Unsung Poet Sings The Truth

I never realized how amazing a poet Jackson Browne really was.
He says it better in “Lives in the Balance” than I could ever say it.

I’ve been waiting for something to happen
For a week or a month or a year
With the blood in the ink of the healines
And the sound of the crowd in my ear
You might ask what it takes to remember
When you know that you’ve seen it before
When a government lies to a people
And a country is drifting to war

And there’s a shadow on the faces
Of the men who send the guns
To the wars that are fought in places
Where their business interest runs

On the radio talk shows and the T.V.
You hear one thing again and again
How the U.S.A. stands for freedom
And we come to the aid of a friend
But whoa re the ones that we call our friends
These governments killing their own?
Or the people who finally can’t take any more
And they pick up a gun or a brick or a stone
There are lives in the balance
There are people under fire
There are children at the cannons
And there is blood on the wire

There’s a shadown on the faces
Of the men who fan the flames
Of the wars that are fought in places
Where we can’t even say the names

They sell us the President the same way
They sell us our clothes and our cars
They sell us everything from youth to religion
The same way they sell us our wars
I want to know who the men in the shadows are
I want to hear somebody asking them why
They can be counted on to tell us who our enemies are
But they’re never the ones to fight or to die
And there are lives in the balance
There are people under fire
There are children at the cannons
And there is blood on the wire

That is hands-down everything I have ever wanted to say, and ever could say.

Oh, and by the way, it was written in 1986.

The Extent of Our Rights

Every day people die. They die from old-age, in accidents, diseases, the removal of life support. Death is an inescapbable inevitability, the one event guaranteed to occur at some point. But the issue of a person on life support proves to be a problem. With the media storm surrounding the Terri Schiavo case, pulling the plug is being put under the microscope. While I am infuriated by the fact that congress and even the President deemed it neccessary to step into this situation, I’ve decided not to rant against it. Not this time.

I am, however, questioning the validity of what many call the “right to life”. While every individual unquestionably should be allowed a full and complete life, scientifically it won’t happen. People condemn suicide as a sin, or a crime, but if I wanted to die, is that not my choice? Unfortunately for many, that decision is a personal one. What happens when you have a loved one who is no longer functioning, in a “vegetative state”. They have the right to live a full and complete life, right? But they aren’t living a full and complete life, they are barely living. If that person stated in a living will that they plug should be pulled, it should be done without question. Making it more difficult is the fact that many people in a vegetative state had no living will at the time. But if the people that love them do not want them to live in such a degraded manner, and knew the person intimately enough to know that they would not want to live that way, it is their decision to make. Does the person have the right to death as well as the right to death? It’s not for people who have never met her, (i.e. Congress and the President) to make that decision. These issues must be resolved in a family, not in the court system. Not only is it cruel to publish a family’s issues in front of the world, they shouldn’t be up for debate by the general populace.

This is their choice, not ours.

A Less Than Subtle Critique of a Less Than Subtle Double Standard (But It’s Not What You Think)

The general spoken opinion of women is that we do not like being judged for our bodies, but for our minds. Indignantly we declare, How dare he look at me like a piece of meat? I am woman, hear me roar!

Blatant hypocrisy! I was walking down the hallway to english class with a friend of mine when she pointed out a very spectacular backside of a male that happened to cross our paths.

While I have no qualms about being “checked out” as it is, how could a girl possibly complain about being looked at when she herself is looking at other men?

It really doesn’t seem fair, and a girl should absolutely not be complaining about being checked out if she checks out other guys.

And thus ends my short-lived vent.

Mother Nature Suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder

Yesterday I drove to school in just my sweatshirt. I cracked the windows, and let the cool breeze filter in. When I left school, that sweatshirt was draped over my schoolbag, and as I settled myself into the car I simultaneously whipped on my sunglasses and rolled down the windows. The sun shimmered its way through the winter scum caked on my windows and Jimi Hendrix played through my speakers. 52 degrees of breezy sunny goodness. It was a good day.

This afternoon, I pulled on (another) sweatshirt, my fleece jacket, an old pair of snowboarding mittens, and a wool hat I found beneath my seat. After I fought my way head first through biting ice, I struggled to open the doors to my car that had frozen shut in the 12 degree-60 mph winds-snowy-sleety-icy monstrosity of a day. The windows remained decidedly closed, and Jimi Hendrix just didn’t sound the same going 10 miles an hour with zero visibility.

Can you just picture the postcard? GREETINGS FROM NEW ENGLAND! The Place Where You Can Have Two Seasons in Just 36 Hours!

Now don’t get me wrong, I love Connecticut. I love the changing leaves in the fall, the winter wonderland, and the bright green grass in the spring. But come on Mother Nature, PMS much? I was all set and ready for spring yesterday, and now you spring this blizzard on me?

Not feeling the love, not feeling the love.

The Loss of a Friend

Hello, kiddies, I’m back. Miss me?

Unfortunately, with me I carry some heartwrenching news. I wrote about my friend many times, the trials and tribulations we faced together: scorching heat, icy cold. We traveled many roads together, and climbed many hills. The twists and turns nearly got us a few times, but we pulled through.

Yes, Battlestar Galactica, my beloved 1990 Ford Taurus, succumbed to transmission failure just 2 weeks ago. Battlestar was 15 years old.

And so, old friend, I salute you. Many times each summer day I cursed your screw-down windows, and many times each winter day I cursed the 15 minutes it took for the heat to turn on. But in the end, you were my friend. You didn’t complain when Clapton and Hendrix shook the dust out of your seats, and you didn’t complain when that boy and I…oh no, just kidding.

So, Battlestar Galactica, I hope you find yourself in a place where the rivers run of gasoline and it rains motor oil.