of physical fitness that is replicated in David. But step on their foot or slightly touch them and they roll on the ground in agony.

The injuries are faked to get fouls and time out. Now, I compliment those who flop in the NBA, but at least have a reason to fall. After you fall, stop acting like a baby, and get up.

The referees are poor. Once every four years, the world comes together to play this game, and FIFA hires these guys. Everyone complained about them. In the NBA, MLB, or NFL, they would be fired. In soccer, they are invited back next time. If this is the best soccer can offer, I will quit my job and become a soccer referee.

Finally, well that is actually it. I did enjoy watching the world come together, seeing fans of every nation celebrate victories, cheering for the underdogs, hearing that the Ivory Coast stopped its civil war for the game. However, next time the world chooses a sport to play can it be basketball?

2006-07-05T11:02:00.000-07:00

Meandering Thoughts and Fears Late at Night…

Last night, I lay on my back with my hands folded on my stomach. My left leg crossed over my right. My chest was still sore from the previous day’s eco. My heartbeat rose and fell with adrenaline rushes. Hopefully, the changes made to the pacemaker on Monday will help. I believe they have.

My position in bed copied how I lay on doctors’ tables waiting their examination. Over the years, I have learned to clear my schedule for these appointments. The stress of visiting a doc can be enough; I do not need to try to be anywhere anytime soon. I try to wait patiently. I try to be cheerful and pleasant. I try. I do not always succeed. But I try. I hope the staff understands I try.

My brain drifted towards sleep. I remembered how happy I was to wait for the dentist when I was in elementary school. My mom would always schedule my appointments in the morning, and depending on the wait, I would miss Religion and possibly Math.

I became sad that those days were gone. It was fun to smile and wait knowing you classmates were subjected to a quiz or lecture. Then I became frighten. Frighten that I would never have the joy of not entering a doctor’s office and it being a life-threatening thing. I was sad my childhood was over and scared that my self-sufficient one was as well.

I hope the doctor made the right change.

2006-07-03T20:57:00.000-07:00

Morning Time on the Small Island Nation….

It’s 7:00 a.m. and already hot. I push back the sheet moist with another night’s sweat. The AC is at maximum strength. Two mesquites pushed their way through the screen during the night and are eyeing me from the ceiling.

Wash the sleep out of eyes, I am careful not to drink any of the water. Through the open window above the shower, I can hear the students joking, yelling or screaming in Mandarin and swearing in English.

C is reading his Bible at the kitchen table. I make my morning tea as D reports he drowned another rat before I got up.

“Wake me; I’ll do it next time.” I tell him. He won’t. He’ll drown the rat before his wife or I wake up.

D and I walk to the office together. Students sweep the dirt in front of us. An endless task, they will never sweep the soil off the ground or break the military officer who punishes them.

V’s boyfriend brought her flowers, and she is showing them off to everyone at the office. They are daisies and smell nice. I smile as she positions them our computer desk.

The papers for J2-A still need to be graded. J2-F still needs a lesson plan.

Twenty-minutes later, nothing has been accomplished. Papers have been moved, but little work was done.

D waves as he leaves for class. I make another cup of tea. V admires the flowers.

2006-07-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

This Sounds A Lot Like One Presidential Contender I Know….

I was enjoying my breakfast yesterday and reading the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and this editorial caught my attention. Guest columnist Jared Bernstein and Mark Greenberg discussed the initiative by Great Britain to eliminate childhood poverty by 2020. The article can be found here.

Two of the ways that the British have worked towards their goal is to increase both the minimum wage and the earned income tax credit. This along with providing health care for the children and their parents has allowed the British government to drop the childhood poverty rate 17%. During the same period, 12 to 13 million American children have been fallen or been born into poverty in the United States.

Granted, the British government did not meet its goal of reducing the poverty rate by 25% by 2005. Instead of crying foul that the goal was too high or unreasonable, government officials applauded the effort.

We asked what would happen if they did not end child poverty by the targeted date of 2020. The question didn't really interest them. The target, they argued, focused the minds of politicians, agencies and the public. Without it, they never would have gotten as far as they have. In fact, upon release of the news about missing the target, John Hutton, a Blair cabinet secretary, promised to "redouble" the government's efforts to hit it.

Bernstein and Greenberg end the article with a question that sounds a lot like one Senator is trying to do.

Is it even conceivable that we could ad0pt such a target here? Absolutely. In fact, a spate of recent news stories has pointed out that a major national party whose name begins with D is in desperate need of a big, unifying idea.

What's wrong with this one?

2006-07-02T08:05:00.000-07:00

Nighttime on the Small Island Nation…

It is near midnight in Taiwan. The streets of Taipei are still alive. Cars are stuck in traffic. Scooters zigzag around cars, pedestrians, and each other on the street and sidewalk. Venders yell out their sales to the masses. The fragrance of rice and cooked meats is in the air.

Three hours south, by car and train, in the city of Chia-yi, little is happening. A few cabbies are sleeping in their cars. Police patrol the empty streets. The main stores and shops are closed. Only, the whorehouses and 7-11 remain open.

My friends and I are on the roof of the office. J beat me in chess, again. Cuban cigars are passed around. C picks at the leftover potatoes from dinner and pours himself another cognac. B, R and A discuss their Chinese teacher.

On the way home, I pass rice fields: the moon reflecting off the rows of water. By sunrise, the farmers will be in them with little combines for harvest.

The humidity is thick in my room. I crank the AC. My bed is a double king and solid as a rock. I pull the sweat-filled sheets around my body.

Three hours north, a plane takes off for home. I stay here and am happy.