Not Gonna Happen

The other day, in his acceptance speech, President Bush told the electorate that he needed the support of those who had voted for Kerry, that he was going to work hard to earn it.

Yeah, right. Sorry, Mr. Bush, but if you insist on "staying the course" there is NOTHING you can do to earn my support.

I find myself curiously out of step with the rest of the country, though I live in the Midwest and consider myself a Midwesterner. Of course, I live in Illinois, a state that gave its electoral votes to John Kerry--a state whose Republican party is sadly unorganized and lacking in genuine leadership.

I seem to sympathize more with the "cultural elite" of the northeastern states, who can't believe that the rest of the country could be so dense. What were you thinking, America? That this crazy zealot of a president is going to bring sanity and order to the world? That "moral issues" are somehow more pertinent to society than true human decency?

I believe that morality is all about being good to your fellow man, not about what the Bible says is wrong (how is taking away basic liberties from a segment of the population moral?). I believe that the other countries of the world have EVERY right to think of us as horrible people and a nation of total idiots. I believe we've gone so far backward in our thinking that Enlightenment might as well never have happened and the Constitution could just be considered another outdated document. I believe that we've become more like our enemy than we are like the other civilized nations on our planet. I believe that we're a nation of hypocrites--or we're just blindly closing our eyes to the truth.

Wake up, America. Health care is not going to improve in the next four years. The deficit is not going down. The environment isn't going to get any better. The economy will continue to suck. Iraq is headed for a civil war, and things just keep getting worse over there. Remember Abu Ghraib? That was Americans torturing other people.

I worry about this country. I worry about the people who are so afraid that they'd rather ban gay marriage than open their minds to the possibility that tolerance is a better virtue than hate. I worry that over half this country thinks it's a good idea to bomb another one for no good reason. I worry that other countries will see us at our worst--insular, frightened, backward, fanatic, ignorant. I worry that emotion will win out over reason, I worry that it will take a disaster to make the Bush administration realize that it's not just the rich people in this country who need help.

Under Bush we are still a great nation, but we are no longer good. And our kids will pay for our mistakes.

Weighing in on John Kerry's Military Record

It's been a while since I wrote. All apologies; I started reading mcsweeneys.com and realized my blog would never be as good so I might as well stop. But this issue is bothering me, so I thought I'd say something.

Personally, I always thought the Kerry campaign was harping too much on Kerry's military service. With good reason, though; it seemed the one issue on which Bush could never match him, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he fought, no matter what happened.

Boy, was I wrong. Politically naive as I am, I forgot about the Lie Factor.

Now here's the thing. I had satisfied myself that Kerry's assertions about his military service were true, based on statements by other veterans and the official Navy accounts of his actions. And, unlike the general public, I applaud Kerry for taking a stance against the Vietnam War. In fact, I think it's stupid that he should get criticized for that, because it's a pretty well-accepted fact now that Vietnam was a mistake in many ways. He certainly had a right to say what he did.

But all of a sudden, it's like everything about those heroic incidents have come into question, and still I haven't yet heard an assertion against Kerry's activities that makes any sense. At least, not one that comes from an impartial and believable source. I am willing to grant that people had different perceptions of what was going on at the time. I expect that. But all these allegations seem so spurious and silly and without evidence that I can't believe the idiots out there actually believe them.

No, wait, I can. What am I saying? It seems like the Republicans are trying to manipulate us, again, without taking responsibility for it. They can take an incident that once seemed clear-cut and turn it into some crazy, unbelievable conspiracy, all in the name of re-election. Sounds just like 9/11 to me.

I'm not saying Democrats always take the high road. Clearly, they don't. But this is low, really low. Spectacularly low, even. It just goes to show that given enough money, effective propaganda, and a stupid American public, you can do anything.

Top 10 Alan Keyes Rejected Campaign Slogans

1. Dude, Where’s My House?
2. The Sacrificial Lamb Stops Here
3. We’re All Out of Guys Named Ryan
4. Yes, It’s Nonsense, But It’s ARTICULATE Nonsense
5. The “Golden Sombrero” Tour
6. Making Limbaugh Look Moderate
7. You Can Forget About the Free Ice Cream
8. It’s All About the Mapquest!
9. I’m Way More Qualified Than The Guy In The Lederhosen
10. Sex Clubs? I Don’t Even Like Club Sandwiches!

I can't take credit for this one. My husband was inspired. He's a very funny man.

Teresa Heinz Kerry: Definite First Lady Material

In her few minutes at the podium, Teresa Heinz Kerry showed more savvy, smarts and personality than Laura Bush did in three and a half years. Since her husband entered the public eye, Mrs. Bush has succeeded in making herself look about as useful, intelligent and exciting as a potted plant.

We need a first lady like Mrs. Kerry--someone who could have an intelligent conversation with Hillary Rodham Clinton, who shows us how strong and brilliant women can be. Someone whose kids are articulate and interesting (as compared to out-of-control and silly, like the Bush twins). Someone who could hold her own with international guests. Someone who understands and enjoys politics. Someone with passion for her country.

Look, I have no beef with the current first lady. She seems like a nice enough person. I even sympathize with that accident she had as a teenager--must have been a horrible trauma to go through. But we don't need someone merely "nice" representing our country as a first lady. Let's face it--Hillary Clinton raised the bar on what first ladies could and should do, and Laura Bush is a huge step backward. Girls need role models, not eye candy. Role models other than Britney Spears, I mean.

Teresa Heinz Kerry could be that role model. She speaks five languages, has experienced other cultures, protested apartheid, speaks her mind about how women should have a larger role in the world. By contrast, what does Laura Bush know about anything? She didn't even bring up her daughters so they don't embarrass the family.

Maybe that's not fair--after all, girls will be girls. I can't hold Mrs. Bush completely responsible for her daughters' choices even though I can't help unfavorably comparing their spoiled lives with that of the very poised, intelligent Chelsea Clinton. But we live in interesting times, and we need interesting people to lead us. I'm sorry to say it, but Laura Bush is not an interesting person. She's so generic she blends in the background. There's nothing really wrong with her, but she's no asset to the country the way Teresa Heinz Kerry would be. No doubt about it.

Did I mention that Mrs. Kerry knows five languages? I don't know about Mrs. Bush, but I can tell you her husband seems to have trouble with just the one.

Vote for Kerry! And all that comes with him.

Barack Obama Finally Gets What He Deserves!

Lately I've been feeling pretty down about politics. What with all the sniping, and the divisions, and the continuous stream of media reminding me how hopeless everything looked. It seems like we just continued to get mired in negative attacks on both sides. I didn't start watching the Democratic National Convention with any idea that I would feel rejuvenated and excited about my country and about the future. Until Barack Obama stepped up to the podium.

I have supported Obama since the primary; I campaigned for him in a snowstorm on election day. And every time I heard him speak or saw him anywhere, my respect for him has increased--which almost never happens with a politician. Long before tonight I knew he was a star, destined for great things. Now everyone in America knows it too.

I would hate to be the chairman of the Republican party in Illinois right now. Hey guys, you might as well give up. After Obama's brilliant, inspiring speech tonight, you'll just be wasting money and time if you put someone up against him for the Senate race. Let us have the seat; regroup; rethink. That would be best for you.

First black president of the United States? Here's the future as I see it. Kerry and Edwards win in 2004 and remain through 2012. Edwards, in 2012, running with Obama on the ticket as VP. Obama is already so much more articulate and charismatic than our current president, I think he could talk circles around Bush.

I felt like I was watching history being made tonight. And the accolades are well-deserved. Someone who can inspire the most jaded of us to hope again is exactly what our party needs.

Obama in 2004! He can represent me anytime.

 

 

A Letter To The Editor Defending "Fahrenheit 9/11"

Dear Mr. Loerzel,

In the last issue of the Pioneer Press newspapers you printed responses from conservatives who, naturally, hate Michael Moore's movie "Fahrenheit 9/11" because it expresses the feelings of a whole group of people who don't agree with them.

I'm not going to say that Moore's film didn't have a particular point of view--because it does. But for those of us who have been disaffected by the actions of the Bush administration ever since 9/11, it encourages a feeling we often don't get to express because we've been made to feel like we're American-hating lunatics. I'm a little bit tired of being treated in the media like I'm an idiot, a disloyal citizen, a Nazi, or whatever people want to call me because I think our country is going down the wrong path.

As a thinking human being, I don't blindly agree with everything Michael Moore postulated in the film. I'll even admit that he probably massaged a few facts to make his point. "Fahrenheit 9/11" does make some connections I'm not sure I fully believe (like between the Saudis and the Bush family). But I do read and watch and listen to the news every day, and Moore didn't exactly make up those facts--if the Washington Post, the New York Times, CNN, the Associated Press and other news outlets can be trusted. And let's face it--our president often looks bad without the help of Michael Moore.

But because I and Moore and others who believe as we do dissent with the current administration, we get called all sorts of bad names. Suddenly we're disrespectful, we're deceptive, we're manipulative, we're demented, we're "wide-eyed liberals" (heaven forbid!). Never mind the thousands of others who feel as we do. Never mind the crowds that filled the theaters on "Fahrenheit 9/11"'s opening night, and who stood up and cheered when it was over. Never mind that we turned out to be right about the fact that weapons of mass destruction were never found. Never mind that the people who have disagreed with the government's policies--Joseph Wilson and Richard Clarke, for example (heck, even Howard Stern)--have been attacked and harmed. Never mind that we feel, more than ever, saddened by those who would have us meekly follow a president who has taken us into a questionable war. Never mind the atmosphere of malicious unconcern that allowed prisoners to be abused at Abu Ghraib. Never mind how angry some of us are--and our anger came long before Michael Moore's movie did.

I love this country. I was born here, I will die here. I'm proud of our freedoms. I believe that the founders of this country wanted us to question, that they wouldn't want us to roll over and play dead when the future of America is at stake. It's just that I believe in a different future than the one George W. Bush has staked out for us. One that doesn't include corporations and big business getting all the breaks, one that doesn't include oppression under the guise of "terrorist threats." I could go on.

I wouldn't be so angry if I didn't care about my country.

I would also like to point out that Republicans put out propaganda all the time, and they have very effective outlets for it. Why, just look at Fox News and Clear Channel. They're the ones who put out the anti-America propaganda, because they keep spewing hate and fear at everyone and everything. I'm tired of being told that I should be afraid, that I should fall into line and not make waves. "Fahrenheit 9/11" tells me that I am not alone.

This Whole Crazy Thing with Jack Ryan

I have been much amused lately reading what journalists have written about Jack Ryan, the candidate for U.S. Senator here in Illinois whose divorce files were recently released. I honestly didn't think the revelations were that big a deal. It's not like Ryan beat his wife, or raped her, or cheated on her. I really thought he could weather it. And even though I'm a stauch supporter of Barack Obama, I considered Ryan a good, solid Republican who could give Obama a good race (although Obama will win, of course).

Little did I know. I feel bad for the guy. Of course, let's face it. He did show an onerous lack of judgment in running for office. He also should never have sealed his divorce records. This is usually only done (according to my divorce lawyer husband) to a) protect the child or b) protect celebrities and powerful people who have enough pull to get their records sealed. Since Ryan is a celebrity and his wife Jeri is also a celebrity--well, you do the math. Given Democrat Blair Hull's similar troubles in the primary, you'd think Ryan would know.

And pissing off Judy Barr Topinka, the state's most powerful Republican, is also a big no-no. Ryan shouldn't have lied to her, especially since many of the Republicans now calling for Ryan's resignation from the race are now comdemning not Ryan's sexual hijinks but his utter and complete lack of judgment in this matter.

All that aside, however, Ryan really didn't do such a horrible thing. After all, Ryan broke no laws. As for having kinky sex with his wife Jeri--well, have you SEEN her? If I were a guy, and I had Jeri Ryan as a wife, I'd be flaunting it too. Those of you who have never seen an episode of "Star Trek: Voyager" have no clue what I'm talking about.

I agree with the Rockford Register Star columnist Pat Cunningham: "Most politicians lie every now and then. John Kerry and George W. Bush are both liars, but they'll get about 100 million votes between them in November.... I'm not trying to trivialize the moral offenses Jack Ryan is alleged to have committed. He seems to have been a jerk --no, a kinky jerk. For all I know, he might still be a jerk. But he won the Republican nomination for the office he seeks, and I don't think it's right for a self-appointed posse to chase him off the ballot."

Here are some of my other favorite columnist quotes from the past few days:

From the Peoria Star-Journal:"There's no breaking of marriage laws or the Ten Commandments, (Ryan) said in an interview on WLS-AM. If the worst people can say is that over eight years of marriage he took his wife to places "she felt uncomfortable ... then I think people will say, gosh, that guy's lived a pretty clean life." Some people may say that, but probably not many in central Illinois, where the average resident is not accustomed to using "sex" and "club" in the same sentence and following it with the phrase "pretty clean life."

From Chicago's youth-geared paper Red Streak: "Watching the public flogging of Republican U.S. Senate candidate Jack Ryan on Channel 11 Monday was pleasantly disturbing. According to his divorce papers, that's how he likes it."

Dan Johnson-Weinberger (I honestly have no clue who this guy is): "You have to really question the judgment of anyone who at one time was married to Jeri Ryan, and now, for whatever reason, is not."

The first gut reaction by loyal Republicans was of course to protect Ryan. Kevin McCollough, the Illinois Leader, said this: "For Eric Zorn and others to write in their columns or Web logs that Jack had been dishonest - is a blatant, politically minded fabrication on their own part." Hah! Funny, isn't it, in retrospect?

So I have really been enjoying this. I even watched Jay Leno's monologue last night to see if he'd add any additional jokes. I know some Republicans might be saying that I'm only amused because Obama gets a lot of leverage out of this event. But I feel bad for Ryan, who was an attractive, articulate candidate. Yes, his judgment was bad, and yes, that's probably reason enough for him to leave the race. But we're all a nation of ignorant, silly Puritans if we judge him by his "creepy" sex life.

P.S. I think many of us, if we really thought about it, would find stuff in our past life that would completely disqualify us to serve the public.

Six, Er, Seven People I Admire

We all have heroes. Here are a few of mine.

Penn and Teller--These guys are funny, they're entertaining, and they're brilliant. Their magic show is different because they tell it like it is, and they're amazingly irreverent. I also love their TV show, "Bullshit!", for its unabashedly liberal take on the world. They're also such characters. The world is more fun with them in it.

Hillary Clinton--Well, she graduated from my college, had my thesis advisor and lived in my dorm. But I really admire her because she's a strong, intelligent woman who has managed to survive politics for years despite crazy conservatives trying to break her down. She's a great role model. You go, girl!

Melinda Culea--When I was ten, she was the bomb. And maybe I had it wrong--I mean, it's not like I know what the actress is really like, or what actually happened on the set of "The A-Team" TV show. But the fact that she was the only girl on the team was so cool. And the fact that she stood up to the producers because her role was so small and silly was even better. She got fired for it, of course, but I admired her for not settling to be just eye candy to the TV audience. She was right--look at how women are kicking butt all over TVland now, and they're totally sexy. I forgive her for never sending me an autographed picture.

Maya Angelou--Her poetry is absolutely beautiful and powerful and meaningful. She's such an overwhelming presence, and it's hard not to feel awed when you listen to her read. If I could write poetry like Maya Angelou, I'd be able to say things in language that I can only struggle to express now.

Barack Obama--Despite the fact that George W. Bush, from what I understand, was shocked to find that "Osama" was running for the U.S. Senate in Illinois, I think this man has a potential for greatness. I campaigned for him in March, and will do so again for November. He's an articulate, upstanding man with a fine record in the Illinois legislature (which puts him ahead of Bush already); he's a civil rights attorney who cares about the same issues I do; and he's perfect for the Senate. I think he's totally wonderful, and I've never been so excited about a candidate before.

David Sedaris--What an amazing writer! His stories and essays are so hilarious and clever. He writes about turds like no one else. I'd love to have a satirical eye like his. And one else has been able to write a Christmas letter that actually imbued me with holiday spirit. This man's prose is inspiring and brilliant.

Why I Hate The Phrase "God Bless America"

I love my country. I think it's sad that since I'm a liberal Democrat, I have to remind people of that fact to show them I'm not being treasonous or anything when I speak my mind. I love America's wide open spaces, I love its diversity (of thought, and of people), I love its freedoms and I love its people.

But let's deconstruct this phrase, through my experience. I'm an atheist, and have been ever since 9/11. But not because of anything the terrorists did, directly. Actually, it was the proliferation of signs saying "God Bless America" that did me in. I know many people believe this phrase to be an expression of hope, of faith, of love. I don't see it that way--I view this phrase as an expression of closedmindedness, hate and prejudice. I'll tell you why.

First, the "America" part.

I'm an Asian-American. I grew up in this country and fully intend to die here. I was born at a hospital in Lawrence, Kansas. I've visited a few other countries--Taiwan, the U.K. Briefly. But being non-white in a white culture, I have had a few racist experiences in my life. I've been called names, like "gook" and "f---in Jap". Since I'm not Vietnamese or Japanese, I thought those incidents were kind of funny. But let's face it. I'm not considered "American" by many people, even though I am one. I don't look American, according to some. To illustrate this point, I'll give you an example from a woman I don't think most of us consider to be racist or even unkind. Dear Abby is the woman of whom I speak.

In college I picked up a newspaper and read Dear Abby's column. Someone had written saying that he (or she) could not tell us Asians apart and was looking for advice. This person wrote in good faith. The gist of Dear Abby's response was that "They can't tell US AMERICANS apart either." I'll never forget that phrase. That someone so wise, so common-sense could say something like that completely bowled me over. I wrote back, though I have no idea if my letter ever garnered a response. I said, basically, that yes. I can tell AMERICANS apart. But that's not really the point. I don't need someone to be able to look at me and say I'm Chinese as compared to Korean. What I really want is just for people to understand that all Asians come from different cultures that are as rich and varied as Caucasian cultures. That the Japanese come from an interesting culture that's completely separate from Chinese, just like Scots come from a culture thats completely separate from that of German people, or French people. I also said that many of us ARE Americans. We consider ourselves to be from this country, and it's the only place we've ever lived. To separate Caucasians from Asians in that way was just wrong, and made those of us who grew up in this country feel excluded from our own culture.

It's incidents like that that brought it home to me that people of my race are NOT considered Americans by many. Despite our contributions, despite our love and loyalty to our country. And so when I see a phrase like "God Bless America," I can almost see the addendum that goes, "unless you're black, or Asian, or Latino, or--heaven forbid--Arab American." Yes, it's my baggage that leads me to see this invisible addition. But that baggage wouldn't exist if I didn't feel the hostility from certain parts of my own country.

Okay, so let's move on to the first part of the phrase. "God Bless." Well, where do I even start? For one thing, this phrase assumes a homogenous opinion that once again speaks to the lack of understanding and diversity in this country. It says that everyone reading this sign is Christian, or else they don't belong here in the good old U.S. of A. And atheists? Forget us. We're not included in this at all. By association, we're traitors and terrorists. What about other religions? What about the rest of us? To me, this seems to be a phrase of exclusion. And it assumes, with great hubris, that God is on our side and ours alone. It makes me think of that part in Voltaire's Candide where both sides in the war are having "Te Deum" played in their camps. God can't be on everyone's side, can he? I tend to think that if there is a God, he's on the side of individuals who are good and who believe, whether or not they live in this section of the northern hemisphere of the Earth. According to my baggage, the real phrase goes something like this:

"May the Christian God of the Good Middle-Class People bless America, except for those people who are not white because they clearly don't belong here with the rest of us clean, normal Caucasian people. This includes but is not limited to Mexicans (who have jumped the border to steal our jobs), African Americans (who are all morally bankrupt), Asian Americans (who are all inscrutable), Arab Americans (you know why) and gay people (because even though you may TECHNICALLY be white, you're all screwed up in the head)."

Is it any wonder that phrase grates on me? I don't expect the average American to understand why I look at "God Bless America" and I see something sinister and hypocritical. But I do. I'm sorry. That's just the way I feel. I will shout to the skies how much I adore this country--but I will never, ever utter those words. I will never sing them, I will never believe in them. It hurts too much.

In Defense of Zoos

Today I bought a t-shirt for my sister from a site called africanelephants.org. It's a site that tries to monitor elephants in zoos across the country, hoping to relocate them to sanctuaries and better living conditions. I fully support this goal. I know that keeping elephants in captivity has long been a controversial topic--not just for their own well-being but for the well-being of humans as well. It's dangerous to keep male elephants, who are extremely strong. I know this because I have volunteered at the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago for years. Years, we had a male elephant who hurt a keeper and we haven't had one since. But I think the jury's still out on whether or not all zoos, even the ones with nice accommodations for their elephants, are bad for elephants. I'm willing to view the evidence either way. But I'm wary of people who just say all captivity is bad for all animals.

So after going to that site, I started to look at the arguments of people who think zoos are bad, period. They argue that captive breeding programs are bad, and animals were breeding long before we got into the picture. They say zoos don't provide a proper environment for conservation attempts, they talk about substandard habitats, they say zoos take animals out of wild environments. They even contend that we zoo educators mislead children about wildlife and the care of animals, and that zoos are only around for entertainment.

The enemies of zoos have a point. Yes, animals have been breeding a long time. Yes, animals should be kept as close to their natural environments as possible. But the world has changed, unfortunately, thanks to the presence of humans in every corner of the globe. Many habitats no longer exist, or they're getting decimated every day. Breeding places no longer qualify as appropriate places for animals to rear their offspring. What would you have us do in that situation? Let them die out without even attempting to save them? By the way, zoos always keep excellent records of genes in the captive population, so that we can breed animals with a diversity of genes. Unfortunately, most of the information zoo opponents offered as examples of breeding failures was out of date.

Maybe there are zoos out there that don't take good care of their animals, and that don't have enough space to give them really good places to live. Well, this is often a problem of finances, not of desire. I know that at my zoo, the pachyderms don't have particularly good indoor spaces. I've been hoping for years that people will give us money to update the exhibit. Instead, we had some people offer to fund a whole new building--the Hamill Family Play Zoo--and they earmarked a bunch of funds to do that. If people would support zoos instead of tearing them down at every opportunity, we'd have that space already.

It's probably true that many of our animals come from the wild. For example, in the swamp, we always get birds that have been rescued and can no longer live in the wild because they're missing a leg, or their wings are broken. Many of these injuries have been caused by humans. But many animals in captivity today are not wild-caught. And the ones that are, for whatever reason, bring new genes into the population that may help the species survive in the future.

Some other examples of the good zoos can do: We gave a performing gorilla named Ramar a whole harem of female gorillas. He'd performed alone for much of his life. Now he has five or so females and a son--and another infant on the way. I think we've given him a new lease on life. Also, though we have people who complain because they want to see a "good" dolphin show, we recently canceled a dolphin show because the animals didn't feel like performing. When there's a possibility the animals will get too stressed, like when one is pregnant, we don't do a show. See? We're not all bad.

Yes, zoos are there for entertainment. But from what I've seen of zoos around the country, they're more about education. People can blame zoos for misleading kids about wildlife--but it's more likely what kids see in real life and on the Discovery Channel and other TV programs that do it, not zoos. These days, kids do develop a familiarity with animals that they haven't had before, and they think nothing of putting their hand out to touch the wild gray wolf. But that's not solely the fault of zoos--it's helped by other factors, such as shows like "The Crocodile Hunter."

The last item I take offense at is that we mislead people about animals. Actually, we don't. We volunteers, and the trained keepers, know a lot about animals. No, we don't know everything, but we also don't lie to children if we don't know exactly how long an alligator can stay underwater. We love animals, we're enthusiastic about them, and we mourn when something happens to them. I take a lot of pleasure in teaching people about animals, and I can't imagine that the opponents of zoos would ever have seen a real live sloth without their local zoo around, either.

I think of zoos as a necessary evil. I wish we didn't need them, but the fact is that we do. People who don't believe that are being purposefully naive about the way the world works, and the effect humans have had on the earth.

An Open Letter of Apology to Iraq and the World,
From a U.S. Citizen

I love my country. I love its beauty, its cities, its people. I love the ideals we hold--freedom, human dignity, privacy, peace. I think that most of us strive to uphold those ideals around the world.

But I've always known that there were bad people in the U.S. Today, it seems that most of those people run the government and the military. So I would just like to say, I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. I hope that people of the world can separate Americans from their government. I hope you understand how appalled most of us are about what we've done in Iraq and Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, from the prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib to the arrogance of our presence there. I hope you understand how sad and angry many of us are every day when we see a new headline about more terrible stuff we did, or more photos of Iraqis who have been tortured. I hope you feel, as I did, the outrage when I was listening to the hearings and some of those senators (Republicans) seemed to say that the human rights abuses were justified if we got the information we wanted. Such horrible actions can never be justified. I am ashamed of this administration. I believe that the abuse was sanctioned by people higher up, and I believe that our president, by flaunting the rules of the Geneva Convention all along, is as culpable as the soldiers in the photos. I disagree with my government, and it is my right to do so.

I also believe that many of people responsible for this travesty will never be brought to justice, because there's so much finger-pointing and trying to assign blame and trying to avoid blame. So on behalf of all the people here in the U.S. who feel as I do, I apologize. I apologize to our allies, who will be hurt by this because they chose to stand by us. I apologize to our enemies, because no matter what you have done to us, we're doing worse to ourselves by destroying the ideals for which we fight. I feel like I can't apologize enough. This is because our government won't do it and I am deeply ashamed at our recent actions around the world.

Before the Republicans yell at me for treason, I'd like to say that I love my country, and I love the promise my country holds for everyone--not just Caucasian white Christians. I think the people in this country, more or less, are good people. Maybe a bit stupid, but good. And that's why we've all been so shocked by what's going on in Iraq. I hate to see people despise the U.S., and it's even worse when they actually have a good reason. All I want is for us to do right by the world, and to live up to our own ideals. I'm not trying to destroy the U.S. from within; I'm trying to make it stronger.

So I apologize. And we're trying to make it right. This November, many of us will show our anger with President Bush and his cronies by voting him out. I hope you understand that this act is a statement on our part that we are not like him.

Trying to Conceive

Now that my husband and I are trying to have a baby, I find myself frequenting Web sites that discuss the best ways to get pregnant. And I have decided, after reading the detailed information at these sites, that there's a conspiracy going on.

This insidious conspiracy is designed to take all the fun out of life and out of sex for the duration of your pre-conception period. By charting every minute of your period, your temperature, your discharges, you turn yourself into some crazy obsessed mom wanna-be, yelling (only at the appropriate time of the month, of course), "Okay, I'm ovulating, we have to have sex now!"

These sites include a proliferation of articles that show you exactly how to make sure you know you're ovulating (i.e. charting your cervical mucus).Sometimes, the articles are in the form of myths and they stress the importance of Doing Things Right if you want to get pregnant. Like this: "Myth #1: You can just have sex anytime, and eventually you'll have a child." Apparently, this is not true, even though they told us this as teenagers. Apparently, you must catch the half day or so that the egg is actually on its way through the fallopian tube or you may have to wait another month. Oh my God! A whole month! And how can I survive not knowing if I ovulate on day 14 (it's another myth, apparently, that women do this) or day 4?

And, there are lists of dos and don'ts. I was unaware, for example, that saliva kills sperm so that means oral sex is out. I can't drink caffeine, my husband can't use the hot tub, and he's got to be all hanging out because he has to wear boxers so his little sperm have room to breathe. And he can't ride a bike. Horrors! I am doing everything wrong!

Every time I read one of these articles I think exactly what they want me to think: I start to worry that I'll never get pregnant if I don't lose 5 pounds, if I don't start taking folic acid NOW, if I don't buy a rectal thermometer and stick it in my butt every morning so I'll know when my temperature goes up (and therefore, my ovulation begins), if I don't keep a record of when I have sex and when I start various periods of my "cycle," as they vaguely refer to it, and if I don't orgasm every time because apparently orgasms help the sperm get to the egg. Aargh! It's hard to believe so many women have succeeded at this, considering how complicated and difficult the doctors/experts make it seem. And, by the way, the experts beat us over the head with this information: older women are less fertile, so you've got to work hard at this.

So here's the thing. I'm sick of all these articles telling me I'm evil because I want to enjoy sex and because I don't feel like creating a new Excel document to figure out the best time for having it. What's wrong with just going with the flow? I don't feel like taking samples to see if my mucus is "transparent and of an egg-white consistency" versus whatever it normally is, then scheduling my sex life around that fact.

Yes, I think it's all a horrible conspiracy. You read these articles and it's like if you're not doing all this stuff, you will never have a child, period. And not only that, you don't deserve one because clearly you don't have a pink and blue folder in your file cabinet that says, "Preconception Charts and Cervical Mucus Cycle Information."

I don't plan to visit these sites any more--but check with me again in eight months, if I haven't conceived yet. Perhaps then I'll be buying boxers for my husband and locking the door to the bathroom with the jacuzzi tub.

Top Five Things That Are Currently Making Me Angry and Sad

1. Prisoner abuse in Abu Ghraib. I have always believed that, though there might be some individuals who are sadistic and cruel among the troops overseas, we were invested in Iraq in a way that would preclude any military-approved abuse of detainees. You know, like let's show them how great America is by treating them well, by showing them how the ideals of our country really work. I figured no one would be stupid enough to allow abuse, since our troops are still over there and they're already facing violence every day--why make it worse? Boy was I wrong.

2. My cat, Beasley. For some reason this cat has decided that the bottom of the stairs is the appropriate place to go to the bathroom. He's been doing this since he was a kitten, though when he was little he used to poop everywhere too. So I suppose this is an improvement. But now we have to put him in a 4-foot-high crate whenever we leave the house, and I wish we didn't have to do that.

3. George W. Bush and his administration. What a joke! Can't this guy do anything right? Everything he's done has mired us more and more in a war we can't win. And whatever happened to those terrorists? I haven't heard anything about them in ages. And let's face it, his callous disregard of the human rights of the detainees at Guantamano Bay is part of the reason that the military police thought they could get away with abuse of prisoners in Iraq. His callous disregard of individuals versus corporations has turned this country into a haven for profiteers and just about no one else. I could go on, but I only have so much time.

4. Organized religion. Hey, I say live and let live. If you believe in a God that thinks 1/10th of all the people in the world are horrible sinners just because they're gay, fine then. Just don't come to me asking for a donation. If I believed in God, he'd be a kind god, advocating love and peace and color-blindness and leaving the altar boys alone. So doesn't that mean your God is more a reflection of your bigoted beliefs than what God really wants? He works in mysterious ways, remember. Who knows what he's really after? Maybe you're an agent of the devil and don't even know it. I know Rush Limbaugh is. Also, I hate it when people try to convert me. It's not going to work, people.

5. Hummers. There's this one big yellow Hummer in my condo building's parking lot, and it's a friggin' eyesore. Plus, the guy who owns it parks it in two spots at once so that he can actually get out the side doors--otherwise, we could pin him in (now that's a good idea). I want to put a sticker on it saying "Penis Extension," but unfortunately I'm a law-abiding citizen and can't bring myself to deface another's property. I take solace in the fact that right now he's paying over $100 every time he fills his tank up. And the gas prices are just getting worse. How much do you want to bet, by the way, that the gas prices will drop just in time for the November elections?

My Coachella Experience: A Report on Day 2

It's nearly impossible to see all the bands you want to see at an event like Coachella. For one thing, they are often scheduled opposite each other, and there's no way to be in two places at once. But to make up for that, there's great people-watching. After all, there were something like 50,000 people there per day. Some of them are stupid, like the girl walking around during the Flaming Lips show who complained, "Ever heard of deodorant, people?" To which our response was, "If you'd been here for more than 10 minutes you'd be as rank as the rest of us!" Some of them are trying very hard to be uber-cool, like the girls wearing lace pantyhose and carrying Emily purses. Some are freakydancers, which is always amusing. Of course there's lots of skin to see too, bared by revealing bikini tops (surprisingly, most of the guys kept their shirts on--probably because they wanted us all to see what was written on them). On Day 1 we searched for our favorite t-shirts--the consensus was that the best one was "If you ignore this T-shirt, the terrorists have already won." On Day 2, we gave the award for best goth getup to a guy in black leather pants, studs, a black shirt and a hairstyle that looks like he got it by sticking his finger in a socket. Rock on! On to Day 2...

Sunday, May 2

We slept in a bit today, and went out for lunch. We didn't care to see any of the bands before 3 p.m. anyway, and since they were expecting record highs out in the desert, we decided to beat the heat by going late. We went even later than planned, because it was so hot out we thought maybe another hour would be better spent inside the air-conditioned hotel. Unfortunately this means we missed a couple of bands we wanted to see, like Elefant and the Thrills.

This time we weren't going to do any walking, so we braved the long line of cars. I believe it went even slower than yesterday, but didn't start as early as it had the previous day. Luckily for us, just as we approached Lot 1 some enterprising folks took down the barrier and other enterprising folks were moving the cones so that some of the bare empty space could be used for parking (they had left a rather large grassy corridor in the lot). The line into Coachella was shorter too, so it didn't take long to get inside. Still, it took several hours and we arrived to late to see The Thrills, which is what we were aiming for.

Instead, we stayed at the Mojave tent to hear the Cooper Temple Clause, which Stuart described this way: "Oh no! Your Oasis has fallen into my Cult!" and Becca replied: "No, your Cult has fallen into my Oasis!" The lead singer had a definite Liam Gallagher thing going. Even I noticed it, and I know nothing about music.

We caught bits of other bands, like Belle & Sebastian. The main thing I like about Belle & Sebastian is their name. I'm not a big fan, and their show seemed fine if you like that sort of thing. Another band whose name I don't remember did a lot of instrumental stuff and put us to sleep. Mainly our focus, after visiting the Virgin Megastore tent and buying a few t-shirts, was getting a good seat for the Flaming Lips show. We pushed our way into the crowd, but were still pretty far back when the show started.

The Flaming Lips tends to upstage whatever band follows them. When we saw them on New Year's, they completely blew the White Stripes out of the water. Becca says that she saw them open for Cake, but Cake was wise enough to let the Flaming Lips go last, knowing they couldn't possibly compete for sheer spectacle. I thought maybe the Cure would be big enough and good enough to escape that tragedy, but I have since concluded that the only band that could actually succeed would be the Beatles, complete with a resurrected John Lennon and George Harrison playing a one-night only gig.

In form, the Flaming Lips began their set by putting lead singer Wayne into a big plastic bubble and sending him over the crowd. Of course the balloons were there, the costumes were there, the props were all in evidence. The problem is that Wayne talks too much, and the bubble thing took too much time, and the Lips ended up playing only four songs. Four songs! It's just wrong. Everyone who knew the words (and let's face it, at a place like Coachella this isn't going to be the majority of the audience) sang along to "Yoshimi." That was great fun. I wish they hadn't ended the set on happy birthday, though. I understand that one of the perks of being in a band is that you get to ask huge crowds to say happy birthday to your friends. But still...

I was annoyed with the Cure from the outset because I illogically blamed them for the Lips having to get off so soon. Then, when they came on 15 minutes late I was madder because Stuart wanted to go see Ash and I had been hoping to see a little more of the Cure before we left the main stage area. As it happened, we ended up watching one whole Cure song and walking away during the second. I viewed the Cure from a distance before heading once more into the Mojave tent for the Ash set, but that was all. Ash was fun. Not too many people. Stuart says he didn't enjoy the set much because they seemed to play mostly new songs, but I know so few Ash songs anyway it was all good to me.

I understand that the Cure played past its time, and they were certainly still going strong as we walked away from Coachella close to midnight. We had no major mishaps that day, and by the time we arrived (after 5 p.m., I believe) the heat was only dangerous for a few hours. But we did have planes to catch the next morning, so we called it a night. And that was the end of our Coachella experience.

My Coachella Experience: A Report on Day 1

What's the best way to describe Coachella 2004, the music festival my husband, my best friend Rebecca and I just attended in California? Hot. Damn hot. But the bands rocked, we got to see the Pixies, we got to hang out with 100,000 other rock'n'roll fans, and we got heat stroke. What a weekend!

According to the newspaper reports, going to Coachella has pushed our coolness quotient way up. In our 30s (I turn 32 in just a week), we're officially hipsters. But of course, the published accounts of Coachella have very little to do with what our actual experience turned out to be. So here's a glimpse into how our two days at Coachella went...

Saturday, May 1

We left our hotel in Palm Springs at around 9 a.m., hoping that we'd be at Coachella when the doors opened at 11 a.m. On the way we grabbed a Jamba Juice, some gas (the lines around Coachella are rumored to be pretty monstrous) and went to the bathroom at the gas station. Gas here is around $2.30 per gallon. Fortunately, we didn't have to get on I-10 because Hwy 111 from Palm Springs takes us there easily. We did take a wrong turn and ended up at some desolate checkpoint for a mountain park or something. It took us maybe 45 minutes to get to Monroe street, which leads to the field where the even was being held.

My husband Stuart has a very low tolerance for waiting and for lines. So, about a mile or two from the entrance to Coachella, we decided to park in a residential neighborhood and walk the rest of the way. I say "we," but actually I mean "he." I only point this out because it was this walk that turned out to be our undoing. I don't think we actually traveled faster than the long car line winding its way to Coachella; but I'm not sure that we were slower, either--and we did get some free bottles of water along the way. The walk was fine--dusty, but the palm trees were pretty and there are beautiful mountains in the background. Eventually we could see the grand white tents of Coachella, and the parking lot, and more and more people headed our way.

Then there was the line that led into the field. We saw a van with lots of Beastie Boys posters and stickers parked along the barrier, and a guy sitting near it who was obviously on drugs. In fact, Becca thought she saw him shoot up (the Coachella people must have neglected to notice his odd behavior, since they let him in--we saw him later in the day). The line was already cluttered with discarded wine bottles, water bottles and other items people didn't want to return to their car. I'm not sure how long we stood around waiting for our tickets to be taken, but it seemed a while. They did a cursory check of the backpack Stuart was carrying, and let us in. We'd hoped to catch the film festival, but couldn't figure out why the shorts we wanted to see started at 10 a.m. when the gates supposedly opened at 11 a.m.

First thing we did upon entering: go to the restroom, and buy some bottles of water. Unfortunately only one bottle was still cold. I should probably mention that I was already getting dizzy and headachy and delirious by the time we got into the line. We visited the beer tent to get me some shade, but didn't drink. I bought a parasol to keep the sun off my head, and stayed pretty sick all through the first band we saw, The Sounds. They were great and the sound was good. They were on the outdoor stage. The only problem is that I saw them a few months ago, and it was the same show. The Sounds didn't have anything new to add to the mix. Close to the end of their set I moved out of the crowd because I wasn't feeling well, and we had retreated to the shade by the close of their next-to-last song (they always close with this song that spells out their name, so that's how we knew it was the end).

By the time we saw Stellastarr* in the Mojave tent later in the afternoon, I was better. But my friend Becca was starting to show signs of heat exhaustion. She chose to sit on a towel near the entrance of the tent while Stuart and I hung out near the front. It was hot, it was stuffy, it was worse than outside and I feared that I would fade again. Lots of people were crowding us. But the show was so great that it didn't matter. I just saw Stellastarr* in Chicago a few weeks ago, but as a fresh new voice in the music world their show was better than before. They're up-and-coming, for sure. And the sound was good, and the woman in the band sang more than she had in Chicago. My only beef was that they kept turning on the hot lights at the front of the stage for brief periods, and the last thing we needed was more heat. I had a thermometer attached to my backpack--we were pushing 98 degrees in there. And it was more humid than outside because of all the people.

After Stellastarr* we stayed in the Mojave tent to see Junior Senior. Actually, the Mojave tent was our home base for the weekend. Stuart jokes that now all the music that we like will now be called "Mojave music." But since we were back at the towel with Becca, I couldn't see much of Junior Senior. Someone from the B-52s came onstage to play with them. I liked them a lot. They were goofy and dancey. We had planned to stay for the Black Keys, but Becca needed a break.

In the shade of a tent, Becca got sick. In fact, she threw up everything she had eaten that day (a Jamba Juice and a Gatorade). Unfortunately, she got sick on someone near us, who was splattered with globs of Razzamatazz smoothie--yuck! Poor Becca. We had to take her to First Aid and get her a bag of ice. We silently and unanimously agreed to forego watching any more bands until the Pixies came on later that evening. And we also decided to leave before Radiohead came on.

I know. All the people at Coachella are like, What? Miss Radiohead? Are you loco? What's the point of going to Coachella if you're going to miss Radiohead? I would have liked to see them, but none of the three of us were huge Radiohead nuts. We could miss them, if it meant getting out a bit earlier and keeping Becca from being totally sick. In fact, she continued to visit the restroom and throw up for hours, even until we left.

We stayed in the background for the Pixies, spreading our towel on the ground and sitting down during their set. I couldn't see the actual band, but I could see the screens and that was enough. I was able to walk around and do a little shopping before they came on. And they rocked. They played some of my old favorites and I was so glad that I was there to see them. I don't think Becca and Stuart enjoyed them as much as me--Stuart was never as big a fan, and well, Becca was sick and in and out of the bathroom.

We left right after the Pixies, because after all we had quite a hike back to the car. Luckily, a cab was just then turning into the parking area, and we flagged him down and had him take us back to the car. Becca didn't quite make it all the way, needing to throw up about a block from the street where we'd parked. So we all got out and walked the block to our car, not realizing until later that Becca had left her Cubs hat, with her Super Furry Animals pins, in the cab. I had been too distracted to notice that her hat was still in the cab, and Stuart was sitting in the front seat so he couldn't see it.

But we got home safely, by 11 p.m., and left Becca to bed while going out to a late, quick pasta dinner at a local Palm Springs restaurant. It's safe to say, after that disaster, that we were a little apprehensive about Day 2.

Sorry, no entries this week. We're taking a vacation and I'm busy preparing for it.

Having A Life: Dog-Walking Chronicles #5

People often tell me they're jealous of my job. How fun, they say, to be able to play with dogs all day. Boy, don't I wish I could do that! I usually respond with a smile and say, "Like any job, pet-sitting has its ups and downs."

Reality check: yes. There are days when walking dogs is fun. Usually this means it's about 70 degrees out and sunny, and the big dogs don't jump on you and dig their claws into your shoulder. And it also means it's not one of those days where I feel like I need to be intellectually or culturally stimulated. 'Cause let's face it--dogs and cats don't do that. But more often than not, dog-walking is a job with high points and low points. The low points tend to occur when it's muddy, when you're putting 130 miles on your poor car per day driving from house to house, and when someone wants you to work weekends and evenings when you're trying to have a life. Especially then.

Last summer, I worked every day from May 1 to September 14. Every day! That includes Saturdays and holidays. And other busy times for me include: the end of January; the end of February; all of March; the first half of April; June, July and August; the end of September, the middle of October, Thanksgiving and all of December. Just recently, I worked from 7 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. every day from mid-March to April 11 (Easter). I've gone through days where I sat for almost 30 animals in one day--and the dogs more than once during those days.

I have turned down tickets to Cubs games (like last Friday's, which turned out to be an amazing game), I've made my poor husband go to soccer games by himself. I've given up concert tickets, I've let my Art Institute membership go to waste, I have turned down invitations right and left. Once, I left a black-tie dinner before the dessert course so that I could walk a golden retriever named Kirby in my evening gown. Another time, I left my own party to take care of some dogs. I was lucky a friend was around from out of town to help me make the food. I'm constantly running to a dog's house on the way downtown, or asking clients, is it okay for me to come late so I can see this concert my husband bought tickets for six months ago? And traveling? Forget about it. I definitely can't go see my family at Christmas. And although they've usually been nice enough to travel to Chicago to see me, I have to leave them constantly to go visit animals. In between that I have to make Christmas dinner since I'm the one who's hosting. In between jobs I have to serve the meal, eat and entertain. Dogs still need to poop on the holidays.

And it's happening again this year, of course. My calendar is full of conflicts already for the summer. I'm giving up attending a wedding in Colorado because I have to work. I'm barely able to arrange to go see my best family friend get married in New York. I haven't had a full vacation since October, and there's not even one in the planning. In a couple of weeks I am going to Palm Springs for three days, but on my way home from the airport there are two cats I have to visit.

Yes, I know it's my fault. I should turn down some jobs, right? Then I wouldn't be so stressed whenever a friend makes plans with me more than 3 days in advance. I haven't seen my best friend in Chicago in four months! Here's the thing. I also need the money. This is my only form of paid employment, after all. And I'm loyal, and I want to be trustworthy and all that. In fact, I guess part of me can't help it. I want to be there for my clients and I love the animals. So I'm punished for my diligence by not having a life.

I certainly can't blame my clients. They call me when they need me. They can't help the fact that their kids go to school and therefore 20 of them all go out of town in mid-August. But I do get frustrated. If I wrote a list of all the things I've missed to take care of someone's dogs, even with my employees helping me (because they're not willing to miss life either, and since it's my business I do the dirty work) you'd be amazed at how much of life I passed up.

What do I get in compensation? A lot of love. And that's not such a bad thing. Does it make up for all the stuff I missed? Well, maybe. But a tip from a client in appreciation also helps.

Let's face it. I can't go on this way forever. It's just not possible.

Dogs vs. Cats: Dog-Walking Chronicles #4

In my experience, there's less of a line drawn between these two creatures than you might think. I have lots of clients who own both dogs and cats, and everyone seems to get along just fine. Murray the Bernese Mountain Dog lives with a black and white cat named Sushi. Ashley the old yellow Lab lives with no less than four cats--Teddy, Dovey, Amber and Illussion. Pippin the chihuahua has two cat siblings, Domino and Bailey. I know several households where there's at least one of each. But yes, dogs and cats are different. And as a pet-sitter, I really shouldn't have a favorite, right? That's like playing favorites among your kids.

Dogs are pretty basic animals. With very few exceptions, they have all adored me the instant I walked through the door--especially when they realize I'm going to take them for a walk. There was one, an old dog named Bentley, who wouldn't let me in the door at first. After about three visits he decided I was okay. Pippin the chihuahua used to run away from me until I got the leash off the hook. But after those initial setbacks, it's all about wagging tails and going out to pee.

Naturally all dogs have their own personalities. Some eat a lot--some don't eat at all. Some walk a lot; some just like being in the yard. Some are businesslike when they go out, some just view life as one big game. But they do all share a few similarities. They're all enthusiastic, fun animals who love people and aren't afraid to show it. I can go out with them and enjoy the nice weather (when it happens) and give them treats and throw balls for them and run around with them all day. They love me, they wag their tails, they think I'm the greatest because I take them for walks. It's great to be around them.

Then there are the cats. Some of them walk right up to me when I arrive and start telling me about their day and asking for attention (like Lily the tiny Norwegian Forest cat). Others will stay under the bed until I leave, and hiss at me if I try to get too close (like Chu the orange tabby). Occasionally, one will block my way and also hiss at me if I try to get too close (like Shoshana the red English--which is pretty much an orange tabby). Still others confound my every attempt to find them by not only hiding, but also steathily darting from hiding place to hiding place (like Monkey, who is also orange). And a few, like Ella the black cat, pretend to be friendly until you drop your guard--and then they dig their claws into your leg. Ouch. One or two (like Parrish, Comet and Turtle) even climb into the bathtub when I arrive and wait for me to turn on the faucet so they can drink. They seem to sport a much larger variety of temperaments than even dogs.

Cats don't need to go out, which makes them much more pleasant than dogs in the cold freezing Chicago winters. They're more independent, so most of the time I don't get so much exuberant attention as with dogs. On the other hand, there's nothing like a soft purr from a kitten climbing into your lap, or a little paw batting at your zipper pull. They're so soft and fuzzy and mostly sweet. I can sit with them and play, as compared to walking my butt off with certain dogs. And when a cat truly likes me, I feel like I've accomplished something worthwhile.

So what's the verdict? Dogs versus cats? Well, I'll tell you this: I have cats, and I don't want a dog. So I suppose you could call me a cat person. But I don't know why it has to be an either/or. Both types of animals are loving, lovable and sweet. Their personalities are different, but that's all to the good. I'm happy loving both, and birds and fish and hamsters besides.

Death: Dog-Walking Chronicles #3

One problem with my job is that I meet a lot of great pets. And I get attached to them. But the nature of my job is that I'm often hired to take care of pets that need special care because they're old, or young, or need medication. This also means that every once in awhile, a dog or cat I'm caring for passes away.

Sometimes it's something long expected. I was hired once to take care of a cat named Hero--an orange and white tabby whose pain had made him somewhat ornery. At the time I was rather new to the pet-sitting business, and not as experienced as I am now with giving medication. And Hero didn't want me to get close. He would hiss and swipe at me and, in general, communicate the fact that he was not going to cooperate. I was a little bit intimidated by Hero, I have to admit it. But I knew he was sick, and I knew he needed his medicine, and I sucked it up and gave it to him. It felt like I had overcome a huge obstacle when I finally succeeded in making him take his pill.

As Hero got sicker, he stayed closer to his owner's bedroom. One morning I wrote a note to my client that he wouldn't come out of there at all. That very day he was put to sleep. Though Hero never seemed to like me, it didn't seem to matter. I had spent so much time caring for him, trying to get him to take his medication with the smallest possible amount of stress, that I felt that connection. And to hear that he was gone--well, that was painful. He was one of the first animals under my care to die.

Sometimes it's something not expected at all. I was hired for a period of four months to walk a couple of springer spaniels, Jewel and Cody, while their usual dog-walker was recovering from a sprain. At around the end of that time, the female spaniel, Jewel, developed some type of illness. I don't remember what the illness was, I don't even remember how she got it. I remember the client gave us a list of warning signs to watch for. She was getting better. And I remember the day I came in to her room, and she was lying in the crate breathing heavily. She couldn't get up, so I called her owner and, with the owner's permission, rushed her to the animal emergency center. She lay curled up on the floor of the passenger side of my VW Beetle, and all I could do was talk to her all the way to the emergency center. I constantly told her how much we loved her. Jewel's owner showed up a little bit after I'd left--but Jewel had already died by then. I was the last person to see her alive, other than her doctors. Even worse, it was right then that the other dog-walker called and said she could go back to work. I never really got a chance to see Cody again, and maybe get some closure on the whole situation.

In another similar situation, Hero's owner eventually got two kittens. They started out as pound kitties, and grew to be so beautiful and big I could hardly believe it. Madison is a long-haired calico cat, and her brother Marbury was white and grey with gorgeous eyes and a hint of brown in his face. It wasn't too long before the vet realized that Marbury had a genetic heart problem. In the months before he died, I did overnights with him. Twice I took him to the emergency room and, apparently, saved his life because he'd gotten liquid in his lungs. One of those times was on Thanksgiving night, after I'd had dinner with my family. He died last December.

And then every once in awhile I'll get hit with something out of the blue. Like a client will call and say, "We need you for these dates, and by the way our other dog/cat was hit by a car/was bit by another animal and died/passed away three months ago." Then I react, of course, as if the animal had just died. How else can I react? Recently this happened to me twice, with the death of a Jack Russell terrier named Skip who was always escaping his electronic fence, and a shy, sweet gray cat named Patches. There was also Kelly, the golden retriever and Thor, the Great Pyrenees.

Some of these animals I saw one week out of the year when their family took its annual vacation--but I still care about them. And I understand that my clients don't see me with their animals, really. I'm not a person who is present in their lives, so why should they think of me? They may even think I don't remember their pets. I do. I remember them all. Even if I took care of them for half an hour, once upon a time, two years ago. I'm not resentful or anything, it just hits me oddly when I realize that an animal I adored--who depended on me--has been dead for months.

Considering I've only been in business for about 25 months, I sometimes feel like a black widow. Everywhere I show up, somebody dies. Mikey and Danni, two old dogs who came from sad backgrounds but found a wonderful home in Northbrook. Wally, the old golden retriever who knew commands in Swahili and who, because he had hip displasia, would rock back and forth on his front legs when he was excited to see me. Marbury, who couldn't have been more than a year and a half old when he died. The list goes on.

Of course, this is all part of the job. It's not a part that I was expecting when I started out. I had no idea how often a death would happen and affect me. I'm sad mof course, and there's the guilt factor. Is there something else I could have done to a. prevent this from happening b. prolong the life of my charge or c. make their last days more comfortable? And my clients have always been so grateful for what I did for their pets I feel even guiltier. Surely if I were smarter, or faster, or trained in heart surgery, or SOMETHING, I could have been more useful? In my heart I know that I did my best, and have always done my best for the pets in my care. I'm not God. That doesn't make it any less difficult to bear. They aren't even my pets, but I think I have a right to mourn, too.

People are always telling me what a great job I have. They're right, of course. I get to know great animals and great people, and I spend time in the sun, and everybody's always thrilled to see me when I arrive. But there are downsides, and death is one of them.

Living In Solitude: Dog-Walking Chronicles #2

Today I talked to four people. Five, if you count the woman I spoke to on the phone. Six, if you include voicemail. Add emails, and the number shoots up to ten. The total amount of time I spent interacting with other people today probably comes to about 35 minutes. And this is an unusually good day. My average is probably more like 15 minutes per day--counting the phone calls and the clerk at Borders bookstore who rings me up.

Let's face it. Pet-sitting is a pretty lonely job. Sure, I talk to people when I interview them initially. Every once in awhile someone will be home when they're not supposed to be. But the whole point of my job is to take care of people's pets when they're not able to--ergo, they're not around. I haven't seen some of my clients in years. I wouldn't even know what they looked like if they didn't keep framed photos in their houses. If I ran into them at the grocery store, I'd sweep by in total ignorance. They might do the same.

There was an article in a recent Chicago Tribune which stressed that dog-walking develops people skills. A person quoted in this story said, "The important skill in dog walking is keeping the client happy. There are pet owners with very specific and sometimes bizarre requirements...the key here is not so much that you're acquired animal-handling skills but also that you've acquired people skills--and that's vital in any employment." Okay, I'll buy that. It's true. But it isn't so much the face-to-face dealing with folks that dog-walking teaches you--at least, not on a daily basis. It's how to follow instructions, how to keep people happy, how to be service-oriented when maybe picking up dog crap wasn't your first career choice. How to put on a cheerful face when you have dog crap on your shoes, a splinter in your elbow, and you were out till 11 last night cooking beef patties for sheepdogs. How to subtly remind someone that they owe you money for a job you did last month. How to sound so pathetic my employees feel sorry for me and agree to take on one more last-minute job. Those are the kind of people skills you learn in dog-walking. All useful stuff, definitely.

But if you consider talking to people regularly on a friendly and casual basis as requisite to developing people skills, then dog-walking won't help. There are days when the only human voice I hear is my husband's--unless I turn on the TV. Even when I do speak to people, conversations last less than five minutes. It's usually someone asking about the dog I'm walking.

As for my charges, the pets I care for--let's face it. Dogs and cats communicate, but they don't talk. They're good listeners, though.

This lonely world of mine isn't necessarily a bad thing. I get to think a lot. In the car I listen to the radio and become informed on many topics in the news as I drive from house to house (I know who was on the receiving end of the Rwandan genocide, I can name four cities in Iraq, I know what the new number one song in the nation is. I can name all of the DJs on Air America, too). While walking dogs I take note of what's going on around me, enjoy the sun or the snow or the rain. I think about books I just read, what I'm going to buy at the grocery store, how I'm going to arrange to go on vacation. When I'm at home, in the middle of the afternoon when everyone else is still at work, I read voraciously and write and dream of better days. I sing loudly when no one can hear me, trying to strengthen my voice since I haven't got time for lessons. I try to fill my time with arts and crafts--cross-stitching and scrapbooking for example, and online classes, and blogging, and reading, and shopping, and playing the piano, and exercising. All solitary activities.

The nature of my job makes it difficult to schedule outings with friends. Everyone's so busy these days anyway. When I'm free, it's often the middle of the day and all my friends are still at work. If I'm feeling very ambitious I may have some lunch and go to a movie by myself. A matinee.

It's true that sometimes, I really hunger for human contact. You should see me during the few social events I go to. I can't stop talking. It's like I've saved up everything and it just bursts out. I'm so excited about being around people again I become this rabid social butterfly and everyone is amazed at how outgoing I am. It's like I get drunk on company. Even if it's just me and my husband out to dinner, I'll chatter on until he tells me I have to stop or he's going to go nuts.

To some extent we're all solitary. I'm sometimes amazed at the glimpses I get of my husband's mind--things he's contemplating that I simply had no idea of. And though we're married, there are many things that I don't tell him, either. Like the fact that I sing to my dogs. Or about the last book I just read, if I don't think he'd be interested. We all live this inner life, and so much of it is unrevealed to others.

I live a quiet life. I think some people would have trouble imagining just how quiet and alone I am. Sometimes I wonder how real I am, since I don't have contact with many people; the difference I make in their lives is so subtle, it's almost invisible. I feel like the cliche of ships passing in the night--our lives intersect, but they don't touch. I'm a ghost, coming into people's lives and even their homes, finding out about them without ever speaking to anyone.

Springtime Cometh: Dog-Walking Chronicles #1

The north shore suburbs of Chicago are beautiful, in that green, leafy, midwestern way. We have lots of willow trees, little colorful flowers, ponds with ducks and geese. I enjoy walking during this time of year. Because winter can be so hard, I take much joy from the appearance of buds on trees and the growth of little plants emerging from the soil. As a person who walks dogs for a living, I'm lucky to be able to track the progress of a daffodil.

Each neighborhood I walk in has its own character. In Wilmette, the trees are tall, towering, majestic. They're so tall, in fact, that I forget they're there. They loom so high above me they make almost no impression, except for the light and the shade. In one part of Glenview, the trees are young, just planted. They're dwarfed by huge Colonial houses in new developments. In another neighborhood of Glenview, there are large trees, but they're so meticulously plotted that they seem artificial.

At the beginning of spring I start to see lots of landscaping trucks around people's homes, and city works come to trim the branches off the tallest trees. All through the season, the trees and flowers bloom to a pattern carefully sculpted by homeowners and their hires. Despite the lack of wild, unruly grasses, it's still beautiful out here. Purples, pinks, yellows, greens and reds abound and cause the world to go Crayola. It's such a difference from the bleakness of winter.

The world comes alive, and it's not just the plants. At this time of year, I start to see children come out from their winter-imposed exile. Scooters are abandoned in yards, discarded balls lie in the yards, chalk hopscotch outlines wait to be washed out by the rain (it's my rule that I can't pass a hopscotch square without playing on it). More dogs come out to be walked, more parents kneel in the grass tending to yards. In some neighborhoods, like the one in Wilmette, they say hello to me and stop to talk, In others, they pretend I don't exist unless their kids want to pet the dog I'm walking. Some neighborhoods are full of folks running around doing things; others are silent, empty--except for a few people getting into cars and driving off in the middle of a beautiful afternoon.

Spring means Spring Break and Easter; those are my busiest times of the year. Unfortunately, this means I miss a bit of the growth of spring since I'm too busy to stop to smell the roses for at least three weeks. This year, during a three-week period, I sat for 31 different cats and dogs. Even considering that some people have more than one pet, I was seeing many of these animals three times a day. That's a lot of time to spend working during a period in which people are finally starting to come out of hibernation. I can't participate in life at all, or focus on anything except work, for that entire time. You'd think that, spending much of that time outdoors, I'd still get to view nature at work. But for some reason this doesn't happen. All the cats need stuff done inside; the dogs are so rambunctious I have to keep my eyes on them at all times.

By the time my crazy period is over, much of spring has already sprung. But at least the days are getting longer, and I take what I can get. Last year I played this game, watching people's lawns to see which ones would be the last to start growing again. I was actually concerned when one guy's yard stayed straw yellow all the way into May.

I must admit that my knowledge of flowers is not particularly detailed, and I have a brown thumb. But I still enjoy the appearance of flowers--Mexican sunflowers, crocuses, daisies, marigolds, impatiens, tulips. I also enjoy the song of birds that start to trill loudly in spring. Even the fuzzy baby geese that appear by all the ponds are pretty darn cute, and I'll sit back and watch them just toddle by. The pleasures of the season are precious to me, not the less because I work outside. It's one of the perks of my job.

Let's face it: dog-walking is not a difficult job. It ain't rocket science. I think about a lot of things while I'm on my daily rounds--work, politics, music, what I'm having for lunch, the book I'm reading, the song I'd like to learn on my piano keyboard. I have to keep myself occupied or I get bored, and my brain starts to turn to mush. I don't talk to a lot of people, and I don't get a lot of intellectual stimulation on a daily basis. So springtime is a balm to my soul. It reminds me why this job is cool, and keeps me refreshed and looking for new things. It really does allow me to stop and smell the roses, even while I'm working for a living.

Bring Back Air America!

Okay, I don't pretend to have any idea what's going on between Arthur Liu and the stations that broadcast Air America in L.A. in Chicago. I don't know who's fault it is (although I'm pretty sure I know who's gloating about it), and I really don't care. Just bring the damn thing back on the air. That's all I'm asking.

The GOOD Pop Music--Indie Pop Rules!

I listen to Ryan Seacrest's American Top 40 Countdown pretty regularly. But it's not because I love the songs. It seems that the Top 40 has been inundated by R&B artists and throwaway bubble gum pop musicians like Jessica Simpson (and, yes, Avril Levigne). Every once in a while a real rock'n'roll band will appear, if you consider No Doubt a rock'n'roll band. But true pop music isn't actually represented. The Fountains of Waynes of the world appear as a small blip on the radar and then disappear.

Okay, I enjoy listening to Jay-Z and Beyonce on occasion. I've got the Outkast song on CD, I've even bought a few Christina Aguilera songs for my iTunes mix. I could sing Britney's "Toxic" on karaoke, if I had to. I can sing Hilary Duff's new single, too. I know who Tweet is, I know who Mia is, I can tell people that Snoop Dogg's favorite kind of weather is "drizzle" and understand the joke. Heck, the CD I listen to by myself, in my car, has cuts by both Celine Dion and Pink. But that kind of music, while fun, isn't the type that I really respect. It's more for keeping myself in the know.

To me, good pop music isn't just what's "popular." It's a sensibility, a riff that sticks in your head, a feeling of universality as in "I know what they're talking about." It has a sense of humor, it does fun things with music, it's not obscure and it's not just silly. It tells a story, it's passionate, it plays with lyrics like poetry does. It's original, it isn't even slightly influenced by R&B or rap, and it's pure. It isn't on a huge stage with pyrotechnics and snakes and water falling out of the sky and skin-tight costumes with sequins. It's about small, intimate stages and smokes and beer and a smashing good time. I guess people call it indie pop.

My favorite pop bands may never end up on the Top 40. But they still rock, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. These bands may not be the ones that appear in People magazine every other week, but there are a lot of us out there that think this kind of pop is the real thing. So those of you who are only paying attention to the crap pop/R&B musicians out there, take note. There are a lot of awesome bands out there, and they add so much fullness to the music scene. Sometimes, they're even innovative. And there's more variety than you see in the Top 40. You're not getting the full story if you don't know about these guys:

Fountains of Wayne: Take a listen to "Stacy's Mom" and "Mexican Wine" on their website at www.fountainsofwayne.com. This is what pop music should be about, period. Great harmonies, addictive hooks, catchy and upbeat tunes. "Stacy's Mom" is even a little bit, deliciously taboo.

Stellastarr*: "In the Walls" and "My Coco" are so outrageously addictive, fun and energetic. At their website, www.stellastar.com you can listen to their first (and only, so far) album. "The Pulp Song" and "Jenny" are also worth listening to, if the rotation brings them to your ears. The guitarist in this band so rocks, and the drummer is a lot of fun to watch.

Papas Fritas: Okay, this band is not really in existence anymore. But I adore them, absolutely and completely, so I had to add them. Not only are they really fun, they are really smart. Consider their name: it means "french fries" in Spanish, but they've also translated it this way: pop has freed us. Their song "Vertical Lives" is the best one I've ever heard that was about geodesic domes. "Way You Walk" was recently featured on a Dentyne Ice commercial (I think that's right). At www.papasfritas.com, there are a few audio snippets of their work.

The Raveonettes: Ever heard of the Jesus & Mary Chain? No? Shame on you. The Raveonettes definitely have that kind of sound. "The Great Love Sound" is one of last year's best songs. It's awesome rock'n'roll. Enough said. Go to www.raveonettes.com.

Ben Folds: This guy is truly inspiring on the piano. He does things on a keyboard which I didn't think were possible, and gives that instrument new life with his pounding rhythms and strong pop vocals. Lots of energy and intelligence. Billy Joel has nothing on this guy. Nothing, I tell you. NOTHING! He's totally brilliant. Go to www.benfolds.com.

The Polyphonic Spree: Imagine 25 people on the stage in white robes, singing and playing all kinds of instruments from xylophones to theramins. Their music is complex and uplifting. "Follow the Day" and "Light and Day" are great songs that remind me why pop is exciting. And it's just happy music--much more so than anything on the Top 40 today. Visit www.polyphonicspree.com.


Others to check out, which don't have Web sites with music clips (which means you can find samples on Amazon.com instead):

Eisley, a band of teenage siblings and their best friend. They're really good, with a sort of Alice in Wonderland sensibility and haunting vocals. You won't believe how young they are.

Of Montreal, a Canadian band with witty lyrics and a touch of irreverence. Try the album Aldhils Arboretum out for size. I especially like the song "Isn't It Nice," which is all about life in the country. "Pancakes for One" is also a really fun, original take on a breakup song.

Death Cab for Cutie, whose single "The New Year" is destined for greatness. You don't have to listen to the sappy crap on "American Idol" to hear music that's emotionally resonant and absolutely beautiful. Actually, if one of those contestants tried a Death Cab song I'd respect them much more.

The Sounds, who are from southern Sweden, remind me a little of Abba. They've got a '70s, maybe early '80s vibe and are lots of fun if you like that sort of thing (which I do!).

Of course, this is only the tip of the iceberg. There is so much music out there, and so much of it is actually good. Don't limit yourself to what's popular. Look at how deep the music industry really is, and pay attention. It's not that hard.

Viva Air America! Or, Proud To Be A Liberal

Okay, it’s not exactly true that we liberals don’t have any forum in which we can express our opinions. Yes, we can write letters to the editor. An occasional op-ed column in a major newspaper reflects our feelings. We can vote. We can discuss politics with our friends. We can become part of organizations, give money, support candidates who share our views. We’re not exactly disenfranchised, though sometimes we may feel that way—especially during an administration such as the current one.

What we didn’t have before Air America was the sense that there are others out there, even people we don’t know, who agree with us. Who are proud of being liberals, and aren’t ashamed to question the Bush administration post 9/11. Who are angry at what’s happening to our country under a Republican-led government, and not afraid to be partisan.

It has always seemed to me, that if you’re on the right—the WAY right, the people who worship Rush Limbaugh like he actually makes sense—you could be as outrageous and stupid as you wanted, and it’s okay because you’ve got these crazy conservative radio people who are even worse. And because they’re high profile and nuts, anything you say is reasonable and logical. Being right-wing and fascist seems to have a stamp of approval in this society that I just don’t understand. Intolerance? Fine. Hate? No problem. Racism? Just another’s day’s work. Homophobia? Par for the course, and ready for legislation. An amendment to the Constitution, even. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

But draw a little peace sign on your car and suddenly you’re enemy number one. Think about it: people who are on the far left are the least dangerous ones. Perhaps they’re a little kooky on occasion. But they’re the ones who don’t like weapons, who’d rather not kill animals, who want peace and not war, who advocate tolerance toward your fellow humans. Those radical militia groups that pop up now again to murder lots of innocents, they’re right-wing. Those people threatening to kill doctors who perform abortions—they’re right-wing. Those Greenpeace people trying to save the oceans, they’re liberals.

Yet “Liberal” is supposed to be this horrible label, meaning what—weak, indecisive, easy on criminals, anti-war, anti-Bush and I’m not sure what. Nevertheless it’s been a bad word here in the U.S. Our political candidates prefer to be more centrist. Our media prefers to be more centrist, except for those outlets that are clearly conservative (Fox News, Clear Channel, etc.). Though the majority of Americans believes in generosity, tolerance and saving the environment, they would never identify themselves as liberals. Bush never worries about being called “too right-wing”—in fact, I’d say he’s more worried about neglecting the right-wing. Meanwhile, many Democratic politicians would rather die than be allied with liberals. Look at Al Gore.

So, even though we liberals have our outlets of free expression, we’ve still been marginalized in the political process. We’re seen as tree-huggers, ovo-lacto-whatever vegetarians, rabid flag-burners, hippies, transvestites, PETA members. I’d still rather be one of those than one of the conservative stereotypes: old white men who spew hate rhetoric at every turn (like Rush), crazy warmongers (like Bush), religious crazies (like Pat Robertson) or ignorant, misleading politicos (like that guy O’Reilly and that blond chick).

As Randi Rhodes pointed out on her Air America show, “liberal” means generous and open-minded. “Conservative” means reactionary, slow to change. Which qualities would you rather impart to your children?

Air America isn’t perfect—yet. It’s not as funny as it could be, not as sharp as it could be. Sometimes even I, a devout Democrat, roll my eyes at some of the far-out assertions I hear on the station. But what the new liberal radio station gives me, as a liberal, is permission to be liberal. I am finally getting the idea that it’s okay to be this way, that others feel the same way, that I am not alone, that my feelings are not way out there and I’m not crazy to be who I am. And if Air America never improves its sound quality, never lives up to its potential—I will still know that, at least. Viva Air America!

Taking a longer break...

because Spring Break and Easter are the busiest times of my year, and I really need to relax this week in preparation for the big crunch. And in fact I'm so stressed I forgot I was even writing a blog. Sorry! I may not be back until mid-April, unless something very juicy or very tragic happens.

Taking A Break...

To help my favorite U.S. Senate candidate, Barack Obama, win the primary here in Illinois. Everybody go vote.

Remembering 9/11

The terrorist attacks in Madrid have me recalling what happened here in the U.S. on September 11, 2001. How the world changed on that date! My memory of that day is selective; I remember certain parts. Of what happened that evening--did I have dinner? I remember nothing at all. So I've decided to publish my diary entry from that day. I was working on the 30somethingth floor of the John Hancock tower in Chicago at that time.

September 11, 2001

Talk about two bad days in a row…today, the shit hit the fan. Wow! We were “recommended” to leave the Hancock tower this morning a little after 9, after terrorists targeted the Pentagon and the World Trade Center…I didn’t even know about it until I got on the elevator going into the building, because everything happened during my commute. While listening to the radio we heard that the Sears tower had been shut down, and we’re like, hmmm…the Sears tower is landlocked, and the Hancock building really makes a better target. Can we get out of here, please? So we got the go ahead to leave the building, and just as we were all rushing to the elevator there was an announcement over the P.A. It took me a while to get home, in part because of my own dawdling and also because of equipment problems on the train. I’ve been listening to the news since then.

I did something else bad, though. Stu suggested we fill up the cars with gas since who knows what this whole situation will do to gas prices. So I bought a bottle of water and then I drove off—with the pump still in my car! I totally pulled the line from the tank. I felt horrible, but I guess I was distracted, and I gave them my name and number. I guess it’s just money, right? But this is certainly a hugely busy day for them and now they don’t have a pump. Still, putting it all in perspective, it’s not like someone died. Considering everything that’s going on around the country it feels like small potatoes. I feel bad, though. I’m usually not that absent-minded.

Sounds like most people I know are safe. I haven’t been able to reach my sister’s cell, because all circuits belonging to New York cell phones are apparently busy, but I would be very surprised to find out that she didn’t know someone affected by this horrible tragedy. The sad thing is, I’m not surprised. And I’m definitely concerned that we’ll be pointing our fingers at the wrong culprits in our heat to bring the guilty to justice. I just remember after the Oklahoma bombing how quick we were to say, only Islamic fanatics could have had the organization to pull this off. How wrong we were! B. called to tell me a couple of our friends are fine. Since my sis is in Boston I’m sure she’s fine, but I’m worried about H. and some of her other friends.

My next few days are going to be extremely busy because of this. I may as well enjoy the time off while it lasts. The MLB has suspended operations also, so we won’t be going to the Cubs game as planned. It’s such a beautiful day, it’s almost a pity, but I’d be surprised if most people there could keep their minds off the events of the day.

End entry

I do remember driving home, and thinking what a gorgeous day it was, and I met a neighbor as I was stepping out of my car in the parking lot of my condo complex. Maybe she was walking her greyhound. We discussed the weather and the events of the morning. She told me all about a magazine called Simple Life, which I'd never heard of, and promised me she'd bring me some copies to borrow. It was a totally unremarkable conversation. Then I went in and watched television the rest of the afternoon. The news, specifically. I cried.

My Younger Self

When I was younger, I was a dreamer. I was never very popular--in fact, I was quite awkward. Being an Asian girl in an American society was hard for me. I wore glasses, I had braces, I had low self-esteem. I loved stories--read voraciously, watched a lot of TV. I wrote stories in my school notebooks during math class. I didn't go out a whole lot, even as a teenager. I put my energy into being a good student. I joined lots of extracurricular activities, including the high school newspaper and debate team--two activities that ultimately helped me get over my shyness.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to that girl. She was so shy, so afraid to reach out to people and to make friends. Afraid of being hurt, but with big dreams. She wanted to be an astronaut. She wanted to be a famous writer. She hoped to travel to exotic places, to live around the world. Though she cared what people thought of her, she also had this reckless streak. She would dance down sidewalks just because she felt like it. When she went dancing, she would try new moves because she loved the feel of it. She didn't care what strangers saw. She never felt like she belonged, exactly.

She went to Wellesley College and bloomed there. Making new friends from different places, she learned a lot about life. She had always been insecure, afraid to make wrong judgments about people and situations she didn't know. She drew, she wrote poetry, she loved science and politics, she loved to write and had no doubt that she had talent. Eventually, she learned to have an affinity with art. She adored it. She wore black because it suited her mood, her favorite shoes were Doc Martens and she sang whenever she felt like it. Yes, she suffered from depression, especially in high school. She thought no boys would ever like her--why should they? But she also loved life, every moment of it. She was sweet, ambitious, passionate and loving. She didn't feel that she needed things--she just needed freedom.

Today, that girl is different. I'm almost 32 now. I can't fathom what the me from that era would think of me now. In many ways I am the same. I'm still a bit insecure. I still dream of going to romantic places and being inspired by them to write amazing things. But I don't dance down sidewalks anymore--I don't sing except in the car. I write out bills and I worry about money. I'm not so sure I'm a talented writer anymore, since I haven't done it professionally in awhile. My future doesn't seem like it's all in front of me. I try to be tactful, decorous, social and engaging. I still wear black, but it's not the casual black I used to don. I go to museums, but the enthusiasm I used to have for art has become a more sedate feeling.

But I'm also better. I'm outgoing. I love to talk to people. I don't worry so much about what they think of me, because I know I've led an interesting life. I'm married, looking forward to having children. I'm not such a dreamer; I'm much more pragmatic. Somewhere along the way I acquired some common sense and I use it pretty consistently. I have so many more "things" than I used to, and now my standard of living is one I couldn't have imagined years ago. I can be comfortable in a room full of lawyers wearing evening dress; I can feel equally comfortable at a Cubs game or at the Double Door on a Friday night listening to a band in jeans.

My life is different than how I planned it, but I've always known that things don't always happen the way you think they will. And I'm okay with that, most of the time. I'm not the dreamer that I used to be, but that doesn't mean I don't dream. About a better life, about traveling, about what's to come in the years ahead.

I used to worry, when I was young, that I would change and become someone unrecognizable. Someone my 18-year-old self would consider to be cruel, strange, unfeeling--a sell-out. Today I'm not so worried. Yes, I've changed. In some ways, it's for the better. I'm much better in social situations. In some ways, it's for the worse--I don't want to be seen as a flake with no ambition, acting as if no one's watching me. But I know that person I used to be is inside, somewhere. I still occasionally feel out of place. I still get a thrill when I see Van Gogh's "Starry Night." But I suppose I'm not really like that anymore. Sometimes I wish I could get those innocent, idealistic feelings back.

But my younger self, she's gone. Dead and buried. All there is now is me. And I've got to deal with that every day.