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!