And Condi Plays On While the Middle East Burns

How can this souless woman with the dead black eyes possibly compare the atrocities being carried out in the middle east to the pangs of childbirth. She, who never bore children, hasn't a clue. All the degrees in her world haven't taught her that birth brings life while war brings only death. Condi plays on while the world burns down around her ears. Is she not the perfect poster child for this administration?

'Atta Boy, John

Heavy Metal Liars

With all the disaster that Mother Nature has dealt us over the past few months, it’s easy to ignore other threats to public health and the environment that involve government wrong-doing. One such issue is on the U.S. Senate calendar right now. The issue is toxic mercury pollution, which—for legal reasons aimed at protecting big polluters—the Bush administration pretends is not toxic. It'll eat your wedding ring and make your baby retarded, but noooooooooooooooo, it's not toxic. Give me a freaking break!

The mercury issue is actually simple: mercury is a powerful poison. It harms babies' brains, causing everything from reduced IQ to mental retardation. Government scientists estimate that 630,000 infants are born each year exposed to unhealthful mercury levels from their mothers’ bodies.

Mercury also poses a threat to adults. As the group Physicians for Social Responsibility notes, adults exposed to mercury may experience “effects such as personality changes, tremors, vision problems, poor muscle coordination, and memory loss.”

Most of the mercury gets into our systems when we eat contaminated fish. Literally 44 states have issued advisories warning against eating fish tainted with mercury. Last year, the EPA and FDA warned that women of childbearing age and children should eat no more than two meals per week of canned light tuna and should avoid certain fish altogether.

Of course, the poison didn’t get into the fish by magic; coal-burning electric power plants are the largest source of U.S. mercury emissions, responsible for more than 40 percent of the total. Mercury spews out the smokestacks, lands in the water and then moves up the aquatic food chain.

That’s why the Clinton administration—after cleaning up other big mercury sources such as medical and municipal incinerators—set in motion a plan to require all coal-burning power plants to control mercury pollution by 2008.

But the power industry lobby went to work, led by Tom Kuhn, head of the Edison Electric Institute and (oh, what a SURPRISE!) a former college classmate of President Bush (as well as a Bush fundraiser). Kuhn’s connections and cash worked.

In March, EPA announced it was rescinding the Clinton plan, and substituting an industry-supplied alternative. That's right, folks, the inmates want to run the asylum! The polluter plan permits power companies to buy the right to spew out mercury from other companies—a feature that could lead to toxic “hot spots” in areas near power plants that buy such pollution “credits.”

The Bush plan, written by a former power company lobbyist, also would give power companies up to 20 more years to clean up compared to the Clinton approach. As the Congressional Research Service reported in April, the net effect of the rule appears to “postpone until the 2020s direct regulation of mercury.”

The Bush administration advanced two phony arguments to support its industry-friendly approach: 1) that mercury isn’t really toxic; and 2) there’s no “commercially available” technology available to clean it up.

The first argument, of course, is sheer nonsense. Organizations ranging from the National Academy of Sciences to the American Medical Association describe mercury as “toxic.” What the Bush administration really has done is legal bullshit-- by law, a source of toxic pollution must be cleaned up quickly. EPA has falsely labeled mercury as non-toxic simply to justify weaker and slower cleanup.

The second argument is also ridiculous. In many cases, most of the mercury can be cleaned up simply by using long-established technologies such as scrubbers. And last month, a Colorado company eliminated the last fragments of the Bush argument by announcing it had received a commercial contract to provide newer technology to clean up mercury from a power plant in the Midwest obligated to meet a state standard.

As the Senate takes up Dubyah's most recent sell out to corporate buddies, its members really only need to remember one thing: Mercury is indeed toxic. Lying to the public doesn’t make it any less so.

Heaven Can Wait

By Art Buchwald
Tuesday, May 23, 2006;

Even though I'm in a hospice, I'm not going to Heaven immediately. My doctor said I could stop over in Martha's Vineyard on the way.

For those who have been wondering what this is all about, it has to do with the fact that my kidneys weren't working and I didn't want to take dialysis, which is a machine you are attached to three times a week for five hours.

In February I was warned that if I didn't take dialysis I wouldn't survive more than two or three weeks. Since I didn't want dialysis, I decided to move into a hospice and go quietly into the night.

For reasons that even the doctors can't explain, my kidneys kept working, and what started out as a three-week deathwatch has turned into nearly four months.

When word got out that I was in a hospice, I became a celebrity. I was on all the TV shows and the notice of my intentions was in all the papers, including The Washington Post and the New York Times, which made it valid.

The more publicity I got, the more attention my kidneys got, and instead of going quietly into the night, I was holding news conferences every day.
Then the mail poured in. People were pleased that I had made my own choice. The letters and e-mails were in the thousands.

At the same time, friends came to the hospice to say goodbye. Everybody felt they should make the pilgrimage. They came with flowers, cheesecake and corned beef sandwiches.

I sat in the salon of the hospice and, pretty soon, when people came to see me, it was as if they were visiting Lourdes. They came to be blessed and cured.
Since I was expected to die soon, the French ambassador gave me the literary equivalent of the Legion of Honor. Because of the publicity I've gotten, the National Hospice Association made me man of the year. I never realized dying was so much fun.

Then a few weeks ago, my doctor said I had to change course. He advised me to go to Martha's Vineyard.

Things I didn't care about because I was going to die, I now had to care about. This included shaving in the morning, buying a new cellphone that works, rewriting my living will and scrapping all the plans for my funeral. I also had to start worrying about Bush again.

Alas, the people who come to visit me now look at me with great suspicion. They want to know if the whole thing was a scam. They can't believe, after I said goodbye, I'm going to Martha's Vineyard instead of Paradise.

I called up the TV stations and the newspapers and asked them if they would make a correction and retract the original story. They said they never correct stories about people who claimed they were dying and didn't.

This is where I am now. I'm writing a book called, "Standby in Heaven: The Man Who Wouldn't Die."

I'm still seeing friends, but instead of saying farewell we discuss the Redskins.

So, dear reader, I hope you don't feel you were duped. The moral of this column is: Never trust your kidneys.

2006Tribune Media Services
© 2006 The Washington Post Company

The State of the Booby Address

One year ago today I was diagnosed with stage IV metastatic breast cancer. It was the beginning of an amazing year for me. Believe me, when somebody tells you that average survival is 2 years, you start looking at life differently. As I've said before, cancer is a life changing event, but it's only a life ending event when you give up.

How am I? I am the same as I was a year ago--just a year older. Although the chemo and hormone therapy have not cured my cancer, it may have prevented it from moving into other organs. A PET scan has showed less density which indicates that the metabolism in the cancer cells has slowed. A CT scan last month shows that it's static--no movement. So it's a half full/ half empty deal---I choose half full. I'm no worse than I was a year ago, and with cancer, that's a very good thing, Martha.

Have you ever thought about the words to the 23rd Psalm? "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures..." This took on a whole new meaning for me last June. This illness forced me to slow down, look around and think about my life. Everyday is a gift--period. The worst day imaginable at work is a gift. The hanging over the commode calling Ralph day is a gift. And the glorious days with family and friends are a huge gift.

You guys have been the wind beneath my wings this last year. Not a week has passed that one of you didn't call, send a crazy card or include me on an inspiring e-mail. Thank you so much! It's meant the world to me. And Judy, I'd never have believed that a trip to MD Anderson could be so much fun. Thanks for being my partner in crime on that adventure. By the way, Judy, radiology almost has the tire tracks cleaned off of my chest films.

On a lighter note: It's the little things that have changed in my life that crack me up. As you ladies know, most of us have boobage of unequal sizes--one's usually larger. After my lumpectomy, the larger boob became the smaller boob, causing me much confusion. I considered purchasing a Global Positioning System because I no longer could get my bearings. With the larger boob and smaller boob exchanging identities, everything believed to be constant in the universe was called into question. Even worse, my bras quit fitting.

Not being one who enjoys trying on lingerie, I have been known to grab a bra, and mutter ,"That looks about right," and scurry away from LingerieR Us. Unfortunately, I often got home with something that smashed my boobs up just under my chin and made me look like a pole dancer. At 22 I might have endured that, but now....not so much.

Someone at work suggested to me, as I tugged at my underpinnings hoping for a whiff of fresh air, that I needed a bra fitter. A bra fitter? People actually do that for a living? Wonder what her degree plan looked like... So off to Dillard's I go in search of said bra fitter.

Let me tell you, this lady looked like my childhood memory of the librarian at the Abilene Public Library, smelled like mothballs, and had this breathing condition that reminded me of Darth Vader. And I'm supposed to surrender my boobage to be measured by the bright yellow tape measure draped around her neck? Well, measure she did. Not one measurement, but about 3 different areas she assaulted with her trusty tape, and then it was off to find me the perfect bra.

After a period of time just shorter than my labor with Kara, she returned brandishing this bra that was made out of canvas and two tiny forklifts. I tried it and although it did lift and separate, it also lowered my IQ 10 points and caused discomfort from the neck down. Not to be discouraged, off she went to look again. This time she was back in a period of time just shy of a semester in Dr Joe's American Public Education class at dear old McMurry. "This is the perfect bra for you," she crowed. I tried on this configuration of parachute material and viola! We had bra! Now keep in mind...she watches me put on the bra. Apparently my bra putting on was lacking, for she at once began giving me directions, with demonstration, on how to put on a bra. Guys, I'm 58 years old and I've worn bras for nearly a half century...And I was doing it all wrong! Oh, the humiliation! Oh, the shame! Oh, the humanity!

Anyway, you'll be glad to know that I am adequately supported now. I have learned to properly put myself into a bra, and all is well in Lingerieland.

Cancer Humor....from Ally

Top 10 Worst Responses If Someone Tells You They Have Cancer

1 Other than that, how's it going.
2 This isn't going to affect my career, is it?
3 I guess there's no need to quit smoking now.
4 There are easier ways to build character, you know.
5 Oh, my aunt/cousin/grandfather died of that same cancer!
6 Be sure to wear clean underwear.
7 Just think of all the money you'll save on shampoo.
8 Cancer...is that before or after Aquarius?
9 Yeah, right, whatever.
10 It's always about you, isn't it?

Top 10 Ways to Cut the Cancer Conversation Short
1. Yeah, well, I was getting sick of my haircut so I figured, why not?
2. You should see how many presents I got. It was totally worth it.
3. Chemo is a great way to lose weight.
4. People are a lot nicer when they think you might die.
5. It was a perfect opportunity to get caught up on all my soaps.
6. Yeah it sucked, but look at this bad-ass scar!
7. How else do you think I got into college? They can't turn down a cancer survivor.
8. Now I get to wear this trendy yellow bracelet.
9. I don't really remember it. I was too drunk most of the time.
10. It's okay, I didn't have anything scheduled for that year anyway.

WHERE’S MICHAEL? GQ wants to know!

WHERE’S MICHAEL?
Shortly after his acquittal, Michael Jackson left Neverland and headed to Bahrain. Devin Friedman went in search of the deposed King of Pop

The obsessed know that Michael Jackson has been living in the tiny nation of Bahrain for almost a year. Possibly as a cross-dresser, a drug addict, a Muslim, or at least a still weird human being. After his acquittal last June, he vacated Neverland, flew east, and disappeared into the desert, presumably to escape an entire nation that no longer loved him.

In the intervening year, those who had been searching for it will have found some coverage of Michael Jackson’s life in the Middle East. Sunday Mirror, September 18, 2005: Seen cruising Bahrain in a red Ferrari he had shipped from America. New York Post, November 14, 2005: Went shopping for toys. Daily News, November 15, 2005: Spotted in the women’s bathroom at a mall while visiting Dubai, wearing women’s clothing and applying makeup. (After which Michael Jackson’s spokeswoman in Washington, D.C., issued a statement in response, which was picked up by the Associated Press: It was all a mistake! Wrong door!)

Some of the news coverage has been sensationalistic: One plotline has it that Michael Jackson is taking forty Xanaxes a day, delivered via secret flights from California. Which is somehow tied to some underpants that investigators had found at Neverland that tested positive for trace amounts of cocaine but were never introduced at the trial because, you know, anyone could have been handling those underpants (unclear how it all links up, but underpants and cocaine: a bad combination for Mr. Sleepover). And the Jackson family, having caught wind of this addiction, was supposedly set to stage an intervention in which they’d fly to Bahrain and get him the help he needs, thereby preserving the life to which he is now hanging on to by a thread.
EXCLUSIVE GQ.COM INTERVIEW