seriously, i can't get my eyes to stop leaking and all i can think is that somewhere, somewhere, dr. king is watching, face wide with joy, and bobby kennedy, and all of those that worked so hard before us to make this moment possible.
god bless america.
11/4/08
at least today it is over?
i am a sap. i admit this. i admit that I got teary-eyed when we got to the polling place this morning and there was a line a good block long. i admit that I got teary-eyed when i went to register and the woman sitting next to me was a 92-year old woman who had never voted before in her life. i admit to getting teary-eyed when i got to cast my vote. and it was kind of hard not to flat out cry when i saw a little old man who could hardly walk dressed in his sunday best telling the election inspector that it was only fitting, since this was one of the most important days of his life.
i feel like I have been on the verge of tears all morning, and granted, some of that is no doubt related to hormones, and some to anxiety about the state of the world, but elections do this to me. have done it to me, as far back as i can remember.
i wish I could say that i am confident about what’s going to happen today, but i’m not. call it irish pragmatism or pessimism or the fact that the bush administration and its 2004 reelection have taught me all too well that the american people are not always as smart as i want to believe them to be, or my deep mistrust of polls and polling and the irrelevance of them anyway on a national level when the popular vote means jack.
i am mostly a little bit exhilarated and a lot terrified, and i don’t know how i’m going to make it through today. can’t even rely on alcohol, the avoidance tool of champions, to pull me through. ah, well. better angels, if you are out there somewhere, now would be a really good time to make your presence known.
i feel like I have been on the verge of tears all morning, and granted, some of that is no doubt related to hormones, and some to anxiety about the state of the world, but elections do this to me. have done it to me, as far back as i can remember.
i wish I could say that i am confident about what’s going to happen today, but i’m not. call it irish pragmatism or pessimism or the fact that the bush administration and its 2004 reelection have taught me all too well that the american people are not always as smart as i want to believe them to be, or my deep mistrust of polls and polling and the irrelevance of them anyway on a national level when the popular vote means jack.
i am mostly a little bit exhilarated and a lot terrified, and i don’t know how i’m going to make it through today. can’t even rely on alcohol, the avoidance tool of champions, to pull me through. ah, well. better angels, if you are out there somewhere, now would be a really good time to make your presence known.
9/11/08
happy 63rd birthday, dad
you know, here's the thing. watching the news feed at the y while working out this morning, and then having to go find some vacuous fitness magazine to look at instead so i don't have to see the same loop of images replaying, over and over again.
never forget. right. as if the people that were there, that lost someone, that walk around with scars yet today could ever forget what happened that day. like i could ever forget what happened in that place, on that day.
you know what i wish people would never forget? how this administration used that tragedy, those lives lost, to lie to us, to manipulate us, to inflate our fears and mistrust and increase our isolationism. to justify a war based on false premises, and to erode our civil rights and civil liberties in the name of the war against terror.
i wish we would never forget the lessons hard learned on that day, but i don't think very many of us ever learned them to begin with.
never forget. right. as if the people that were there, that lost someone, that walk around with scars yet today could ever forget what happened that day. like i could ever forget what happened in that place, on that day.
you know what i wish people would never forget? how this administration used that tragedy, those lives lost, to lie to us, to manipulate us, to inflate our fears and mistrust and increase our isolationism. to justify a war based on false premises, and to erode our civil rights and civil liberties in the name of the war against terror.
i wish we would never forget the lessons hard learned on that day, but i don't think very many of us ever learned them to begin with.
9/2/08
dead people and dying campaigns
i traveled to new orleans late last week, to participate in the katrina memorial dedication. we weren't even sure it was still going to happen as we flew down, what with gustav wreaking havoc on plans and giving nagin an excuse to hyperventilate a lot and slam every level of government but his own. sorry, i'm not a fan, he's done jack for the city since he was reelected, except point fingers elsewhere.
anyway. did you know that 84 bodies have been sitting in refrigeration units for the last three years? unclaimed, most, though some were unidentified, the memorial is their final resting place and the foundation was the largest single private contributor. the jazz funeral scheduled for friday morning was scrubbed, but the dedication still went forward. seven bodies were interred as part of the ceremony. it was beautiful, and overdue, and completely and totally overshadowed both by the impending hurricane and mccain's masturbatory choice of running mate. so it goes, i guess.
as a side note, i wandered over to cafe du monde for au lait and beignets around 5:00 friday morning. about three minutes after i entered, a secret service agent wandered in, followed by dhs' own michael chertoff. he's shorter in person. and has bigger ears.
i would speak of mccain, and palin, but i think i am at a total loss of words. is it me, or did he just give the one-fingered salute to the entire electorate?
anyway. did you know that 84 bodies have been sitting in refrigeration units for the last three years? unclaimed, most, though some were unidentified, the memorial is their final resting place and the foundation was the largest single private contributor. the jazz funeral scheduled for friday morning was scrubbed, but the dedication still went forward. seven bodies were interred as part of the ceremony. it was beautiful, and overdue, and completely and totally overshadowed both by the impending hurricane and mccain's masturbatory choice of running mate. so it goes, i guess.
as a side note, i wandered over to cafe du monde for au lait and beignets around 5:00 friday morning. about three minutes after i entered, a secret service agent wandered in, followed by dhs' own michael chertoff. he's shorter in person. and has bigger ears.
i would speak of mccain, and palin, but i think i am at a total loss of words. is it me, or did he just give the one-fingered salute to the entire electorate?
8/12/08
sadie, sadie, married lady
so, i don't know, weddings are a kind of ridiculous expense, financial and mental and everything else, full of the kind of little details that make a big picture person like me want to tear my hair out and run away to join the circus. but i suppose when you find someone who looks at you in the kind of way that sometimes steals your breath, who goes out of his way to do things little and small to make things good and easier and better, who loves your son like his own blood and welcomes the challenge of a ready-made family instead of runs screaming from it, someone who makes you laugh, and blush, and want to be better, and to do all those things for him that he does for you, then maybe it's all worth it in the end.
i think so, anyway.
i think so, anyway.
6/20/08
out goes to the warped tour
6/13/08
he was one of the good guys
primary season, 1996, i found myself in iowa with a handful of mac students who identified as something other than a tree-hugging knee-jerk-bleeding-heart-reactionary, volunteering for the rnc. (for the experience, okay?!) i did some time with dole's folks, and discovered he was funnier in person than one would expect, a fact which also proved true when i got to know vice president gore a little working in his press shop.
anyway, the last couple of days were super intense. they kind of shoved us all onto the floor to help where we were needed and i ended up being a runner for nbc. more specifically, for the "meet the press" crew. i didn't do a whole lot more than hold cords and grab food for talent and crew alike, but i did get a chance to talk with russert, for a few minutes. what i remember most about him was how giddy he was, how excited by the democratic process and twelve years later that's still something incredibly rare, especially to find in a member of the washington press corps. he was kind, and generous of his time, and willing to give up a few minutes of his precious free time to talk with a kid who was completely starstruck and in love with politics and the process.
i am not sad about this in the inexplicably intense way i was when peter jennings died, but in an era where people are increasingly cynical, when nuanced political reporting, or at least the attempt therein, is anachronistic, tim russert stood out as someone to whom democracy mattered, someone who cared about what he was covering and the people he affected.
i'll miss him.
anyway, the last couple of days were super intense. they kind of shoved us all onto the floor to help where we were needed and i ended up being a runner for nbc. more specifically, for the "meet the press" crew. i didn't do a whole lot more than hold cords and grab food for talent and crew alike, but i did get a chance to talk with russert, for a few minutes. what i remember most about him was how giddy he was, how excited by the democratic process and twelve years later that's still something incredibly rare, especially to find in a member of the washington press corps. he was kind, and generous of his time, and willing to give up a few minutes of his precious free time to talk with a kid who was completely starstruck and in love with politics and the process.
i am not sad about this in the inexplicably intense way i was when peter jennings died, but in an era where people are increasingly cynical, when nuanced political reporting, or at least the attempt therein, is anachronistic, tim russert stood out as someone to whom democracy mattered, someone who cared about what he was covering and the people he affected.
i'll miss him.
6/9/08
i'm automatic
leaving on a jet plane tomorrow for texas, to party with embalmers. i predict much hilarity will ensue, and continue to bemoan the fact that alan ball wrote the story i wanted to. bastard.
5/12/08
that irish guy from that movie that no one saw
glen hansard and market irglova and most of the frames at the riverside. it was a beautiful, beautiful show, hysterical at turns and deeply moving at others. glen started it out on stage, by himself, stepped out to the lip of the stage and performed "say it with me now" without mic or amp, and it was really fantastic to see a sold-out auditorium suddenly become so still you could hear a pin drop.
and he has such a powerful, gorgeous voice, low growl in one moment and then high and clear as a bell in the next. and the interplay between marketa and glen, little conversations and smiles, his teasing of the bandmates, the perpetual and stereotypical bored expression on the bass player's face, representing for all bass players everywhere. it was just a lovely evening.but the highlight, maybe, was when they played "falling slowly." look, obviously everyone and their mother knows that song now but back when this was just starting to sort of creep into the consciousness i fell in love with it, and the movie, and odds are probably very good that it'll be the wedding song. glen starts to talk about how someone had emailed him an invitation to come see a choir perform the song, and that he responded with why don't you come sing it with us and all these kids start filing on stage, and it's the whitefish bay 8th grade choir and the audience just goes nuts. and it's not like their singing is amazing, or whatever, but it's the spirit of it, and the warmth of glen and marketa and the band and their generosity in opening up that stage and making an amazing moment in the lives of these kids that everyone responded to, i think. and yes, i totally cried. plus, he totally got them to sing backup for a cover of the pixies "gigantic" as the second song, which was funny on too many levels to count.
if you do a youtube search with glen and marketa and whitefish bay you'll find the videos. good stuff.
memorial day is coming up, and that we have started, from the beginning, to read the roll of those who have died since this all began during the weekly prayers of the people at church. fifteen a week, and if no one else died it'd be 2013 before we were done. i get physically ill thinking about this, am emotional about it in ways i don't fully understand myself.
the things that carried him
it's a long read, from last month's esquire, but chris jones does incredible work, telling one soldier's story from the moment he dies til he's laid in the ground and i guess i feel the need to keep bearing witness, somehow. to keep sending condolences to families i don't know for soldiers i've never met but to whom i still feel in some way connected. it has to end. it has to.
and because i don't know if i'll end up back this way before the end of the month, one of my favorites, from archibald macleish:
the young dead soldiers do not speak.
nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
they have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.
they say: we were young. we have died.
remember us.
they say: we have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
they say: we have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.
they say: our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.
they say: whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.
we leave you our deaths. give them their meaning.
we were young, they say. we have died; remember us.
and he has such a powerful, gorgeous voice, low growl in one moment and then high and clear as a bell in the next. and the interplay between marketa and glen, little conversations and smiles, his teasing of the bandmates, the perpetual and stereotypical bored expression on the bass player's face, representing for all bass players everywhere. it was just a lovely evening.but the highlight, maybe, was when they played "falling slowly." look, obviously everyone and their mother knows that song now but back when this was just starting to sort of creep into the consciousness i fell in love with it, and the movie, and odds are probably very good that it'll be the wedding song. glen starts to talk about how someone had emailed him an invitation to come see a choir perform the song, and that he responded with why don't you come sing it with us and all these kids start filing on stage, and it's the whitefish bay 8th grade choir and the audience just goes nuts. and it's not like their singing is amazing, or whatever, but it's the spirit of it, and the warmth of glen and marketa and the band and their generosity in opening up that stage and making an amazing moment in the lives of these kids that everyone responded to, i think. and yes, i totally cried. plus, he totally got them to sing backup for a cover of the pixies "gigantic" as the second song, which was funny on too many levels to count.
if you do a youtube search with glen and marketa and whitefish bay you'll find the videos. good stuff.
memorial day is coming up, and that we have started, from the beginning, to read the roll of those who have died since this all began during the weekly prayers of the people at church. fifteen a week, and if no one else died it'd be 2013 before we were done. i get physically ill thinking about this, am emotional about it in ways i don't fully understand myself.
the things that carried him
it's a long read, from last month's esquire, but chris jones does incredible work, telling one soldier's story from the moment he dies til he's laid in the ground and i guess i feel the need to keep bearing witness, somehow. to keep sending condolences to families i don't know for soldiers i've never met but to whom i still feel in some way connected. it has to end. it has to.
and because i don't know if i'll end up back this way before the end of the month, one of my favorites, from archibald macleish:
the young dead soldiers do not speak.
nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
they have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.
they say: we were young. we have died.
remember us.
they say: we have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
they say: we have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.
they say: our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.
they say: whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.
we leave you our deaths. give them their meaning.
we were young, they say. we have died; remember us.
3/28/08
pigeons mate for life, you know
the weakerthans played the high noon saloon in madison last night, a late show, waaay past my bedtime in a city an hour's drive away but i pretty much would have to have been padlocked down somewhere to have missed seeing them live again. been too long, john k.
matt and i left milwaukee a little after four. see, all week it had been really kind of beautiful, right? high 40s, low 50s. i envisioned spending some time puttering around on state street, getting into some pre-show trouble. HAH. cue snow, and temps in the 20s with bitter winds and me not wearing a proper coat for such weather and the two of us finding we had way too much time to kill.
amused by my general twitchiness during an attempt to kill time at a coffee house a few blocks away from the venue, the decision was made to wander over around 7:40. i thought maybe the doors didn't open til 8 - the show was at 9, but it's a whole complex of bars, etc., so when we were, in fact, turned away upon arrival we wandered into the neighboring restaurant to grab a beer.
samson was, of course, in there finishing up dinner, which i noticed as he and his wife and her bandmate got up to go.
in my head:
me: [follows john k. and co. out of the restaurant, flings self at leg] "omg! john k! your music has saved my life at least two times, for real, and my sanity probably more than that and i think you are really amazing and when jesus comes again in glory to judge the living and the dead i hope he's half as cool a dude as you are."
john k: [blushes and smiles and looks down while mumbling something indecipherable (as he has done pretty much every other time i have paid him a compliment of any kind) while delicately trying to free his calf from my arms]
god: [strikes me down with lightning]
what really happened:
me: [sees john k., smacks matt.] "omg! john k.!
"matt: "oh! cool."
cue wandering over to the high noon, which is a nice venue, small, stage high enough that unless you have those asshole six foot dudes who fail to notice they are standing in front of people descended from leprechauns you have a pretty good sightline.
christine opens up, and she is sweet, and i am reminded of how much it sucks to be an opening act, even more so when aa bondy took the stage. both were amazing sets. both were victim to people who seemed completely oblivious to the incredible level of rudeness involved in parking yourself three feet from the stage and then carrying on a conversation about the weather or whether you should have another beer. seriously, people. if you must talk, go to the back.
me: [kills them all with my mind.]
anyway, the weakerthans rolled on stage around eleven, which, for those of you who know me well fully realize, is about two hours past when i am typically beginning to fade into blessed unconsciousness. but i am pumped! i am in love with love and lousy poetry! there is a really psychotic man wearing cutoff daisy dukes and a unabomber beard parked to my front and left who i think will probably give me cause to fear for my life.
psychotic man: [turns to me, grinning wildly] "don't worry! i won't be here the whole night!"
me: [gives big ups to god for answering my prayers]
psychotic man: [proceeds to flail and try to mosh to 'civil twilight']
he eventually moved. which is good, because matt had adopted the whole irrited security guard arms crossed over chest manuever and this was his first weakerthans show, y'all, so i wanted it to be money.
which it was. i had speculated, rather hopefully, before the show that he wasn't going to play "virtue the cat explains her departure" because i didn't think it would lend itself well to a live set and really because it makes me cry like a little bitch, but of course what that meant was that he would, and he did, but it was not quite so haunting or vulnerable in its live arrangement and i managed to not be that girl. not that there's anything wrong with being that girl!
i just really love these guys so much. i mean, beyond the brilliance of the lyrics and the beauty of the music that carries them, they are so much fun, live, and engaging and greg and stephen are totally goofballs. i think you can forget, especially with some of the quieter songs, that they can actually bring the rock, and they do, and they did.
there are always a few perfect moments at every show, the little sound/sight memory bits you carry with you and come back to, the request for "maryland bridge" that gets a sideways smile that more than makes up for the fact you know he's not going to play it, the quiet before a riff. they are a lovely, magnificent bunch of fellows, and man, do they ever give good music.
stumbled back to the car around 12:45 with sore feet and a stupid smile on my face and proceeded to sleep all the way back home and now i am at the office, not really looking forward to the day but at least it is friday, and i have had my fix, and life, you know. is really not so bad.
matt and i left milwaukee a little after four. see, all week it had been really kind of beautiful, right? high 40s, low 50s. i envisioned spending some time puttering around on state street, getting into some pre-show trouble. HAH. cue snow, and temps in the 20s with bitter winds and me not wearing a proper coat for such weather and the two of us finding we had way too much time to kill.
amused by my general twitchiness during an attempt to kill time at a coffee house a few blocks away from the venue, the decision was made to wander over around 7:40. i thought maybe the doors didn't open til 8 - the show was at 9, but it's a whole complex of bars, etc., so when we were, in fact, turned away upon arrival we wandered into the neighboring restaurant to grab a beer.
samson was, of course, in there finishing up dinner, which i noticed as he and his wife and her bandmate got up to go.
in my head:
me: [follows john k. and co. out of the restaurant, flings self at leg] "omg! john k! your music has saved my life at least two times, for real, and my sanity probably more than that and i think you are really amazing and when jesus comes again in glory to judge the living and the dead i hope he's half as cool a dude as you are."
john k: [blushes and smiles and looks down while mumbling something indecipherable (as he has done pretty much every other time i have paid him a compliment of any kind) while delicately trying to free his calf from my arms]
god: [strikes me down with lightning]
what really happened:
me: [sees john k., smacks matt.] "omg! john k.!
"matt: "oh! cool."
cue wandering over to the high noon, which is a nice venue, small, stage high enough that unless you have those asshole six foot dudes who fail to notice they are standing in front of people descended from leprechauns you have a pretty good sightline.
christine opens up, and she is sweet, and i am reminded of how much it sucks to be an opening act, even more so when aa bondy took the stage. both were amazing sets. both were victim to people who seemed completely oblivious to the incredible level of rudeness involved in parking yourself three feet from the stage and then carrying on a conversation about the weather or whether you should have another beer. seriously, people. if you must talk, go to the back.
me: [kills them all with my mind.]
anyway, the weakerthans rolled on stage around eleven, which, for those of you who know me well fully realize, is about two hours past when i am typically beginning to fade into blessed unconsciousness. but i am pumped! i am in love with love and lousy poetry! there is a really psychotic man wearing cutoff daisy dukes and a unabomber beard parked to my front and left who i think will probably give me cause to fear for my life.
psychotic man: [turns to me, grinning wildly] "don't worry! i won't be here the whole night!"
me: [gives big ups to god for answering my prayers]
psychotic man: [proceeds to flail and try to mosh to 'civil twilight']
he eventually moved. which is good, because matt had adopted the whole irrited security guard arms crossed over chest manuever and this was his first weakerthans show, y'all, so i wanted it to be money.
which it was. i had speculated, rather hopefully, before the show that he wasn't going to play "virtue the cat explains her departure" because i didn't think it would lend itself well to a live set and really because it makes me cry like a little bitch, but of course what that meant was that he would, and he did, but it was not quite so haunting or vulnerable in its live arrangement and i managed to not be that girl. not that there's anything wrong with being that girl!
i just really love these guys so much. i mean, beyond the brilliance of the lyrics and the beauty of the music that carries them, they are so much fun, live, and engaging and greg and stephen are totally goofballs. i think you can forget, especially with some of the quieter songs, that they can actually bring the rock, and they do, and they did.
there are always a few perfect moments at every show, the little sound/sight memory bits you carry with you and come back to, the request for "maryland bridge" that gets a sideways smile that more than makes up for the fact you know he's not going to play it, the quiet before a riff. they are a lovely, magnificent bunch of fellows, and man, do they ever give good music.
stumbled back to the car around 12:45 with sore feet and a stupid smile on my face and proceeded to sleep all the way back home and now i am at the office, not really looking forward to the day but at least it is friday, and i have had my fix, and life, you know. is really not so bad.
3/14/08
tennessee's a brother to my sister carolina
traffic in milwaukee is hardly ever ridiculous. there just aren't enough people. you'd think it was, from the way the locals complain, but the reality is we don't hold a candle to any of the major urbanites who spend hours going three miles an hour while watching the hole in the ozone inch wider and wider open.
anyway, they regulate the on-ramps with traffic lights, during rush hour, and there's only ever a "carpool" lane on those ramps, around here, not in actual traffic. and the only time i ever encounter the metered lights is on the drive to the babysitter in the morning, and each and every day i have this moment of existential angst over whether or not it's ethical of me to get in said carpool lane, when the second person in the car is but a toddler. i mean, is using my son to get thirty seconds ahead in traffic, and to cut in front of that jackass who cut me off a half mile back, morally right?
whatever, clearly i need more to think about in the mornings.
bad dreams last night, back in that hospital room long ago and far away, counting breaths to beeps until there weren't any.
happier thoughts. the summer of '95, scamming our way into shows and free drinks, laying on the roof of danny's brother's car and plotting escape by jumping star to star. we pooled our money one weekend and had enough for gas to make it down to the gulf coast and back. picking cotton from the side of the road. barefoot, drinking coke out of glass bottles and listening to the waves crash. how warm they were, rolling over our feet. the water stretched out to forever and it felt like that summer did, too.
how much more detailed the escape plan was, without the light pollution of the city to muck it all up.
hard to believe that was thirteen years ago, almost, soon it'll be half a lifetime away but i suppose that's only fitting since those memories are already tinged with the rose-colored filter of nostalgia.
anyway. fast forward to present tense, and i suppose i'm still daydreaming, but maybe that's something you never really grow out of. i was in d.c. this week, but not for long enough to miss it, just the people, the way the light hits the capitol as the sun is setting, the rumble of the metro beneath your feet. okay, maybe i had time to miss it a little.
anyway, they regulate the on-ramps with traffic lights, during rush hour, and there's only ever a "carpool" lane on those ramps, around here, not in actual traffic. and the only time i ever encounter the metered lights is on the drive to the babysitter in the morning, and each and every day i have this moment of existential angst over whether or not it's ethical of me to get in said carpool lane, when the second person in the car is but a toddler. i mean, is using my son to get thirty seconds ahead in traffic, and to cut in front of that jackass who cut me off a half mile back, morally right?
whatever, clearly i need more to think about in the mornings.
bad dreams last night, back in that hospital room long ago and far away, counting breaths to beeps until there weren't any.
happier thoughts. the summer of '95, scamming our way into shows and free drinks, laying on the roof of danny's brother's car and plotting escape by jumping star to star. we pooled our money one weekend and had enough for gas to make it down to the gulf coast and back. picking cotton from the side of the road. barefoot, drinking coke out of glass bottles and listening to the waves crash. how warm they were, rolling over our feet. the water stretched out to forever and it felt like that summer did, too.
how much more detailed the escape plan was, without the light pollution of the city to muck it all up.
hard to believe that was thirteen years ago, almost, soon it'll be half a lifetime away but i suppose that's only fitting since those memories are already tinged with the rose-colored filter of nostalgia.
anyway. fast forward to present tense, and i suppose i'm still daydreaming, but maybe that's something you never really grow out of. i was in d.c. this week, but not for long enough to miss it, just the people, the way the light hits the capitol as the sun is setting, the rumble of the metro beneath your feet. okay, maybe i had time to miss it a little.
2/7/08
so long, mittens!
sources say romney's dropping out. assuming the country's not stupid enough to put someone like huckabee in a position of national power, i have to say, at this moment, looking at who's left standing on either side of the political dividing line, that i at least feel reasonably certain that regardless of who gets the nod, we'll be moving in the right direction in '08.that's kind of cool.
ETA: except wow, my ambivalence towards romney apparently taking a tailspin to loathing given the ridiculous of this, from his statement:
"If I fight on in my campaign, all the way to the convention, I would forestall the launch of a national campaign and make it more likely that Senator Clinton or Obama would win," the statement says. "And in this time of war, I simply cannot let my campaign be a part of aiding a surrender to terror."
bitch, please. the continual erosion of our civil rights and liberties over the past eight years, as well as the draining of our human and material resources by the war that will not end, has done more to surrender our country to terror. don't let the door hit you, asshat.
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