Cheeky's Hideaway

Damages

They say bad things come in threes.  If so, I'm in trouble.

It's no secret that I'm a little clumsy but I'm hardly accident prone.  In fact, I consider myself a relatively well-oiled specimen of unalloyed manhood, due largely to intense cowardice my keen sense of self-preservation and a healthy diet.  These last few weeks, however, I've discovered the limitations of that body...quite violently.

It turns out, for example, that the nose is actually a relatively delicate thing.  The shockingly handsome nasal slope with which I was graced at birth was once given a jolt when a knee collided with it at high speed (the fact that it was my own knee is of little consequence physically, but rather difficult to explain rationally).  My nose made a near flawless recovery, maintaining the majestic symmetry of my face, but gave me due warning that it would brook no further abuse. 

And it was quite cross with me when, a couple weeks ago, it collided with a racquet.  Hard.

I have to give my racquetball opponent credit for  excellent follow-through on his backhand.  From the looks of things, he'd apparently found a way to puncture my aorta via the bridge of my nose, since the court looked like it had been used to film an early Peter Jackson movie.  Band-aids proved utterly useless, and although I tried to play through I was eventually forced to leave.  Apparently the gym has some pretty strict rules about this since the previous caretaker left.

I spent the rest of the day with an ice-bag on my face, contemplating what I'd tell people when they inevitably asked me why I'd been sketched and inked by Frank Miller.  Most of my excuses came from the school of "you should see the other guy," and I thought I could enhance my already impressive manliness with a good story.  I kept overshooting the mark, though, and usually went with:

1. I took a puck to the nose during our game against the Ukrainian national team
2. That's the last time a that bouncer will tell me I can't get into the Copa
3. If loyalties must be broken, if the lines must be crossed, do it fast...do it furious
4. Ninjas.  Always the damn ninjas

Sadly, no one ever bought these, so I ended up confessing that I injured myself playing a sport most gyms discontinued during the Reagan administration.  But it did make me feel badass...at least for a few minutes.

Time passes, and injuries heal.  My nose once again returned to its original form, and I could pick it with inpunity.  The shiner which came as an added bonus faded from deep violet to gangrene, and eventually disappeared entirely.   Oodgie could once again stare lovingly into my puppy-dog eyes, perceiving a gateway into a world of which she desparately wants to be a part.

Until....

We were in Florida last week, compensating for a spectacular vacation we'd planned and cancelled due to unforseen circumstances.  All seemed to be going well:  Cheeky had amassed an impressive sandcastle real estate empire, Oodgie was working on her tennis serves, and I had two cold six packs in the fridge.  Movement was largely optional.  The hardest thing I needed to do was maneuver around hotel furniture.

FAIL!

Let me pause to ask this rhetorical question:  how is it that something as small and insignificant as a little toe be the source of such an inordinate, excruciating amount of pain?  I have sympathy for Ty Lawson.

The frequency and variety of my stubs is the stuff of legend.  My one-legged flailing paroxysm of pain is an art form.  The creativity and sheer vulgarity of the corresponding profanity would strip paint from a Chevy.  I'm a professional toe-stubber, the kind employed by secret government agencies when only the most discreet and deadly toe-stubber can be used.

But never before have these stubs been accompanied by an audible *crack*

Surprisingly, there was little of the usual flying debris or pathetic sobbing I inject into such situations.  I was relatively zen about it.  After a couple deep breaths and some tearful muttering, I touched my toe to see if I could feel anything.  Nope.  Nothing.  As numb and bereft of feeling as Dick Cheney's soul.  

An hour later it looked something like this.

There's not much you can do about a broken toe.  You can lash it to its neighbor, like a deck chair before a storm, but that's about it.  Days later, I have to swagger like an early-90s rapper just to hide cover up my limp. 

Now I'm worried, though.  If bad things come in threes, as I've always heard they do, then my misery isn't over yet.  I keep wondering what's next.  Will it be a nail gun injury?  Elephantitis?  Cymothoa Exigua?  Worse?

I'm being extra careful around the house, just in case.  

UPDATE:  In a delicious piece of irony, just as I was rereading this this morning before posting it, I found out EXACTLY what #3 would be.  How's that for timing?  Guess I can relax now.  Literally.

The World is Flat: Exposing the Dangers of a Hand-Drawn Economy

I occasionally wonder how globalization would impact the Smurfs.

To their credit, they organized their society around an enlightened despot who encouraged diversification within the proletariat and judiciously diffused internal strife by encouraging everyone to smurf unto others as you would have them smurf unto you.  In addition, the presence of a powerful external threat to unite them contributed to their stability, as did their obvious shared genetics ancestry.  This model can lead to powerful economic dynamism were they to choose to export their good and services to other nations, such as the Snorks or Biskitts.

Of course, we can only speculate.  Smurf society collapsed into obscurity, crippled by FCC regulations mandating "educational" programming, driving local affiliates to cut back on their Smurf-related correspondents and in favor of the Bayside High School journalism class.  It's entirely possible that the Smurfs could have overcome the obvious gender inequalities to dominate the mushroom region of the forest and be a world leader in "blue" technologies.

Which brings me, belatedly, to my point.  I cannot see how today's aspirants to animated economic leadership have the resources, organization, or focus to survive.  I've done a preliminary analysis of some of the more prominent ones described in my child's literature or in the helpful documentaries found on Noggin, and my findings are not promising:

Ponyville:  Ponyville has been perplexing me since I first discovered it during one of Serendipity's butterfly hunts.  A verdant land, it has all the obvious hallmarks of a pre-industrial society.  It's easy to romanticize such halcyon places, with their babbling brooks and rainbow berry bushes.  But in reality such places are rarely as magical as they seem.

The economy of Ponyville appears to lack any form of formal currency.  Pony's are often seen at the Cotton Candy Cafe or Twist 'n Style Petal Parlour gossiping and sharing mutual admiration at how great their friendships are, yet the services provided are never paid for.  In fact, emotional support seems to be the only form of currency accepted by these Pony's.  This begs the question of how these goods and services are manufactured and maintained, as to my knowledge emotional support is less effective than comprehensive health care and competitive wages to an organized labor force.

My suspicion is that this is actually a feudal society in which serfs are kept conveniently out of site while the matriarchal aristocracy spends its days attending extravagant pony parties at Celebration Castle.  This is further upheld by recent news reports that Wysteria named every pony in Ponyville a princess, further strengthening their control of the nations major institutions, presumably at the expense of the masses.  One can only hope that such bald abuse of power does not lead to future civilian unrest...or worse.

Dora's Forest:  The forest where Dora's parent let her play--unsupervised, with a monkey--seems to have some surprising advantages.  Thanks to a healthy investment in infrastructure, roads are well laid-out and easy to read on a map, although they have a reputation for poor signage at forks in the road or when approaching hazards such as Crocodile Lake or King Crab's sandcastle.  The economy is stable enough to permit specialization of it's multilingual workforce in anything from transportation to gardening.  Natural resources are plentiful, and the recent unveiling of a "robot house" has showcased it's adoption of new technologies.  But things are not always what they seem.

A more thorough analysis of Dora's forest quickly exposes the sort of instability which plagued Tarzan and led to the eventual economic decline of Bedrock once the Great Gazoo arrived.  The lack of an effective security force has resulted into a number of unique magical objects routinely falling into the wrong hands.  The resulting collateral damage--including the environmental cleanup of the mermaid kingdom and the re-population of the Snowy Forest--cost several million golden coins, severely curtailing the Coney Island ice cream budget.  The titular head of the government's opposition party has been accused of theft and corruption, yet remains a powerful voice in daily life.  And the proximity to an environmentally-protected rain forest is a bureaucratic headache for construction companies and pharmaceutical firms wishing to capitalize on the abundant resources within.

It remains to be seen whether Dora's Forest can overcome these obstacles, let alone maintain the high standard of living enjoyed by its citizens.  A government spokesman, reached at his office under a bridge, admitted that he needs help to "solve my riddle."

Disneyworld:  In a recent coup, a cabal of princesses took control of government offices and local media outlets and promptly instituted a jewelry- and fairy-based economy.  This experiment has many of the characteristics of Lenin's GOELRO plan, but as was the case in 1920 it is likely that a more totalitarian regime would be necessary to ensure it's execution.  As history has taught us, it is far more likely that political dissidents will either flee to the neighboring, more independent Pixar-dominated territories or find themselves in gulags. 

Maisy's Town:  Several economists have suggested that Maisy Mouse and her elbowless cohorts are on the cusp of the same sort of economic revolution experienced in South Korea during the 1990's.  However, I see tremendous flaws in such arguments.  Numerous examples of incompetence abound, including frequent job-swapping between unskilled workers (e.g. traffic problems caused by Charlie's misuse of a crane, medical malpractice caused when Maisy and Tallulah bumped into each other while treating Panda).  The complete absence of perspective or hard lines in any of their products or services gives them limited value, as does their over-dependence on primary colors.  Even Cyril, the cabinet minister who has shown to be talented in both plate-spinning and maraca-shaking, has shown a proclivity to scare himself in the mirror when wearing his lion mask.  Without a new regime, there is little chance that anything more than the occasional batch of cookies will ever be exported.

Of course, any analysis and prediction will be limited by the data available, and future developments may have an unexpected positive impact on the nations described above.  Few economists foresaw the rise of the Looney Tunes empire, driven largely by the willingness of its population to take any job available, from bull-fighter to opera conductor to astronaut, to propel forward their aggressive economic agenda. 

Such examples are more often the exception than the rule, however.  For every economic success story, there are five more which ended tragically.

Turn the Clock to Zero

It's a brand new day, and I'm dancing like the Ewoks at the end of Jedi.

So NOW what the hell are we supposed to talk about?

Is There Something I'm Supposed to Do Today?

Some event or something important I'm supposed to take care of...can't seem to remember....

Oh yeah!

I don't care who you vote for as long as you vote. 

Just don't be an idiot and vote for the wrong guy.  Again.

Also, don't forget that we have a robust democracy, and if you're not comfortable with the major party candidates there are numerous third-party candidates worth your consideration. 

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

The Rational Liberal's Guide to How You're Feeling This Election Year

If you're a thoughtful, rational liberal you can be excused for being a little emotional and confused right now.  You're used to having your candidate lose to people with different beliefs or questionable values.  Things that seem logical and obvious to you are dismissed by a huge chunk of the population in favor of simplistic talking points and funny math.  You're tired of sputtering about the electoral college and Bin Laden vs. Hussein, because doing so hasn't made you feel any better about the downwardly spiraling economy.  And no matter how many polls come out supporting your guy, you just can't shake the feeling that something is going to come up and ruin it all.

You want to be open-minded.  You want to listen to other side, hear their arguments, even be willing to question your own assumptions.  The last think you want to be is an asshole about your beliefs.  But deep down, you still really really really want to win. 

There's a struggle inside, between reason and emotion, ego and id, Odysseus and Achilles, and you never know which one has the upper hand at any given time.  Let me see if I can help explain it to you:

Rationally, you legitimately like Obama's policies.  You believe in progressive taxation and think he's serious when he talks about middle-class tax cuts.  You think the Iraq war was a distraction, but have no problem with Afghanistan and wouldn't mind doing a little cave exploration in Pakistan.  You know oil is finite and are willing to make sacrifices to achieve energy independence.  And frankly, you like a candidate that doesn't talk to you like you're a four year old.

Irrationally, you're angry at McCain because you used to like him a little.  You did, didn't you?  Admit it.  You probably thought about voting for him a few years back, and laughed at him on Jon Stewart and SNL.  Remember how there was talk of him being Kerry's VP and you were sorta OK with that?  Then you look at all the flip-flopping and selling out he's done to the conservative wing of the Republican party over the last few years and are mystified at what happened to his principles.  And you know in your heart that if it were anyone else Obama would be wiping the floor with them, but McCain is actually making this a contest.  You've changed, man...you've changed.

Rationally, you're horrified at Sarah Palin's lack of experience.  You watch her interview with Katie Couric and are gripped with a mixture of shock and schadenfreude.  You're up in arms that the Republican ticket would risk putting someone a heartbeat away from the presidency with such a feeble grasp of basic policy issues. It's not about her being a former beauty queen or "sharing a maritime border" with Russia, it's about common sense choices for the most important jobs in the country.  If Obama is labeled inexperienced, then how can they say Palin is better?

irrationally, you're pissed off that her selection threw the race into a media tizzy and completely drowned out Obama's speech.  You know in your gut that picking her was a desparate but genius move, exciting the Republican base and throwing a wink at all those Hillary supporters who are still a little bitter.  You didn't see it coming, you were surprised she gave such a good speech at the convention, and you're terrified that all those People magazine cover articles might be enough to swing the election.  It's a crazy plan, but it just....might....work....

Rationally, you hunger for a change in tone in politics, and you believe that Obama legitimately represents this.  You applaud when he stays above the fray, cheer when he confronts tough issues, and sweat profusely when he gives one of his lofty, visionary speeches.  He just feels like a guy you want running things, who isn't going to rush headlong into anything but clearly knows what's broken (which is a lot) and plans to fix it. 

Irrationally, you're so mortified at the last eight years, and so angry that you totally voted for the right guy both times and still lost, that you'd vote for Jeffrey Dahmer or Jar Jar Binks if he was the Democratic nominee.  Sure you want a candidate who won't stoop to bending the truth or smearing his opponent, but you don't mind Obama throwing a few elbows now and then if it gets the job done.  Besides you don't trust Rove's henchman a bit, and have no problem using whatever means necessary, including conventional weapons, to take them on. 

So tonight you'll be watching the vice-presidential debate looking for policy differences and reassurances that Biden's foreign policy experience is as thoughtful and erudite as you hope.  But deep down you're really hoping that Palin looks like a complete moron and praying that Biden brings the smackdown and not the crazy.

It's OK...you can have it both ways.  Just drink lots of milk and take some anti-inflammatory medicine in the meantime.

Missed the Party, but Not the Hangover

Just before my freshman year in college I panicked.  I had an engineering scholarship to Gonzaga, and started to freak out about the possibility of doing math for the rest of my life.  I went back and forth with my adviser and parents on the topic, and eventually called up the financial aid office and turned down the scholarship.  Rather than hinge my college financing on a career designing bridges or circuit boards, I'd take my chances on flexibility.

A couple years later I was once again worried about paying for college, while also being pressed to declare a major.  A lot of my friends were pursuing admirable careers in biology, theater, even philosophy, but the FUN people--the ones pumping the kegs in the basement corners, holding plastic cups over their heads while singing the lyrics to "Blister in the Sun"--were all migrating to the business school.  In addition to having the computer lab and the hottest chicks, it also had a bevy of scholarship options, and lacking anything resembling a plan it was easy enough to fall in with that crowd.  I signed up, picked finance as a major (because it had the fewest requirements), and braced myself for a career in...math.

Even at the time this didn't feel like a great idea.  I had about as much interest in the topic as I do in eyeball tattoos, and I didn't get a sense that the giants of finance were much like me.  The math was much easier, but used in ways that made little sense.  I kept thinking I'd make a ton of money then retire young and start a second career, but I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that it didn't really work that way.  But did I mention that the girls were cuter?

Sixteen monotonous years later I found myself in Queens throwing my tchochke's in a box and bidding a fond, long-overdue farewell to the whole experiment.  I had toiled in the salt mines of Corporate America, forced myself to master the painfully boring details of retirement planning and options pricing, and still didn't have two dimes to rub together.  My investment acumen was abysmal, having made my last investment in the stock market on 9/10/2001.  I'd been lucky enough to leverage my mid-90s goatee and access to porn internet-savvy into a faux career as an interactive marketing specialist, and shoved a digital crowbar into the heavy doors blocking the exit from the tedium of financial services. 

Within days the overwhelming minutiae of investments, credit markets, and Excel spreadsheets had flushed from my system like THC after an Evian bender.  My mind cleared, I could operate heavy machinery again, and colors were brighter and more vibrant.  As time passed, I wouldn't say I looked back fondly on my days in the financial world, but I could at least say I learned a lot.  The business section of the paper was still a colossal bore (at least compared to sports or politics) but at least I could track what was going on without feeling like an idiot.

And thank god.

I've spent the last two weeks watching the news like it was football Sunday, refreshing my browser every ten minutes to see who was next to be lost for the season to injury.  When was the last time the Wall Street Journal read like the screenplay to Cloverfield?  I have absolutely no sympathy whatsoever for the clowns who invented these bogus financial instruments nor the CEO's who profited from them.  But I feel bad for all those average people whose 401(k)s were once fat with company stock now worth less than a Starbucks gift card.  Most of my old peeps are weathering the storm, but with every new headline someone else with a family and a mortgage is waiting to hear if he or she will be the newest trainee at the local Burger King.

It makes me grateful that I dodged the bullet, finding something I enjoy while avoiding the long, ugly disentanglement from this pointless, avoidable mess.  And it makes me angry as hell that somehow we're still all going to pay for it. 

I think back to those early days in finance class, calculating net present values and internal rates or return and wondering, "How can this work?  Why is this even important?" (and then wondering who the girl next to me was dating). For a long time I just figured I didn't get it, that I wasn't wired for it, that the system worked via arcane forces beyond my comprehension (also, ironically, like dating).  I realize now that maybe I was onto something.  I needed something tangible that I could value and understand, something more than a cascade of ratios and data points that formed the idea of something valuable.  Otherwise, how do you know what you have? 

You might actually not have much at all.

I'm switching to First CityWide...

The Internet if Full of Crazy People Who Hate Each Other

I think it was Metrodad who first alerted me to I Saw Your Nanny.  For those of you not familiar with it, it's a site where people document bad nanny behavior they observe at local parks, playgrounds, etc., around New York City.  Since I have a generally low opinion of the majority of humanity, I initially considered this a useful service, exposing what I assumed to be rampant neglect and disinterest among the majority of care-givers in the world (ignoring, of course, my own occasional neglect and disinterest, which I'm certain is wholly justified during those moments I feel it). 

We don't have a nanny per se, so it's easy to sit back and judge the choices of others.  But Oodgie doesn't get much of a break taking care of Cheeky, so we do occasionally hire a nanny who works down the hall from us as a part-time babysitter during the day so she can focus on her knitting her business and maintain some shred of humanity get some personal time.  We've known her for a long time and observed her with kids, and felt confident that she takes good care of Cheeky.  That's not to say that she doesn't occasionally spend more time on her cell phone than necessary, or that she gives Cheeky the same love and attention that we would give her, but considering the alternatives we're pretty happy. 

A couple days ago she came back from the playground with Cheeky traumatized.  According to her, she was at the local playground right by the Promenade, and Cheeky wanted to see the boats on the river.  Cheeky, being tired, irrational, and three insisted on staying strapped into her stroller, so the babysitter pushed her down towards the river.  According to her, a woman, apparently perceiving a child trapped in a stroller against her will, began yelling at her and taking pictures with her cell phone.  A shouting match broke out, and the sitter, visibly upset, left as quickly as possible.  Cheeky was asleep within two minutes of the altercation, and the sitter came home quickly and told us about it.

My first thoughts, upon hearing this, were:

1. If someone--anyone--was taking pictures of my kid without my permission I'd yell at them, too.  And if they threatened me about it I'd break every bone in their face.
2. If she was taking pictures, they'd no doubt surface on I Saw Your Nanny.
3. What the fuck right does she have to intercede in our child's life unless there's imminent danger involved?  I may look down on your as a parent, but I've got no right to lecture you on how to raise them.  I leave that to the La Leche nazis.

Oodgie and I have been checking out the site to see if something would get posted.  Sure enough, it showed up yesterday.  As I expected, the story was one-sided and judgmental, although her description of the battle of words definitely gave us pause and made us worried about who our sitter is hanging out with.  We obviously don't know the real story and can't disregard everything this woman said, but we know 80% of the players better than her, and feel like our sitter's side jives better with the personalities involved than the paparazzi.

But what troubled me was the comments.  Holy Christ, people are small-minded and awful.  Attacks were initiated, accusations were made, and tiny little egos were bruised.  It quickly devolved into the sort of name-calling and brow-beating you normally see on that sphincter of a website, UrbanBaby (which I won't even dignify with a link because simply thinking about connecting it to my blog make my skin crawl).  Oodgie even went on to the site to make a comment, and was yelled at for being a bad parent and accused of being the nanny covering her tracks. 

WTF PEOPLE HAVE YOU NOTHING BETTER TO DO WITH YOUR BRIEF, COWARDLY TIME ON THIS PLANET THAN TO VERBALLY DEFECATE ON OTHER PEOPLE WHILE CONSTANTLY REFRESHING YOUR BROWSER IN A MASTURBATORY MANNER IN HOPES OF SOME VALIDATION FROM YOUR EQUALLY SELF-SATISFIED "FRIENDS?"

OK, got that off my chest.

Anyway, maybe I'm being unfair...I acknowledge that I don't know shit about anything besides ancient Greek history and 80s movies.  And the whole Rashoman angle of he said/she said to this tale definitely makes a guy wonder if he's being blind.  So at the risk of inviting unwanted scrutiny and bile upon this blog, let me ask you...what do you think?  Is my distaste for this behavior making me stupid?  Am I justified, or a dick?  Is there a salient point to this madness that my feeble mind cannot grasp?  And should we be more worried than we are?  Let me know!

Obama Said Knock You Out

*click refresh*

hmmm...nothin'

*click refresh*

huh.  Still nothin'

*click refresh*

Christ, when is there going to be some news on who won?

I've been watching the Democratic nomination contest it's like Sunday night during fantasy football season.  I got used to having a primary or caucus every freakin' day, and now I expect some delegate to switch or a juicy news story to pop every few seconds.  Throw a pass, Obama!  No not to Huckabee!  Nader intercepts!  GAH!

Mostly I just want it to end.  I need closure.

Doesn't it feel like everyone's been running for president since opening night of Genesis' Abacab tour?  Who did Nixon endorse?  Didn't I see a Clinton campaign rally at a local arcade?

As a life long Democrat, I was pretty psyched about the options this year.  Granted, anything would look good after John Kerry, but I'd have been happy with about any of them.  I was sorta pulling for Joe Biden at first, 'cause when is Delaware gonna have another chance to nominate a president?  But Clinton, Obama, Edwards, & Richardson all seemed just fine to me.  I figured Clinton was probably a lock, but it would be fun to watch the red shirts play along until she and her hubby dispatched them like a terrorists attacking Imaginationland.

Then along came Obama.

I've got to say, the guy has totally won me over.  It's not because of his policies or his speeches, although I like those, too.  It's because he refuses to engage in the posturing, pandering, and negativity that I've become acclimated to in presidential politics.  He just feels genuine, totally confident in what he believes in and how to get there.  Hillary is so studied, so obviously in control that the logic of what she says is overcome by how scripted and user-tested it is.  If people disagreed with Obama, I think he'd be frustrated but would passionately stick to his guns, hoping to convince them and find common ground.  If people disagreed with Hillary, I think she'd change her tune to appear like she's always agreed with them.  And that kinda bugs me.

As the "momentum" has built and the Clinton campaign obituaries started to surface I felt some relief, like this whole thing was almost blessedly over.  But it's NOT!  We have to wait until Tuesday, and then we might have to wait again if that's inconclusive.  It's like a never-ending game of Whac-a-Mole, and it's wearing me out.

So if you're reading this in Texas, Ohio, Vermont or Rhode Island, please IN THE NAME OF GOD pick a side and decisively END THIS THING so we can all move on with our lives..

Wait....the real election isn't until November? 

That's it.  We're moving to Canada.
 

Remembered

Six years is a long time.  Most of us don't remember our emotional response to 9/11.  As often as not, our recollections are twisted and warped to fit with everything that's happened since.  Some are encouraging us to look forward, while others insist on looking back.

I was reminded the other day of the gulf between those who lost loved ones and those, like me, who did not.  I was having a casual conversation with a friend about movies, and I recommended United 93, which is one of the most emotionally wrenching, utterly horrific, and masterfully executed films I've ever seen.  My friend, who is a pretty relaxed guy, became visibly agitated, and began arguing that no matter how good the film might be it did a disservice.  People who saw it, he argued, would think they'd gain some connection to the events of that day and to those who suffered the worst of fates.

I began to argue, but I stopped.

I suddenly remembered this same friend's face in a dark bar in the East Village in mid-September, 2001. He and I had been working from home for two weeks, as our offices--across the street from Ground Zero--were inaccessible, horribly damaged and covered in the ashen remains of the two towers and their occupants.  I remember asking how he'd been, and he told me he'd been better.  That day he'd been to his sixth funeral in two weeks.

Many of his close friends coming out of college had promising careers at Cantor Fitzgerald, a powerful bond-trading firm on the 101st through 105th floors of Tower One, eight floors above the impact.  He spent weekends with them, knew their spouses, and had played with their kids.  He's spent two weeks with those people, coming to terms with the fact that they would never come home and sweep them into their arms again.

I watched the towers falls from the highway north of Ground Zero.  I hugged a woman who I haven't seen since as we watched the cloud rise over the site.  I spent the day frantically trying to reach friends, slowly but surely hearing from each of them that they were OK. 

But what I went through was nothing.

And as my friend pressed his point about the movie, I fell into silence.  True-life tragedy as entertainment, regardless of how it may inspire or move us, is not victimless.  The talking heads on TV or Capitol Hill may summon the date like some powerful ancient spirit to conjure fear and anger.  We can ask our friends, "Where were you?" or "Do you remember life before that?"  We can even pause, light a candle, and say a prayer.  But afterwards we will move on.  We will look forward.  We will rebuild.

But there are some that cannot.  Who will never be the same.  Who will always feel a pain and loss deeper than the rest of us can imagine.

It's with them that our thoughts should be today.

The Best Argument for Eliminating Term Limits

Last night Oodgie and I went to an event hosted by the American Jewish World Service.  It's an organization that recognizes that lots of Jews have money it's a cultural imperative of the Jewish faith to promote justice in the world.  I'm told that the Jewish community has suffered injustice from time to time over the last 4000 years, so they know a thing or two about the subject.

The venue was stunning, and Oodgie and I noshed on appetizers while trying to look remotely like we belonged with the rest of the attendees (we were guests of the ECGs).  Everyone there was talking about Darfur and Laos, while I was constantly reminded of how little I even thought about the 3 billion people in the world who live on less than $2/day.  Ann Curry was there, fighting against her nature to exude warmth, as was Paul Wolfowitz's doppleganger.

But the star of the show, without question, was Bill Clinton.

I challenge you to find a bigger rock star on the planet than our former president.  You could tell where he was in the building by the flashbulbs and the adoring masses.  People love him.  One of the speakers, a South African woman who runs an AIDS hospital, was visibly twitterpated in his presence.  Say what you will about his politics and personal life, but wherever he goes the man flat-out owns the room.

I'm an unapologetic Clinton fan (Bill, not Hillary...I find carpetbaggers distasteful) and would have gladly voted for him a third time if our Constitution allowed it*.  He gave an hour-long speech that seamlessly meshed global statistics of population growth and poverty, the New York State Fair, Warren Buffet, charity and faith, and the heroic story of a tsunami victim who lost nine children--all without notes.  He's freakishly smart, incredibly focused and energetic, and utterly dedicated to using his celebrity to make the world a better place for underprivileged of the world...a group he's quick to note vastly outnumber us.

I was really hoping to get a picture with him to splash up here and make y'all jealous, but between the sea of people crowding the sushi table and the strategically deployed Secret Service agents I had no chance.  In the end, sharing a room with him was good enough for me.

* It's ironic to me that the very law that prevented Clinton from being president on 9/11 is the same one that's sparing us the catastrophic possibility of another two years of President Douchebag.  I can't believe we need laws to prevent ourselves from doing something stupid...isn't that what the brain is for?