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Tuesday, Sept. 10, 2002 / 7:15 p.m. ~A Little Book Containing All the News of My Life, and My Feelings on This Anniversary - Remember, I Am Outspoken, and This Is My Diary~ I've just gotten an email letter from my State Representative. I signed a petition at MoveOn.org recently, a petition to stop the impending war on Iraq before it starts. And they sent a letter on to my Representative in my name. I read it, it was well written, I signed it, I got one email in response letting me know that if my name is not attached to my email address I won't hear anything back. And at that time I didn't know I'd sent anything. Then I remembered. So, he read it, he wrote back to me, and it doesn't seem like a form letter, it seems like he sat there and wrote it. I'm impressed. And I'm saddened and disappointed by what he has to say. He clearly supports us attacking Iraq. Bottom line. I'm going to quote him here, because I can: "I am confident that the President will consider all the options available to him to deal with the threat that Iraq represents. I applaud the President for bringing his case to the Congress, and I look forward to seeing the intelligence information that the administration has gathered. The President has assured us that he will continue to consult widely with the Congress, with our friends and allies around the world, before deciding upon a course of action. Saddam Hussein is an evil man, and terrorism is the enemy of all humanity in the 21st Century. Failure for the United States to lead during this critical time is unacceptable. I look forward to working with President Bush in the months ahead, and carefully weighing some of the most important decisions I, as a Member of Congress, can make." I'm not going to name him though, wrong as that may seem, because I don't want Google hits for his name. He wants me to visit his web site, and I should feel free to contact him any time. We're going out Friday night. Okay, that last part's not true. I also got more email from Jon, as I am on his list. Art Party info, a summary of the last party, info on the next, and the word in question, the word to represent in the form of artistic expression: "Ebullient". Great word, I admit, and I am tempted to rejoin the festivities, but instead I wrote back and told him it might be a good idea if he finally removed me from his mailing list. Here is our 'final' communique: ">Hi there, I'm thinking it might be best if you finally removed me from It is done." I guess it is. Done. What else could I do? Just keep getting these emails, thinking about what happened between us? Mark said it would be cool to at least be apprised of the word, but come on already. They've decided to have them weekly, these parties, and I can't think about it all every week. I hope it's for the best. Thanks for the Tabouli feedback, you Diaryland peoples. Let me know if you try it and how you like it. I finished my last bowl today at lunch. I also ate most of it in the car, which sucked, but I really pushed it at lunch. I wanted to get litter and motor oil at Wal Mart, and feeling in a bit of a much better mood than yesterday I jovially offered to get Listerine whatever she desired. She asked for a specific brand of peppermint soft candies. So I found them, bought some in peanut butter for myself, and some Mexican dulces for myself, and then there were toilet seats and I grabbed one of those (it's one of those soft seats, I've always thought they are SO gross, but this one has stars and moon faces on a blue background and it's going to be fun to sit on it all cushy and everything, I think - and yes, it was actually on my list of things to buy, just not this trip), and some Mexican potato chips, or chips marketed for the Latino community, the Mexcians I believe. The brand name is "Sabritas" and the flavor is "Adobadas". They're flavored with tomato powder and arbol and guajillo chile peppers. Surprisingly, they're not hot at all, but they taste sort of lime-y. Very good. So, it was like 5 million degrees farenheit in my car at lunch, 92 outside of my car, and running that errand, rushing in traffic, stopping at the leasing office to get my Potato Salad cookbook that was delivered yesterday, well, I had NO time to eat. Grabbed my Tabouli, put it in a plastic container, ran off with spoon in hand, ate in car. But hey, it was still really good. The combination of mint, parsley, green onions, olive oil, black olives, tomatoes, lemon juice, and TOFU, is just SO good. Seriously. But enough about Tabouli. I had a great sandwich last night, toasted my herb cheese bread, spread some mayo (I love mayo), some Boar's Head Parmesan Pesto Ham, some slices of bell peppers, all three: purple, orange, green, some red onion, topped with garlic cheddar cheese, under the broiler..... yeah. Tonight I simply came home and made a huge salad with peppers, green onions, mushrooms, celery, red leaf lettuce and more TOFU. Yum. I need to make olive sauce for my broccoli, and I need to do something with my zucchini. I could do a kick ass stir fry, or Pasta Primavera, or Potato Salad.... I'm leaning towad the potato salad. I never use a recipe for potato salad, I just throw in what I have, always hard boiled eggs, always celery, always potatoes, and the rest varies. Usually olives, either green or black, sometimes meat, sausage or bacon, mayo, and lately more olive oil than mayo. My uncle, who has lived in Italy for most of his adult life, makes an excellent potato salad with green olives, olive oil, potatoes, onions, and not much else. I asked him once for the recipe, but he could barely think of it, he just throws things in too. Dammit, I need to write to him..... I am terrible at maintaining correspondence. Maybe I'll take some stationery to work tomorrow and write him, and my friend Amy, a long letter. This is rambly. I'm not making any effort to write well, none at all here, I'm just writing what's on my mind. I think that's okay. The potato salad cookbook in question is in the Fifty Favorite Recipes series, and it is called, Potato Salad, by Barbara Lauterbach. It's published by Chronicle, and I'll say right here and now that I LOVE their books. The most beauteous books in all the world. Fantastic trade paperbacks, wonderful single subject cookbooks. Great, great stuff. If I could work for them in San Francisco and be happy, well, I'd be happy. They published almost ALL of James McNair's single subject cookbooks. Oh, have I mentioned I collect cookbooks? I used to manage the cooking/gardening/nature/home/crafts/large print/sale books/facts and trivia/Christmas/Gift Books sections at a HUGE independent bookstore in town. Ahhh, I loved it. I miss it, still. The books. Mmmmmmm.... books. I still buy books. I have no more room, but I still buy them. I am in two book clubs, that's all, the Good Cook, and Quality Paperback Book Club, and they send me catalogs of books and I order and I receive, and I read, and I shelve if I can, but mostly they're now relegated to piles on the floor. I was showing Listerine the new book, as I decided to open it up back at work when I saw how late I was at lunch (and I managed to clock back in EXACTLY on time), and it was fun to tell her what capers are, what Kalamata olives are, how good lamb actually is, what a Yukon Gold potato tastes like. I didn't talk down to her at all, we got along great today. Me, and the hated Listerine. In fact, after I went back to work with her peppermints and my dulces and Mexican chips, I found the computers were all shut down, they were reloading our server, or something and it was like old times. All the girls together chatting, the new boy listening. And I shared chips, peanut butter candies, showed my cookbook. Without Lulu there it was nice, relaxed, not too loud, just right. Listerine and I kept on throughout the day, like we were on some bizarre shared wavelength. We all found out about the death of a former co-worker. A dashing African man with a name so filled with consonants he went by a nickname. Two letters. I never knew he was 55, I never aged him in my mind. He was just the guy who sometimes wore an ascot, had a wild afro, walked with a spring in his step, and when we had Interweb access in the Training Room he would poke his head in and ask me in his heavy accent if I knew the lastest stock prices. As if I looked at stock prices.... I didn't really know him, but he was there, then he left for something else, better I hope. Now he's had a massive stroke and died. And Listerine and I had the same attitude. Oh well, when it's your time there's not much you can do. I couldn't believe she shared my feelings about death. Maybe if we'd known him better. We felt sorry for his family, but we felt like it wasn't worth getting too upset about. And later she said, "But he was such a good man", and I said, "So, what, it would've been better if he'd been a bad man?", and she said, "NO, NO, NO, that's not what I meant!" and I laughed. She said she has to watch what she says, but I told her I was poking fun at her, because she is so easy. And I like to do it. We went on. This is so long. You win a medal if you read every word. No, you win a billion trillion dollars, payble in semi-annual installments of $2 each. Until the end of time. The new boy trained with D., the Supervisor, all day. Not all day. Most of it. End of day, phones turned off as the chimps in the computer dept reconfigure or whatever, and after the Contractor comes in to check our 'NIC' cards, set us all up correctly on the Network, for a change, the new boy spills it. Unbidden. He opens his mouth and doesn't close it for a very long time. I found out his wife left him and their kids, he's raised them himself, they're 4 and 6, he potty trained them at 1 1/2, he was in the Army for several years, he fractured his kneecaps, he's been to countries such as Korea, Vietnam, Russia, and was stationed in Hawaii for a long time, he is on the GI Bill, the Army is paying for him to go to school and study psychology and literature, and he is going to be a psychologist and a history teacher, his father was in 'Nam, has shrapnel in his elbow, is deaf in one ear, and yet he gets more money than his father. He gets $2,000 a month, maybe less, he finally admits, it's his girlfriend who persuaded him to get this job. And etc. And etc. All I did was maintain eye contact. Occasionally I interjected, but I doubt he heard me. He was sent home early because our systems were down, but he clocked out and stayed to ride home with his girlfriend, who works in another dept. When he was finally gone, Listerine commented on how much he told me. She said, "Doesn't he know everyone can hear?" I said, "You should've joined in". I am a freak magnet. Not sure he's a freak, not yet, but people do this kind of thing to me, they sit and tell me more than I'd ever want to know. And I don't know why, except I do listen. I sit and I look them in the eye, and I listen. I nod, I raise my eyebrows, I gasp or laugh, or interject a little word of approval, and they go on. It's hard to get some people to stop, and I am really worried this boy is going to try to talk all the time and I will never be able to read or listen to my Walkman again. I hope I'm wrong. Keep in mind he is sitting across from me, where Lulu sat. In Lulu's cube. The Manager (M) came by and told us we could all wear Casual clothes tomorrow, but Casual and Patriotic. They should be of the red white and blue variety. I said, "What if we don't want to dress Patriotically?" and I was afraid of the response, or any questions resulting from me asking, but she said I'd need to wear Business Casual then. She returned late in the day to tell me she'd asked the fookin' Site Manager, and he says I can wear jeans, anyone who doesn't want to wear the Stars and Stripes can wear whatever they would normally wear on Friday. I'm confused now. Unsure. I don't want to make waves, but I don't want anyone telling me to be Patriotic, but they didn't, but they almost did, and now they've backpedaled, and I just don't know. I don't want to do laundry though, so I'll wear jeans, and some shirt, whatever is clean. I feel that we are on the verge of turning this Day of Remembrance into something very ugly. Very commercial. D., the Supervisor, says they're already having sales at KMart in honor of this day. And I'd suggested it may happen if we turn it into a National Holiday, joking about the extent of the absurdity of Commercialism. Oh god. Why must we capitalize on everything? Even pain and suffering? Tomorrow will be about who produces the best Anniversary Special. Will it be CBS? NBC? ABC? MSNBC? CNN? FOX? ESfuckingPN? It's absurd, no other word for it. How can we forget last year at this time? How can we forget where we were when we found out? We never will. We've not escaped the images, we've not been allowed to get past it. Even if we wanted to. I wrote last year, right here, about not wanting to be forced to mourn, that I could mourn my own way, in my own time, and the Networks' decisions to keep showing us the news, 24 hours a day for at least two days, now reminds me of lovers on the phone not wanting to hang up. "You hang up first", "No, you go first". Which would stop first? NBC keeps going because tenacious ol' Dan is still up and running, metaphors and euphemisms galore. ABC skips their intended broadcasts, keeping their eyes on the Eye over at CBS. It was insane. And now it looks as though they want to repeat it. They want to suck us in, make us cry again, dredge it all up again, when we never even forgot. Some never stopped crying. Some are still in fear and you want to cause more fear? I'm disgusted. I truly hate this. That this Anniversary is being treated with a circus atmosphere of supposed mourning and remembrance. D., the Supervisor, tells me that the "American Idol" herself was asked to sing the "Star Spangled Banner" at the Ground Zero Celebration, er, Ceremony. She refused. Right on, sister!!! Right on! Do we need to advertise a television show at the damned site? She represents a franchise. Grrrrr...... A moment of silence. A moment to collect your thoughts, to pray if you pray, to give thanks for being alive, or to pay respects to those who are no longer alive, fine. Dandy, yes, but to have Death Week on television, to constantly bombard airwaves with it??? For what purpose? Whom are you serving if not the cash cow named RATINGS? I intend not to turn on my TV tomorrow. I will not dress in red white and blue. I am not a flag. I do not feel as free as I should. I am not proud to be an American. My country is beautiful and vast, but it has been ruined slowly by the people who came here and stole it from its natural inhabitants. I only live here. If I could afford it I would be an ex pat. If I could pay for a ship to transport all my books and belongings, if I had a way to earn money, if I had a way, means, I might move to Italy. Never think I am not horrified by what happened last year. Never think that I didn't cry, that I didn't cover my mouth in terror whilst listening to the radio at work all that day. Never think that I didn't sit watching Dan Rather on my lunch break, at home with the cats, my stomach too flip flop-y to eat. Never think I didn't feel the most abject horror as I watched people jump out of windows way up near the top of those buildings, and never think that I didn't play over and over in my head what it must have felt like for the people sitting in those planes as they flew into buildings, and the ground. But do I want us to respond like this? With increased flag sales? With decrees to wear red white and blue? With sales at KMart? With non-stop Anniversary Specials??? Stop the fucking madness. Tomorrow I'll be remembering what happened, in what order, how awful it felt, and I'll be trying to feel normal, like it didn't happen, or like we can move on, I am not going to submerse myself in film footage, or hear testimonials, or stare at the wives as they cry and hold the babies their husbands never knew existed. What purpose does that serve? Shall I also visit Auschwitz? Do I need to step into a crematorium? I don't know, I really don't. I simply smell the nasty odor of capitalism everywhere, greed, commercialism. It stinks. ***MY AIR CONDITIONING JUST STOPPED WORKING - IT'S BLOWING OUT WARM AIR.... AIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!!!!*** Cost of the War in Iraq
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