A Million Moderate March

Political rallies are for squares.  I find them mostly dull, ineffectual exercises in self-gratification (same could be said for blogging).  I tell myself that I do not require a motivational speech or holding hands with strangers to validate a position.  Besides, there are far better things to do with one's free time.  I'd rather be golfing, hiking, reading, pulling a tooth, anything but rallying.

And so it was with modest skepticism that I found myself on a Saturday afternoon at the steps of the Texas State Capitol building surrounded by thousands of Austinites, cheering, laughing, singing, united for a common cause.  The speaker (by video feed from Washington):  comedian and The Daily Show host, Jon Stewart.  The message:  "Let's take it down a notch."  The foil:  cable-news media, or what Mr. Stewart called "the country's 24-hour politico pundit perpetual panic conflictinator".

Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert's 'Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear' was touted as a rally for people like me, people who do not attend political rallies, who find the partisan extremes absurd and who view the current political climate, while challenging, far from the apocalypse some would have us believe.  Yes, a Million Moderate March, as Mr. Stewart jokingly put it, for "not so much the Silent Majority as the Busy Majority".  This was an anti-rally, as I saw it, and an appeal for moderates to re-affirm their majority status.

For two hours, Mr's Stewart and Colbert entertained the audience with satire pointed at popular culture, politicians and cable news pundits, all in the spirit of coaxing Americans back to a more civil and rational discourse.

The enemy, they argued, is not Republicans or Democrats.  It is rather the exaggerated image of Americans being peddled by radio pundits and cable news outlets who elevate extremists over the majority of reasonable citizens.  The "left-wing" media were singled out for equating tea-partiers with racists and the "right-wing" for their inability to distinguish terrorists from moderate Muslims.

"This is not to suggest that times are not difficult and that we have nothing to fear.  They are and we do," Stewart said in a rare, serious moment.  "But we live now in hard times, not end times.  We can have animus and not be enemies."

A modest message to be sure, yet one for which politically-moderate news junkies like myself find a refreshing interjection to the national discourse, especially in an election year when the rhetorical volume is turned ALL THE WAY UP.

The highpoint of the rally was also a metaphor for the event:  a mock battle-of-the-bands between Cat Stevens and Ozzy Osbourne.  Stevens, who now goes by the name Yusuf Islam, began with an acoustic rendition of his folk ballad, "Peace Train", only to be interrupted by Stephen Colbert who rushed to the microphone and announced that his train was now arriving.

This cleared the way for a surprise appearance by Ozzy Osbourne who shouted "ALL ABOARD!" as he took the stage and led the band through his metal anthem, "Crazy Train".  However, before Ozzy could finish, Stewart snatched the mic and declared that he would "not get on that train!  I am not comfortable on that train!".

At Stewart's behest, Cat Stevens started up again with "Peace Train" until Colbert jumped in and proclaimed that he was "pulling the emergency brake on this rainbow, moonbeam choo-choo!"

A battle of the bands ensued as Ozzy and Stevens volleyed metal and folk train classics.  The performance predictably descended into chaos with both artists shouting over each other.  Eventually, they grew tired of the orchestration and abandoned their fight, embracing one another before leaving the stage.

Stewart and Colbert nervously paced about, lamenting the lack of singers with whom to sing train-related hits.  The standoff ended when a line from the O'Jays soul classic, "Love Train", repeated over the speaker system.

"Is that the sound of Philadelphia?" Jon Stewart wondered aloud.

"The sweet Philly soul?" Stephen Colbert replied.

Indeed, it was.  Both hosts agreed a love train was one they could get aboard.  This made a fitting introduction for the renowned soul group who took the stage and performed their 1973 single to the delight of everyone.

Some to-do was made over Jon Stewart's claim that his would not be a "political" rally.  I took this to mean it would not be a partisan or ideological message, and to this he was true.  Still, it is inaccurate to describe the rally as "non-political".  When we mock our political discourse we are making a political statement, are we not?

And while the stage remained neutral, those in attendance were clearly a majority left-leaning crowd.  This was evident in the many signs scattered about the capital lawn.  Most successfully walked the line between politics and parody.  Below were my favorites:

"Criticize, Don't Demonize"

"I Disagree With You, But I'm Pretty Sure You're Not Hitler"

"I'm Not Afraid of Muslims, Gays, Christians, Immigrants, Socialists, African-Americans, Tea-Partiers or My Elected Officials ... But I Am Scared of Spiders."

"'Real America' = All Americans"

The last is a response to former Republican vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin's infamous campaign remark declaring small-town America "the real America" and the "pro-America areas of this great nation".  Regrettably, other signs struck a similar tone, straying from the cooperative spirit of the event:

"Reality Has A Liberal Bias"

"I Think Therefore I Am Not Sarah Palin"

"Tea Parties Are For Little Girls"

"Buck Feck!"

With respect to Glenn Beck, it is worth noting the name 'Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear' is a parody of the Fox News host's 'Rally to Restore Honor'.  Mr. Beck's rally was held a month earlier in Washington D.C. and offered a current reference point for the event.

It is also notable that Glenn Beck is recurrently the target of Jon Stewart's satire as he, along with fellow Fox News host, Sean Hannity, and MSNBC's Ed Schultz, embodies the least reputable and most divisive element of cable-news punditry.  No one is eviscerated more by media watchdog groups and the press for spreading misinformation than Beck and Hannity.  And if you believed there did not exist a left-wing equivalent to the ideological fear-mongering found daily on Fox News, tune in to MSNBC's The Ed Show to learn how "psycho" Republicans are intent on destroying the country.

While I disagree with critics who suggest these personalities are deliberate propaganda profiteers (I believe they are mostly sincere), it matters little whether they are unethical or intellectually irresponsible.  The result is the same:  a sloppy product sold as expert opinion to a credulous audience.  Pragmatism or objectivity in their news analysis is a ghost.  It is pure ego run amuck.  If you agree with their views you are a righteous customer, else you embody all that is wrong with America and will surely bring about her imminent demise.  Each of these gentlemen diminishes the national discourse.  Each exaggerates and inflames the dialog.  Each ruthlessly demonizes their perceived opponents, inciting an Us vs. Them mentality that divides and isolates the public.

To me, these shows are the Jersey Shore of cable-news media:  grotesque, amateurish, at times unwatchable.  Not for their rigid ideology or political fundamentalism, but their hyper-partisan vitriol and abhorrent lack of journalistic integrity.  Even as the events of the day unfold, one can be certain that Beck, Hannity and Schultz (and those of their ilk in other medium) will spin wild conspiracy, manufactured controversy and cause for panic, and where it is unwarranted, as often it is, Jon Stewart and other satirists will mock them for it.

Why does this matter?  If you follow cable-news outlets Fox News and MSNBC (as I do, God help me), you were witness this election cycle to a Neanderthal display of brute partisanship and ideological fear-mongering the likes of which P.T. Barnum would envy.  The good, the bad and the revolting were front-and-center with these popular and influential networks.  Jon Stewart recognizes their impact on public opinion and the responsibility to civil discourse, evidence-based reporting and even — gulp — independently-substantiated criticism.  All too often this responsibility is sacrificed at the alter of mindless ego pursuing the crown of being right over getting it right for the viewers.

I find it immensely interesting that an October Pew Research poll reported 1-in-5 Americans falsely believe the President of the United States is a Muslim (1-in-3 Republicans), and a July CNN/Opinion Research poll found 44% of Republicans believe the president is "foreign-born".  The Left are nearly as susceptible when their party is not in power.  A 2007 Rasmussen poll found 35% of Democrats believed George W. Bush knew about the 9/11 attacks in advance.

How is it that a significant percentage of good citizens are manipulated by extremist rhetoric and fallacious claims that are easily debunked?  The answer can, in part, point a finger at ratings-centric media outlets such as these, for they are as far as many citizens will traverse in their quest for information.  The quality of information these outlets produce matters with respect to political outcomes.  And with the advent of the internet and cable news outlets, the avenues of information have broadened exponentially.  The effect is an unprecedented amount of valuable information scattered amongst a sea of endless rumors, half-truths and questionable variation of facts.  Even the most obnoxious voices, under the guise of credibility, can reach a broad audience.

In a political season where the absurd make headlines and hyperbole wins the ratings war, I viewed the 'Sanity' rally as an opportunity to stand with my brothers and sisters in the moderate majority and express optimism for the country — not only optimism, but a welcome sense of humor.

This was an event that did not take itself too seriously.  When it comes to politics, finding levity in our discourse is a necessary reminder that we are still one people.  Americans can and should debate the issues of the day with great passion and conviction, yet still acknowledge each other's humanity.  I am tired of myopic, self-serving blowhards demonizing fellow citizens, stirring up partisan anxiety for profit and dragging the national debate into the gutter.  They do not speak for the majority of reasonable citizens, nor do they elevate our democracy.

In the weeks since the rally, I've read several reviews of the event.  Was the rally meant to restore sanity?  Was Jon Stewart attempting to influence election turnout?  Were these comedians a mouthpiece for the Democratic party?  This analysis over-shoots the mark.  It's satire, plain and simple, and the rally should not be considered more than a humorous reminder that acknowledging our shared values is relevant even as we air our differences.

Unsurprisingly, the simplistic message was lost on those media establishments for whom the message was most targeted.  Fox News called the event "stupid", "nonsense", "the insanity rally".  Rush Limbaugh referred to the hosts as "a bunch of stupid-and-smug-about-it, overpaid, metro-sexual comedians".  HBO's Bill Maher quipped that attempts to reach across the aisle were pointless because "Obama tried that and found there are no moderates on the other side".  MSNBC went on the defensive, complaining they should not be compared to the fear-mongers at FOX.  Lost in the finger pointing was an uncomplicated message of unity and civility over partisan hostility.

All the bickering prompted Jon Stewart to respond by announcing his follow-up event:  the 'Rally To Determine Precisely The Percentage Of Blame To Be Doled Out To The Left And The Right For Our Problems Because We All Know That The Only Thing That Matters Is That The Other Guys Are Worse Than We Are And/Or Fear'.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Sick Day

Washed into the shallows
of an uptown bar,
drifting in and out
of the daily news,
coming up only to
tip the glass or
the ruby-lipped
waitress.  

Outside, faceless sharks
in slippery attire
maneuver between
bento-box lunches
and the office cubicle.

This is as much as

I will attempt today:

feigning illness

for a few deep breaths

above the waterline.

Christ, they will drag you under

if you surrender to it.

Poor Bernard,

just last week suffered

a coronary at his station.

Colleagues passed him by

for hours presuming

an afternoon nap.

Helen is on life support

after a traffic accident

driving home

from her retirement party.

They were feeder fish,

treading the current

until Big Pharma

and a tide of medical bills

swallowed them whole.

Not me.

I am throwing back pints mid-day

crafting another exit strategy

that will evaporate with the alcohol.

This one involves a holy book

authored under mysterious circumstances,

a cryptic luminary

with blinding charisma

and undiagnosed sociopathy,

tax exempt status,

a call center in India

that provides spiritual counseling

to the downtrodden.

For a modest donation

you too

can experience 

a wave of miracles

in your life.


**First published in Red Noise Collective

Curried Potato and Vegetable Soup

     "It was all yellow" . . . Autumn is afoot and soon the summer vegetables will retire for the season.  Take the opportunity to enjoy this delicious, yellow summer soup . . . Bon Appétit.

INGREDIENTS 

• 4 tbsp butter
• 1 yellow onion, finely chopped
• 2 small yellow summer squash, roughly chopped
• 1 yellow bell pepper, chopped
• 1 cup corn kernels
• 2 cups cauliflower florets, roughly chopped (about 1/2 a head)
• 1 1/2  lbs Yukon Gold potatoes, quartered and cut into 1/2-inch  slices
• 2 carrots, chopped
• 1 cup button mushrooms, chopped
• 4 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 lemon
• 1 tbsp shaved ginger
• 1 teaspoon cumin seeds
• 4 teaspoons curry powder
• 1 teaspoon tumeric
• 1 teaspoon yellow mustard seeds
• 5 tablespoons sea salt
• 3 tablespoons cracked pepper
• 4 cups vegetable broth
• 2 cups water

          GARNISH

• 1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves

          ACCOMPANIMENT

• Cheese, nuts, crackers; white or rose wine

     1).  In a large stock pot, melt butter over medium-high heat.  Add the onion, garlic, ginger, bell pepper and carrot.  Stir in tumeric, mustard seed, cumin seeds and curry powder until everything is well coated.  Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions are soft and bell pepper is lightly browned (12-15 minutes).

     2).  Add the vegetable broth, water, potatoes, cauliflower, mushrooms, salt and pepper.  Increase heat and bring to a boil, then reduce to medium-low and let simmer uncovered for 20 minutes.

     3).  Add the corn and summer squash.  Zest a full lemon into the pot, then add juice of the lemon.  Stir.  Cook 10 minutes more, until vegetables are heated through.  Use an immersion blender to purée 1/3 to 1/2 of the soup (depending on your consistency preference).  Adjust seasonings to taste.

     4).  Ladle soup into individual serving bowls and top with fresh cilantro leaves. 

 Accompany with cheese, nuts and crackers.

SERVES 6

Mission Accomplished

We came.
We conquered.
We blundered.
We recovered.

We abandoned
the place
a shambles.

One tyrant,
half-a-million
men, women,
children
DEAD
in
IRAQ

You're Welcome

       ~ America

Big Bend National Park: Chapter 1

My friend, British Andy, and I spent a week in April gallivanting around West Texas, including stop-overs in Marathon, Terlingua and Marfa, an overnight in the Chisos Mountains and two days canoeing the mighty Rio Grande river.

Below is the first installment of dispatches from our trip:

1) "We Are Those Idiots"

Our first day in the park, Andy and I pitched a tent at the Chisos Basin campground, then set off on foot to explore the much-hyped "Window" formation.  The Window trail  descends 800 elevated feet from camp, is flanked by the rugged Chisos peaks and is just shy of five miles roundtrip.

Andy and I consider ourselves experienced outdoorsmen and dismissed warnings from a Park Ranger earlier that morning ("watch for bears, mountain lions, rattle snakes"; "don't leave food in the tent"; "always bring enough water with you") as elementary instruction for the rookie camper.

A modest hour's hike and we'd reached our destination.  The photo to the right depicts the view from The Window, a narrow crevice splitting the canyon wall atop a two-hundred-foot drop-off   We paused here awhile, took in the rugged landscape, drank water and snacked (that's Andy in the photo offering me sausage).  Had we returned then to camp, the hike would have concluded without incident.

† † † † † 

It was Andy who spotted the Oak Spring Trail sign just up from the Window.  Our efforts to that point had passed simply enough.  The Chisos peaks provided ample shade through the canyon.  Inspired by our surroundings and eager for adventure, we decided to investigate the Spring, another four miles roundtrip.

The first quarter mile of the Spring hike is a steep climb up the mountain side, and well worth the effort as the panoramic view from atop the peak is impressive.  I recalled the Park Ranger informing us that Apache Indians once inhabited this area.  Their watchful scouts likely chose such a spot to sight enemy intruders. 

From this vantage point we glimpsed the Spring below us, nearly two miles in the distance, marked by a cluster of lush trees and foliage.  The trail zigzagged down the mountainside, at times hugging a narrow edge.  I pictured what the next hour would bring, a slow trudge downward over sharp, loose rock with no reprieve from the afternoon sun.  Still, there lay the Spring off in the distance, an Oasis in the wilderness.  I envisioned cool, shaded waters and grassy shoreline. We marched onward down the mountainside.

† † † † † 

"This can't be it," Andy muttered upon arrival.  "Perhaps, we missed it," I added.

Before us lay a trickle of water small enough to step over, a foul odor rising from the stagnant pools nearby.  We wet our heads to fend off the heat and searched for the Spring but found only a rusted sign that noted additional trail heads and this oddly-shaped tree (see photo left) growing horizontally along the ground.

I later discovered an interesting fact about this tree.  Appears the natives would mark a good campsite by tying down a sapling.  With maturity, the tree naturally assumed a horizontal or bowed posture. This is one such "marker tree".

In our confusion over the Spring location, we traversed a utility road for an additional mile before realizing our mistake and returning to the tree.  I drank the last of my water, wiped the sweat from my face and suggested we return to camp.  Andy, however, was determined not to be let down this day and lobbied for the Cattail Falls Trail noted on the sign, an additional two miles round-trip.

"Just think, a lovely waterfall?  We'll take a swim and refresh ourselves for the return."

I was reluctant, already calculating 4.5 miles back up the mountain.  Adding additional miles to what would likely amount to further disappointment seemed unwarranted.  Out of water and out of food, a cold beer and a campfire sounded more appealing. On the other hand, if there was a waterfall, a cold swim would be glorious.

As we discussed the Falls hike, I happened to spot three walking sticks resting against a covered segment of the marker tree.  Andy and I hadn't encountered another human in hours and quickly surmised the sticks were abandoned.  Perhaps it is a sign, I thought, that the gods were shining favorably upon us.  Andy agreed to share his remaining water.  We each selected a  walking stick and set off for Cattail Falls.

† † † † † 

On route to the Falls, there was no shade to offer reprieve.  The temperature topped 100 degrees.  I experienced signs of pending heat exhaustion:  the slight onset of a headache and edema (finger swelling) such that I couldn't make a fist.  Andy was in a similar state, sweating profusely, face flush as a tomato.

"What shall we name our walking sticks, then?" I asked.  "Travel companions such as these should have proper names. Hey, what's the name of your friend in New York, the tough, hard-drinking gal?"

"Lee Hunt."

"That's it!  A fantastic name.  Rugged.  Sounds like an action hero . . . Hence forth, you shall be called 'Lee Hunt'!"

Andy stuck with the action-figure theme and dubbed his 'Lightning Storm'.  A few jabs later over who authored the superior name – and whose stick would destroy the other in action-figure combat – and we had reached the base of the falls.

The sound of rushing water brought welcome relief.  Andy dropped his bag and marched straight into the pool collecting beneath the falls (look closely for him in the photo, right).  He shouted as his body met the cold, spring water, sounding an impressive echo through the canyon.  We announced our travel companions, "Lee Hunt" and "Lightning Storm", to the local wild life.  They were unimpressed.

I followed suit into the water and enjoyed several minutes of bliss as my body temperature normalized.  Somewhere high above us was The Window formation, our original half-way point.  If only there was an elevator, I thought.

The water tasted metallic, and I was uncertain if that should be a warning sign.  I chose not to fill my bottle and later reconsidered the wisdom of that decision.  In fact, I learned we were not supposed to be swimming at all in the pool as it supplied the area with drinkable water . . . Andy and I rested awhile in the shade of the cliffs, then agreed we should return to camp before nightfall.

† † † † † 

"Humans are most likely to encounter wild animals just before sunset."  

I recalled the Park Ranger's words as we traversed the rocky path back up the mountain.  It was slow going over the loose rock.  Few words were spoke between us.  All of our energies were required to navigate the heat and the climb.  We paused often for a breather and to ration the remaining drops of Andy's water supply.

When the water ran out, the edema and headache returned.  I spotted mountain lion tracks along the trail and occupied my mind by imagining an encounter with a hungry mother and her cubs.  At each bend in the trail I envisioned her steely gaze upon us, approaching stealthily, sensing our weakened condition.

Andy, no doubt, would scream for his mommy, then collapse into a submissive position, leaving me and "Lee Hunt" to confront the beast.  I would manage to scare her off with an intimidating display of force, but not before a fierce exchange of blows left us both battered and bloody.

Apache scouts, high above on horseback, would sit in wonderment, impressed by the bravery of this formidable white man.

Andy would thank me for saving his life.  "All in a day's work", I'd say, helping him to his feet.  "Now wipe your tears."

Our journey back to the campsite was grueling.  People claim the trip home always seems shorter.  I find the opposite to be true.  Perhaps it is the anticipation of pursuing a destination that suspends time, but I am far more aware of its passing on the return.

At times, I thought we may have to stop for the night, exhausted and unable to push on.  Still, we made it back by dusk, both of us collapsing in a heap beneath the shade of the cedar trees.  I lay motionless on the ground, soaking my skull in a wet towel as the West Texas sun dipped below the crest of the Chisos mountains.

Andy stirred an hour later to prepare a meal of warm meat and vegetables.  We regained enough strength to pass the whiskey bottle and drown ourselves in cold beer, then passed out in a state of delirium, leaving the tent flap open (I later discovered) in the event a bear wished to investigate our supplies.

Later that night, Andy and I awoke in a startled and dazed condition, overcome by a ravenous water craving.  I fumbled in the dark for our jug and we took turns gulping down the magic liquid.

"I've a terrible headache," Andy proclaimed.

Jesus, I thought, we are those idiots the Park Ranger had in mind.

† † † † † 

(Lee Hunt and me:  Lion defense posture)

Chicken Tortilla Soup

     As a student and fan of all things "soup", I hereby inaugurate the Lambert family catalog of recipes with a personal favorite.  Chicken Tortilla Soup is a staple of the Austin taqueria scene.  Here I've borrowed what I consider the best elements from local haunts . . . Buen provecho.

INGREDIENTS

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
• 4 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• 1 teaspoon ancho chili powder
• 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 2 teaspoons cumin
• 2 (12 ounce) cans fire-roasted, crushed tomatoes
• 4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 cup water
• 3/4 cup whole corn kernels, cooked (I use frozen)
• 1/3 cup white hominy, rinsed and drained
• 1 (4 ounce) can chopped green chili peppers
• 1 (15 ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained
• 4 tablespoons cilantro leaves, roughly chopped
• 3 cups chicken breast, cooked and shredded (I use a precooked rotisserie)
• 2 jalapeño peppers, seeded (leave a few, or all, if you like it spicy) and chopped
• 1 fresh lime, juice of

          GARNISH

• crushed tortilla chips
• shredded Monterey Jack cheese
• sliced avocado (optional)
• fresh cilantro leaves

          ACCOMPANIMENT

• chips & salsa or guacamole

     1).  In a medium stock pot, warm oil over medium heat. Sauté onion and garlic until soft (10-15 minutes).

     2).  Stir in chili powders, cumin, cayenne pepper, tomatoes, broth and water.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 5 to 10 minutes.

     3).  Stir in corn, hominy, chili peppers, jalapenos, lime and cilantro.  Let simmer for 1 hour allowing flavors to come together.  Stir occasionally.

     4).  Add beans and chicken.  Simmer 10 more minutes.

     5).  Ladle soup into individual serving bowls and top with crushed tortilla chips, shredded cheese, fresh cilantro and / or avocado slices.

     Pair with a bottle of your favorite Spanish wine.

SERVES 8

Notes On The Cat

His breath smells of a sewer.
He claws the living room furniture,
eats bugs, paint chips, lint.

He chews electric cords,
chews the window shade,
pries the hair from his tail.
He swallows the hair.

"What is wrong with him?" I ask.

"He's just a baby," she replies.

She allows him on her side of the bed.
In the night, I am awakened by curious paws
marching across my chest.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Mornings, he follows me around the house,
shamelessly soliciting attention.

Having been up for hours
chasing ghosts and god knows what else,
his fleet disposition collides
with my waking stupor.

He will burst into a full sprint,
a peculiar warbling sound emanates
from his throat.

He leaps from floor to couch to coffee table,
back to couch, off my torso
and into the next room,
emerging seconds later as cool
as a hundred-dollar bill.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Taking him in my palm,
he licks condensation from my ice water,
licks my chin, lovingly,
then attends to his asshole.

When I eat, he eats.
When I nap, he naps (atop me).
When I pee, he reports to his litter box.

When I am in the shower,
he perches behind the clear, plastic liner
observing the kaleidoscope of movement
with childlike wonder.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Once, our Vet informed us he had
intestinal worms.  The worms fed
on the bugs, lint and things.

We administered medication,
but the meds caused his litter to sour.
The stench would turn back armies.
I resolved to maintain distance

pending a full recovery.

We laid towels beside the fireplace
in an effort to seduce him from the bed,
only to awake with his curled mass

'round my head, motoring 

like a crazed engine, a ticking bomb,

sleepy paws outstretched,
heart open as wide as the bedroom door
I failed to latch.

**First published in Peeking Cat Poetry magazine

Why a Blog?

Because this morning I encountered more grey hair.  
Because I am not out drinking as often these days.  
Because the wife goes to bed at 9:00 pm.  
Because no one writes letters anymore, and I greatly dislike the telephone.  
Because last month I turned forty.

I want to get it all down for the record,
for the little ones I want very much to know me,
and for the creatures that come after.

A blog is testimony.
A blog is material evidence.
A blog leaves a permanent mark,
at least until the internet goes kaput.

For Iyla, Eloise, and Arlo.