I think. Maybe. Possibly. Who knows. I did go to the polls, I did sign in, and I did poke the touch-screen, which did light up appropriately. Whether or not that actually correlates to the recorded blip in the data stream is a matter for debate.

A debate, I am proud to say, that I had with the poll workers. I told them I wanted a paper trail. I told them that as someone who works all day, every day with computers, I no more trust them than I trust the lying sack of shit that is my ex-husband. Or the lying sack of shit that is the current President of the United States.

OK, I didn't really say that. I just said that I didn't trust the machines or the companies that make the machines.
As for the bread and circuses going on in New York City, the RLA wants to watch, so he knows what the enemy is doing. I can't watch it at all. I can't listen to NPR, or read the paper. The spin, and the lies, and the hate are too much for me.

I despair over my country. I have never been a flag-waving, my country right or wrong kind of American. I have hidden my face in shame at how we portray ourselves to the world. I am leery of what we pass off as culture. I've toyed with the thought of being an ex-patriot on any number of occasions in my life.

But. And it is a huge but. For all the faults that I see, for all the things that make me not exactly proud to be an American, I understand that this is the freest country in the free world. As someone with opinions and the big mouth to express them, I know that I am better off in America than anywhere else.

However, with this president and the religous right that controls him, I don't believe that any more. I don't think I'm safe here. Not from the enemies without, but from the enemies within.

I am a Jew. And I believe that the "Christian" (intolerant) right that is pulling the puppets strings have plans for me. I believe that those plans include box cars, or the modern equivalent. I believe that this war in the Middle East is very much a holy war, on both sides. I believe that Bush believes that he is driving us to the Apocolypse and that that is a good thing.

I don't know about you, but I don't think that's a good thing at all. So do me and the rest of the world a favor, and go out and vote.

Lord knows I disparage my work place and co-workers with some frequency (and some cause) and even turn a blind eye when others do the same. But. There's something about seeing the CEO of the organization doing the same thing, in the press, and singling out your own department for particular scorn, that makes one uneasy.
What he said was that my department was "Mayberry, USA". I agree, but have to wonder which of the geniuses up the food chain from me is Barney Fife. Of course I’m prejudiced here, but my own PHB is number one with a bullet, I think. His boss is sort of Middle-Aged, Balding Ken Doll. I'd like to think of myself as Opie, albeit with blonde hair and a different gender. But Opie all the same: ingenuous, happy-go-lucky and believing in the inherent good in all people.

OK, so maybe not Opie. But certainly not Barney, and not Aunt Bea. Hmm. The more I ponder this, the less I want to be any of those characters. The one character I can relate to from that television era is more like Miss Whatshername, the tight ass who wasn’t really a tight ass on The Beverly Hillbillies. She was the voice of tolerance and reason there, wasn’t she?

I always wanted to be Jeannie. Maybe not BE Jeannie, per se, but certainly live in her bottle. And I wanted to wear the cool clothes she wore when she was being a genie, and not the faux-mod get-ups they put her in when she was out of her bottle.

I digress.

The baby quilt sold to a lovely fellow traveler from Atlanta. Thanks so much for making it happen.

I've put one of my quilts on e-bay as part of the MoveOn PAC virtual yard sale. Normally my work sells for hundreds of dollars, even the little guys like this adorable red, white and blue 1930s reproduction print baby quilt.


If you would like a chance to buy this quilt, it is currently on e-bay with a start price of only $25. Whatever the final sale price is, I will donate that money to MoveOn PAC.

There is only one day left on this auction, and so far, no bidders at all. This is a great opportunity to help dump Dubya, and buy one of my quilts for an insanely low price.

Take a peek at the auction.

My fan in Ottawa has sent another death threat. I filed a report with the local police, who were less than helpful. They suggested that if I didn't want to receive death threats, that I shouldn't write bad things about people.

I let that slide, because the first ammendment is on shaky ground these days, anyway. Why argue your right to free speech with the police? Never, ever, going to win that one. So, grudgingly, it seems, they wrote a report and gave me a case number.

I asked if they would be contacting the Mounties and they said, in a word, no. If I felt so strongly about it, I could.

Well, for some odd reason, I do feel strongly about it. Call me crazy, but dying over a bad film review just doesn't seem worth it to me.

Here's today's question: Should I remove my rant about David Lynch and hope that satisfies my threatener?

As I start this entry, I don't have a title for it. Eat the corn from my shit was my first thought, but that's the punchline, and I need to save it for later.

Another idea was "Threats Will Never Silence Me", because that's what this is all about. Over in the other part of my website, I have a short stack of rants. They are, or are not, in utter seriousness. I have, on occasion, been known to argue for the sake of argument and not because I feel strongly (or even weakly) about the topic at hand.

One of my rants is about how I despise Paul McCartney. It generates a fair ammount of hate mail. Another rant is about the nano-second people: you know, those folks who NEED to push ahead of you in any line, who honk their car horns the microt the light changes from red to green, and who merge ahead of you, rather than behind you when the highway narrows. Still another is based upon my disdain for the talent and reputation of the film maker David Lynch.

It is this last which has caused some asshole loser in Ottowa to come unhitched. For the last year or so he has been sending me death threats. I've reported him to my local authorities, his local authorities, and to every web mail service he uses (as you may imagine, that changes with some frequency). I have blocked him from my e-mail, but when I changed blog servers, my e-mail server changed as well, and sure enough, not a full week in, there is another threat from this one-handed typist. (Oh, come on, you know what I'm getting at there.)

I know, believe me, I KNOW that I'm not supposed to engage in dialogue with someone so unbalanced, but tonight... well, tonight, I'd had a drink, and there he was and I just replied without thought.

I quoted the late, great Leapin' Larry Greene. The complete text of my e-mail is below.

"You loser, you can, to quote my old pal Leapin' Larry, eat the corn from my shit."

I know that this is going to end badly. I don't think that he'll actually show up here and do as he threatens: put a bullet behind my ear, but the way this year is going? Who fucking knows.

Anyway, if any of you would like to entertain yourselves by sending hate mail to someone who must not get any other kind, feel free to address it to:

.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)

And as far as I can tell, Mark Fleischhaker is his real name. He is a singer, it would seem, for some random punk rock band in Canada that doesn't have a web reference more recent than 2002. (XL Birdsuit, if you really care. I know that I don't.)

And that, except for a rather evil session with Nic Cage, was my night.

Many years ago, part of my workplace's corporate mantra was something about a single standard of care, regardless of one's ability to pay. It was a shining example of truth in advertising, because we did have a single standard: we treated everyone like shit.

We still do, but now we have taken it to higher (or lower, I'm not sure how that works) standards. We treat each other even worse.

Today I received a request for assistance from some poor schmuck in a fly-over state, who was looking for a medical expert to back up a cock-a-mamie theory of his in a (probably) frivolous lawsuit.

I sent the request over to our official designated responder to all web-delivered questions.

After a few hours, I got a response from her. In its entirety, the response said "I'm not going to answer this jerk." (Yes, boys and girls, the official designated responder is none other than our own dear Loogie, of the PR office.)

I sent her another e-mail, and asked, "Not even to offer the courteous reply of Sorry, but we cannot help you.?" It shamed her into doing just that, only without the word "sorry" and with a touch of condemnation in her tone, as she stated that we could not help him with his lawsuit.

I'm thinking of designing t-shirts that say "Demand Civility." What do you think? Would they sell?

I haven't been sleeping well. Too depressed. I stare at the ceiling, then at the glowing lights on the clock. When I finally get to sleep, I have anxiety dreams, with my own pantheon of archetypes. The unattainable lover, the high school clique that does not include me, being lost, trying to run and not being able to.

On the plus side, if there is one, I have no appetite. I've always made jokes about the High Stress diet, and how it is my only successful one. I ought to be in negative sizes by the end of the year.

I'm off to build a new web site from an old one. Chicken salad from chicken shit, speciality of this house.

The Rude Pundit is in rare form (even for him) this morning. Here's the first paragraph, after that, you should just follow the link and read the whole thing.

"Aww, yeah. It’s on now, motherfuckers, it's on now. Deciding that it was time to treat the Bush campaign like he treated whores in Saigon, John Kerry went to town on the President and the Swift Boat Vets for "Truth" in a speech yesterday to the International Association of Fire Fighters. In so many words, Kerry said, in essence, "Bitch, you talk smack about me, I'm gonna fuck you in the ass until you bleed. You wanna fuck with me? Don't send your attack poodles out - come at me like a man so I can turn you into the little bitch you are, you fuckin' deserter." Of course, nothing else Kerry said in that speech was reported, including promises to make up for the cuts in funding for new equipment that Bush has inflicted on fire fighters."

Some days, it's worth getting up, you know?

Other days, not so much. It looks like it's one of those other days in New York City, today (thanks to the Punk Princess for this):

"Mayor Michael Bloomberg, already under fire for his tough stance against anti-GOP protest groups, yesterday suggested that First Amendment rights of free speech and free assembly are "privileges" that could be lost if abused."

Excuse me? My constitutional rights are now privleges? Can you say "Fascist"? I knew you could. What an asshat. This is why I was leery of the POTUS's plans to move the military from abroad to stateside. It's hard to have a military takeover if your military is outside of the Fatherland, uh, Homeland.

Tromp. Tromp. Tromp. The sound of the jackboots in the streets.

Has got to be "no". Because nobody around my office ever seems to be able to figure out what it means.

Him: Do you have stock photography?

Me: Some. Seven disks of medical stuff.

Him: Anything else?

Me: No.

Him: What about other stuff? Other than medical?

Me: Uh, still no.

Him: Why not?

Me: Other than this is a hospital and all I do is the hospital web site, and have no use for other stuff? Or other than nobody buys me stock art?

Him: Well, I want to add graphics to the web pages I'm designing so that I can give them to you to design.

Me: Please don't.

(Me, thinks: thank god it's my night to work out with Nic Cage. And then go home and drink.)

Well, kiddies, the New Shoes have fully propagated. Don't you just L-U-V them? I do.

On the other hand, the list of Things I Do NOT Love has expanded exponentially lately.

Last night, watching the Olympics on NBC, there was a color piece about the original games. It opened with these words:

"While the theory of evolution is highly controversial, there is no disputing evolution of sports..." or some similar tripe. But the reporter definitely said that the theory of evolution is highly controversial. To whom? Creationists, maybe, but I can't think of any other group of civilized humans who question the evidence. Are we going to have a new Scopes Monkey Trial in this century?

And for NBC to broadcast something so pandering and, well, flat out stupid... I'm speechless. For once.

Other things that I've seen on the Olympics that make me see stars (and not in a good way) include the new Corvette commercials that sexualize pre-pubescent children. Children, I may add, who are shown driving, and driving with wild, video-game abandon. Oh, yeah. Real fucking responsible.

Then we have the devotion to the stars and the hotties. I'm watching swimming, for example, and the sportscasters are talking (non-fucking-stop) about one athelete or another, and how they are expected to win, and how they're currently swimming behind the pack, and there, in some other lane, completely unremarked upon, is a dark horse tearing up the water, and winning the gold, which is just an apostrophe to the "real" story.

Another thing that I have lately come to detest is that stupid bright yellow rubber band that signifies Lance Armstrong's something or other. He won, OK. He beat cancer. He's got a cool girlfriend. He's got some charity. Fine. Do we all have to wear the yellow rubber bands?

I didn't think so.

I do, although it doesn't seem to be propagating yet. The lovely Kathy over at BlogMoxie has skinned me. (Yes, those are a pair of my own shoes.) And I've never looked better. Now I have to put the rest of GirlyShoes in order.

On the work front, things suck, and then they suck more. Where do I begin? How do they suck? Let me count the ways. They suck to the depth and breadth my soul can reach.

I have had to suffer through two meetings with the PHB and Loogie (from PR). On Friday, and again today. The conversations ran along these lines:
Loogie: This is wrong. Those aren't the medical specialties that we want to highlight.

Me: Those are the ones you gave me when you gave me the architecture I was supposed to follow.

Loogie: They've changed.

Me: Do I know that?

Loogie: You do now.

Loogie: We don't want to use that photo. Change it.

Me: Anything in particular?

Loogie: Anything that represents a money-making specialty.

Me: And that would be?

Loogie: Just pick something.

PHB: Is it hard to change a single image in a Flash animation?

Me: I need a drink

Finally, I'd like to say that, although the milk of human kindness runs in my veins, I have no sympathy for the folks on the west coast of the state who are carrying on like a hurricane never hit there before. My God, people, the entire state is a hurricane magnet, it's not like you live in Iowa, y'know?

Buy fucking shutters. Put them up. Don't build multi-million dollar homes on barrier islands*. Watch the Weather Channel. Evacuate when told.

*Barrier Island. If that name isn't a clue, then what is? Island Whose Only Reason To Exist Is To Be a Buffer For the Mainland When Really Ban Storms Hit?

And that thing that shocked the world? That a barrier island could become two barrier islands with a new channel? Take a look over on the east coast at Hutchinson Island. Happened in the last century. Big storm. Big storm surge. New inlet. End of story.

It's just like the folks living on the banks of the Mississippi. If something is named the 100 Year Flood, isn't that sort of a clue that this shit goes on with some regularity? Don't build on the flood plain. It's just that simple.

This just in from the Kerry campaign:

"Tonight may be your only opportunity to ask George Bush a question before November's election. This is your chance to put him on the spot in front of an audience of millions.

George and Laura Bush will do an exclusive interview with Larry King on CNN at 9:00 p.m. EST. Unlike all of Bush's "Ask the President" events and Cheney's "Town Hall Meetings," where attendees either have to sign Bush-Cheney loyalty oaths or are handpicked by the Bush-Cheney campaign, this event is open to all Americans.

To call in, watch Larry King Live at 9:00 p.m. EST and call the number shown during the program. After you call in, please make sure to share your call-in experience with us. Click here to report.

To email your question before the show begins, click here. Please share the question you email to Larry King with us - we are tracking our supporters' success. Click here to report.

Our goal is to get as many Kerry-Edwards supporters to call in or send an email to Larry King Live as possible. We know that not everyone can get on the air, but the impression we'll make with our thousands of calls and emails will be a lasting one. With your help, everyone working for CNN - producers, writers, editors, and staffers - will realize that George Bush owes Americans a lot of answers:

What does Bush plan to do about the fact that 1.9 million Americans have lost their jobs under his rule? What does Bush plan to do about the fact that 44 million Americans don't have access to health insurance? And how does he expect our children and young people to shoulder a deficit that is already out of control? Or afford education? What is his plan for Iraq?"

I had a question for President Bush:

Have you ever actually read the constitution of the United States? And if so, did you understand it? Specifically the parts about freedom of speech and separation of church and state?

Thank you.

Shot from the balcony, with a telephoto lens. See? I was there. And by then, he'd shaved.

As you all know, I am a devoted, maybe even a little obsessive, fan of Bruce Springsteen. I have been since the first time I ever saw him live, in the Miami Jai Alai Fronton in September of 1975. Let me set the, you'll excuse the expression, stage.

Back in those days, artists weren't as possessive of themselves as they are now, and it was common practice to drag a camera along to a show. Especially for kids like me, art students with more than a passing knowledge of photography. We shot everything. At UM, there was an excellent Student Entertainment Committee, and we had tons of shows on campus, out on the patio overlooking the Olympic-size pool and diving area.

Some of the acts I saw and shot were Elvin Bishop, Billy Joel (Piano Man had just been released), BB King, and Jimmy Buffett. I had seen some major acts off campus, as well: Jefferson Starship, Procol Harum, the Grateful Dead, and Cat Stevens, to name a few. I was a rocker, and a shooter, and a cynical art student and nothing impressed me.

I had Greetings from Asbury Park and The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle, so when Born to Run was released, and the tour to support it was announced, I bought my ticket, loaded up the camera and went to the show with my boyfriend.

There was a problem at the gate: they weren't letting people in. Years later I found out that was because there had been so few tickets sold there was a debate about actually doing the show.

We had seats in the back, but since there were only a few hundred people there, we immediately moved to about the third row, center. I got out the camera, focused on the stage and waited.

A single blue spotlight focused on the mike stand. A raggedy, hairy guy in a denim jacket and a black watchcap stood with his back to the audience. He started to play harmonica. The song was "Thunder Road". By the time they rolled into "Spirits in the Night", I was standing on my chair arms, dancing and my camera was forgotten under my seat. Bruce took a dive into the audience during that song and was passed along hand to hand over peoples heads. He never stopped singing. I never took a shot that night.

I had never seen anything, or heard anything, like him. I had seen God in the form of rock and roll. I was a fan, from that moment on, I was a fan. As we left the show, the boyfriend asked me to stay in Miami after I graduated in December. I turned, looked at him and said (predictably, and please remember I was only 20, so excuse the awfulness of this) "Sorry, Eric, but tramps like us, baby, we were born to run."

I moved to New York City. I met The Coolest Person in the World TM. I saw more rock and roll and took thousands more photos. But I have never, ever, ever, lost my passion for rock or for Bruce. And you know what? Bruce has never, ever lost his passion for the music or his appreciation of his fans. It is a covenant that goes both ways.

I was listening to a bootleg of "Thunder Road" from the mid 70s on the ole i-pod just now, and it all came back. I don't know, I just thought I'd share.

"What ever happened to Fay Wray?
That delicate satin-draped frame?
As it clung to her thigh,
How I started to cry,
Cause I wanted to be dressed just the same"

Dr. Frank N Furter, Rocky Horror Picture Show

Well, she was 96, and frankly, I thought that she'd been dead for decades. But, no.

I'm sorry, I'm just too dispirited to tell you stories of workplace stupidity, or kitchen follies.

The air conditioner, which had been broken for all of June, has just broken again, and the "service" people won't fix it and the "service" desk at Circuit City doesn't want to hear about the lack of service by their contractors.

Don't start me about the concept of service in the service industry. As I said to them last time, "If your contracted HAD actually fixed it, I wouldn't be screaming at you right now, now would I?" Or, on being told that I had called after working hours, "Well, you're working, are you not? You are not a service or an answering machine. And I'm sitting at my desk, talking to you. So both of us are, in fact, at work. How is this not working hours?(BIATCH!!)"

Bite me. Time for lolling in the pool with a tall one.