Hot to you from AP:

Bands Gather to Stump Against Bush
By LARRY McSHANE


NEW YORK (AP) - A collection of more than 20 prominent musicians from John Fogerty to Bruce Springsteen to Pearl Jam joined forces Wednesday calling for President Bush's ouster, announcing an unprecedented series of fund-raising concerts across nine swing states.
"I feel this is one of the most critical elections in my lifetime," Springsteen told The Associated Press in the most overtly political statement of his career. "This wasn't one that a concerned citizen felt comfortable sitting out."

Springsteen was joined by a collection of performers that spanned generations and genres: country act the Dixie Chicks, hip-hoppers Jurassic 5, bluesman Keb' Mo' and classic rockers John Mellencamp and Jackson Browne. The artists, touring under the "Vote for Change" banner, will play 34 shows in 28 cities between Oct. 1-8.

Springsteen's concerns and commitment were shared by other performers, including Dave Matthews and his band.

"It's the first time Bruce and the E Street Band ever stood up and made a clear political statement," Matthews told The AP. "This is the first time we've ever stood as a band, unified, and said we want a change."

The shows, which launch Oct. 1 in Pennsylvania, will take an unusual approach: as many as six concerts on a single day in cities across the states expected to decide the November presidential race. Other stops on the tour are North Carolina, Ohio, Michigan, Iowa, Minnesota, Missouri, Wisconsin and the key state in 2000, Florida.

The money generated will go to America Coming Together, which promises on its Web site to "derail the right-wing Republican agenda by defeating George W. Bush." The anticipated millions of dollars will be spent in the swing states before the presidential election, said ACT president Ellen Malcolm.

The shows will be presented by MoveOn Pac, the electoral arm of the liberal interest group MoveOn.org.

There was no immediate word on prices for tickets, which go on sale Aug. 21 for all the shows. The concerts will pair artists, such as Springsteen and REM, the Dixie Chicks and James Taylor, or Mellencamp and Kenny "Babyface" Edmonds.

Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks, who memorably told a London audience last year that she was ashamed to share her home state of Texas with Bush, echoed Springsteen's comment about the importance of the Nov. 2 election.

"A change is in order," Maines said in an AP interview. "There's never been a political climate like this, which is so the polar opposite of me as a person and what I believe in."
The idea was hatched by several of the acts' managers, and quickly expanded. "Once we started talking to each other, ideas started percolating and other artists started reaching out to us," said Jon Landau, Springsteen's manager.

Many of the acts had a history of social activism, from Browne's anti-nuclear concerts to Mellencamp's Farm Aid shows. Pearl Jam front man Eddie Vedder was a Ralph Nader backer in 2000, but he feels Democratic nominee John Kerry is the choice this time around.
"There's a vote coming up, and a chance to have a regime change at home," Vedder told AP. "I'm feeling the same way, there's a need for change."

I told you all so, I told you, I told you, I told you. I said last week when John Kerry came out to the strains of "No Surrender" that he did it with Bruce's blessings.

Here's the quote from the man his own self, right off his site, and (for the first time that I can remember) over his signature:

"I felt like I couldn't have written the music I've written, and been on stage singing about the things I've sung about for the past twenty-five years and not take part in this particular election."

And here's the letter he ran today in the New York Times:

"CHORDS FOR CHANGE
By BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN
published in The New York Times, August 5, 2004

A nation's artists and musicians have a particular place in its social and political life. Over the years I've tried to think long and hard about what it means to be American: about the distinctive identity and position we have in the world, and how that position is best carried. I've tried to write songs that speak to our pride and criticize our failures.

These questions are at the heart of this election: who we are, what we stand for, why we fight. Personally, for the last 25 years I have always stayed one step away from partisan politics. Instead, I have been partisan about a set of ideals: economic justice, civil rights, a humane foreign policy, freedom and a decent life for all of our citizens. This year, however, for many of us the stakes have risen too high to sit this election out.

Through my work, I've always tried to ask hard questions. Why is it that the wealthiest nation in the world finds it so hard to keep its promise and faith with its weakest citizens? Why do we continue to find it so difficult to see beyond the veil of race? How do we conduct ourselves during difficult times without killing the things we hold dear? Why does the fulfillment of our promise as a people always seem to be just within grasp yet forever out of reach?

I don't think John Kerry and John Edwards have all the answers. I do believe they are sincerely interested in asking the right questions and working their way toward honest solutions. They understand that we need an administration that places a priority on fairness, curiosity, openness, humility, concern for all America's citizens, courage and faith.

People have different notions of these values, and they live them out in different ways. I've tried to sing about some of them in my songs. But I have my own ideas about what they mean, too. That is why I plan to join with many fellow artists, including the Dave Matthews Band, Pearl Jam, R.E.M., the Dixie Chicks, Jurassic 5, James Taylor and Jackson Browne, in touring the country this October. We will be performing under the umbrella of a new group called Vote for Change. Our goal is to change the direction of the government and change the current administration come November.

Like many others, in the aftermath of 9/11, I felt the country's unity. I don't remember anything quite like it. I supported the decision to enter Afghanistan and I hoped that the seriousness of the times would bring forth strength, humility and wisdom in our leaders. Instead, we dived headlong into an unnecessary war in Iraq, offering up the lives of our young men and women under circumstances that are now discredited. We ran record deficits, while simultaneously cutting and squeezing services like afterschool programs. We granted tax cuts to the richest 1 percent (corporate bigwigs, well-to-do guitar players), increasing the division of wealth that threatens to destroy our social contract with one another and render mute the promise of "one nation indivisible."

It is through the truthful exercising of the best of human qualities - respect for others, honesty about ourselves, faith in our ideals - that we come to life in God's eyes. It is how our soul, as a nation and as individuals, is revealed. Our American government has strayed too far from American values. It is time to pick up the pieces and move forward. The country we carry in our hearts is waiting. "

Amen, Bruce. A-fucking-men.

It was pouring when I left work yesterday. There was such a downpour that the RLA couldn't grill the steak that was waiting in the fridge for its moment of glory over the coals.* I would have broiled it, but the control panel on the oven blew, and I'm waiting on a replacement. I have a second oven, but (ok, little O/C behavior alert) I only use it for baking.
Some of my friends think I keep the oven for baking because I'm kosher. Nothing could be further from the truth. I keep it pure for baking because it keeps the flavors and aromas of my baked goods pure. No meat, no grease, nothing despoils the quality of my pies and cakes.

This inability to cook meat meant that I had to do a quick two-step and figure out an alternative dinner. Hmmmmmm. There is a 2-pound bag of rainbow carrots. I have fresh onions and garlic. A dozen fresh lemons are hanging around in the fruit compartment.

Off I run to the laptop, and three minutes later, I have found a recipe on Epicurious.

It was simple to make, and absolutely delicious. On a rainy night, there's nothing like a bowl of homemade soup. Here's the whole recipe, direct to you from the pages of Epicurious.

"CARROT SOUP

Root vegetables are a staple of Irish cooking. They often show up in soups, such as this one from The Courtyard in Schull, Ireland.

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 pounds carrots, peeled, sliced
1 large onion, finely chopped
6 garlic cloves, peeled
5 whole cloves
4 cups (about) canned vegetable broth or water
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Pinch of sugar

1/4 cup chilled whipping cream

Chopped fresh parsley

Heat oil in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add carrots, onion, garlic, and cloves and saute until onion is translucent, about 8 minutes. Add 3 1/2 cups broth. Cover and simmer until carrots are very soft, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes.

Remove cloves from broth and discard. Puree soup in batches in blender. Return soup to same saucepan. Mix in lemon juice and sugar. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Thin to desired consistency with more broth. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

Whisk cream in medium bowl just until slightly thickened, about 10 seconds.

Stir soup over medium heat until heated through. Ladle into bowls. Drizzle cream over. Top with parsley.

Serves 6

Bon Appetit
May 1996
Restaurant: The Courtyard; Schull, Ireland"

My variations were as follows: I used chicken broth (purchased) instead of vegetable broth. I did not garnish with whipped cream and/or parsley.

It barely served 2. There was maybe a single bowl left over.

On the Epicurious site, reviewers of this recipe reported excellent results from roasting the vegetables first.

* The RLA's "Indian Name" is Man Who Cooks With Open Fire

This week, I took a meeting with someone from HR, or, as they now are called, Human Resources Capital Management. Am I a capital asset? I suppose that's a step up from being what ever the hell I was classified before.
It started, like so much else, with a memo. The e-mail arrived, over the signature of the Director, who invoked the name of the Senior Vice President, and told me that, per said SVP's request, the attached newsletter should be placed on the web. It was requested that this internally-directed piece be linked off the home page.

I replied, politely, that it should, in my opinion, be placed on the Employee's home page. I cc'd all and waited. The response came back, via telephone, from a random middle manager, who admitted that this was his project, and he had sent the original e-mail out over his boss's siggie. Then he requested a meeting with me and my boss, in my office, so he could "see" where I wanted to put his link, because "I'm a visual person."

Fine. I'll show him a page on the site, that he either doesn't know how to get to, or is too lazy to click on, or what ever excuse there is for him not to be able to find it on his own.

He comes into my office, and my PHB is hanging in the doorway. Not completely out of the meeting, but certainly not a total participant, either.

I show the manager where his link will go. He shows me the newsletter he's created (all by himself) in Word. And then we all fall down the rabbit hole together, when he says:

"A lot of my employees are computer phobic. They are afraid of computers. What can we do?"

I tell him. "Hey. It's the twenty-first century already. Tell them to get over it, and learn how to use the tools."

"Well," he replies, "I need for them to read this, but we want to get away from paper, and they are computer phobic. How do you suggest we reach them?"

"Hmmm. Well, you know, wanting to get away from paper and not wanting to use computers are sort of mutually exclusive. I don't know what other options you have, unless you buy a radio station."

And that, my friends, is why they keep me in a room by myself, and try not to let me interact with the clients.

I also had a drop in from my own Senior Vice President, who wanted to know what kind of response I was getting from the department regarding our most recent call to volunteer out in the community. I told him that out of the hundred or so employees in our group, I had received exactly one response. It said that the sender could not participate, due to allergies.

Well. What is wrong with people, he asked me. Why won't they volunteer? Uh, is that a rhetorical question, sir, or do you really want to know the answer? He said he really wanted to know. So I, the Oracle; the Voice of Ugly Truth, told him.

"This is a county hospital. Everyone here feels like coming to work is a volunteer activity. And today, with lay-offs hanging over our heads, and the communication about it so mismanaged, and disfunctional, the attitude of your employees is like: "You want me to go volunteer to do manual labor in the community and I could come back and not even have a job? Bite me."

He was stunned. Really? That's the way people feel? (Uh, duh. Yeah.) The best way to get over feeling sorry for yourself, he said, was to do service for others. (I guess that explains the comment he made to me about my father's death: "Good luck with that grief thing.")

We ended on a positive note, though. I had a sudden brain storm and suggested that maybe, just maybe, the best volunteer opportunity yet lay ahead:

Why don't we make our department service project a "Get out the vote" effort, and sign up new voters, work the polls in November and drive voters to the polls?

He loved it. I did too, because when they start announcing those layoffs, and the crisis in public funding for public health, those pissed-off, soon to be unemployed union members are going to vote for the Democrats.

Kerrystock ended, and I feel good about my candidate. What made me happiest? Was it his one daughter identifying the core value of her father as "integrity"? Was it his speech? Was it his band of brothers, his Swift Boat crew, standing behind him? Was it that he truly is a war hero, and our war president is an AWOL dolt? Nope. None of that. It was that he entered the hall to the strains of "No Surrender." And it wasn't a cover version.

"Blood brothers in the stormy night with a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender."

The fact that Bruce hasn't issued a cease and desist is what makes me the happiest girl in the world.

Tonight is movie night at the Casa de Zapatos. We're having a special showing of "Bubba Ho-Tep", arguably one of the odder cult films of recent history. It stars Bruce Campbell (he of "Army of Darkness" fame) as Elvis Presley. In a nursing home. Fighting to save the residents (and his own soul) from the death kiss of a rogue mummy (the titular Bubba Ho-Tep). It co-stars the incomparable Ossie Davis, as JFK. It's a redemption story. It's a mystery. It's a horror story. It's a hoot.

I have been the recipient of some pretty nasty offers of some pretty nasty porn, coming in through the spam transom. But the names the spammers are using these days is so amusing, I have to share:

Monologging J. Fairies
Jubilation L. Bobbin

Now I, myself, do not like to speak in front of large crowds, but have, on occasion, done so. Neither do I consider myself to be an expert on the art of public speaking. Having said both of those things, let me critique last night's oratory at the DNC.
There is a tendency, and I don't know when it started, to have a catch phrase that the audience chants along at intervals. Maybe this is a nod to the call and response of traditional Black churches, but let me tell you now, it just sucks when some stiff white guy tries to get it going. *

It does nothing for the message, either. I mean really, who's going to be quoting "Here comes hope!" when you can use "I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death."? Right. Not one soul. Not even the hack who wrote it.

If I were the person who scheduled the speakers, I would not have led with Barack Obama on Tuesday. He was too hot, too passionate, too good to be wasted on day two. Last night we had the Rev. Jesse Jackson, and, in my humble (yeah, right) opinion, he has had his day. His delivery was off, his rhetoric was stale. He's lost the fire in his belly.

Al Sharpton? Better than I expected, but still not the kind of rallying, blood-boiling speech that one wants on day three. Oh, and that stiff? Marvin? Melvin? O'Malley? ( I had to look him up: Mayor Martin O?Malley of Baltimore) Oh. My. God. He sucked. He sucked big. He sucked so badly, that even I, political junkie from Yellow Puppyhood, had to turn the sound off.

All I can think is that they needed people who'd make John Edwards look good. Not that he needed that much. Is it just me, or does he have that whole Dennis Quaid thing going on? Not that there's anything wrong with that.

The high point of the whole night for me was the video from the Firefighters Union. The photography was chilling, riveting. And the music? Well, we know where I fall on that, don't we. They used one of the best of the best, Bruce Springsteen's "No Surrender." And must have had permission to do so, as it was a real version (I think it was from the New York City Live shows, but I could be mistaken). The last time someone tried to co-op one of his songs (Reagan and "Born in the USA") he shut them down in a heartbeat, and even went so far as to explain to the Republicans that it was a protest song, you morons, and not a paean to the glory of being an American.

I couldn't stay awake for my very favorite part of any of these conventions, the Roll Call. Is there anything more quintessentially American than the roll call? I just love it: "The Great State of East Elbow, home of the quadruple cheeseburger on rye with onion relish, Silverfish Capitol of the Universe, and center of everything to the left of Cleveland, proudly casts its fourteen votes for...." They had the Roll Call on after eleven p.m. Who the hell would or could stay awake for that after an evening of mediocre public speaking and even more random musical acts?

Oh, yeah. The music... Uh, John? John Mellancamp? A little Queer Eye advice: stop with the dying and teasing of that pathetic mop of what used to be a magnificent head of hair. You look like Elton John before the hair transplant. And another word, if I may? Do not, under any circumstances, ever, ever, ever repeat the lyric changes in "Small Town" to reference the fact that your wife was only 10 years old when you wrote the fucker in the first place. It caused me, and probably many more folks to do the math, and all I can say is: EWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Thanks, I'm done now.

*OK, so Springsteen can do the revival call and response like a a first-class tent preacher, but then, he is hardly the definition of a stiff white guy.

Oh, baby, baby, baby. I got a new political hottie: Barak Obama. Did you guys see him? Did you hear him? Oh. My. God. I have seen the future of rock and roll. Or politics, what ever.
He is the face, the true story of America. A first-generation born citizen, who lived the dream his grandparents set in motion. He is eloquent and passionate, and not afraid to say the things that need to be said, and that have been suppressed by political correctness for too, far too, long.

I loved him. I stood up in my living room and applauded. I cheered. I clapped. I believed in America again. Now, I just have to see if he actually wins his election.

And Teresa Heinz Kerry! Oh. My. God. The first (potential) first lady with actual flair and style since (dare I say this?) Jackie Kennedy. (Swoons) Did you see her stand-up collar? Her hair? She speaks five languages, which is five more than Bush. She's an (another bad word coming up) intellectual, God bless her little heart.

And that old, not-yet-toothless lion of liberals everywhere: Teddy Kennedy. He looked great, and not at all like a bloated parody of himself. He did the thing that only he can do: he invoked the words, the works and the spirits of his dead brothers. He contrasted the intelligence and noblesse oblige of those two men with the callowness and self interest of the current administration. And he can. Because he's the last one.

But wait, unless you readers have cable, you didn't see any of those things because the three major networks didn't show any of the Democratic Convention in prime time. They cite low ratings. They cite disinterest. They are remiss in their duty to the American people. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, but sometimes exposure to raw information is more important than profit. (Try not to faint.)

So where is the liberal media bias the right keeps yawping about? If there really were a liberal media conspiracy, wouldn't the Democratic convention have been broadcast into sports bars and gyms everywhere? Wouldn't the spin be something other than Teresa Kerry told a pushy, asshole reporter to shove it? How come that makes her a bitch, but telling the Senate to go fuck themselves makes Dick Cheney a real man?

For the answer to that question, just listen to Ms. Heinz Kerry herself:

"My right to speak my mind, to have a voice, to be what some have called `opinionated,' is a right I deeply and profoundly cherish. My only hope is that, one day soon, women -- who have all earned the right to their opinions -- instead of being labeled opinionated, will be called smart or well-informed, just like men.''

The C-Span camera cut to Hillary Rodham Clinton at that moment, and on her face I read "oh, yeah, sistah, been there, done that, got enough t-shirts to make a fucking circus tent."

See you tonight on the couch, for day three of Kerrystock.

I have found my reality TV addiction. No, it isn't one of the scripted pieces of dreck on Fox, it is the C-Span coverage of the Democratic National Convention. No commercials. No commentary. No "fair and balanced" talking heads. Nope. Just pure convention, all talking, all the time.
I've loved watching the national conventions since I was just a Yellow Puppy.

Last night was some of the best stuff I've seen in years. It was wonderful to see Jimmy Carter (sounding, however, like his dentures were loose, or he'd just come from having a root canal) blasting the Bush policies of unilateralism and intolerance.

And my old flame, Al Gore. I'd seen Al speak in person way back in the old days, before he was anything other than a rising Young Democrat. I never understood why people thought he was stiff and humorless, except that is what the pundits decided during the last election cycle.

Last night he was funny, and eloquent, and yes, bitter about the last election. As well he should be. And he gave the people in Boston a direction for their own bitterness: Don't let this ever happen again. Don't let the Supreme Court ever select another President, and don't let this President select the next Supreme Court.

Like Al, I've never forgotten how Bush came to be in the White House. Nor have I lost my bitterness. It's a lot like my divorce. I had to remember all the hurt, and all the cruelty to maintain the fight. At the same time, I had to channel that energy outward, and not inward, so that, although the bitterness and resentment informed my actions, it did not change me into a bitter and resentful person.

And then we had Herself, Ms. Rodham Clinton. Wowza. I loved that she pointed out that SHE had been at Ground Zero on September 12th, unlike someone else, namely the duly appointed President of the United States. (Maybe he was still digesting the plot of My Pet Goat.)

The evening wrapped up with Bill, another reminder of my first marriage. I never cared much for Bill Clinton, because his personality was so much like the AntiChrist: slick, insincere, a survivor of childhood abuse, and over-driven because of it. Unlike the AntiChrist, though, Clinton was not a sociopath, and did honestly care about other people. His presidency was proof of that. Last night he was in rare form. In my opinion, it is Bill Clinton, and not Ronald Reagan, who should be remembered as The Great Communicator.

So yes, I was glued to the set by the spectacle of reality TV. I'll be there again tonight. And the night after that.

In closing, let me leave you with some quotes from great politicians of the past:

"I have always strenuously supported the right of every man to his own opinion, however different that opinion might be to mine. He who denies another this right makes a slave of himself to his present opinion, because he precludes himself the right of changing it." -- Thomas Paine, 1783

"Free speech exercised both individually and through a free press, is a necessity in any country where people are themselves free." -- Theodore Roosevelt, 1918

"The truth is found when men are free to pursue it." -- Franklin D. Roosevelt, 1936

"If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear." -- George Orwell, 1945

"Any time we deny any citizen the full exercise of his constitutional rights, we are weakening our own claim to them." -- Dwight David Eisenhower, 1963

"What is objectionable, what is dangerous about extremists is not that they are extreme, but that they are intolerant." -- Robert F. Kennedy, 1964

"Go fuck yourself." -- Dick Cheney, 2004

I've had an earworm all week: Elvis Costello's "Less Than Zero". I've even listened to it, since that will usually run one off. It didn't. I'm still walking around spontaneously combusting into "Hey!, Whey-Hey!".
For the past two days, people have chosen to sit next to me on uncrowded trains, despite the fact that my big tote bag was already occupying that seat. This morning it was a man of great heft who opted to drop his fat ass on my Vera Bradley. Unfortunately for all of us, I'd already removed the knitting needles. Thankfully, however, he missed the i-pod, or the security guard would have had to keep me from plunging said bamboo needles into the fat bastard's heart.

Just in case you thought that the absurdity of my work life had diminished, it hasn't.

I took a photo of my PHB, sleeping at his desk, and had it posted for the past two days, but discretion being the better part of Valerie, or, because I listened to common sense advice from others, it has been removed. Rats.

Yesterday was a hukilau, with the PR department sending me information to post ASAP (since it ties to an ad that's running this weekend, someplace). Yes, of course it was a PDF, and they wanted text to accompany it. So for the zilliontyseventh time we did the PDF lecture. This resulted in the text coming over as a Word file, which I should use to create an HTML page and then link to a PDF (which I could just make myself from the Word file). So I did. And then, as I read the file, I realized that there were typos and missing information.

I sent a note to the PR person, pointing out that children do not usually have an age of ??, but actual numbers. People do not get TD booster shots, at least to my knowledge, but I am familiar with TB.... like that.

Oh, they were so happy that I have such a good copyproofing eye. And then they said, oh, don't work on this until it comes back from the ad agency, because you shouldn't waste your time.

Too late for that, ace. I've just blown an hour dicking around with your crap to this point. And if it isn't ready, why send it to me? Really, I think that the last 12 years would qualify as a waste of time.

But, it's Friday, and we all know what that means: ALCOHOL!!!!

I saw a bumper sticker on the back of an FPL* truck this morning. Context is everything, y'know? This is what it said:

"Working people who vote Republican are like chickens who support Colonel Sanders."

And I have a rhetorical question for all those young'uns wearing their pants below their butt cracks: If they slide and you have to hold/pull them up (and I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. I, of all people, understand the pull of cool and how it is the overriding motivator of youth) why must you hold/pull directly over your nads? Huh? How come you can't grab the sides, why must you pull your pud in an effort to keep your pants up?

I'm just asking.

* Florida Power and Light, also known as Florida Plunder and Loot

The PHB is back from his week of training.

He's in his office, even as I type, "customizing" the Cold Fusion templates that manage the look and feel of the new, improved site. The one I've been busting my ass over for two and a half months.

Can you say: Recipe for Disaster? Can you say: All my work, down the toilet, until it hits a clog in the U-bend?

Can you repeat my mantra? Not enough alcohol in the world.

Sigh. Back to banging my head on a wall, uselessly.

It appears that last month, while I was on vacation, the PHB changed something in the new site architecture, and forgot to mention it to me.

It appears that the graphic calendar is now a graphic event manager. Not just a matter of semantics, it is a different management module. It has different fields and different properties. Most importantly, it is a different link to a different page.

I discovered the change just now, after entering about 30 events in the calendar, only to have them show up, well, no-fucking-where on the new site.

Just a half a day's work, down the crapper, because the moron I work for changed a big old part of the new site architecture and forgot to tell me, his little worker bee, about it.

And do you know what he'll say when I mention it to him? He'll say "My bad." This from the mouth of a sixtyish white guy who has taken to dying his (remaining) hair.

Can I shoot him, or would that be my bad.

Time for me to start entering all that fucking data, all over again.

It's Friday, and there is alcohol on the horizon. Tomorrow, I'm going on a road trip with a girlfriend. The Quilter's Shop Hop.

Have I mentioned lately that I work for an idiot?

Yesterday morning, I had the old i-pod loaded with Bob Marley. I was totally plugged in, and left myself plugged in for an hour or so, before I decided that I didn't want to run down the battery to the point where I couldn't be cocooned against the unwashed masses on the ride home.
Just before I left work, I checked my e-mail and there was a message from someone who said they were writing a book about Mr. Marley's live shows from the mid-seventies to his death. They'd found me via my list of concerts I'd seen, and wanted to know if I had any memories I could share.

This was my response:

I saw him in Montego, Jamaica at the first Reggae Sunsplash. Maybe it was the second. In any event, it was one of his last concerts prior to his death, so the summer of '79 or '80. The venue was a soccer stadium. The field was packed; I can't imagine that the show was not sold out.

There were armed guards at the gates. I handed my ticket into an outstreched hand, only to have a rifle dropped between me and the hand. "No, Miss," said the soldier, "That's not a ticket taker."

Other hands came from out of the crowd and unclasped my watch from around my wrist. I pulled on one end of the band, and the unseen person tugged on the other. Then the crowd surged and my watch was gone.

I was with a group of friends who had all traveled to Montego Bay for Sunsplash. There were about 8 of us, and, as I recall, we all piled into a little Ford rental to get to the show. We were two deep on laps, someone was stretched sideways across all the other's laps, making a third layer.

There were a number of opening acts: I remember Burning Spear and Peter Tosh. I remember when Bob Marley sang "Chase the Crazy Baldheads" my friends and I all looked at each other, then at the crowd, and realized... we were the only white people we could see. We just kept dancing. He was amazing. The energy on the field was palpable. But it was a little scary, too. We made jokes about the MoBay Massage, which was the pitter patter of little fingers all over your body, as anything liftable was taken off of you.

I'm sorry that I can't remember more at the moment. Twenty years, my friend, is a lifetime. But one of the guys who was with me is reachable via the internet. He's a sound engineer, and may be able to give you more details.

Did any of you ever see Bob Marley? Want to send your memories to this guy? Drop me a line, and I'll send you his request and address.

Knowing my politics (pinko, liberal, yellow-dog democrat) many people have asked me if I've seen Fahrenheit 9-11. I have not. I don't know if I can. While I do have very stable, nay, even low, blood pressure, I'm afraid that seeing the list of Bush's sins laid out like an all-you-can-eat buffet will cause me to stroke out.
See, unlike most of the sheep that make up the American voting public, I never forgot the links in the chain of events that Michael Moore has strung together.

I remembered that Osama Bin Laden was a friend of America, back when it was the "Evil Empire" that was bogged down in Afghanistan, and Bin Laden was a freedom fighter.

I remembered that the Bush family business was oil, as was the Bin Laden family business, and that they did business with each other.

I remembered that Saddam Hussein was America's chosen one back when we were fighting the Iranians, and the Iraqis were our friends. But that was after we left the Shah of Iran twisting in the wind, after years of keeping him propped up.

I remembered that only one person on Capitol Hill had a son or daughter in the military.

I remembered that no one in the Bush administration actually served in Viet Nam. Or even in the military. Bush's own tenure in the National Guard was suspect, bought as it was with his father's connections, and cut short as it was by Dubya going AWOL.

I said from the very first day, that the Bushies knew and allowed the tragedy to happen in order to give them the "moral" imperative to go to war and conquer the oil fields.

Go see Fahrenheit 9-11? Yeah, probably... but bring the defibrillator with me.

Today is my anniversary. The RLA and I have been married for thirteen years.

Thirteen years ago, right about this time of day, we stood under a chuppah, held up by our friends, in the courtyard of the temple where the RLA had grown up, and pledged our troth. It was a magnificent summer Sunday morning in Rochester, New York. There were little birds chirping, and the grass was soft and green. The sky was blue. The RLA's hands were cold as ice, and I thought "Better you than me, being scared as shit."
The chuppah we used, I had made in graduate school, before I was kicked out. It was woven on an antique loom, with pearls and tea-dyed lace and all sorts of ivory and white threads. I was at the nadir of my life, and I imbued that piece with all the hopes for love and happiness that I could muster. The temple in Miami shipped it up to Rochester. The poles were lost in transit, so the RLA and I went off the local Home Depot equivalent and bought poles. The only things we could find that fit the holes in the corner grommets were tomato stakes. Metal, coated in green rubber, and with thorns, to help the tomatoes cling.

We had a reception at the Faculty Club on the University of Rochester campus, where the incomparable Father-In-Law had been a professor. The wedding cake was chocolate, with a dark chocolate ganache icing, and mocha buttercream swiss dots. I wanted the baker to put silver non-parielles, like chrome studs, on the dots, but there wasn't enough time (or money, one suspects) for her to do that. Our little cake topper was a pair of old gnarly gnomes, so dark and brown that people thought they were also chocolate.

Of all the people there, only one was a friend and not a relative, of mine. There were friends of ours, but only Andy was there for me, alone. He (Andy) immediately figured that out, and went around all day introducing himself thusly:

"Hello. I'm Andy. I'm L's ONLY friend." This is still how we refer to each other. Even the secretaries at his office know who I am when I say I'm Andy's only friend.

Tonight we'll go out to a French restaurant. It was all part of my plan, when I chose this date. Bastille Day. I always get a decent French meal, once a year. There's usually champagne flowing like water, and a few times during the evening I get to stand up and pretend to know the words to La Marseillaise. Depending on where you are, there may be fireworks. Sooner or later, I'll even get to spend an anniversary in France.

Magic happens. Happy anniversary.

I just got a call from the department secretary to rag on me about how the page containing the cafeteria menu isn't updated. Or, at least, it wasn't when she checked it yesterday.

I asked if she'd checked it today before she called me. No, she hadn't. Of course she hadn't, because if she had, she would have seen an updated menu. Which I posted yesterday, but after the only time she looked, apparently.

She also wanted to let me know that some volunteer had looked at the page and it wasn't right. Fine. So you both looked at it yesterday morning, and waited until lunch time today to bitch at me.

The PR department (of course) does this all the time. They call and ask me if I've posted crap, rather than looking at the web site.

Why? Why is it easier to call me than to click once? Do they love to hear the tone in my voice implying that they don't have sufficient brain cells to rub together? Are they laying odds that I'll crack and actually call them an idiot to their face? Or ear, as the case may be.

Or is it that they are just truly and monumentally stupid?