Monday, August 29, 2005
I understand that Cindy Sheehan is grieving. I lost a sister this summer under very nasty circumstances, and I can, to a degree, understand her pain. But I also understand this: that I would never, ever, let my grief and my loss be exploited for a cause by anyone else, much less by myself. She's sad that her son died? That's all right. I'm fine with that. To tell the truth, I'm pretty sad too. But pulling out of Iraq now is not the way to honor him or his fallen comrades. You want to honor them? Then finish the job. The greatest disservice we could do to the memories of the American dead would be to leave Iraq half-stabilized, half-finished and full of half-baked ideas. If we started this war--which I won't argue that we didn't--then we need to stick around until we end it. We lost Vietnam because people like Cindy Sheehan wouldn't let us win. Don't let that happen this time. Don't do that to Casey.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
This. Woman. Has. No. Shame. Here's the money quote:
Cindy Sheehan kneels before a cross with her son's name on it, touches his picture, wipes her tears. It's an outpouring of emotion that is part of a scheduled news event organized daily for the television, radio and print reporters who crowd in to capture a mother's grief.
Okay. This is so deeply, deeply disturbing that I can't even begin to fathom what's going on inside her head. What kind of mother exploits the death of her son to push her political agenda? And before you start talking about the mothers who hold up pictures of their disappeared sons in South/Central America, let me remind you that in those cases, they're dealing with totalitarian governments. Cindy Sheehan wants to meet with the leader of the free world just so she can spit in his face and call him a liar. I don't have so much of a problem with that; I'm sure there are thousands of people here and around the world who want to do the same thing. But using her son's death as an excuse to do it? That's just sick.
Here's something a little farther down the article:
Gold Star mother Karen Meredith came here from Mountain View. Her son Ken Ballard died last year.Things "don't feel right"? Ma'am, if you'll pardon the invective, I think your feeler needs a tune-up. Of course things don't feel right! According to the article, "Organizers are set up in a house trailer. Their meetings [are] closed to reporters." Why don't they want the reporters in there? Could it be that they're actually planning out this whole shebang, right down to the last teardrop?
Karen Meredith, Gold Star mother: "Sometimes things don't feel quite right to me. They don't feel wrong, but maybe that's how they do it in the marketing business."
ABC7's Mark Matthews: "You feel you're part of a marketing business?"
Karen Meredith: "Possibly. Yeah I think so."
You know, this whole scenario really reminds me of something I saw in the news about a year and a half ago, right in the thick of the controversy about Israel's West Bank barrier. It was a photo, taken from a rooftop, of a middle-aged Palestinian woman weeping next to the cement wall. The grafitti behind her was in both Arabic and English. In front of her, jockeying for position, were at least half a dozen news photographers vying for the best angle on her rather convenient misery. Stick Cindy Sheehan in that photo, and I'll be you wouldn't notice any difference.
Friday, August 26, 2005
I know I mentioned in an earlier post that I got an apartment this year; it's a long and complicated story and I don't want to go into it. Suffice it to say, I'm having a grand old time. I have two roommates, a full bathroom and a nice kitchenette-thingy. It's pretty sweet. It's also in my church.
Which is good; I mean, what's safer than a church? And I've got all sorts of resources right at my fingertips that I didn't have in the dorms; simple things like "privacy" and "peace and quiet" are much, much easier to come by. There's the occasional praise band practice downstairs, but I'm usually gone when they're here. Of course I have to attend services--it's even in my lease--but that's not such a big deal. The apartment even comes with critter buddies. We have bats in our belfry.
Yes, I made this entire post for the sake of that one joke. I'm not sorry.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
This sort of article is precisely why I don't like the state of the mainstream media (hearafter known as the MSM) today. Observe. And get the camera, Mom, it's my first real Fisking!
Let's start with the headline: "Four Palestinians, Jew Killed In Israel." Okay, you say, that's not so bad--and you're right, it's not. But once we begin the actual article:
An Israeli military raid on a West Bank refugee camp left four militants dead Wednesday and an Orthodox Jewish man was stabbed to death in Jerusalem — an eruption of violence a day after Israel completed its evacuation of 25 settlements.Note the change from active to passive voice: "An Israeli raid . . . left four militants dead" vs. "an Orthodox Jewish man was stabbed to death." There's no mention of who did the stabbing. It just . . . happened. Like rain or something. It just happens. The Palestinians, on the other hand, were killed by an obvious actor: the Israelis.
On to my next point. In the second paragraph, the Palestinians are referred to as "militants," which isn't really to surprising, but it's one of my pet peeves so I thought I would point it out. The third and fourth paragraphs tell us that two of the men were "top local leadesr" of Islamic Jihad and responsible for two recent suicide bombings. I don't know about you, but I think the word "terrorist" is a better descriptor. If you know one better, e-mail it to me. Difficulty: it has to be printable.
Fifth paragraph: we finally hear about the stabbing victim. Turns out there were two of them, both ultra-Orthodox Jews, and that one survived. The article does mention that their assailant was a Palestinian, but here's the problem: while all four Palestinian casualties are mentioned in the headline, even though none of them died, only one Jew (not Israeli--he was a seminary student from Britain) is mentioned. We don't even find out that there were two victims until halfway through the article. Also, the reporter devotes three paragraphs (four if you count the very start of the story) to the terrorists, but only two (and it's a scant two) to the Jews. The article then changes the subject and starts talking about how the Israeli government is seizing Palestinian land in the West Bank for more construction on the barrier wall. The writer spends the rest of the article--fifteen paragraphs--on this topic, more than enough to warrant its own headline. Why they didn't split this story into two separate articles is beyond me--and I'm a copy editor.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
This whole blog, and in fact my whole life, have changed since I last posted. I don't want to talk about it right now, but at the same time I have to get something out so that I can say I did something about it.
I'm not the same person I was in March. Too many things have happened, too many horrible, painful, enlightening, freeing things for me to sum them up in one blog post. For one thing, my sister has gone off her nut. I don't mean that she's hugging herself with the aid of a white jacket; quite the contrary, she's far too docile and calm for that. Let me explain it in the only way I know how: sometimes the people with the greatest appearance of goodness are the people least to be trusted. I have to conciously restrain myself from breaking into my sister's e-mail account because I don't trust her any farther than I can throw my dad's recliner. She met up with this guy last spring and he sucked her into his sphere of influence and now my family has moments when we look at each other in wonder and say "She acted almost normal today."
I don't really know where I want to take this blog; I suppose I should have some sort of mission statement, but I don't. Oh well. The fact is, I'm just a college student with a talent for words and not enought time on her hands (read: infrequent updates). I have a wacked-out sister and a sane sister, I have a novel in progress and a schedule that won't cooperate, and I have an apartment for the first time in my life. Okay, so it's in my church and I share it with two other girls, but it's still a step up from the dorm life. I bought a laptop this summer and I still haven't sent in the rebates (Mom, don't panic. I'm doing it tomorrow (meaning Friday)). I clean up my messes. I'm a diehard Republican because I support personal responsibility and national intestinal fortitude. I have two friends in Iraq (actually, one just came home), my cousin just got his commision in May and my sane sister wants to go into the Navy. I don't know how to play the accordian. I lather and rinse, but do not repeat. I cook like a madwoman. I am adorable (everyone says so). I look good in most hats. It's ten o'clock and I don't know where my children are because they haven't been born yet. I'm trying to individuate and doing a sloppy job of it. I need to catch up on my correspondence. I have naturally curly hair.
I really have no idea where most of that post came from. I think mostly I just needed to vent. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to read my Bible and go to bed.
My apartment is up a flight of stairs, and actually has stairs in it. I can't win.