Bring Back the Draft?

         

Obama is reportedly ready to send more troops into Afghanistan.
People who quibble over the costs of health care reform have no qualms
about the billions spent each and every month to send our soldiers
over to occupy other countries and kill their citizens.
October was the deadliest month ever in Afghanistan for U.S. troops.

When and how will this madness end?  Bill Moyers has a suggestion.

Bill Moyers Essay: Restoring Accountability for Washington’s Wars
(transcript follows but I recommend watching this video to see the animated graphics
mainstream media use to depict war)

BILL MOYERS: Watching the CBS Evening News on Afghanistan this week I thought for a moment that I might be watching my grandson playing one of those video war games that are so popular these days.

REPORTER: An American military convoy traveling northwest–

BILL MOYERS: Reporting on the attacks that killed eight Americans, CBS turned to animation to depict what no journalists were around to witness. This is about as close to real war as most of us ever get, safely removed from the blood, the mangled bodies, the screams and shouts.

October, as you know, was the bloodiest month for our troops in all eight years of the war. And beyond the human loss, the United States has spent more than 223 billion dollars there. In 2010 we will be spending roughly 65 billion dollars every year. 65 billion dollars a year.

The President is just about ready to send more troops. Maybe 44 thousand, that’s the number General McChrystal wants, bringing the total to over 100 thousand. When I read speculation last weekend that the actual number needed might be 600 thousand, I winced.

I can still see President Lyndon Johnson’s face when he asked his generals how many years and how many troops it would take to win in Vietnam. One of them answered, "Ten years and one million." He was right on the time and wrong on the number– two and a half million American soldiers would serve in Vietnam, and we still lost.

Whatever the total for Afghanistan, every additional thousand troops will cost us about a billion dollars a year. At a time when foreclosures are rising, benefits for the unemployed are running out, cities are firing teachers, closing libraries and cutting essential maintenance and services. That sound you hear is the ripping of our social fabric.

Which makes even more perplexing an editorial in THE WASHINGTON POST last week. You’ll remember the "Post" was a cheerleader for the invasion of Iraq, often sounding like a megaphone for the Bush-Cheney propaganda machine. Now it’s calling for escalating the war in Afghanistan. In a time of historic budget deficits, the paper said, Afghanistan has to take priority over universal health care for Americans. Fixing Afghanistan, it seems, is "a ‘necessity’"; fixing America’s social contract is not.

But listen to what an Afghan villager recently told a correspondent for the "Economist:" "We need security. But the Americans are just making trouble for us. They cannot bring peace, not if they stay for 50 years."

Listen, too, to Andrew Bacevich, the long-time professional soldier, graduate of West Point, veteran of Vietnam, and now a respected scholar of military and foreign affairs, who was on this program a year ago. He recently told "The Christian Science Monitor," "The notion that fixing Afghanistan will somehow drive a stake through the heart of jihadism is wrong. …If we give General McChrystal everything he wants, the jihadist threat will still exist."

This from a warrior who lost his own soldier son in Iraq, and who doesn’t need animated graphics to know what the rest of us never see.

So here’s a suggestion. In a week or so, when the president announces he is escalating the war, let’s not hide the reality behind eloquence or animation. No more soaring rhetoric, please. No more video games. If our governing class wants more war, let’s not allow them to fight it with young men and women who sign up because they don’t have jobs here at home, or can’t afford college or health care for their families.

Let’s share the sacrifice. Spread the suffering. Let’s bring back the draft.

Yes, bring back the draft — for as long as it takes our politicians and pundits to "fix" Afghanistan to their satisfaction.

Bring back the draft, and then watch them dive for cover on Capitol Hill, in the watering holes and think tanks of the Beltway, and in the quiet little offices where editorial writers spin clever phrases justifying other people’s sacrifice. Let’s insist our governing class show the courage to make this long and dirty war our war, or the guts to end it.

            

Hoop or Treat

      

It’s been one of those months (a whole year of those months,
actually) and I decided to have some fun with the frustration
via Ryan Adams’ "Halloweenhead."  Antics ensue.

Warning: "mature" language.

             

Zombie Crawl

        

Last night was the Zombie Crawl along the 16th Street Mall in Denver.
Wildebeest has a love/hate thing for zombies.

When I read about this event, I was positive he’d want to go
and I was excited spectators were invited to wear duct-tape Xs on their
chests to signal a willingness to be attacked.

I thought Wildebeest would want an X so he could practice skills learned
from The Zombie Survival Guide.

But when I told him, his response was more along the lines of
"Are you out of your freakin’ mind?!"

The teen knew better than his mom, that’s for sure.

BucketHead zombie didn’t scare me but was convincing in a droll kind of way.

This group was very convincing with its stiff gait and vacant eyes.

These two showed us a sheep’s head.  No biggie.  As long as I didn’t look too closely.

This bride was with a zombie groom and no-nonsense in her pursuit of brains.

Here’s a mob preying on an Xed victim who screamed and screamed.
Truly scary.  My heart raced every time they converged on another victim.

Wildebeest watching from a safe distance.

Wildebeest’s favorite action shot: spewing blood.  (Note: all photos by Wildebeest)

Wildebeest and I considered this year a recon mission, and have decided
we’d like to participate next year.

We want a group, though.

The people in groups seemed to stay in character better than the singles
and couples who sometimes strolled along in their bloody and torn clothing
as if they were out on lunch hour.

I have a whole year to work on my walk.
             

Oy, my aching bones

     

Zippy and I went out this afternoon and ran along the Highline Canal.
We wanted flat and not-muddy.
We wanted a trail that would allow us to run a long ways.

That’s exactly what we got.

We did Galloway method:
5 minutes running and 1 minute walking.
For 7.5 miles.

I’m definitely feeling my age right now.
     

The miracle that was Larry Brown

         
      
Today I finished reading Larry Brown’s last book, A Miracle of Catfish.
Larry Brown was an excruciatingly good writer
who created characters you wouldn’t typically find in children’s literature.

They’re often selfish
ignorant
alcoholic
murdering and pathetic.
But also kind-hearted and funny.

Larry Brown wrote for adults but whenever I read his work, 
I have this burning desire to be a better writer for children.
More like him.
Minus the occasional slaughter of various animals
and gruesome factory mishaps.

Larry Brown wasn’t afraid to shine a light into humanity’s dark spaces.
And he was one helluva storyteller.

Thank you again, Doug, for making the introduction.
                 

My gift to you . . .

    

If you happen to be stuck on your work-in-progress
(maybe because you set it aside for a month or so
while working on another project),
I feel your pain.

I’ve been spinning my wheels trying to get traction
on this second draft.
I was ready to give up, convinced the story sucked beyond belief.

But then . . .

I sat down and wrote out a timeline for the book.
And now I can see my way again
because I remember what needs to happen
and when it needs to happen.

Such a simple solution
yet it took me quite some time to figure it out.
Which is why I’m sharing this with you.

If you’re in that bad, scary place in your project
try mapping out the chronology.
Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be on your way again.

Edited to add:
Oh, and you know what else is helpful?
Writing the day/time after chapter heading.
For instance: CHAPTER THIRTEEN (Thurs after school).
Yep.  I’m just full of epiphanies.

                      

This sounds familiar

     

AGNES by Tony Cochran

For some reason, reading this reminded me of my blog.
Not entirely sure why
since I know for an (almost-absolute) fact
I’ve never mentioned ammonia.
And if I did, I never tried rhyming it.

It makes me wonder if I’m the Agnes of Live Journal.
Running amok with wild ambitions and a blatant disregard for reality.
                        

Come Back!

         

I took these photos in September but today’s cold misty gray
feels like perfect weather for attracting another swarm of grackles and starlings.

Here birdie, birdie.
Here birdie…


            
                  

Heartfelt Thanks!

     

Just a quick update on my mother-in-law’s surgery:
Everything went very well.

In fact, the surgeon discovered there wasn’t a problem
with her valve and so didn’t have to touch it.
(Apparently earlier imaging had revealed it only had
two flaps rather than the necessary three, but they
discovered today it does, in fact, have three!)

Thank you again SO MUCH for all your good thoughts and healing wishes.
I felt them, Zippy felt them, and I know those thoughts supported my mother-in-law.

Here’s a hug for all of you from all of us…………….
        

Heart to Heart

       

I haven’t been a good LJ friend lately.
Haven’t read and commented much.
It’s been a rough year.

Despite my absence, I’m going to ask a favor.
Zippy’s mother is going in for heart surgery tomorrow morning.
She has two genetic heart conditions that need repair.

I didn’t write about this before but when Zippy got his heart stents,
they discovered he has an enlarged aorta.
The good news is they measured it again recently and it hadn’t grown.
So he doesn’t need surgery.

But as a result of his situation, his whole family got checked
and we found out his mother’s aorta is also enlarged.
Hers needs to be repaired now.
Plus the leaky valve they discovered.

All this time we’ve been worried about Zippy needing that surgery
and then we find out his mother is having it, instead.

We’re pretty scared.
And scared people don’t tend to project the most comforting thoughts.
So I’m asking if you could please send good thoughts to his mother.
She goes in first thing tomorrow morning.

Thank you so much.
Tracy
             

Of Balls and Pens

   

Zebu found out he didn’t make the "gold" team in basketball
and is quite disappointed.
I ache for him because I know what that feels like to work hard
but still not reach a goal.

Yesterday we went out and shot 100 free throws each,
alternating sets of ten.
He made 74 out of one hundred.
I made 56.

I said, "Hey, at least I’m better than Shaq."
Zebu said, "I think he shoots 57%."
(I just looked it up and his career average is only 53%.  Take that!)

This morning I went out to shoot another 100,
positive I’d do better than yesterday.
Because, you know, practice always makes you better.

I made 44 out of 100.
I felt pretty cruddy as I missed shot after shot. 
In fact, I wanted to quit early on when in one set I only made 3 of 10.
But I kept pushing through to the end.
And eventually attempted the hundredth shot.

Did I then proclaim "Free at last!"
and head inside for the couch?

No.

Something inside me wouldn’t quit, and I kept on shooting.
And this time I made 56 out of 100.
Same as yesterday.

So does this mean that this morning’s first 100 free throws were a waste of time?
Does it mean I didn’t improve at all?
I don’t know.
On paper, I didn’t do any better than yesterday.

In basketball as in writing, there are no guarantees.
The only thing I know for sure is that if I don’t keep writing,
I will not improve my craft.
And the same is probably true for my free throw percentage.

Either way, just like with those free throws and me,
something inside won’t let me quit writing.
So I might as well get better while I’m at it.
            

Contorting in Synopsis Hell

       

So I’m working on a synopsis right now.
Fun.

Not.

I decided I’d like to blog about the not-fun.
And wondered if there was a cool image to go with my entry.

When I Googled I was thinking of an image that was
slimy or sharp-toothed.
Noxious and sulfurous and all-around-yuck.

Something that taunted.

Instead, I found this.  A Romeo and Juliet synopsis/mind-map:

Go here for larger view.

And now I’m not feeling so daunted by the task ahead of me.

(Whaddya say, kellyrfineman?  Bet you can do this, right?)
            

PREVAIL

   

 A while back I wrote about my new motto.
And last week I finally did something about it.

I contacted at Silver Freckles
and asked her to make my very own bracelet.

Last night I came home to find a package waiting.

Not only did it include my gorgeous bracelet

It also included these notes

I love my bracelet, Laura.
Every time I look at it, I think of you
and remember you believe in me.

And I start believing in myself all over again.
Thank you so much.
           

Weed Art Thou?

  

Continuing the horticulture theme,
here’s Exhibit B.

Lamb’s Ear.

Grows like a, well, weed.
Soft, furry leaves and pretty spike flowers.
Home to happy bees.

Yet.

There are those who believe it’s too invasive
for the suburban lawn.

Not pointing any fingers, Zippy.
I’m just sayin’.
           

Begrudging Admiration

         

It’s hard to hold a grudge against dandelions
when they have such an awesome seed-dispersal system.
 

This puffball will probably add another seven gajillion dandelions to my yard
next spring. 
Ah, well.

Here’s to embracing my inner weed.

             

Buster Comes A-Callin’

   

This afternoon we noticed a stray dog out in the street.
He was skittish but I lured him into our backyard with a bowl of water.

We couldn’t get close enough to read the phone number on his tags.
Not even with the binoculars.
Or the telephoto camera lens.

We took turns trying to read those numbers.
My old(er) eyes couldn’t do it.
Zebu’s young(er) eyes couldn’t do it, either.

Zippy’s efforts were thwarted by all the fur.
So he got down on the ground with binoculars and biscuits.
And coaxed the big boy closer.

It took quite some time.
But Zippy prevailed.

Turns out his name is Buster.
And he was brought to the shelter as a fence-jumper.
The good news is a new family adopted him.
Bad news is Buster’s been caught three times by Animal Control.

Today, though, he avoided an arrest.
And made some new friends.
 
                

Refocusing

       

I’m going to try looking outside myself
a bit more.
There’s been entirely too much
rummaging around inside my head.

Look around you, Tracy!
There’s much to see.

Like this cool, starting-to-fall-apart web . . .