I walked onto the train platform in downtown Chicago today.  A woman had just finished shopping at Macy's and had several red shopping bags.  She was trying to put everything into one bag.  The wind picked up and blew some of the empty bags down the platform.  I took off running and stopped them from blowing out onto the street.

Then, she yells to me that: "It's OK!  They're empty." Then she sits down and waits for the train with her two bags full of stuff.  The 5 empty big red bags are just out there on the platform and she makes no effort to pick them up.  I told her that I didn't want litter for a Christmas present, picked them all up and threw them in the trash (no recycling on CTA platforms...dammit!).

(Cross posted at The National Gadfly)

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Despite the unfortunate fact that presidential debates depend mostly on impressions, images and perceptions, the real purpose, namely the substance of the debating points of each candidate, is unattainable in a medium that has been referred to the "glass teat" or one that encourages us to "amuse ourselves to death".  A careful examination of the memorized answers and retorts to each innocuous question reveals the appalling absurdities of the policies advocated by each candidate.  In addition, the format of the debate and the choice of moderator preclude any real truths surfacing from these artificial exchanges.

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I am new here, and I am trouble. You  should stop fighting with everyone else and concentrate on me. I do believe that she who laughs, lasts, so humor will temper my arrogance.  My fellow Clintonistas have been talking about MyDD for weeks, but  I have resisted temptation. My name is Mary Joan, and I am far more a Joan than a Mary. Imagine how much more fun Western art would be if Mary, the mother of God, and Joan of Arc had exchanged wardrobes.

I am one day older than the atom bomb, born the day after Trinity (I expect birthday greetings very soon if you know your history.) I was a 1960s radical nonviolent pacifist. I can go spectacularly limp if you try to drag me from the demonstration. I have not changed as I raised 4 daughters, took care of my dying parents, worked as a public librarian and social worker. I am not a dried up old crone. My English husband, 16 years younger, gave up job and country to swim the Atlantic to marry  me.

We need a nonviolent revolution to transform America into a  children-friendly, family-friendly, elder-friendly, human-being friendly society that is not the disgrace of most of the world. If you want to have children or take care of your aging parents, you would be better off moving almost anywhere in the world.

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"I had a uncle who was one of the, who was part of the first American troops to go into Auschwitz and liberate the concentration camps," Obama said.

Much has been written and said about this comment. The Obama camp quickly corrected the statement. It was a great uncle and the camp liberated was Buchenwald, not Auschwitz.

At first blush, the mistakes seem innocent enough, and there was no intention to deceive. I have no quarrel with referring to a great uncle as an uncle. But for anyone with a reasonable grounding in history, it is surprising, even stunning, that Obama could think American troops liberated Auschwitz.

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I participated in the Day of Silence today at school, and wrote the following statement to explain my participation to others:

As you may know, today, April 25 2008, is the Day of Silence, a national movement calling attention to the silence faced by lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people who must endure bullying and other harassment. But my silence in specific is also to call attention to all the silent victims on this planet: the millions of victim in Darfur, Iraq, and other areas of crisis, the hundreds of millions who face malnutrition worldwide, the billions who live in poverty; all the forgotten people of the world in general, as well as all those who will suffer in the future from the problems we have forced ourselves to forget. For 365 days a year, we are silent on these problems. I can only regret that my own silence will be for but one day.

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