I support a military draft, both men and women.  I drew my number in 1973 during the Vietnam War.  My number was high and then the draft ended.  It needs to be reinstated.  Luke was drafted and he served.  The war in Iraq will never end until all families are treated equally and thus serve equally.  Then the draftees’ parents will be inspired to help the rest of us who are trying to stop the war in Iraq along with future unnecessary wars.  The Volunteers have served bravely.  And also long enough.  Iraq can’t be a war that attracts only volunteers because Blackwater “guards”, being paid roughly $1000.00/day to protect the FBI which is getting ready to investigate them in Iraq, will soon be marching up and down our streets. 

Iraq has to be a war for all of the people all of the time. 

I’ve been listening to Joni Mitchell’s new CD “Shine” for two days now. 

If the citizens of this country blindly accept the depletion of our civil rights then it will be easier for the children and the grandchildren to accept the end of them entirely.  And then what?   

The Constitution and The Declaration of Independence are only 61 pages long in my small hardback.  So go buy 10 copies at B&N or AMAZON using the links on this page, type in “The Constitution” next to books, and buy 10 copies, one for yourself, 9 to give away. 

Make it happen.  Spread the word.  Then throw in the Federalist Papers and the Bill of Rights a week later.  You won’t believe how good you’ll feel.   

Onward and Upward, folks, before it’s too damn late. 

I had an appointment this morning in LA.  So I left Palm Springs promptly at 8:00 a.m. for my 11:30 a.m. breakfast meeting.  I arrived at 11:40 a.m.  The 10 was clogged like shit in a stopped up commode.  The fact that it takes 3 1/2 hours to drive 123 miles is only half the problem.  The other half is that my Jag died driving back from LA this afternoon.  I was zooming along, listening to Randi Rhodes on the radio, the ice cold AC blowing on my feet and face when suddenly my car started to sputter.  I was pressing the accelerator but no gas was getting to the engine.  Going 10 mph on a freeway where the average speed around me was 80 mph and crawling my Jag across 4 lanes of traffic was a feat I accomplished and I’m alive to finish the story.  I reached under the seat for my shoes, (I drive barefooted), and called AAA.  I was told to immediately press my membership number into my cell phone.  First of all, the AAA card is in my wallet in my bag on the floor.  Second of all, I’m sitting in 110 degree heat on the side of the 60.  Third and final, I couldn’t find my reading glasses.  So, not wanting to exit the car and get crushed, realizing it would be after rush hour before my road kill splatter was found, I turned the key, the Jag started, and I pressed on the gas, my goal being the exit I could see ahead of me.  I made it to the top of the exit.  Then the sputtering started again.  I drifted down the exit ramp, off the 60, onto some very busy road with nothing around but buildings being built.  I coasted to what could have been called the side of the road if there was a side to the road but there wasn’t so I pulled over next to a curb and called AAA, again.  This time I had my reading glasses on, my AAA card in my hand, and I was off the freeway.  AAA put me in touch with their local contracted tow company and I pondered and then decided that no way was I not sleeping in my bed tonight.  I cut a deal with the tow truck owner to haul my Jag on top of a flatbed and take me to Palm Springs with my car, first dropping off the car at my Jag place and then hauling my ass home.  All for 300 bucks.  It was over 56 miles to my gate.  At 9 dollars a mile, I saved some money on that deal and got home besides.  I’d pay almost anything to sleep in my own bed. 

The blanket of fear that Bush, his superiors and the media have spread over the country is like a virus.  You don’t know how immobolized you are until it’s too late.  The culture is cautious.  A brave night on the town is a starlet with no panties, flashing the camera.  That’s as courageous as the culture gets.  Kowtowing is in vogue.  It makes me sick.  And angry…  March to the drum.  Hunker down.  Shiver and shake.  Is that my shadow?  Here, take this civil right away from me, I’m freaked… 

Come on, rattle some ass, sing loud and make noise.  Spin and turn.  Leap and kick.  Embrace a neighbor.  Wink at a stranger.  The culture is us.  We are in charge.  The people.  US.        

I suggest to President Bush that if he wants to “replenish” his coffers that he suit up and go to Iraq and join the war he started.  The Army would welcome him.

I feel sorry for Senator Craig (R) from Idaho more than anything else.  He’s been living with another man inside him.  (Pun is not intended.  It’s very difficult to write about this story and not stumble on a pun.)  The man inside Craig is attracted to men.  At least physically, that much we know.  Who’s to say where his emotions lay…  It’s the fact that he’s such a fervent hypocrite that makes me angry.  The Right Wing agenda of using gay men and women as political fodder was embraced by Craig.  How pathetic is that? 

It’s getting to the point where I suspect all “true believers”.  I don’t have any of them in my daily life, they mostly show up in the bodies of politicians (R).  They have an agenda.  A lifestyle.  They want to convert your children.  Beware. 

Your boss said your good name was ”dragged through the mud for political reasons” — wow.  What a lie.  You dragged our country through the mud for political reasons.  This is your own making, Mr.  If you were honorable you would address the issue.  But like everyone else in the subministration in which you serve, you will slither off and make money and call it a day.  Good riddance. 

Late this afternoon a storm blew through the Coachella Valley.  Lightning, thunder, shiny bullets of rain.  There were white caps in my swimming pool.  During the 2 minute rainstorm,  I dashed out and stood in the assault of water.  The molecules in my nervous system rearranged.  I was weightless, fleet of foot, after a long week of being hunkered down, boots on the ground. 

(You will need to reverse this post with the last post if you want to read the REVERSE posts in order.)

My foot was not broken. Luke checked it out at the garage where my car was towed. If you could see my foot right now, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was run over by my car. I’ve heard about cars running over people’s feet and I always imagined the foot bones being crushed into miniature pieces. I don’t have a Hummer, it’s a Jag, but still I have no explanation mathematically why my foot isn’t crushed. I’m very happy it is not, let me make that clear. But still, I wonder. If anyone has any ideas about why my foot was not crushed under the weight of my car, please contact me through this site. All I have to do is look at a sharp edge and I bruise… but yet, well you know the story.

John, the hippie mechanic who is working on my gears, will be finished with my car in the morning then I will drive back to the desert just in time for a long weekend of working on my new novel.