Want What

A new poem....

Want What
Sometimes
I just want to separate
Jump out
This skin
Evaporate
Into thin air
Into ether
Into another body
Happier than me

Sometimes
I just want to elevate
Transfigure
My body
Rise
Dissipate
As a gas
Into another atmosphere
All the beautiful people breathe

Because what I am
Is an unmovable soul

Because what I am
Just can't be sold

Or branded
Or packaged
Or merchandised

Because what I am
You don't want

I Found Love

I could be angry that President-elect Barack Obama has chosen the very homophobic and fundamentalist Pastor Rick Warren to give the invocation at his inauguration ceremony next month. It's also no secret that the LGBT community came out in favor of his candidacy back on November 4th. And it's no secret now he's punched them hard in the gut.



Some pundits view this decision by the President-elect as yet another move towards healing the divisions that plague our nation. Sorry, in the name of some good friends and family, both with us and not, I can't turn the other cheek.

I could be really angry that neither Rep. Robert Wexler (D-FL) nor Rep. Dennis Kucinich (D-OH) have publicly stepped up to the plate to call for impeachment hearings in the wake of both President Bush and Vice President Cheney for lying to the American people about the decision to invade Iraq and for approving the torture of prisoners. Senator Levin (D-MI) has his eye on the ball.





I could be angry that dysfunction and stupidity are alive and well on the Isle of Long; the place I currently call home. When I learned that a 44-year old PTA mom from Baldwin, NY was found half-naked, making out with a 13-year old boy, I jokingly asked Skippy "where was Mrs. Tuckruskye when I was 13?" But the humor quickly passed as we thought about how this is yet another in a long line of embarrassingly dysfunctional acts committed by a Long Island resident (think Wal-Mart trampling on Black Friday) that didn't stop to think of the consequences of her actions, let alone the psychological damage she could cause.

Right or wrong, it's one thing to cheat on a spouse. Rarely does any good ever come from that. What two adults choose to do and why they choose to do it is a private matter. But this is incorrigible.

I could be angry with those Southern Senators, led by Senator Mitch McConnell (R-Ky) who shot down the bailout of the American automobile industry, blaming the United Auto Workers for the demise of the Big Three automakers. The hubris of these assholes astounds me, especially when you consider their states are home to foreign, non-unionized car makers like Toyota, BMW, Honda, and Nissan. But several of of them could vote for a $700 billion bailout of investment banks that conveniently allows executives to pad their compensation with taxpayer money.

I could even muster some angry, fist-jabs into the air towards New York Governor Patterson for his drastic budget cuts and tax increases because his financial wizards didn't accurately anticipate the Wall Street meltdown and it's effect on New York's economy. C'mon Dave. A tax on naturally sweetened soda and fruit drinks as an anti-obesity measure? Are you kidding me?

But I can't be angry.

Not today.

That's because this morning I woke up to find three notes taped to the mirror in my closet.














Noodle... I love you, too, baby. And Skippy and Zeb and Rick and Chester. Thanks for the lift, sweetie. I'm leaving the notes up there as a reminder of where I can always find somebody to love.

Ever Get Pissed and Toss A Shoe?

I know that the shelf-life on the "shoe story" is about over.



But I'm very obsessed with it. Not so much because of the symbolism behind, the Iraqi journalist, Muntader al-Zaidi's, act. He did it to express his outrage that George Bush could even show his face in a country he had no business invading.

I agree with the public consensus that this is a very strange and sad commentary of our nation's involvement in Iraq, and was not amused that President Bush got a rise from it after ducking two shoes aimed at his head. I'm sure Dana Perino didn't find the event amusing, considering the nice shiner she got out of the deal. I wonder if she'll file a claim with the Veteran's Administration claiming she was wounded in the line of duty.

I know what her boss would say to this: "So? So what?"

What I'm still trying to figure out is how Al-Zaidi missed. Twice!

I may give Muntader a call to discuss the finer points of shoe tossing. I know a thing or two about that.


You see, way back when I was a wee Spartacusito in kindergarten, I had this thing against taking afternoon naps. I hated them about as much as Muntader hates the President.

I didn't know this then, but I was probably one of those kids that would have ended up being diagnosed with ADD or ADHD. My mother recently told me that, as a kid, I was hyper, petulant, and quite moody. People who know me now would probably ask: So what's changed?

Anyway, on one particular afternoon, my teacher at P.S. 140 politely asked me to take a nap. I said "No. I'm not tired." Like any five-year old, I held firm to the sound logic that says one takes naps only when they're tired and not immediately after they've had lunch and a 30-minute recess. Of course, I was at the mercy of my teacher's dictatorial benevolence, which I learned on this particular day, had its limits.

My memory is quite vague on how my teacher finally got me to take off my sneakers and lay down on the cot. What I clearly remember was her turning her back on me as she walked to her desk. That's when I got up out of my cot, walked to my cubby, grabbed one of my sneakers and flung it, nailing her right on the back of her noggin. It was probably no more than a six- to eight-foot toss, but the way I remember it, I was two miles away with an artillery spotter near the target giving me coordinates corrected for wind speed and direction.

Again, please forgive me for not recalling every detail of this shoe-tossing incident. Technology being what it was in early 1968, there was no YouTube serving site video of this surgical strike. And given the events of that year, it's easy to see how a story of a kid nailing his teacher with a shoe didn't cross Walter Cronkite's CBS Evening News desk.

But my mom and dad made the story a top priority. Unlike our dear Mr. President, they didn't blithely pass it off and say "So? So What?"

I wonder if Muntader got his ass kicked like I did.

Somewhere in a cave...

.... in the mountains of Afghanistan there's a tall, bearded man smiling at the destruction he has wrought.

Watching MSNBC yesterday morning, sick as dog from a head cold and stomach virus, I listened as Henry Paulson, Ben Bernanke, Christopher Cox, and Jim Lockhart squirmed to explain to the Senate Banking Committee why the credit markets need a $700 billion dollar blank check, courtesy of the American taxpayer. I could not help but imagine the bogey-man of our worst nightmares point at his huge flat-screen television and laugh to his cohorts, "Dude, look what we did!"

I know I'm being a bit too simplistic about the Bin Laden connection. What's happening now to our financial markets has it roots in events and circumstances that go back much further than the moment America became aware of Osama Bin Laden. As I was researching information for this post, I came across this article that appeared in The Washington Post back in June:

Anatomy of a Meltdown: The Credit Crisis

Do you think Messers. P., B., C., and L. read the story? How about Bin Laden?

I can't help but wonder: Is he smiling? I'll bet a king's ransom he is. As our country hemorrhages money out every orifice like some poor soul suffering from E-bola, he is smiling because he probably pushed the first domino that set us on this ruinous path.

The cost of fighting terrorism now stands at $581 billion and counting:

###
Iraq War Cost


But that doesn't count. That's the cost of taking the fight over there, so that Americans can be safe here.

Ha! Safe. I feel it. Don't you?

In meantime, while the country's attention was transfixed on the war, the Bush Administration purposely turned a blind eye, as men like Paulson, who was the head of Goldman Sachs before his government gig, gutted the banking industry.

And now they want us to pay for their fuck up.

Listen to Paulsen, Bernake, Cox, and Lockhart as the beg.... BEG!... the Senate Banking Committee for the $700 million dollars.




They look like a bunch of junkies begging a dealer for another fix. Even after Sen. Chuck Schumer (D-NY) suggested that the money be paid off in installments, they we're adamant in stating that they needed the money now, much in the same way, that Bush was adamant about need for cash to fight the war.

Let's do the math folks:

$581 (Iraq war cost)
+
$1,100 (A.I.G., Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, and Bear Stearns)
+
$700 (All the rest)

= 2,381*

* - figures in billions

That's alot of cheddar for a fix.

Now that the shaft has been inserted into our collective asses with the war, the Bush Administration now wants to give it a nice shove for good measure with this bailout.

What angers me about our present predicaments is the fact that the warning signs were there.

The warnings leading up to 9/11/01 were obvious. Bin Laden had been trying to goad us into a fight for the longest time, blowing up embassies and ramming a bomb-laden boat into the USS Cole. You can blame President Clinton all you want for his administration's tepid reaction to those events, but I quite admire his reserve. Why commit military resources to what is essentially a job for Interpol and the FBI? As we know now, it would have cost us billions to use the military to catch him, and with no guarantee of success. Instead Clinton chose to focus on the economy, on building relationships with foreign nations, and making government run more efficiently. Is it any wonder we had a budget surplus on January 20, 2001?

Listen to Sen. Chris Dodd (D-CT) take the motley crew of financial gurus to task over the warning signs of this financial crisis:



But it's too late now, I'm afraid. As Congress figures out what to do about Wall Street, people are losing jobs and homes left and right; our infrastructure is crumbling as we speak, and our military is stretched to the point of breaking.

I hate to say this folks, but the wolves are circling the carcass and shooting them from a helicopter won't help.

Russian navy ships head to Venezuela

Our once great nation has fallen to its knees and is holding the ropes taking an eight count.

And somewhere, in a cave in the mountains of Afghanistan, Osama Bin Laden is smiling.

And Then He Kissed Me...

Last Thursday, one my favorite bloggers in the 'sphere, The Cunning Runt, posted this brief message to homophobes, aiming his invective at The Tonight Show host, Jay Leno.

Well, as good posts do, it got me thinking about a "homophobic" experience I had way back in the Fall of 1981. I was at a party that my brother and his roommate were throwing at their place on 12th Street and Avenue A in New York City. I was out of my depth at this shindig because I was probably the only 18-year old in the room. These were mostly my brother Joe's friends, which means they were all 5 to 7 years older than me.

So there I was having the time of my life with all these "grown up" folks. I floated around in a bunch of different conversations on my way to and from the beer cooler and hors d'oeuvre table. Eventually, I ended up talking to this one guy who seemed pretty cool. As I recall, we talked about alot of things of interest to us, including music. I was really into The Beatles at the time. I became a huge fan and took up the guitar largely because of the murder of John Lennon.

Ask Señoracosa about this. I was awful. Not that I'm any good now, but back then, it took a great degree of patience and a great tolerance for pain to listen to me butcher John Lennon's "Imagine". I think it sounded something like this --



La Señora sat through more of my performances than she cared to remember. It was her encouragement that gave me the courage to play a song for the guy I was talking to.

But as I put the guitar down and looked at my friend for a reaction to the song I played, he grabbed me by the face and kissed me.

My reaction to the kiss was as immediate as it was tense. I remember thinking that I wanted to kill that motherfucker and it took my brother and a few of his friends to restrain me from getting at him. I was born in Manhattan, but was very much the homophobic Queens boy (save the snark for later). Guys just didn't do that kind of shit to each other where I came from. No fucking way.

Eventually, I ended up out on the street. Joe had walked out with me along with my brother George. Did I mention that my brother George was at the party, too? He was. But he was no where near me when the kiss went down. He was having way too much fun to care about what was going on. But as Joe bodily pinned me against a parked car, to keep me from running back inside to kick the kisser's ass, it was George who set me straight.

Yes, that George; the one I describe in the Fairy Princess. For the record, he was very out about his homosexuality, which many people found intimidating and scary. As a little kid, I didn't know any better and enjoyed his antics in a linen sheet. As a teenager, not so much. In fact, while I never disavowed that George was my brother, I tried really hard to keep separate his world from mine back then.

But on that one Autumn night in 1981, our worlds collided and mine was forever changed. The first thing George said to me was to cut out the macho, Queens bullshit. It's an act that doesn't play well in Manhattan and if I persisted in my behavior, he would have personally escorted me to the "A" train back to Lefferts Boulevard.

I protested because I felt that I was the aggrieved. After all, I was just hanging out, trying to have a good time, and some guy I was talking to kisses me.

That's when George clued me in on a very "adult" understanding of homosexuality. He let me know regardless of whether one is gay or straight, if you pay enough attention that person at a party, that person will find you attractive.

This was all news to me. And as George rattled on about what an ass I'd been at the party, I realized I had no idea how naive I'd been about people in general let alone the gay community.

Gay men have feelings? Who knew? Gay men like to get laid? What? Gay men make inadvertent assumptions about sexual orientation? Whoa.

I can help but think back at how fortunate I was to have experienced the whole event. Yes, it was very 'icky" moment for me to have been kissed by another man, and I imagine that it would still be now...

unless, of course, it was this man doing the kissing.










But still I am not a gay man, and man-crushes notwithstanding, I never will be a gay man.

What's more is that I have no issue with or resentment for anyone's sexual orientation because I am comfortable living in this skin as a heterosexual.

In a world where there is so much more to fear, like war, disease, and climate change, the least of my worries is a gay man who inadvertently makes a pass at me. Sadly, there are too many people -- particularly people in positions of power -- who seem to think that homosexuality is something to be cured or eradicated. Sadly, there are people like Jay Leno who use poor humor as a weapon to demonize and demoralize the gay community.

Sadly, there are way too many people like me whose misunderstanding and lack of compassion pushes them to abject violence against gay men and women. Again, I consider myself fortunate because someone stepped in and prevented me from hitting the kisser, pointing me instead to better way of dealing with this type of situation.

So, thanks Cunning Runt for reminding me of this moment in my personal history, and for reinforcing the lesson that the measure of a person is not only defined by his or her accomplishments, but also by how well or poorly that person engages the wider world around. Let's face it. Anyone can be a dick regardless of their sexual orientation. On that fateful night in the Fall of 1981, that dick was me.

Blue Moon Easter

Over at Jonestown, Fairlane wrote this brilliant post, "Shut The Door on Your Way Out and Don't Forget To Turn Off the Lights". The central theme of this post is when one says enough; enough to tyranny, enough to stupidity, enough to anything that is antithetical to human existence. It's what inspired me to publish this piece, where I finally get got my Ass back in out of Church. Here's my story Fairlane. I said enough and never went to church again....

Blue Moon Easter

There's always a cloud of doubt
Floating 'bove us
In church every Sunday.
Why else the need
For so much re-affirmation?

But on this Easter Sunday
This once-in-a-blue-moon day,
In my particular church,
The smell of deceit
Wafts rancid.

APEX worshippers come in droves
This Blue Moon Easter
To hedge their bets
Because heaven forbid
They're wrong about God.

It's a communion of people
So a common spirit lives
In this uneasy gathering;
Even if only to lather and blather
about rejecting earthly sin.

Ah, but a devil lies in wait
It takes the immutable form
Of our deep-seeded hate
Of having having to do this over and again
For four more hours a year.

Who has the time?
It's work for sure,
Which robs their spirits
Of everyday debauchery
on this APEX holiday.

But it's really having to face
The ills and evils
The brim and boil
'Neath their floral bonnets
And their fine linen suits.

Within this Jesus-house of tinted glass
Many stones are tossed
With wreckful abandon at
The nebulous reflections of
Their unlikeable selves.

And after the stones bounce back
Off the plexified windows
And lacerate their material forms,
They all exit happily, extolling
The salvation of their souls.

Please, open the doors.
Air me out of the hall
That's filled with choking smoke
Coming from all those altered
Candles and mouths.

For on this reverent day,
This Blue moon Easter Sunday,
In my church,
The stench of the mass
Is killing me.

Stale Gum

I wrote this poem about how words speaking obscenities. It's my way of shouting out to Fairlane for sharing his thoughts on racism.

Stale Gum

Imagine the horrible taste of stale gum
Once sugarless sweet
But now devoid of all it’s flavor.
You chew it autonomically
Gnashing your molars
Against this temporary cartiledge

It’s like an idea so dark
That it waits for your slumber
To enter your mind.
It surfs on an airwave
Into your brain, washing ashore
Refuse your mouth would never say

Faggot. Cunt. Bitch. Dick. Asshole.
Nigger. Spic. Mick. Kike. Cracker.
Satanist. Papist. Fornicator. Blasphemer.
God Bless America!

Imagine all this from
Chewing flavorless gum;
Visceral obscenities out of some
Recess in your mind that lack taste.
Spit them out into the garbage
Where those words and gum belong.

Pardon Me While I Burn

I'm in a pissy mood today. There's alot of shit that's got me down, not the least of which is this idea that I am simply spinning my wheels in mud. There's a song by Incubus that keeps bouncing in my head, so rather than belabor you with my troubles and self-loathing, let me give you a song to warm you up....




Why Do We Need A Constitution?
While I was out in San Francisco last weekend on weekend trip with my family, I came across a series of articles in the San Francisco Chronicle about the murder of Oakland Post editor Chauncey Bailey. I've linked the articles here, here, and here .

At first, I thought I was going to rant on religion by bringing this up, but it really wasn't about that but about silencing dissent. Chauncey Bailey's murder is another slide down that slippery slope of fascism that includes the intimidation of the MSM by their corporate owners and by the White House; threats and murders at abortion clinics; the penning in of protesters whenever the President visits a major city -- it's all part and parcel of the same form of intimidation.

Chauncey Bailey was gunned down by a member of an Islamic goon squad, but one can easily substitute the "islamic" modifier with any other word and achieve the same effect. Have we reached a point in our country's history where the constitution even matters? Consider the oath of office that one must take before assuming the office of President of The United States:

I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.

You consider the events like Chauncey Bailey's murder, it makes me wonder which part of the oath our President takes most seriously. I would venture to guess the "so help me God" part because he's done nothing but chip away constitutional rights such as due process, illegal search and seizure, the establishment clause of the 1st Amendment, all in the name of security. It's as if he's the god and we're the ones being so helped.

Please. I say we just tear up that fucking parchment and pull out a piece of construction paper and a Sharpie Marker, and scribble a new constitution that reads:

Do as I say and nobody fucking gets hurt.

For certain, that banker robbers oath may sound like a threat, but I'm beginning to wonder if it would have saved Chauncey Bailey's life, by making him shut the fuck up in the first place. Speaking of security....


Smile, You're On Security Camera....
The day after we returned from our trip, October 10, I came home to find out that my youngest son got in trouble for fighting in school. This was not your typical bottle-flinging, chair-smashing, paddy-wagon worthy fight. This was a couple of 11-year old kids pushing each other's shoulder blades with fingertips saying things like, "Oh yeah? Well, I touched you last. So there."

For this, my youngest, his good friend, mullet Tom, and their enemy, bully-boy Nick, were dragged into the 6th Grade dean's office and separately interrogated to determine what happened. This was all part of the school's zero-tolerance policy for fighting, which calls for this type of Abu Ghraib isolation. However, the interrogation was merely for the purpose of providing context to the taped video surveillance they had of the whole scene. The dean saw it all on tape.

A truly what the fuck moment, for me, because I had absolutely no idea that our schools were using video surveillance in the cafeterias. I asked E. about this because I was always under the impression that video surveillance was being used outside the school to monitor the entrance and egress to the numerous doorways into the building. She confirmed that this was the case; that it had been this way for quite some time; and that it was being done for that all-encompassing and nebulous reason...Security.

I almost spit out my mouthful of penne pasta mixed with Filomena's gravy (that Italian for marinara sauce) because I was stunned by what I was hearing. What really made my heart sink, however, was the discussion that ensued between me and The Eldest over this point.

TE: Daddy, I don't get why you're so upset by the cameras. They have them in my school, too. They're for security. They make us feel safe.

Me: So let me get this straight. You think that those cameras are there for your safety?

TE: Yes. Now would you just drop it. This is sooooo stupid! Mom!

E: Ya know. This was supposed to be a nice family dinner. Thanks (E. picks up her plate and leaves the table)

Me: What? So now our family dinners can't include discussions about security? (Turning to TE) So, you think that some camera hooked into the false ceiling in your cafeteria is going to stop someone from kicking your ass and beating you senseless? Where are the teachers when you eat?

TE: Well... maybe people won't want to do stuff like that if they know cameras are on them.

Me: And, maybe, some people bent on violence won't give a shit about the cameras and lay some knuckle on your face anyway. Will the camera "secure" your personal safety then? And doesn't it bother you that someone is watching everything you do every second of the day?

My daughter's words troubled me because it appears to me that we are raising a society that is so used to being watched and protected from all of the evils in the world. They've become so numb and indifferent to the invasion of privacy that video surveillance represents. In this case, the school is using video surveillance to cover it's ass from liability in case a kid gets hurt in an altercation. But how long before it becomes a tool for controlling what information gets passed on in classrooms.

As well intentioned as this form of security may be, do they honestly feel that surveillance will be a deterrent? It doesn't stop people from robbing banks, why would it stop kids from pounding each other senseless? It's yet another form of fear-laden laziness that, once accepted, will insidiously creep into other areas of the school curriculum. You can just imagine little Joey going to home to his fundy mother and telling her "Mom, today I learned that the earth is not 6,000 years old", and having some poor science teacher called to the carpet with the scrutiny of video evidence because some wingnut parent complained.

What scares me even more about this video surveillance coupled with zero-tolerance is that it's telling my kids not to defend themselves; to keep your hands down while some bully pummels their faces to pulp just so that they won't run afoul of school policy. To be mindless, voiceless idiots whose only mission is to automatically absorb whatever information they're being fed and take willingly whatever punishment they receive. Fuck that. My kids have a standing order to defend themselves with words and fists if anyone tries picking on them. They may get detention as my son did, get suspended, or even expelled. In my view violating this stupid school policy in the act of self-defense is a grounds for a holiday.

We're All Niggers of Some Sort
Last night I read and commented on Fairlane's post over at Jonestown titled Wingnuts Of a Different Color, where he laid down a spirited and inspired rant on racism in the context of the Jena 6. I found his commentary on the state of racism dead on target because it is alive and well in this country. And, if I understood his post correctly, Fairlane's main point is that we, as nation, seem to have grown too used to racism, and that now that it's rearing it's ugly head in the form of non-s0-coded noose hangings, our reactions, particularly those of liberals, are tepid.

In the context of his post, he's right. The image of a noose is not just some prank or joke and, particularly to blacks in the South, it's an image which connotes fear and violence on a scale I can't even begin to imagine. However, whenever the subject of racism is broached, the discussion almost always denigrates into a shouting match of epithets, instead of a rational discourse on what it really is -- a divisive misuse of cultural labels by really stupid people.

Consider the meanings of the word nigger from the American Heritage Dictionary:

1. Slang: Extremely Disparaging and Offensive.

a. a black person.

b. a member of any dark-skinned people.

2. Slang: Extremely Disparaging and Offensive. a person of any race or origin regarded as contemptible, inferior, ignorant, etc.

3. a victim of prejudice similar to that suffered by blacks; a person who is economically, politically, or socially disenfranchised.

Put in this context, nigger is not just a label applied to blacks through the ages, but anyone for anyone who, as some point in their cultural history has been relegated to the scrap heap of inferiority. This is not to diminish the hateful and hurtful nature of the word in any way, particularly in the manner it's been used to label blacks, but the fact remains is that it is a label. And if it hurts, it's because we choose to let it hurt by identifying with it in some way. Let's face it folks, a noose around your neck will kill you, a burning cross on your lawn is dangerous, but filthy words -- ones that only require the collective intelligence of Randy and Damien to use -- will not.

The fact is that we all stem from the same genetic source code. While many different versions of this "source code" has been modified by physical and cultural forces and time, the code is the same. Were I to mate with black woman, we would likely produce children not much different from the gorgeous, young mulatto woman with crystal blue eyes and a kinky afro of blondish brown hair who rented us bicycles to me and my family in San Francisco last week. Would you call her a nigger? How about an Oreo cookie? Do you think she would call herself that? Does it really matter?

I ask because, whenever we allow ourselves to be affected by these labels we become no better than the people who use them. This is the denigration that I'm talking about where I call a black man a nigger and he calls me a cracker. Why are we paying so much heed and attention to this nonsense?

I don't have any simple solutions to the problem of racism and I doubt very much I will see it's eradication in my lifetime. But one thing I know is for certain: The less an issue I make of it, the less it affects me. While there's no way to avoid racists, we live with them, we commute with them...shit, in my case, we even have to call some of them family. Some may think that I am avoiding the problem by avoiding the label. I'm not. What I am saying is that we can and should demand a higher sense of decency from ourselves and others. We must stand firm on the fact that racist language has no place in human society and that anyone's use of it puts them at risk of becoming the very same social outcasts that they used to express their unfounded fear of differently colored people. You no more legislate away the hatred of racism anymore than you can make the use of the word nigger a crime. But we can, as humans, move towards the goal of eradication racism by removing the words that feed it from normal social discourse. These are labels for which we no longer have any use.

A Question of Ethics?

There's a story in my local paper Newsday titled, "The Match", which profiles a local family's efforts to save their daughter from a rare blood disorder called Diamond Blackfan Anemia. The solution, as they saw it, was to have a child that is an exact genetic match to their daughter and extract the younger child's bone marrow and transplant it into her in the hopes that it would jump start her body into producing red blood cells.

There is a question of medical ethics here that is easily trumped by justifiable efforts of two very desperate parents wanting to save the life of a child. What parent wouldn't do that? However, that's an incomplete, if not misleading question, once you consider the relative wealth of the family in question. The Trebings are from Smithtown, NY, an affluent suburb on the North Shore of Suffolk County. One look at pictures of them in their beautiful home, and one can easily assume that these people are not for want of money. They probably have very good health care coverage, too. And, of course, they're white.

Before anyone goes on to blast me for sour grapes over their wealth and the attendant privilege that comes with it, understand that I am not at odds with or envious of what the Trebings have. I grew up poor and, yet, I can honestly say that my parents provided quite well for me despite our economic standing. And I'm not very different than the Trebings in what I would do to save a member of my family. I would do anything within my means to save my wife and children from disease.


The dog? Feh....(Only kidding Chester. You're family, too.)

And like the Trebings, I, too, am gainfully employed and live in a nice house in Pete King's "red" district. E. and I could not be considered poor by any standard. We both work and have health coverage, which she foregos for a cash payout every June because my employer-provided coverage takes care our whole family, excluding Chester (those bastards!!!). Although our coverage is not as good as the Trebings.


But there are others in our neighborhood who don't have it as well as we do; many of whom E. comes into contact with at the school in which she works. On an almost daily basis, she brings home her own heart-wrenching stories of parents who beg to get their children placed into either the free and reduced lunch program; or who get upset with her because the school doesn't provide after-school daycare. Clearly, these people -- these good people -- are not making what we make on annual basis, let alone the amount the Trebings rake in. And, unlike the Trebings and my family, these people, by and large, are people of non-white ethnicities, who have the same basic needs and desires, if not the means. They can't afford experimental surgery to save their child, let alone afford to send them to school with something healthy to eat. What's more is that they are legion.

So, why is it that this story garners more attention than that of the poor folks in my wife's school? After all, they're both heart-wrenching stories. The key difference is that one story is about a wealthy white family that found happiness and success in the end. The other is a collection of desperate tales of woe that end sadly for those poor kids in need of a free meal. If you were one of Newsdays many well-off, white readers, which story are you prefer to read?

You can answer that question in the comments section if you like, but when I saw the story on Monday when I got home from work, I peeled off the 16-page pullout to get to the real news. The one that's got my knickers in a twist now is of the Gestapo tactics being used by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents to round up illegal immigrants. (Read about it here.) Yes, we are now living in a facist state.

But I'll give credit where it's due. We ought to see stories about medical ethics because advances in medical technology have put us at a very dangerous precipice. We can now harvest human organs. Further, reporter Beth Whitehouse and her editors did a wonderful job of framing the issue in this light, and giving it a human face. Browse through the sections contained in the initial Newsday story link above and you'll discover all there is to know about Diamond Blackfan Anemia; the controversial treatment options available; the fact that they conceived a child invitro that is a perfect genetic match to their very sick daughter; and (surprise, surprise) that the treatment worked. The little girl is cured. I want to and should feel good about this, but I don't.

That's because with all due respect to the editors of Newsday, Beth Whitehouse, and the Trebings, this is not news. In fact, this is the kind of story that ought to be published in People magazine (which I don't read) along side other feel-good stories, like Lindsay's day with dad. It's a sell job and a shameless one at that. Yesterday's chapter even included a sidebar about the latest Jody Picoult's book My Sister's Keeper -- yet another tear-jerker from the new queen of chick-lit written in the usual large type, short sentence style, all enclosed in sexy, pastel-colored cover art. MSK is a story of a woman who was conceived for the sole purpose of keeping her older sister alive, and sued her parents to keep her body from being harvested further. Talk about a cross-marketing opportunity!

When you get right down to it stories, like these, and the preference that Americans have speak alot to how fucked up our priorities have become. Can you imagine a story like this running in the 1930s at the height of the depression? How would an unemployed, bread-liner respond to the Trebing crisis? Better still, casting this question onto a more recent tragedy, how would the people of New Orleans' devastated 9th Ward respond? What would be their take on this crisis?

I know what they would say -- and it's alot stronger than the tame, feh. In fact, I suspect it would be well beyond the incredulous, Are you fucking kidding me?

Really. Again, I don't begrudge the Trebings anything, and I am quite glad to hear that the treatment worked.

I also don't begrudge Newsday the right to publish stories such as these. They are in the business of selling newspapers, and in order to be successful in this business, they must bow to the tastes of the market they serve; even if the story is of the self-serving, feel-good People magazine variety.

No. My screed is directed at the people who can't see beyond the tips of their noses and recognize the real issues of the day; those folks who willfully ignore the problems our nation faces, choosing instead to revel in some deluded feel-good fantasy world where the only stories worth reading are ones like the Trebings' crisis where everything turns out okay. Call it escapist, unrealistic or what you will, but this is bullshit.

Is this a question of ethics? You betch ya. It's a question of whether we, as a nation, have any left.

Influenza

It's only anger in my veins
An influenza of the spirit
That swells like a river
That rips apart a rural town
After a prolonged torrential rain.

How I fear the power it brings.
I watch as my capillaries
Ripple 'neath my cyanized skin
So thin, throbbing with each terrible pulse
And seeping rivulets of brine.

My vision goes colorless
And is blinded to all nuance.
My jaw clamps tight,
Allowing only terse, seething utterances
To escape my lips.

My notions become absolutes,
Determined like a rogue virus,
Tearing through body and brain
Displacing the pure oxygen of reason
With the putrid mucous of hate.

But nature has her way
Of debilitating my wrath,
Forcing me back to the mean,
Tethering the rampant germ
From its untenable extreme.

Though this strain my re-assort
And lurk in the mire of my pity,
The sequela it leaves behind
Are the lost friends, family, and lovers
Who did well to avoid my plague.