It IS possible in France to "miss" your flight an hour before the plane takes off.

Now take a moment to ponder that so you never forget.

Okay, now that we've given this fact its due respect, let us proceed...

I will also acknowledge that my somewhat formal writing tone is not only to be attributed to my being under duress... er, I mean overhwhelmed with enthusiasm, but also to the fact that I am having the pleasure of learning the French keyboard and I cannot locate the apostraphe.  I am also avoiding the letters M and W, not entirely successfully.

But let us proceed.

"I've been actually able to see my mom and tell her how much I love her and how much I miss her."

Jada Pointer's tummy ache was cured with a smile.

It was the perfect smile: her mom's. The 9-year-old from Perris hadn't seen that comforting smile in more than a year.

Nine-year-old Albert Gonzalez held onto his mother's long hair like it was his lifeline. The boy from San Bernardino twisted it, tasted it, tangled it through his fingers and plucked a strand or two to save for later.

"I need it, Mommy," he said, gripping a strand in his hand. "I need it to take home."

These are the stories of the kids who take the annual Mother's Day bus ride to visit their moms in California's prisons.

Brought across by afew

"The major difficulty in achieving home ownership in the past was a mortgage system that had become archaic, far too expensive, and actually dangerous -- for it encouraged high prices, hidden charges, and overbuying."

"...the old mortgage system has often been a hindrance rather than a help in the achievement of home ownership."

"Today, and in the future, those desirous of owning a home will wisely demand [a mortgage] free from hidden charges, lump-sum maturities, and the whole package of old system trials and tribulations."

...of 1935.

Yes, this was the United States Federal Government's response during the Great Depression to some of the depredations of the Gilded Age.  I guess that during those Roaring 20s, people with money, let's just say bankers for instance, had gotten a bit, well, greedy.  

I recently came across this handy booklet in which the government describes exactly how to handle and respond to a mortgage crisis.

Promoted by DoDo

with image edit by afew

Only.

I'd like to tell you that this is a freak occurrence.  That perhaps there's some hidden, overwhelming catastrophe in my friend's mouth or that the dentist is a rip-off artist, but no.  

Welcome to The American Way where we routinely pay thousands just to make our teeth stop aching.  In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if this wasn't a hidden factor in the mortgage meltdown, with people refinancing just to get this or that fucking tooth fixed so they could think straight for a minute.  

I know I've had toothaches I'd trade my first born to fix, although so far it hasn't come to that...

Promoted by Migeru

I was a brother-in-arms so to speak, all hail-fellow well-met and you-go-girl or something appropriately genderless which I can't quite think of at the moment.  My point being I was one of you then, and not part of that dark, shadowy entity fearfully referred to as The Gnomes.

I know you were all counting on me to open doors and cast some sunlight into the corners of the smoke-filled back rooms, acting as a conduit and funneling out  vital information and the occasional bit of gossip.  In fact, I promised as much.

And then... nothing.  I was barely writing, becoming a mere shadow of my former blog self.  Then barely commenting, until my silence was almost complete and I became a virtual ghost in the machine, existing only in instant message form and practically abandoning the blog altogether.

I feel it's long past time to talk.  That an explanation is in order.  It is time to reveal the secrets behind my long absence -- the trials and tribulations, the personal suffering and trauma, the tears and bloodshed.

And the most shocking detail of all, -- that I, personally, have now been threatened by our so-called Dear Leader, Jerome a Paris.  In my darkest hour, no less...

I don't want to be misleading and keep you in suspense, as though there'll be an actual story here, so I'll say upfront that my friend's crisis was gotten through with a minimum of fuss and that things are fine now.  I just wanted to explain why I suddenly found myself at a cattle ranch and show you some pictures.

These were all the ingredients of a disaster in the making.

My first thoughts were along the lines of "WTF?!?  Isn't there supposed to be some sort of separation of church and state thingy in this country? (my impromptu outraged thoughts aren't excessively articulate)...  Surely, voting in a church is the THE one line that should never be crossed.  Is this a Bush thing?  When did it start?"

But I told myself I was being prejudiced and irrational in my trepidation about the new polling place.  That the words "Assembly of God" were coloring my outlook.  That I was just suffering from a knee-jerk church aversion reaction.  Think of it as just another public gathering spot, I told myself.

Little did I dream that the reality was going to be so much worse than I imagined.

It got me to thinking -- I know Britain has school uniforms, but what's the status in other European countries?  In countries with uniforms, are there efforts to get rid of them?  I've heard Germany doesn't have them.  Is anyone calling for them?  If you do have these arguments, are the pros and cons different from country to country, or are the reasons all similar?

Cancer is one of these things.  They tell you to face it head on, but they're wrong, it's impossible.  You've got to deal with it in pieces.  Meet it obliquely.  Think of it in bits.  Feel it in moments.  

Let your guard down, take too much in and you're caught overwhelmed, catching your breath, collapsing into a seat, buckling at the knees, not knowing what to do next.  

Cancer is simply too big.

Paey's crime was being in pain and taking prescription medicine.  He had no illegal drugs.  He never sold any drugs.  There was no real evidence of any fraud or wrongdoing, yet his conviction was perfectly legal in the state of Florida.  And perfectly unjust.

Paey's appeals are done and his last chance of getting out of prison is if he's granted clemency by Governor Charlie Crist.  His clemency petition was recommended by the Florida Parole Commission and the governor has made a statement that indicates he may be sympathetic.  Paey's wife and lawyer are asking for public support.

There's a good chance that our support could make a difference to correct this gross injustice.  Not only would it help Richard Paey, but it gives us a chance to express our concerns about mandatory minimums and the drug war.

Please continue over the jump for the contact information and details about the case...

Edith Isabel Rodriguez was a 43-year-old mother and grandmother.  She died May 9 of a perforated bowel at the emergency room of King-Harbor Hospital in Los Angeles.  But let's face it -- people die all the time, and her medical condition, while serious, is not uncommon.  What's more unusual in this case is the seeming callous disregard with which the hospital treated her.  Or didn't treat her.  

Desperate, her boyfriend called 911 from the pay phone outside the ER.  Eight minutes later, another patient called 911 begging for someone, anyone, to help Edith Rodriguez.  Finally her boyfriend found someone interested in Edith -- the police.  They arrested the dying woman on a warrant, assuring her boyfriend they'd give her medical treatment.

There's no doubt Edith Rodriguez died of her condition as she was being wheeled from the ER to the police car, but she did not have to die.  Edith Rodriguez was killed by something else.

I know this feeling like I know my own face.  I've had it more times than I can count -- it's bronchitis on its way and I get it most times I get sick, if I'm not really careful.  

So I'm sitting up typing, trying to distract myself when all I want is to be laying down.  But I shouldn't lie down, so I thought I'd tell you about when I had tuberculosis, which is why I'm worried right now.  Which is why I get bronchitis at the drop of a hat.  Which is why I hate TB guy.

From the diaries - afew

Whatever you called it, the news had lots of pictures and video of smoke pouring out of the prison, but there's more to the story.  The riot was evidently precipitated by an influx of inmates involuntarily transferred from Arizona.  Arizona says this was "necessary" due to overcrowding, yet was recently negotiating with California to take their overflow of inmates.  

Is Arizona lying or is something else going on?

More news from my hometown in the richest nation on earth.

LOS ANGELES - The early morning light reveals a no loitering sign and a half-dozen people sleeping beneath it in tents on the Skid Row sidewalk.

A few bony men scatter as a police cruiser rolls up. But Glenda Caldwell isn't stirring from beneath her filthy blankets, sprawled beside a shopping cart filled with crumpled cans and paper.

"Where do you want me to pack up and go? To hell?"

Today we honor the dead, particularly those who have died in war.  We are now, and have been for too many years, in a time of war.  As casualties mount on all sides, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep perspective and not become overwhelmed -- one hundred;  one thousand;  one hundred thousand dead -- my mind cannot or will not understand these numbers.  

I can only comprehend one.

I have stepped into this power vacuum with poemless and Alexandra in WMass at my side.  Together we shall provide firm yet benevolent leadership.  

promoted by a dissident gnome...

And it hasn't always been easy.  I know.  We were all so happy back during the Opening Ceremonies.  We were younger then.  And naive.  No one could have predicted the dark days that followed.  

I don't think anyone anticipated me turning all philosophical, pondering the deeper meaning of the games and the very nature of competition.  Not to mention the unpleasant turn my last thread took with it's vaguely threatening tone.

But you know what?  I never promised you people a rose garden.  The ONLY promise I made was that I'd bring you along for the ride, and that MAYBE I'd tell you who won and who lost, who "didn't ooze Latin" and who "reeked of seduction," who plunged to abject failure and who ascended to glorious victory.  

Oh, and I may have... not promised exactly, but stated rather definitely that there'd be no grievous bodily injury.  But what is the exact definition of "grievous" anyway?  I can't be right all the time.  I'm the first to admit I'm not perfect.

So follow me over the jump or don't.  It's your choice...

I know you're all counting on me for your up-to-the-minute Olympic coverage, but let's forget about medals and all that for a minute.  Is it the winning that counts?  or the trying?

Oh, sure.  I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that I'm getting all philosophical NOW.  Now that the United States Olympic team is sucking big time.  But, no.  I assure you that is not it.  Really.  

I mean, what are medals anyway?  Especially ones with HOLES in the middle?  Who needs them?  Because we all know there are NO LOSERS at the Olympics, right?  It's really all about the people.  The humanity, if you will.  

So follow me after the jump as I ponder the larger questions:  how drunk is our ski team?  can a rocket powered car do better?  did the men's figure skaters really crumble under the pressure of my scrutiny?  and why the hell IS there a hole in the medals anyway?

In case anybody else is somehow lured into this madness and decides to watch any of the dance over the next two days, I feel I owe you some sort of explanation.  This is my favorite of the figure skating disciplines and it's almost certain I will post about it on Tuesday, but you can't just dive into this sort of thing without some context.