Nouvelle descente aux enfers

Samedi dernier, en début de soirée, appel de ma mère sur mon cellulaire:

- Es-tu à la maison?
- Non. Et si tu regardais par la fenêtre, tu verrais que ma voiture n'est pas là.
- Ah bon.
- Qu'est-ce que tu veux, maman?
Boum! Elle raccroche. Je la rappelle.
- As tu besoin de quelque chose? Ne me raccroche pas au nez.
- Non, je n'ai besoin de rien.
Re-boum! Elle raccroche. J'aurais dû me douter que cet appel bizarre était le début d'une nouvelle crise.

Je vais au spectacle Moon Water, à la Place des Arts, avec mon fils cadet, W.D. Forty (Forty pour les intimes) et quand je rentre, je trouve chez moi la petite amie de mon fils aîné Nebuchadenezzar (Nebu ou Neb pour les intimes). Elle était en larmes, toute tremblante. Apparemment, ma mère a essayé de m'appeler au téléphone et comme je ne répondais pas (la direction de la Place des Arts a cette règle bizarre voulant que les téléphones cellulaires soient fermés durant les spectacles), elle a décidé que j'étais morte. Forty ne répondait pas non plus à son cellulaire, puisqu'il était au même spectacle que moi. Panique, affolement, hystérie totale. Elle est sortie en courant dans la rue, en pyjama et en pantoufles, dans le froid. Elle a appelé Neb, qui travaillait avec son équipe pour un projet à McGill, pour lui demander de rentrer immédiatement, vu que j'étais morte. Neb, habitué aux frasques de sa grand-mère, lui dit poliment d'aller se faire foutre. Elle a fini par appeler mon ex qui, le pauvre innocent, est accouru tout aussi affolé qu'elle. Elle voulait qu'il la conduise à la police, mais il a fini par réaliser qu'elle n'était pas très rationelle. Ils sont donc partis dans sa voiture et après quelques tours en ville, il l'a ramenée à la maison. Entre temps, j'étais rentrée. J'explique à l'ex que ma mère était folle, que je l'avais prévenu à plusieurs reprises, que je le remercie d'être venu mais qu'il ne tienne plus compte de ses divagations à l'avenir, merci et au revoir.

Le lendemain, elle m'appelle au téléphone, tout miel tout sucre, pour me demander comment va la chienne, comme si de rien n'était.

J'ai appelé l'Institut universitaire de la gériatrie à Montréal pour demander qu'on lui fasse une évaluation. J'attends encore qu'ils me rappellent.

Pétitionite aigüe

Un ami vient de me transmettre un de ces courriels-circulaires contenant la réponse que le Ministre brésilien de l'éducation, M.Cristovam Buarque, aurait donnée à la question d'un étudiant américain. Le texte de sa réponse est reproduit aux sites suivants: en français: http://ecolesdifferentes.free.fr/AMAZONIE.htm, et en anglais: http://www.diaplous.org/amazo.htm.

C'est évidemment une très belle réponse, et je ne peux que partager complètement les idées de M. Buarque. Mais ce qui m'agace, c'est que le courriel-circulaire de mon ami contient la directive: «A faire suivre... Car la presse nord-américaine a refusé de publier ce texte». En fait, quelques minutes de recherche sur Google m'ont permis de constater que le texte a été publié d'abord au Brésil (en 2000!!!), et ensuite partout dans le monde et sur l'Internet. Il n'y a donc pas de conspiration du silence de la part des médias nord-américaines. Et c'est là que le bât blesse. L'Internet est un outil sensationnel pour ouvrir les esprits en partageant l'information à l'échelle universelle. Mais c'est aussi une sorte de téléphone arabe mondial servant à propager instantanément et facilement les pires ragots, mensonges ou canulars.

Combien de pétitions n'ai-je donc reçues de personnes bien intentionnées: contre la lapidation d'Amina Lawall, pour le droit de conduire des femmes d'Arabie Saudite, contre le supplice des ours en Chine, etc... Chaque fois, je me sens obligée d'expliquer aux personnes qui me les ont transmises, 1) qu'il s'agit d'un canular et qu'elles devraient vérifier l'authenticité de la pétition avant de spammer les gens, ou 2) que jamais, jamais, au grand jamais, une pétition électronique n'a apporté un changement quelconque, la raison la plus évidente étant l'impossibilité de vérifier l'authenticité des signatures recueillies. Vous voulez protester? Organisez un mouvement, descendez dans la rue, faites signer votre pétition en allant de porte à porte, faites la grève, parlez à votre représentant syndical, municipal, provincial, etc..

Mais simplement ouvrir son carnet d'adresses électroniques et cliquer sur forward sans trop y réfléchir, c'est comme essayer d'attraper un poisson dans chaque main, comme on dit en vietnamien*: on veut avoir bonne conscience, mais sans frais et sans effort. Un peu comme ces moulins à prière numériques qu'on trouve sur divers sites bouddhiques, inoffensifs et complètement inutiles. [Aie! Je sens que je vais me faire massacrer pour cette dernière remarque! Let the flaming begin!]

* En français, on dit: vouloir le beurre et l'argent du beurre. En anglais, c'est: have your cake and eat it too.

Plus près de toi, Mon Dieu

Lu dans le Monde d'aujourd'hui: Cinq associations, en France, en Belgique, en Espagne, au Portugal et en Italie, ont dénoncé les produits cancérigènes contenus dans des désodorisants d'intérieur. Elles dénoncent la pollution insoupçonnée et les risques majeurs pour la santé provoqués par l'utilisation de plus en plus fréquente de produits qui parfument les intérieurs et enlèvent les odeurs de tabac.

En Amérique du Nord,parmi les articles suggérés comme cadeau de Noël, on trouve les «diffuseurs d'intérieur» qui vaporisent divers parfums dans l'air, automatiquement et de façon aléatoire (comme mon lecteur de MP3 en mode shuffle). Or Les désodorisants, bougies, encens et autres parfums d'intérieurs, loin d'assainir l'air comme ils le prétendent, relâchent de nombreuses substances toxiques ou allergisantes (http://up.news.tf1.fr/news/sciences/0,,3186757,00.html).

Ce n'est pas fini! La revue New Scientist vient de révéler ceci: utilisé à des fins religieuses ou autres, l’encens s’avère dangereux pour la santé. La fumée qui s’échappe des bâtonnets contiendrait des composants hautement cancérigènes. Comme l'indique le site http://up.news.tf1.fr/news/sciences/0,,804443,00.html: "Nous aimerions sincèrement que le fait de brûler de l'encens ne dispense que du bien-être spirituel (...) Mais il existe un risque potentiel de cancer même si nous sommes dans l'impossibilité de le quantifier", explique à la revue scientifique Ta Chang Lin, chercheur de l'université nationale Cheng Kung de Taiwan. Son équipe a recueilli des échantillons à l'intérieur et à l'extérieur d'un temple de Taipeh, ainsi qu'à un carrefour de la capitale. Les quantités de benzopyrène dans le temple étaient 45 fois plus élevées que dans des habitations de fumeurs. A l'intérieur du temple, ont été trouvées des concentrations très fortes d'hydrocarbures aromatiques polycycliques (PAHs), un groupe de composants chimiques hautement cancérigènes qui se dégagent lors de la combustion de certaines substances. Le niveau de PAHs à l'intérieur du temple s'est révélé 19 fois plus élevé qu'à l'extérieur et légèrement plus élevé qu'à l'intersection urbaine étudiée. En particulier, du benzopyrène, un PAH très cancérigène, dont les quantités à l'intérieur du temple étaient 45 fois plus élevées que dans des habitations abritant des fumeurs, et 118 fois plus que dans des maisons dépourvues de toute source de combustion telles qu'un fourneau.

"Durant certaines cérémonies, des dizaines de centaines de bâtons d'encens sont brûlés simultanément par les fidèles. Parfois la visibilité est si basse que l'on ne distingue rien d'un bout à l'autre de la pièce. Nous nous faisons du souci pour les gens qui gardent et assurent l'entretien des temples", concluent les chercheurs cités dans la revue britannique.

Lies my Father told me

Canada's Prime Minister Paul Martin has thrown MP Carolyn Parrish out of the Liberal caucus, just as U.S. President Bush is about to make his first official visit to Ottawa. Her crime was to criticize Bush, Martin and the Liberal party itself.

In fact, Ms Parrish is a well known, unrepentant, serial critic of President Bush and his administration, a thorn in the side of those Canadians who are constantly tiptoeing around, head bent low, looking for any criticism of the United States in order to shush them out before some US media take notice and scold us for our impudence and ingratitude. Canadian newspapers would print letters from irate Americans berating us for our tolerance of gay marriages, or our distaste for firearms or for having French signs in Quebec, and threatening to never visit us again. Such letters would generate comments from readers, all shaking in their boots. Not once have I seen anybody write back: «Who cares what some American yahoos think?». Invariably, Gordon Sinclair's famous Tribute to the US will be dragged out of mothballs and proffered to prove how much Canada «woves» the United States. And we do, most of the time. But it's a love mixed with fear, like a child loves his drunk father. Must be quiet, must lay low, bring Father his beer and his slippers, just do what Father says, in case he whips out his belt.

If not for the popular opposition to the US invasion of Iraq or the US space missiles programme, the Canadian Government would probably side itself with the US Administration on any stupid ideas these guys can come up with. Martin is probably not as submissive to Bush the Alpha Dog as Poodle Blair, but the temptation is there. And I understand perfectly. It must be tiring, all this constant hassle of having to drag their asses to the International Trade Commission or the World Trade Organization for various disputes, at great cost and to no avail, since the Americans have never submitted to any official rulings favourable to the Canadian side.

So I say to Ms Parrish: «You go girl!». Somebody has to keep reminding our Government that the American Emperor is buck naked, and that there is therefore no need to watch out for the belt. Just don't listen to his lies.

The Noble Soldier

Every time someone mentions the name «Colin Powell», I only have two words to say: «My Lai».

I could also mention «Bosnia» or other shameful episodes in Powell's career, but I'd rather direct you to the Rude Pundit's blog: http://rudepundit.blogspot.com/

I'm Baaaack!

Ouf! What a week-or-so this has been. My mother has finally been operated and is now back home, minus a gall bladder. She's still physically very weak, but still manages to drive everybody around her up the walls.

I had to miss many days at work to take care of my mother, so by the time I got back to the office, things have been piling up my desk and I had to go to a lot of catch up training sessions, because we happen to be implementing a new document control system and I'm among the few staff members who haven't been trained yet. I'm so tired I just go straight to bed after work, then wake up around midnight or so, and start to look in the fridge for things to eat.

Last week I also had a funny (cuckoo, not haha) experience on the web. I was devastated by Kerry's defeat, and I spent all my spare time reading other bloggers' reactions and opinions about the election. On one blog, somebody was saying that in order to attract the Republicans to their side, the Democrats have to be nice and compromise more instead of calling them names. I decided to post in reply that, since Bush's supporters are religious fundamentalists, there is no point in appeasing them. On the contrary, the Democrats should boldy express their anger and their frustration (they should grow some balls, I wrote). Otherwise, I warned, their opponents will consider them as girlie men (à la Ahnold) who deserve to be butt-raped. Apparently, I struck a nerve. Another blogger struck back, calling me a mysoginistic Canadian (she took the time to check) asshole, because she is tired of people like me using language that denotes strength and domination as typically male -- WTF ??????? When I point out that she's attacking me for my choice of words and has not addressed any of my points, the owner of the blog decided to join the fray and berated me for not discussing the issue of sexist language with the proper amount of respect. I foolishly tried to argue that I was discussing a political issue and not a sexist language problem, and of course it was a mistake, because this time, I was accused of being whiny and defensive, on top of being sexist and rude. You all probably have experienced this type of situation: you walk into a bar and try to have a conversation with another patron when suddenly, some crazy guy at the pool table runs at you and hits you with the queue. When you fight back, the bar tender and his crew gang up on you and start pounding you. What you didn't know was that the guy at the pool table is the bar owner's little brother who's not quite right in the head and likes to attack customers whenever he goes through his "dark" periods. Now in such a situation, the smartest move would be to walk out of the bar and make sure to remember never to go back there again. Which is what I did. But goddam it, there was a time when being a feminist meant fighting against language that is demeaning to women, and not censoring language that is "flattering" to men!

AMERICA, YOU ARE FUCKED!!!!!

You are soooo fucked!! And you are dragging us down with you.

President Kerry

I boldy predict a decisive Kerry win.

I'll Miss Her When She's Dead

Last week-end, my mother decided to confide in me, a rare event since we more or less stopped talking, except for emergencies or when she needs me to buy her stuff. She lives in the downstairs appartment of our duplex and, although she's in the habit of popping up unannounced in my apartment any times she feels like it, this time she called ahead to request a meeting. Long story short: she's scheduled to have surgery (removal of her gall bladder) next week and she's afraid to die, because of the C. Difficile prevalence in our city hospitals. She wants me to take her to the hospital (which I already agreed to) and wait until she gets out of the operation room, then take her home. Simple request, right? WRONG!

«You should ask for a day off that day.» «Yes mom, I know.» «We will leave the house at 7:30 AM.» «Yes, I know, you already told me a few times.» «Do you want me to wake you up that day?» «NO!!! And you agreed to 7:30 so don't call me at 6:00 to tell me we should go then» «Yes, yes, but don't forget to set your alarm.» «Mom! For the past 30 years, I get up every day at 6:00 to go to work! I think I can handle it without your help!» «I don't want you to forget...» «Is there anything else you want to talk about? No? Good bye then!» «I can never talk to you! Don't you care about....blah blah blah..».

Our conversations have been like that for the past 10 years. I used to be able to control myself better, but since she asked to come live with us and I stupidly agreed, she's grown more aggravating and I've become more intolerant. She's neurasthenic, maniacal-depressive, paranoid, controlling, nosy, negative, manipulative and utterly self-absorbed. When I was a little girl, she was a relatively indifferent mother to me, which suited me fine, since I became a voracious reader at an early age. I had two brothers and she never hid her preference for them, but now, at the end of her life, her karmic reward is that she's left with only me to take care of her: my older brother died in a traffic accident and my younger brother took refuge from her by hiding with his wife in another municipality. So now we're stuck with each other. Because I was left alone when I was small, I grew up excessively independant. She, on the other hand, barely noticed me then, but now she is bent on controlling every aspect of my life. I could tell you about all the indignities and harassment she put me through but that would take pages and pages of posting. She could tell you about my insolence and my sharp tongue, and she frequently does to everyone in our extended family and in the Vietnamese community. Which raises the question: why are we mother and daughter when we have absolutely nothing in common? Is there a karmic debt I have to pay off?

People have told me on many occasions: «You complain now, but when she dies, you'll wish that she were still around to drive you up the wall». It's probably true. After every quarrel, I feel sorry for my lack of patience and compassion. I can see her suffering, and because of her mental problems, she has no outlet for her pain and frustrations. So, sure, I'll miss her when she's dead, but wouldn't it make more sense for me to love her now and try to make her life less painful? So why can't I do it?

I-don't-know-whether-to-laugh-or-to-cry item

I couldn't copy and paste the picture, so please go here: http://interestingtimes.blogspot.com/ and scroll down to : "2004's Scariest Halloween Costumes".

P.S. I'd probably cry.

Musical Interlude

Sorry about the lack of blogging (Who am I kidding? Nobody cares), due to my mother having to go to the hospital. I'll tell you about it in a later post. But for now, the Emimem video: Mosh

http://mosh.eminem.com/video/

Daily Buddhist Wisdom

If, in your course, you don't meet
Your equal, your better,
Then continue your course
Firmly,
Alone.
There's no fellowship with fools.

Dhammapada, 6, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

Musical Interlude

I'm Supa Dubya: this is my world and my game.

http://www.supadubya.com/

This is getting exciting!!

Somebody posting a comment on Daily Kos (http://www.dailykos.com/comments/2004/10/14/1194/1032/234#234) mentioned that, being deaf and able to read lips, he/she saw Bush approaching Kerry at the end of the last debate and asking for a meeting. Of course, speculations ensued: may be Bush has a terrible disease [Bell's Palsy (half of his face was paralyzed and drooling during the debate)? Premature Senility (incoherence and forgetfulness)? Muscular dystrophy (Frequent falls)?] and he wants to drop out of the race and pass the mantle on to Kerry?

Or may be he just wants to have a beer with the Senator?

Anyway.... Every instalment of this Presidential campaign brings new exciting developments: Bush is postponing his annual medical exam until after the election! Bush is wired! Bush is dying of a mysterious illness!! Who needs to watch soap operas on TV when you can follow the Excellent Adventures of Bush and Kerry As The Campaign Turns. Tomorrow's episode: Bush's pregnant evil twin is stricken with amnesia!!!

How do you expect me to meditate with so much turmoil in my brain...

Holding Up Your Half Of The Friggin' Sky

Quote from Wangari Maathai, the Kenyan Nobel Peace Prize Laureate for 2004:
(from http://www.peopleandplanet.net/doc.php?id=39)

'I'm sick and tired of men who are so incompetent that every time they feel the heat because women are challenging them, they have to check their genitalia to reassure themselves. I'm not interested in that part of the anatomy. The issues I'm dealing with require the utilisation of what's above the neck. If you don't have anything there, leave me alone.'

You go, girl!!

When the karmic chickens will come home to roost

L'information ci-après, trouvée sur le site de Josh Marshall http://www.talkingpointsmemo.com/ est vraiment la goutte d'eau qui a fait déborder le vase qui s'est ensuite cassé sur le dos du chameau.

Les employés d'une compagnie privée d'inscription électorale, appelée Voters Outreach of America, ont rapporté que des centaines de fiches d'inscription ont été jetées à la poubelle dans le cadre d'une vaste campagne de fraude visant les Démocrates. Apparemment, après avoir fait remplir les fiches d'inscription, Voters Outreach of America ne gardent que les fiches des Républicains et déchirent et jettent à la poubelle les fiches signées par des Démocrates. Les citoyens dont les fiches ont été éliminées à leur insu ne pourront pas voter lorsqu'ils se présenteront aux bureaux de vote et risquent de ne pas pouvoir se ré-inscrire à temps.

J'essaye de me mettre à la place des Américains qui sont en faveur du Président Bush et qui, comme moi, peuvent lire tous les jours des témoignages de tricheries et autres mauvais coups organisés ou appuyés par le Parti républicain pour favoriser la ré-élection de leur candidat: promotion ou soutien financier de la candidature de Nader afin de diluer les votes en faveur des Démocrates, intimidation d'électeurs noirs supposément plus enclins à voter pour M. Kerry, manipulation des listes électorales pour éliminer les électeurs susceptibles d'avoir des tendances démocrates, etc... Est-ce qu'ils se sentent coupables par association? Ont-ils un peu honte de l'immoralité de leur parti? Quelle valeur peut présenter une victoire gagnée dans de telles conditions?

Je suppose que ces Américains sont dans la même situation que les enfants dont les parents sont des menteurs éhontés ou des escrocs sans scrupules. Déchirés entre leur loyauté pour leurs parents et leur malaise devant les agissements de ceux-ci, ils sont incapables de condamner les parents et si ceux-ci sont attaqués, ils les défendront becs et ongles, comme de beaux diables. Si, comme moi, vous avez assisté à la Convention du Parti républicain à New York, vous avez sûrement été frappé, comme moi, par la ferveur fanatique et quasi-religieuse des partisans. C'est au même mécanisme d'auto-hypnotisme qu'ont recours les enfants de criminels ou les femmes battues, pour ne pas avoir à faire face à une réalité qui les forcera à vivre avec leur vraie nature.

Evening chant:

Life and death are of supreme importance.
Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost.
Each of us should strive to awaken.
Awaken. Take heed, do not squander your life.

Wired

During the first Presidential debate, Mr. Bush's weird outburst («Let me finish!») and odd eye movements have led to speculations that he was wired. A picture of his back showing a very noticeable rectangular bulge under his jacket has been circulating on the Internet, with no convincing explanations given by his Administration.

Now I don't know and I don't care whether or not Mr. Bush received outside help during the debate. What I notice though, in reading the comments on every site that talks about this issue, is this seemingly concerted effort to shut down any discussion about the matter.

Why can't we talk about this? It's not like the Republican campaign has been a paragon of honesty and fairplay. Why would the idea of them cheating be so unthinkable? On the contrary, considering Mr. Bush's well known verbal handicap, it would be remiss of his handlers not to find a way to help him out. One frequent argument presented to prove that he wasn't wired was that, if he had been, he would have been more articulate and won the debate. Of course, that's nonsense. All the help in the world is useless when the «helpee» is beyond help.

What is the purpose of the debates anyway? If it's a forum for the candidates to explain their positions, why can't they show up with fact sheets, diagrams and statistics to prove their points? If it's an opportunity for the candidates to demonstrate their debating skills, what have Toastmasters' skills got to do with good governance? In the end, I think the debates are just another form of beauty pageants. The candidates are judged on how «presidential» they look, the colour of their ties, their relative heights, how good they are at memorizing and reciting their policy powerpoint bullets, etc... And then the obligatory hugs from the beaming spouses. Urgh!

Somehow, this doesn't look like a very efficient way to choose the leader of the richest and most powerful country in the world.

Death or Cake?

I like to read the Open Democracy articles (http://www.opendemocracy.net/debates/article-3-115-2147.jsp), especially the debates between writers/thinkers from various cultures and their American counterparts (I think it's called the Letters to Americans Project). Today's debate is between an Iraqi woman, blogger and mother of three sons, Faiza Al-Araji, and an American man, Anthony Swofford, ex-US marine and author. Mentioning an anonymous American soldier who wrote to her friends about American soldiers driving through villages throwing candies to children and the good job they are doing in Iraq, Faiza Al-Araji wrote:

«How does this woman think? Her government bombed these villages, killing men,women, and children. Then she arrives, distributing candy to salve her conscience, and America’s. If I were in her shoes, surely I would have thought: to make these children happy, we should repair the water, electricity and sewage services. We should re-equip the school. The children’s future will not be brightened by driving past in a military vehicle and throwing candy!»

I'm sorry if I have to make more tiresome comparisons with Vietnam, where Americans soldiers could throw candies and chewing gums to children just as well as cut ears/penises off their parents to keep as souvenirs, but I seem to detect a trend here. To me, the two attitudes (death or cake) are manifestations of the same mentality, the same conviction that America has the paternal right and authority to decide for other countries whether they should be rewarded or punished, according to American criteria/interests. I do that to my young children and my dog, as well. I give them treats when I feel loving and I punish them when they do something I don't like. But a country is not a child nor a pet. Therein lies the misunderstanding.

Poetry Weekend

I'm feeling kinda lazy and lethargic today, so here are two poems to fill up this space. (Also because I think they're great...especially if you're reading them while listening to Etta James's Time After Time).

The first one is a limerick from the Rude Pundit (http://rudepundit.blogspot.com/)

The Debate In One Very Bad Limerick:
Last night, Bush had a little more fizz.
Iraq's not a mess, so he says.
He said, if he could,
He'd give us some wood,
But he's fucked us enough as it is.

The second is a haiku composed by my son Forty in honour of his favorite dish, the famous Saté spicy noodles from Ong Ca Can on Ste-Catherine Street in Montreal:

I have a strong itch
For a soup
Spicy like a bitch
I eat it and I
Twitch

Have a great Thanksgiving long weekend!

Off the wagon

Josh Marshall is wondering why President Bush decided to postpone his annual physical until after the election (http://www.talkingpointsmemo.com/index-old.php).

Isn't it obvious? The President has been drinking and/or taking drugs again (consider his numerous falls and his weirder-than-usual incoherence when not reading from a prepared script). A physical exam would have revealed such a relapse.

Holding Up The Mirror

A long time ago, when I was still a very nervous beginner driver, I was caught in a traffic jam right in the middle of the city. I was stopped at a red light and even though the lights had changed a few times, because of the crowds of pedestrians crossing and jaywalking, I was not able to pass and was honked at by impatient drivers behind me. Finally, as the light turned yellow, the way was free for me to turn right, which I did, when suddenly a pedestrian on the sidewalk rapped on my window and started berating me for not stopping at the yellow light. By that time, the light has turned red again and the cars from the other side started rushing towards my car. Something snapped in me: I got out of my car and proceeded to curse and scream obscenities at the idiot who knocked on my window. By then, the traffic was hopelessly jammed, with my car stopped in the middle of the road blocking everybody, and me yelling and shaking my fist. Now, you have to understand that, normally, I am an extremely (even pathologically) shy person, but that day, as I stood in the middle of the intersection, facing the whole world honking and hurling racist insults at me, I was determined to die rather than back down. I was thinking: Let them lynch me, I will spit at them with my last breath. Finally a cop appeared and eventually, we all drove away. But even today, I have a hard time understanding what happened to me that day: what turned me from a mild-mannered mouse into a stubborn growling mad dog. The explanation, from a Buddhist perspective, is that, as I was being attacked from various sides, my insecurity led to anger and rage and I was prepared to die to protect my ego, i.e. something that has no independent reality. I'm sure that you have all witnessed cases of road rage, where a driver is all the more enraged as he/she is in the wrong. The wronger, the angrier.

All this came to my mind as I read this very interesting explanation by D.A. Blyler (http://www.rawstory.com/exclusives/blyler/expatriate_bangladesh_reelect_bush_103.htm) for Kerry's inability to turn the public opinion in his favor. According to that columnist, it's not that the American people are too stupid to see that Bush is an incompetent leader, it's because they don't like to be reminded by Kerry of what has been and is being done in their name.

"Far from causing people to admire him for his conscience and bravery for
speaking out, his truth-telling simply reminded them of their own failures of
conscience, their own inability to do the right thing when challenged, and that
Uncle Sam is not always a shining beacon of emancipation and moral clarity.
That’s not the kind of stuff that wins elections."

When a mirror is being held up to our face, forcing us to confront our own faults, most of us refuse to acknowledge that we have strayed from the Way. We end up hating the mirror.

Big Conference

I apologize to my faithful readers (Hah!) for the lack of blogging. I'm involved in a huge international conference that will last two weeks (one week of which I will be working the graveyard shift).

I even missed the weekly musical interlude... and I won't be able to go see Turandot, which is one of my all time favorite operas!! :-(

Like somebody recently said: this is hard work!

Men: tough SOB and crushed petals

Jimmy Swaggart's warning to gay men («If one ever looks at me like that, I'm gonna kill him and tell God he died») brings back to mind an old question, for which I have never really received a satisfying answer.

Why do men react so viscerally and so violently to the slightest sign of homosexual interest? As a woman, I sometimes get subtle (and not so subtle) invitations from lesbians, and each time after my polite «Thanks, but no thanks», we each go about our own business. The only times I show any sign of repulsion is when I'm hit on by drooling or inebriated men. So again, to all my male readers (if any), I'm asking: why such rage towards what should be logically considered a compliment ?

I know that men are very insecure about their maleness. I was explained once (by my two sons) that the worst thing for a guy is to be considered «gay». That's why they only whistle, holler or otherwise bother women when they're in groups, e.g. construction workers or street gangs. They have to prove their manliness to one another and the whistling and other antics are just theatrics only marginally directed at the passing women.

I understand such a mentality. What I don't undertand is why a simple «no» is not enough when you are propositioned by a gay man in the relative privacy of a public bathroom, for example. In other words, why do Mr. Swaggart and about 50% of the population feel so threatened by homosexuals that they are willing to commit murder just to assert their maleness?

Another mystery of the samsara...

La vérité sort de la bouche des enfants

OH MY GOSH!!!!!!

Have you seen that video at http://zacharymaxwell.com/video/bushmessage.mov? (I found it via Altercation http://msnbc.msn.com/id/3449870/)

It's so fucking great!!!!!

Le Président Bush est-il plus intelligent qu'un invertébré?

Quand j'entends le Président Bush affirmer que, si c'était à recommencer, il n'hésiterait pas à proclamer de nouveau «Mission accomplie» (mais cette fois-ci déguisé non plus en pilote de chasse, mais peut-être en cowboy ou en astronaute), je pense à cette étude faite il y a quelque temps sur les vers de terre. On sépare une surface en deux par un fil électrique et on met d'un côté, des vers de terre et de l'autre, de bonnes choses à manger (pour des vers de terre, s'entend). Les vers doivent traverser le fil électrique pour arriver de l'autre côté et, apparemment, ils se font électrocuter une bonne vingtaine de fois avant de comprendre qu'il leur faut renoncer à leur but.

Vous vous demandez sans doute combien de chocs électriques M. Bush doit recevoir avant d'envisager la possibilité qu'il serait peut-être préférable de changer de cap? Vous êtes bien naïfs, car c'est une question-piège. En effet, pour des gens comme lui, il n'y aura jamais de chocs électriques. M. Bush n'a jamais eu à souffrir des conséquences de ses gestes. La mort d'amis ou de proches en Iraq ou en Afghanistan, les bombardements, les pertes d'emploi, les problèmes financiers, la misère, etc.. tout ça c'est des choses qui n'arrivent qu'aux autres, ça ne le concerne absolument pas. Les chocs électriques, c'est pour les vers de terre. M. Bush, lui, vit dans le luxe et la sécurité, entouré de sa famille et de ses courtisans qui le protègent contre toutes intrusions désagréables de la réalité. Il n'apprendra jamais de ses erreurs, puisqu'il n'en voit jamais les conséquences, ce qui prouve d'ailleurs qu'il n'en fait pas, d'erreurs.

Récapitulons: il y a les vers de terre, et il y a les George W. Bush.

Voilà, maintenant vous avez tout compris de la vie. Pas la peine de me remercier, c'est gratuit.

Musical Interlude Bis

I just realize that my previous musical offerings could be misinterpreted as a clue to my age. So in order to prove that I am actually in my mid-thirties, here's a song more representative of my real, actual, ain't-lying age-group: The Billionnaires Are In The House, featuring 50 Billion. Now you go ahead and enjoy it while I practise my top rock and my power moves!

http://billionairesforbush.com/50billion.php

I Lost On Jeopardy*

Found at Wonkette's site: http://www.wonkette.com/archives/we-get-dick-and-bush-confused-all-the-time-021649.php

Double Jeopardy
Botswana for $1200

The inhabitants of Botswana called the San are also known by this name that could apply to Cheney & Ashcroft

Contestant 'Sam': "Uh, what are Dick?"

(Awkward studio laughter)

Alex: "No. . . "What are Bushmen?"

*Sorry, Weird Al !

Musical Interlude

Couldn't wait for Friday. So without further ado, for your reading entertainment, here's another one of my favourite songs (actually a combination of two of my favourite songs), as sung by President Bush. Oh, and did I mention they're my favourite songs?

http://www.audiostreet.net/artists/006/407/song_imagine___walk_on_the_wild_side.html

(Promoted by Skippy the bush kangaroo at http://xnerg.blogspot.com/)

Hard to Understand

I've seen numerous reports of American troops deployed in Iraq that went to war full of zeal and sympathy for the Iraqis, especially the children, and then are hurt and surprised to find that their sympathy is not reciprocated. Some of them explained how their good will turned into rage and desire for revenge when they saw their best friends die in battles.

To those soldiers, I only have one question: What kind of morons are you? Let me see if I get this right: your country attacked a much poorer and weaker country that was not and has never been a threat to you. You are bombing their cities and killing their citizens. And yet somehow, you are the aggrieved victims who need to be avenged. How can you not understand, when the consequences of your actions are so immediate, so direct?

The usual comparison with Vietnam is apt in so many ways. Here's an anecdote that will add another brick to the wall. At my workplace there used to be a French woman (who has since retired), middle aged, very nice, who loved to talk to me about Vietnam, because she had an uncle and a brother in law who went there with the French army during the fifties. They used to send her those gorgeous silk blouses, beautifully embroidered by Vietnamese orphan girls in workshops run by French nuns. They told her what a great country it was, how beautiful it was, how nice the population, how great the food, etc... And she in turn wanted to tell me, thinking that I would be pleased to know how much her family enjoyed their stay in my country. And I had to agree with her. Of course, the French led a great life in Vietnam during that period: opulent villas, tons of concubines and servants and endless opportunities to make a fortune exploiting the local resources and the local manpower with the help and the blessing of the French government. Unfortunately, all good things have to end and her uncle had to leave after the Dien Bien Phu debacle. «It's so sad that it had to end that way», she said. «What I still don't understand is why you people hate us when we loved you so much!!»

Um..may be because you were the colonizers and we were the colonized?

Musical Interlude

It's one of my favorite songs (along with: «I only wanna be with you» and «Time after time» [the Cindi Lauper one]):

http://www.billjacobs.us/igohab_01.html

Completely Lost In Translation

Petite confession: je suis linguiste, je fais de la traduction et de l'interprétation.

Tout ça pour vous expliquer que mon appréciation de la merde dans laquelle se trouvent actuellement les États-Unis est fondée sur une analyse scientifique et professionnelle des facteurs en cause et non pas sur ma profonde antipathie de M. Dubya. [Yeah, right].

Le fait est que l'étude, la connaissance et l'usage de langues autres que sa langue maternelle développent l'intelligence d'une personne. Les recherches ont montré que, comparés aux unilingues, les multilingues non seulement obtiennent de meilleurs résultats dans des tests de calcul ou de logique, mais qu'ils sont également plus intuitifs et plus aptes à capter les nuances dans les conversations ou à interpréter correctement les signes gestuels et le langage corporel de leurs interlocuteurs.

Un article récent du Christian Science Monitor (http://csmonitor.com/2004/0916/p09s01-coop.html) explique les problèmes que l'insuffisance de traducteurs arabes compétents entraîne pour le gouvernement américain dans son occupation de l'Iraq, et aussi pour les Américains d'origine arabe aux États-Unis.

«Arabic is a difficult language, even for native speakers like me who have studied it for years.

There are many Arabics. Classical Arabic is derived from Islam's holy book, the Koran, and Islamic studies. It is written but rarely spoken. Modern Standard Arabic, although not spoken by the masses, is the language of modern journalism, used in newspapers and news reports. Then there is colloquial Arabic, spoken differently in each of the 22 Middle Eastern countries.

Meanwhile, within these nations there are dozens of regional dialects that add or subtract letters, words, and accents, with a sprinkling of other languages mixed in as well.

It doesn't take much to mistranslate words, because many Arabic words use the exact same letters. Arabic does not have vowel letters. Vowels appear as short lines or symbols above or below each letter, indicating pronunciation. These markings can change the meaning of the words. Often in official or handwritten documents, these vowel marks are not shown. Thus, the reader must derive the word's meaning.

Meanwhile, when spoken, many words sound alike, but have various definitions. For example, the word meaning "appear" sounds like bada. The word meaning "start" sounds like badaa, with a slight guttural inflection. When pronounced quickly in news reports or in conversations, these two words sound almost identical. But there is a big difference in saying, "He appeared to shoot," and "He started to shoot." It could mean the difference between an
acquittal and a conviction.»

I guess I have much more respect now for my colleagues in the Arabic section. Uh...that didn't come out right... It's not that I didn't respect them before! It's just that .. Uh.. Look, English is not my mother tongue, OK? OK? Sheesh!

The Male Privilege Checklist

Reprinted with permission from Barry Deutsch, aka Ampersand (http://amptoons.poliblog.com/blog/ ), who was inspired by a similar list on whites' privileges compiled by Professor Peggy McIntosh.

1. My odds of being hired for a job, when competing against female applicants, are probably skewed in my favor. The more prestigious the job, the larger the odds are skewed.

2. I can be confident that my co-workers won't think I got my job because of my sex — even though that might be true.

3. If I am never promoted, it’s not because of my sex.

4. If I fail in my job or career, I can feel sure this won't be seen as a black mark against my entire sex's capabilities.

5. The odds of my encountering sexual harassment on the job are so low as to be negligible.

6. If I do the same task as a woman, and if the measurement is at all subjective, chances are people will think I did a better job.

7. If I’m a teen or adult, and if I can stay out of prison, my odds of being raped are so low as to be negligible.

8. I am not taught to fear walking alone after dark in average public spaces.

9. If I choose not to have children, my masculinity will not be called into question.

10. If I have children but do not provide primary care for them, my masculinity will not be called into question.

11. If I have children and provide primary care for them, I’ll be praised for extraordinary parenting if I'm even marginally competent.

12. If I have children and pursue a career, no one will think I'm selfish for not staying at home.

13. If I seek political office, my relationship with my children, or who I hire to take care of them, will probably not be scrutinized by the press.

14. Chances are my elected representatives are mostly people of my own sex. The more prestigious and powerful the elected position, the more likely this is to be true.

15. I can be somewhat sure that if I ask to see "the person in charge," I will face a person of my own sex. The higher-up in the organization the person is, the surer I can be.

16. As a child, chances are I was encouraged to be more active and outgoing than my sisters.

17. As a child, I could choose from an almost infinite variety of children's media featuring positive, active, non-stereotyped heroes of my own sex. I never had to look for it; male heroes were the default.

18. As a child, chances are I got more teacher attention than girls who raised their hands just as often.

19. If my day, week or year is going badly, I need not ask of each negative episode or situation whether or not it has sexist overtones.

20. I can turn on the television or glance at the front page of the newspaper and see people of my own sex widely represented, every day, without exception.

21. If I'm careless with my financial affairs it won't be attributed to my sex.

22. If I'm careless with my driving it won't be attributed to my sex.

23. I can speak in public to a large group without putting my sex on trial.

24. If I have sex with a lot of people, it won't make me an object of contempt or derision.

25. There are value-neutral clothing choices available to me; it is possible for me to choose clothing that doesn't send any particular message to the world.

26. My wardrobe and grooming are relatively cheap and consume little time.

27. If I buy a new car, chances are I'll be offered a better price than a woman buying the same car.

28. If I'm not conventionally attractive, the disadvantages are relatively small and easy to ignore.

29. I can be loud with no fear of being called a shrew. I can be aggressive with no fear of being called a bitch.

30. I can ask for legal protection from violence that happens mostly to men without being seen as a selfish special interest, since that kind of violence is called "crime" and is a general social concern. (Violence that happens mostly to women is usually called "domestic violence" or "acquaintance rape," and is seen as a special interest issue.)

31. I can be confident that the ordinary language of day-to-day existence will always include my sex. "All men are created equal…," mailman, chairman, freshman, he.

32. My ability to make important decisions and my capability in general will never be questioned depending on what time of the month it is.

33. I will never be expected to change my name upon marriage or questioned if i don't change my name.

34. The decision to hire me will never be based on assumptions about whether or not I might choose to have a family sometime soon.

35. Every major religion in the world is led primarily by people of my own sex. Even God, in most major religions, is usually pictured as being male.

36. Most major religions argue that I should be the head of my household, while my wife and children should be subservient to me.

37. If I have a wife or live-in girlfriend, chances are we'll divide up household chores so that she does most of the labor, and in particular the most repetitive and unrewarding tasks.

38. If I have children with a wife or girlfriend, chances are she'll do most of the childrearing, and in particular the most dirty, repetitive and unrewarding parts of childrearing.

39. If I have children with a wife or girlfriend, and it turns out that one of us needs to make career sacrifices to raise the kids, chances are we'll both assume the career sacrificed should be hers.

40. Magazines, billboards, television, movies, pornography, and virtually all of media is filled with images of scantily-clad women intended to appeal to me sexually. Such images of men exist, but are much rarer.

41. I am not expected to spend my entire life 20-40 pounds underweight.

42. If I am heterosexual, it’s incredibly unlikely that I’ll ever be beaten up by a spouse or lover.

43. I have the privilege of being unaware of my male privilege.

Y' a ma motto qu'a des ratés

Just got this email from a friend:

«Good motto to live by ... "Life should NOT be a journey to
the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and
well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, Champagne in one hand,
strawberries in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and
screaming "WOO HOO -what a ride!"»

Let see now:

Champagne - - Yeah, sure, that would be nice.
Strawberry - - Why not, if it's in season (on sale).
Used up, worn out body - - Check!
Scream - - «Screaming» is my middle name, according to my children.

Yessss! Two out of four, fifty fucking percent! Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy? That's right, beeatch!!!!

There is only one Samsara - Give it to me!

There's this nice webpage where they make slogans for you while you wait: http://thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan.cgi, and this is the slogan they created for me: «There's only one Samsara - Give it to me!».

I guess it's better than the other slogan they suggested: «Drinka Pinta Samsara A Day»... I think.

Pro-active cruelty

You've heard, of course, of Ms Lynne Gobbels, who got fired because she had a pro-Kerry bumper sticker on her car and refused to follow her boss's order to remove it? No? Go to: http://www.americablog.org/. Her story has been dissiminated all over the blogosphere, provoking the usual reactions: «I thought the US was a democracy?», «She should sue the bastards», etc... A fund has been set up to help her out, until she can get another job or collect unemployment.

There are also other types of reaction, for example: «Better she be fired then [sic] thousands of us lose our jobs under a John Kerry failed economy», or «Sporting a Kerry sticker not only shows poor judgement, but substandard intelligence - both valid reasons for dismissal», «Just from looking at her, I'd fire her too», etc.

I have to marvel at how people can rejoice at the misfortune of a complete stranger and post cruel comments about her on the web for the whole world to see. Now if the victim were a public figure, let's say Julia Roberts or Donald Trump, and I were jealous of her looks or his fortune, I could very well imagine myself feeling a perverse happiness to see them suffer. But someone I don't know, whom I've never met and probably never will, who hasn't done anything to me? I don't think I could go through the trouble of actively typing and posting some vicious insults at her, thus demonstrating my foul character. That's a lot of energy expanded just to be nasty, don't you think?

Today's resolution: Explain the concept of karma to as many people as possible.

Changement de régime

Je n'ai pas pour habitude d'étaler en public mes problèmes pondéraux qui, je dois l'avouer, ne me préoccupaient pas beaucoup jusqu'ici. De temps en temps, j'ai des velléités de régime, notamment lorsque je n'arrive pas à entrer dans mes vêtements ou lorsque j'intercepte par hasard mon image dans un miroir, mais sinon, mes deux principes en la matière sont: «Live and let live» et «What-e-ver!». Hélas, la dégradation physique du corps humain est inexorable et la réalité n'est ni polie ni délicate. Le docteur est tout aussi implacable: j'ai le choix entre: 1) perdre du poids ou 2) perdre la bataille contre l'hypertension, et paraît-il, l'hypertension ne fait pas de prisonnier ... ou de la dentelle, je ne sais plus.

Toujours est-il que j'ai dû consacrer plus de temps que je ne voudrais à la recherche du régime idéal (manger ce que je veux, autant que je veux, et perdre du poids en dormant). Finalement, une copine en qui j'ai confiance me confie son secret: sauter le repas du soir. En fait, son système correspond en tout point à mon objectif: je peux manger ce que je veux, autant que je veux, avant le coucher du soleil et si je vais me coucher sans souper, je perdrai du poids en dormant.

Que fait l'homme quand il se trouve à la porte du paradis? You've guessed it: il rebrousse chemin. Je me bourre tous les jours avant le coucher du soleil et ensuite, le soir venu, j'«oublie» que je suis au régime, et je me prépare un gros souper. Résultat: je grossis et ensuite, je me méprise pour mon auto-sabotage. En conclusion: Depuis que j'ai commencé mon régime, la seule chose que j'ai perdu est mon sourire. J'ai également éliminé mes chances de coucher un jour avec George Clooney.

La morale de l'histoire: Si ce n'est toi, y a personne d'autre.

Waah! Waah!

My new blog is born! What a blast! As with the birth of my biological children, I start worrying : Will it be a good blog? Will it be a happy blog? Will people like it or hate it? Will I care?

What is it about me that needs to expose myself this way and let other people peer freely into my feelings, my thoughts, my life? Part of me keeps saying: why should anyone care? And the other part is trying to (feebly) defend the decision: everyone else is doing it!!

So... There you have it. My first blog.