No, don't worry, I'm not doggy-blogging again.

Apparently, people "in the know" in the UK don't have a clue what blogging is. Now, who are these poeple, you ask yourself. Why, they are the backbones of British society. Hairdressers, cabbies, pub landlords... just the people you would be consulting about technology, anyway.

"When I asked the panel whether people were talking about blogging, they thought I meant dogging," said Sarah Carter, the planning director at ad firm DDB London.

Dogging is the phenomenon of watching couples have sex in semi-secluded places such as out-of-town car parks. News of such events are often spread on Web sites or by using mobile phone text messages.

More people (56 percent) understood the phrase "happy slapping" -- a teenage craze that involves assaulting people while capturing it on video with their mobile phones -- than podcasting (12 percent) or blogging (28 percent).

This says so much about why I left the UK.

In the aftermath of Katrina, there were many tall tales of rapes, murders, and bodies galore. What has come of these stories?

After five days managing near riots, medical horrors and unspeakable living conditions inside the Superdome, Louisiana National Guard Col. Thomas Beron prepared to hand over the dead to representatives of the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

Following days of internationally reported murders, rapes and gang violence inside the stadium, the doctor from FEMA — Beron doesn't remember his name — came prepared for a grisly scene: He brought a refrigerated 18-wheeler and three doctors to process bodies.

"I've got a report of 200 bodies in the Dome," Beron recalled the doctor saying.

The real total?

Six, Beron said.

Betcha won't hear that on Oprah.

I was just emailing the American Princess, talking about my dad's death 10 years ago, and this roundup came out:

Today is my dad's 10th deathaversary. That was kinda on my mind today. I've been officially on my own for a decade. It feels weird. Time is flying. Friends tease me that normal people have "things to do now" and "things to do later" but I only have "things to do all at once." I try to cram everything into such a short span of time, then I burn out completely. I promise everything to everyone, never say no, try to see and do everything, travel. Love and hate with the same burning intensity. Sometimes the same people! At the same time! I've lived on two continents, and two sides of this country. I've been in love two and three quarter times. I've been rich. I've been homeless. I've been a virgin (sort of) and a whore. All within a decade. I learned to lie, very well in fact. Especially to myself. I've chosen to never regret anything. I have been selfish, and I have given everything I had. I've wanted a baby so bad that I came to loathe children. My biological clock rang out one January morning in 2000. I got married! All within a decade. I saved a life, and I was saved. I preferred the saving to the getting saved. I had a one-night-stand that lasted 14 months. I've had 15 jobs and 12 addresses. I've had four cars (including a 1972 Stingray), and two accidents - one serious. I broke someone's heart, and I had mine broken. I fell off a horse. I've seen Ray Charles in concert. All since I was 19. I have lived my most interesting life in the past 10 years, and I still sometimes catch myself saying "Wait till I tell Dad." I did it yesterday when I read your post about the passing of Don Adams. Silly, huh?

As I grow older I see that not having parents becomes the norm. I'm still not quite at that age yet, but it isn't far away. And no matter how close to it I get, I think I will always have moments when I think "Wait till I tell Dad." Ol'bastard probably knows it, too.

I'm going to go pour myself a glass of Crown Royal now. Love you, Daddy.

I read something retarded on my way to work this morning. I think the clip I read was from Reuters, but here it is from the Telegraph. Be sure to read the last line of the article. A real punch line!

Cards have been issued to visitors at Calderdale Royal Hospital, Halifax, West Yorks, bearing the words "Respect My Baby" on the front. On the back are the lines written as though from the baby: "I am small and precious so treat me with privacy and respect. My parents ask you to treat my personal space with consideration. I deserve to be left undisturbed and protected against unwanted public view."

The measures were introduced as a result of a Government booklet, Essence of Care, that explains extra protection for patients

Apparently, you can't look at babies in the hospital anymore. It infringes on their human rights. No, really. Stop laughing.

Just inside the distance
I hear the late September dogs
I understand their warning
I understand their call
Since you left, I feel a change in the air
Night after night
I'm searching for mercy
Everywhere

So I wake in the street
And I call out your name
And I shout to the sky
Come on

Come on let it rain
Let it rain down on me
Let the rain fill my eyes
Let the rain set me free
Let it rain down on me

Ten years ago, I woke up to a phonecall. "Come now," the nurse said. I did not make haste. I took the time to shower and dress. I remember what I wore. My old blue jeans - Calvin Klein - they fit me like they had been designed just for me. My beloved cowboy boots that would see me across America just a month later. And the white t-shirt my friend had brought me back from his last trip. To Washington. I wore a Washington DC t-shirt for two days while waiting for my father to die. Tonight, the irony does not escape me.

Lunchtime on September 26th found me in the staff breakroom on the palliative care floor of the small Jewish convalescent hospital in the West of Montreal. I sat there with a cold cup if tea in front of me, sweating yellow stains into my Washington shirt - stains that would never some out - and writing my father's obituary.

Predeceased by his beloved wife, he drank himself to death... no, that first draft would never do. I started over. Two rooms away, he continued with his labored breathing, and occasional anguished cries.

Eight o'clock the night of the 26th saw me sitting alone in his room, in the darkness, just staring. His brother had gone to a meeting - needed to be with the higher power. Bah. Wait a little longer, Billy, and the higher power would come to us. What was I supposed to do? Hold his hand? Talk to him? I was great with the nuts and bolts of dying: leave me to write the notices and sign the forms and bake the pies; holding hands was better done by someone else.

Five o'clock in the morning on the 27th saw me trying to grab a nap on an easy chair in the TV room, but 5:45 had me running down the hall at the behest of my cousin. Six-o-four I was an orphan. Six twenty-six it was official. I became an adult in that t-shirt. I don't think I will replace it. Some things can never be replaced.

Ther is a killer on the loose, you know. If you define yourself as a mother, it takes your womb. If you define youself as a woman, it steals your breasts. If you take pleasure in drinking or smoking, it destroys your liver or your lungs.

And if you are brilliant and kind and funny, it eats away at your brain.

It doesn't care that by killing you, it alters the lives of those around you. It doesn't care that I'll drive all day to get there. It doesn't care that I can't stop it.

It doesn't care that I've learned to hold the hands of those it ravages. It might not care, but I do. And that's why I'm going.

You are a Social Conservative (33% permissive) and an... Economic Conservative (73% permissive) You are best described as a: Republican Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating

Today was the first day of handbag training for my adorable chihuahua, Bug. Oh my. I want to get him trained up for next week's big trip to Philadelphia and Washington (no Legally Blond jokes, please). It seems I could not take ten steps without a child, or a painted whore (Yorkville is full of them - painted and coiffed, and dripping with Chanel) coming up to us and wanting to pet him. However, I got to talking to a fellow small-dog owner on the subway, and we were having such a nice conversation that we decided to hit Starbucks to continue it. So I've developed a system: If a child, or someone annoying comes up to us, I tell them he bites. If it's someone potentially interesting, I let them pet him, and we have a chat.

Okay, no more doggy-blogging. I know it's boring to read, and I admit that it ain't exactly exciting to write, either.

Jody from Steal the Bandwagon brings us a post about time. And it's about time! Jody decided to pick up the slack when one of our Tuesday hostesses was abducted by aliens, and missed her assignment. So this a tongue-in-cheek reminder to check your calendars, check your watches, and remember: we can't make time.

Great work Jody!

North American Patriot was extended the invitation to join Cotillion earlier today, and she has accepted.

(wait till she finds out about the hazing...)

Welcome, Wonder Woman, to our little party. I'm sure you'll fit right in. Help yourself to the bar.

Over the course of the past week, the Cotillion has come under fire - from other conservative bloggers - for not being more inclusive. In response, I just have to say that perhaps those bloggers are on the wrong side of the political spectrum, with a whiny attitude like that. But more importantly, just because we don't extend an invitation doesn't mean we don't think you're good, or that you shouldn't be highlighted in some way. It just means "shit happens" and that we can't always get to you. We've recently had four girls leave us. We're taking on only one at this time to replace them. Why? Because it's a hell of a lot of work. Most of that work is done by three members, who also have real lives to tend to as well.

That shouldn't discourage anyone from having their blog promoted, though. If you have something cool to share, send any one of us a link. Depending on how we're feeling, what kind of mood we're in (does your post really grab our attention because we were just thinking the same thing??), and how much time we have, perhaps someone will highlight it. We're not exclusive, and we "link outside the box" all the time. But if we don't necessarily get to it, do yourself a favor: Suck it up and get over it. There are more important things in life.

Holly Aho (Soldiers' Angel) has an interesting roundup of how bloggers report events, versus the way the media reports them. It's a story that has most definitely been covered in the 'sphere before, but Holly has it all packaged up neatly for your convenience.

MILITARY

More On The USS Virginia Deployment --[The Stupid Shall be Punished]
Earlier, I mentioned the USS Virginia (SSN-774) had deployed much earlier in their post-commissioning cycle than normal. We now learn more about the "deployment" from Bob Hamilton of The New London Day (who, along with Christopher Drew at the NYT, is a submarine military writer who makes it worth your while to get the annoying free registration required to read their work after a day or so -- a longer lasting version of the article can be found here, second article down...

Muddle in the Middle --[Molten Thought]
The most successful educational system in the United States is the basic training program employed by the U.S. armed forces. Over the course of just a few months they routinely take soft civilians and turn them into the most lethal soldiers the world has ever known. They do so by demanding unrelenting high performance, and by being brutally intolerant of failure.

Heroes --[Way Down in Kosovo]
In the past week two great heroes passed away, men as different in background as two men can be, yet both of them ultimately surrendering huge portions of their lives in service to others.

MSM REPORTS ON MILITARY


Military: Gitmo Hunger Strike Loses Steam --[AP]
The number of detainees on a hunger strike at the U.S. prison in Guantanamo Bay has fallen by almost two-thirds since last week, a military official said Tuesday.

Last week's trip down the red carpet with the likes of Charlize Theron and Sissy Spacek was great, but last night's hobnobbing with the Bloggeratti was infinitely more satisfying.

Captain Ed was in town (up from the snowy wilds of Minnesota with Mrs. Ed) as the key speaker at Bloggers Rising: Shamans or Shams at the University of Toronto, hosted by the Canadian Journalism Foundation. For my American readers, let me just give a quick explanation of why Captain Ed is a hero to us Northerners: When the Liberal Government was trying to silence dissent over the Gomery inquiry by placing a publication ban on the airing of their dirty laundry, it took this American and a source he had inside the courtroom to blow the whole thing wide open. I wanted to shake the hand of the man who gave us our freedom back, and who spiked my traffic from 500 hits to 3000 hits a day. This was Mrs. Ed's first trip up to Canada, and the pair are off to Niagara Falls today. Have a great time!

Also speaking last night was local boy Andrew Coyne who then joined us for drinks at a nearby watering hole. "Us" refers to myself, Wonder Woman of North American Patriot, Greg Staples of Political Staples , Brent Colbert of Colbert's Comments, and Stephen Taylor, macdaddy of the Blogging Tories.

It is a strange new ettiquette we all have to learn in this era of the blog. As I shook hands with people, I introduced myself as Wendy. After all, that's my name, and for thousands of years of social situations, people have been introduced by name. I was met with blank stares. "RightGirl," I said. Suddenly faces lit up with recognition, and the handshakes became more enthusiastic. I suppose RightGirl is how I'm going to have to introduce myself at these events from now on. After all, who is Wendy anymore, anyway?

A few people, including North American Patriot, recognized me by my photo with Stephen Harper (the one where we were both looking very fat). She is new to the blogosphere, with only a few months under her belt, but I do believe she will be with us for the duration. If you haven't read her yet, please rectify that immediately.

All in all, last night was well worth staying up past my bedtime for.

The Little Foxes was a smash-hit play by Lillian Hellman about a real Southern Bitch. This chick made Scarlett O'Hara look friendly and trustworth. Oh, and did I mention that it's Cotillion day?

So please stop by Fist Full of Fortnights, Soldier's Angel - Holly Aho, Crystal Clear, and Knowledge is Power to read the best of the week.

Well, the hangover this morning wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, my head has not been this clear in a while.

With some effort, I managed to get up at a reasonable hour. I could have made it to church. I took the dog to the vet instead. It seemed like more of a priority.

Aside from my drunken rantings last night, there was a good conversation about religion, and Christianity in particular. It seems that I am not alone in my lack of "faith".

I was born and baptized Catholic. I was raised secular. I married a "nothing" in a civil ceremony. Over the years my thoughts have wandered back to church, as have I from time to time. My evangelical cousins-in-law have been trying to convert me since the day we met. And my uncle, in Alcoholics Anonymous, has never not ruined a perfectly good conversation by bringing up the "higher power."

Some time at the beginning of this year, I made an effort to go back to church. I took no communion, for I had not be trained in the ways of the Catholic Church, and didn't want to step on the toes of any rituals. You see, I happen to think that the Church is important, and fulfills a need for many. I do not take its ceremonies lightly. However, they leave me cold. I feel nothing. So I gave in to my cousin's suggestion, and headed to an evangelical service. Oh my. I think not. And I've tried synagogue, too. Nope. Too long. I have a short attention span.

Do I believe in God? I suppose. Do I believe in ritual? Yeah. Can I connect the two within my own soul? Not a chance. I just can't buy into a church. I can't buy into the idea that an evangelical is different from a Baptist is different from an Anglican is different from a Mormon. All Christians. And on a basic spiritual level, I cannot make myself believe that a Muslim is any different from a Jew.

Do I care what form of Jesus you worship, and how? Actually, I don't give a flying fuck. That's your business, and if you have found something that gives you peace and hope, congratulations. I'll never try to take that from you, unless of course your God instructs you to kill me. Then I'll take you out. I am, as a baptized Catholic, fully on the side of my Church in almost every decision she makes. However, I never found God within her doors. But I know people who have. And I will defend her for their sakes.

There will come a day when God and I will have an exchange of some sort. But frankly, that's not your business. For now, He's yours. I am not trying to take Him from you. So if I want to tell Him to go fuck Himself, that's really nobody's business but mine and His. I believe that He hears me. And I believe that He can bloody well defend Himself. He doesn't need your weak, empty, kiss-ass words. Your words that are a verbal way of tossing salt over your left shoulder. Your superstition. When all's said and done, even the best of friends have spats. If you don't think that God is strong enough to withstand my anger, or RTG's anger, or my questioning of His methods, then I have to ask you: What kind of a pussy diety are you wasting your time on?

*I am not cheking for spelling or language tonight*

I've never done this before. I've drunk-commented, sure, but never blogged. Beth of MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy and I are getting pissed on MSN right now, and we thought we'd share with you.

Merri of Merri Musings has joined the conversation.

We are lambasting a few boys of the blogosphere, and lamenting the fact that my very best blog buddy has left. RTG, please come back when you're feeling better. I'll be heartbroken if you leave forever. Whatever happened (that I don't already know), I'm sure between the bunch of us we can get through. Please come back. I've been following this saga forever, and I feel as if it's a part of my daily life. Perhaps I shouldn't feel that way about a fellow blogger, but hey - sue me for caring!

There is no way in hell I can fathom the pain of losing a child. I can't even pretend. I've lost parents, yes. And I've alienated people. But I've never HAD a child, let alone lost one. I do know that it must be the most painful thing on earth. I cried when I heard. Not for the child - who I never knew - but for the mother, whose heart has broken.

How can this be allowed to happen? not her leaving; but the events surrounding it? How can the man you love be dying? How can you be pregnant with his child - his last legacy to you - and then she leaves you, too? I read some of her last words, about there being no God. I can see that. I can understand. I've never been close to God, despite my best efforts. Maybe this is why. He is, after all, a God of death. He was quite willing to give his child up. RTG wasn't. Fuck you, God. Fuck you, for taking two lives away from someone. Fuck you, for not having the decency to give one of them a chance. Fuck you, for putting my friend on a diet of whiskey and cigarettes. Fuck you, for making her go into hiding, where we can't keep watch over her, and help her. God, you had better schedule an appointment with me, because I've got some questions. I've had questions ever since I was 14 and you saw fit to kill my mother. Leave her alone.

I'm going for a refill. Let's see if the Divine has the balls to leave a comment

From Dissonance and Disrespect:

Federal Government - Canadian Government Policy
It is interesting that the federal government provides a single refugee
with a monthly allowance of $1,890.00 and each can get an additional
$580.00 in social assistance for a total of $2,470.00.

This compares very well to a single pensioner who, after contributing to
the growth and development of Canada for 40 or 50 years, can only
receive a monthly maximum of $1,012.00 in old age pension and Guaranteed
Income Supplement.

Maybe our pensioners should apply as refugees.

Let's send this thought to as many Canadians as we can and maybe we can
get the refugees cut back to $1,012.00 and the pensioners up to
$2,470.00, so they can enjoy the money they were forced to submit to the
Canadian government for those 40 to 50 years.

Please forward this to every Canadian you know to expose how our elected
politicians are spending our money.

No one could ever accuse me of not loving the current leader of the free world, but even I (his greatest fan and future trophy wife) had to have a laugh at his expense last night.

During his (ill-advised, IMO) speech in New Orleans last night, I was on the phone with a friend. So I wasn't really listening. Until I heard

...and we will stay there however long it takes, to help citizens to rebuild their communities...

Sound familiar? He used it in at least two other speeches in regards to the war in Iraq. I love you, George, you know that, but some days it's hard to keep a straight face.

From the American Princess, a touching story about how very, very wrong people are when they say the Iraqis don't want us:

Iraqi soldiers serving at Taji military base collected 1,000,000 Iraqi dinars for victims of Hurricane Katrina.

Iraqi Col. Abbas Fadhil, Iraqi base commander, presented the money to U.S. Col. Paul D. Linkenhoker, Taji Coalition base commander, at a Sept. 5 staff meeting

Okay, so a million dinars is a little less than $700, but it was the idea that went with it.

Yeah, yeah, they hate us. We know.

Someone (I can't remember who, and I don't care) was quoted on 9/11 as saying that it was "a good day to bury bad news." It's true. The world stopped on 9/11, and it took weeks to get it moving again. Pick up any newspaper, turn on any TV station, and it was all about the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, the heroes of Flight 93, and Osama bin Laden - a man most of us had never heard of before.

Does that mean that nothing else happened at all, for three weeks, while papers and networks carried the stories of those murdered by Islam? Did no one get married? Were there no births? No budgets, taxes or scandals?

No car accidents?

Well, there were. In fact, there was a particulary large car accident involving a drunk driver, in which four teenagers were killed. Normally the death of four teenagers would have made, local, state, and possibly national news on a slow day. But this was ignored, because the coutry had "bigger" things to worry about. The grief of four families, brought about by the carelessness of a man who shouldn't have been behind the wheel in the first place, was dwarfed by the sheer enormity of a nation under attack.

Stacy (Not a Desperate Housewife), whose nephew died that day, does not want him to be forgotten. All week long she will be blogging in memorium to Cody, who was cut down so young. Here is today's post.

Really, my feet are killing me. I was out at the Toronto International Film Festival last night, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Sissy Spacek and Frances McDormand. I still have the remnants of last night's mascara on, so I migh as well just freshen up and head off to another party.

It's time for the Cotillion.

Hosting this week are Claire at e-clair, Portia at Portia Rediscovered, Mary Katherine Ham at Townhall, and Zendo Deb at TFS Magnum.

I'm off to the bar for a mimosa.

Four years ago today, at this time, I was asleep. The sun was shining, and the sky was blue. I was asleep. Four years ago I was a liberal. We got a phone call.

And four years ago today, I woke up. On every level. Never again would I assign benefit of the doubt to an ideology of death.

I will never forget what happened.







I will never forget who made it happen, and what these schweinhund believe.









And I will never forget those who rose above it.

It's been going on for months now. Since the beginning of summer. At first I didn't think much of it - I thought it was because of the heat and humidity. But it isn't normal. I knew that, on some level. Then it was a matter of getting a doctor's appointment. In a normal country, you choose your doctor, pay your fee, and get your answers. In Canada, you get in line, and hope you don't die before someone figures out why. Often times you get better (and quicker) diagnosis from the medical examiner who does your autopsy. Fat load of good that does you!

So I finally got to the doctor. She took one look at me, and pronounced that I was too heavy, and that was where all my troubles were coming from (she ran the basic tests first). Okay, I'll buy that. So what do we do about it? Well, I have now been on doctor supervised starvation for five weeks, have lost over 20lbs, my blood sugar is back to normal, and I need smaller pants. This is all fantastic! Except for one small problem:

I still can't walk.

Now, when I say I can't walk, that isn't strictly true. I can. Eventually. On good days I can walk minutes after waking up. On bad days I need help to the bathroom. My legs do not respond to the messages my brain is sending them. They can't hear me - or they don't care. I have been late for work almost every day since the start of summer (I have the best boss ever. Thank you, B.). If I walk more than fifteen minutes at a time, I tire, and my muscles begin to throb and pulse. If I sit too long, it is difficult for me to stand back up again. I have very little balance. It's frustrating to fall back onto the bed every morning, just trying to reach a standing position. I'm tired all the time.

So back to the doctor I went on Tuesday. I was worried that she would roll her eyes at me, tell me it was all in my head, and shout next! She didn't. I kinda wish she had. Instead, she started using words I really didn't like. Words like:

Motor neuron. Multiple Sclerosis. MRI. Spinal tap. Muscle Awareness Testing. Neurologist. Lou Gerhig.

I'll be twenty-nine in less than a month. I really don't want to hear about Lou Gerhig, unless it has something to do with Gary Cooper.

She has decided - just to be sure - to run another barrage of basic tests (blood sugar, thyroid, iron count, etc). We'll meet next week, because she knows the test will all come up normal. We'll meet to discuss how quickly I can obtain the tests I need to find out what's really wrong with me. Will it make more sense for me to pay for it in Quebec or Stateside? Is it serious? Am I going to die?

Today I took out another $200 thousand dollars worth of life insurance. Just in case. After all, I've had no diagnosis yet, so they can't refuse me. B will notarize my will on Monday. Just in case.

Am I scared? Fuck yeah. I had it all planned out, you see. I was going to follow the same pattern the rest of my family followed: die of cancer between the ages of 45 and 55. I was going to finish out my roaring twenties, be a success in my thirties, enjoy my forties, and die in my fifties. Too young, still, but I had made my peace with it. Some days I even looked forward to it.

I'm not ready for this. Not now. We're just getting on our feet here in Canada. Just getting on our feet, and mine have stopped working. Within the next couple of months, I will have to give in and start using a cane. A cane! What a lovely 29th birthday present! How unique!

At least my pants will be smaller.

All the cool kids are doing it. Businesses are doing it. Government, hospitals - it wouldn't surptise me if churches were doing it, too. And now so am I. Although I prefer to call it "welcoming a new member."

So please join me in welcoming the lovely and talented MustControlFistOfDeath (it's a mouthful, isn't it?) who will be posting here from time to time. She has a hectic schedule, but she always manages to find time to rant. I doubt you'll be disappointed.

America has been especially whiny for the past week, as the Mayor of New Orleans and the Governor of Louisiana watch their careers sink like Sean Penn's boat. Fingers are pointing to the White House, even though the President is not to blame. Anyone with even half a heart must be able to appreciate how Bush has stood strong under the incessant hatred and criticism he has faced ever since the courts declared him president in 2000.

...I am the President.

Hath not a President eyes? Hath not a President hands, organs,

dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with

the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject

to the same diseases, heal'd by the same means,

warm'd and cool'd by the same winter and summer,

as a Moonbat is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you

poison us, shall we not die?"

George Walker Bush is not just a President - he is a sheepdog. I would suggest that if you can spare 30 minutes of your day, you read Bill Whittle's essay on wolves, sheep, and sheepdogs. It is by far one of the greatest pieces I have ever read on the Internet.

I can honestly say that as of today, instead of being Red or Blue, I will strive to be grey. Read it, and you'll know what I mean.

It's been one of those weeks where we of the Cotillion have all banded together for one reason or another. We've each had our little tragedies this past week, but nothing compares to the tragedy that has unfolded in Dixie. So, in solidarity, we are all Southern today. And what better icon could a Cotillion Belle have than Miss Scarlett O'Hara? A beautiful woman whose shoulders bore so much, and whose brain could get her out of anything. There are three others like her: Annika, Merri, and Stacy. Go have a look!

Sissy at Sisu brings us the heartwarming story of animal survival throughout the Katrina ordeal, gives us tips on how to evacuate animals, and urges us to remember our furry friends when we're donating to aid organizations.

I can't say enough about RightWingSparkle. She has been tireless in her volunteer efforts at the Astrodome in Houston, where many of the storm refugees have been brought. The ordinary American never imagines having a refugee camp in their neighborhood - RWS didn't waste time on imagining, either. She just jumped in with both feet, and gave all she could to the sick, the displaced, and those who have nothing. You are my hero!

The whole thing was, of course, heartwrenching. People were packed cot to cot and with their supplies next to them. The really hard thing to see were the children. So small and with so little to keep them busy. The citizens and Churches of Houston came through in a BIG way and there was plenty of food, water, and clothes for everyone. The only thing I really had to dig for were toys. I plan to bring a bunch tomorrow. That seemed to be the only real need that wasn't being meet. There were also plenty of volunteers.

As you might imagine I wanted to hear what it was like being in the Superdome. One teenage girl told me that it was terrifying when the shooting started. "It was the gangs," she said. Her mother said, "The people found the guy who was shooting and beat his ass and his ass needed beating." I found over and over again that people were as disgusted with the behavior of the thugs as the rest of us. I asked them if they were angry at the government. Not one I spoke to said they were. They were angry at the people who behaved badly. They were angry at the thugs with guns. They were angry with the people who threw trash everywhere and went to bathroom in public places.

MaxedOutMama brings us updates and news from Gulfport-Biloxi.

Beth, from MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy is back home and safe after being one of the thousands of evacuees in Southern Alabama.

Merri at Merri Musings takes us on a trip down her own memory lane, and tells us about a holiday she took to New Orleans. She wants us to remember it the way it used to be, and not have those horrible images of destruction in our minds forevermore.

Stacy at Not A Desperate Housewife rails against radical feminism and Mary Daly:

Did you hear that men? Ms. Daly believes that you no longer need to exist in mass numbers. That you are something that needs to be 'decontaminated'. That an evolutionary process needs to occur in order to cleanse our planet of the male gender.

Excuse me Ms. Daly, would you be including my husband in this idea of yours? Would you be including my three male offspring in this idea of yours? Please ma'am, just exactly who would you like to see exterminated?

Little Miss Atilla comes to us from the NFRA in Scottsdale. She is not overly impressed with her room at the Holiday Inn!

Portia brings us a disturbing statistic from a highschool in Ohio - one out of every seven girls is pregnant!

This is a terribly sad story that will most likely be handled even more terribly by government paid bureaucrats and burned out teachers. God help us.

Is it any wonder that kids end up pregnant when "school officials are not sure what has caused so many pregnancies?" Let me clue you all in....when a man and a woman...yeah....babies happen then geniuses!!

Loss has been my theme of the past week. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because summer is coming to a close. Perhaps Katrina is part of it. I'm not sure. But loss and grief are not only on my mind this week. Mamamontezz shares a poem about the loss of a Master:

The old Dom lay upon his deathbed, his body worn and gray,
His sons, students and submissives gathered about him,
Though long they had dreaded this day.
He knew that his long journey was almost done,
And that now it would end.
He looked into the eyes of those he loved
And knew of no better way this time to spend.
"My sons, students” he said to them, "My time is growing short.
I ask of no tears on my grave.
I was never that sort.
I have no need for a memorial,
Save what i give unto you.

Charmaine at Reasoned Audacity blogs about the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist.

And Right Thinking Girl is taking a haitus from the 'sphere to deal with a loss of her own. At this time, we do not know what she's lost, and how it will affect her in the long term, but if I know anything at all about my Right Thinking friend, it is that she is one of the strongest women I have ever known. Through insurmountable losses and tragedies, she has brought us courage, grace, and laughter. She has shouldered grief that would kill a lesser woman, and for the past 18 months or so, she has shared her life with us. She threatens to leave us at this time, but I know that she will rise from the ashes with new resolve, and she will live to blog another day. CrankyBeach from Coffee with CrankyBeach also gives tribute to RTG, here.

Richard from Cannuckistan Chronicles asked me to link to this for him:

Trained / Experienced in the following:



Industrial Medic
Surface Mine Rescue
High-Speed Trauma
Search and Rescue
High-angle Rescue
First Aid Instructor
Triage
Wilderness Extrication
Industrial Firefighting
Medi-Vac LZ Set-Up and Control

Have all of my own equipment (SCBA excluded)

Haven't been able to figure out how to get down south to help... Contacts are comming up empty...

This is an open request: If anyone has any information on who to contact please let me know. It would also be helpful if you could put a link to this post on your own sites as well. The more eyeballs that see it, the better the chances of it being seen by the right people.

I'm more than willing to go, and stay, as long as I'm needed.

Richard, I'll make some calls over the weekend. If you can help, I would love to see you get put in the right place. Readers, if any of you have direct contacts with anyone who could put Richard's experience to good use, please email him at resenvt@hotmail.com

We still have the sorrowful lady up in the corner, so I will address a cause of great sorrow in America this week. This will probably be my only post about that blowhard bitch down south. There isn't much I can add to the 'sphere, or the world in general about this, as it has been exhaustively covered elsewhere. I, for one, am exhausted reading and watching it all.

But I am in the comfort of my dry living room, under my electric lights, on my internet, watching the color TV that is unlikely to be stolen this evening. I have the luxury of being bored or annoyed by the events surrounding Katrina. Beth was forced to flee her home for higher ground last week, and has just returned to the WWW. People are dying in the hundreds. Riots are breaking out. And I have lost what little faith I had in humanity, watching events unfold in New Orleans. Human cockroaches that can withstand any disaster in order to prey on the carcasses of those who did not. In disasters like this, it's always the wrong ones dying. The fucking mayor of N'awlins is yelling at the President, like it's his fault the town was disorganized. The whingers are complaining, and in the end we'll find out the whole thing was elaborately staged by Karl Rove. SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU PARASITES.

I guess I'm just trying to say that now is not the time for talking or pointing fingers. If you can help, please do so. If you can't, shut up and let the do-ers get on with it.

Update: Read this, and I swear you will vomit.