The Guest List, Page 1

Part of the excitement of moving away is having guests. No one ever flew to Lexington to stay with me, so the only visitors I got, aside from Amy Louise and the nice boys who always escorted her in the hopes that she would love them, were day visitors... usually lured there with the promise of good food and lots to drink. Times have changed, so now when people visit it's for days at a time... oh, and there's nothing in the refrigerator and the only thing to drink besides water or fat free organic milk is sitting in the cooler up at the corner liquor store. Fortunately, my friends have always been understanding of how bad I am at being a friend.

My first guest got here on Wednesday, and I am privileged to have shared her 28th birthday in my new town. Liz, dear elijah, Maples has come to El-A to brighten my life with her beaming smile and to show me my world with a fresh pair of green eyes.

The best part of Liz is how she looks at things, how simple stuff that I write off as dumb or not worth looking at she greets with a hearty laugh and a camera. With Liz the walk down the street is as interesting as the over-anticipated destination, sometimes even better. You never know what's going to catch her eye, what's going to make her snicker, what's going to get her stopping in the middle of the street to pull out her camera and take a picture. You never know what her keen view of the world is going to open up to you.

Her sense of wonder isn't all that makes her my #1 guest. She's also got the most incredible arsenal of knowledge about just about everything. I didn't think anyone could go toe to toe with Mack for the title of Most Knowledgeable in the Universe until the other night at dinner, when Liz had this to share. (Sorry it's so dark, and no, I have no idea what she is talking about since I was in my chip/salsa/salt ritual eating zone out mode.)

It's been great having Liz here, and I'm so proud of her for taking the bus all over town and impressed that the girl has more friends in El-A than I do and I live here. What can I say, she's Elijah, and she's a dear.

Thanks for visiting me, Liz. I love you!

(** Betsy and Seth were my actual first guests, but since they rode out here with me, they were sort of hosts too, so I can't count them until they come back. Just want to make sure the Guest List rules are understood... Up Next: RUBLE in October!!)

All Hail the Chief

I know everyone has seen this, talked about it, picked a side, heightened their hatred and disregard for the other, blah, blah, blah. I saw it and read the transcripts and while simultaneously falling all over again for my naughty, beloved Bill, the first man I ever elected into office, I also fell into disgust over the arrogance and condescending attitude of journalism today.
New rule: NO ONE WITH THE LAST NAME WALLACE IS ALLOWED TO INTERVIEW ANYONE.

Last time I studied journalism, the goal of an interview wasn't to bully someone into your perspective but to tell the story, without opinion and speculation, with simple questions and genuine curiosity. What happened to our media? What's happening to my country, the one I learned optimism and possibility from as a kid, the one that gave me a patriotic feeling at the polls, the one that made me feel like I mattered in this ridiculous world? Is a sly fox really trying to ruin it as I sit here? I think it's time the media had a watchdog.

A Chronic Case of Baby Fever

No, not to have a baby, just to talk about the baby and share pictures of the baby and hear stories about how the baby pooped on my mom and "it squirted out like a fountain." It's all just too adorable. Here's a video of the baby, and his beautiful momma and very gentle daddy.

Way to go Betsy on the footage and Daddy on the compilation. I'd be lost without you!

Criminal Minds

Of all the illegal things Mack and I do on a daily basis, that it was Venus and Ms. Kitty who went to the slammer first is just hilarious.

On Wednesday, as Venus traipsed to the alley's end to take a dump in the neighbor's yard, she was reported to the police, who promptly arrived and picked her up. As they were leaving the notice on our door, they decided to take Ms. Kitty from the porch mat to really drive home the lesson, which was... I'm not really sure.
I think they each did about 20 minutes because the pound is open until 7 on Wednesdays. Otherwise, they would have done more jail time than either of their parents, which is really sad considering their crime was roaming free.

The Pitts Vs. The Messers

At the end of May, I saw the most beautiful infant I've seen in my life. No wonder. It was the spawn of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. It was the product of People's Most Beautiful Man and Most Beautiful Woman. It was a critical chapter in the human genome project, a subconscious quest to make the most heavenly creature on Earth.

At the end of September, my mind is changed. I'd admit to bias, since the impetus for my change of heart does have some of my genetic make up, but I'm really not so I'm not admitting to it. Normally I think babies are kind of ugly early on. Their features are too big for their faces and they've always got gooey eyes that I don't trust. Plus, they seem to come with some weird problems like rashes from breast milk splashing on their faces or those bright red birthmarks that, let's face it, aren't exactly soothing. I'll give them credit for two things that make them better than puppies: the way they smell, which makes me want to eat them, and their little tiny hands and feet and fingernails, which are just such perfect miniatures they can't be real. Okay, and I like it that they smile when they have gas.

On his fifth day of life, my little nephew Ben has trumped Shiloh. Eat it, Jolie-Pitts. He is more beautiful at five days than she was at two months, and you can also tell that he is smarter, more thoughtful, has a better sense of humor, understands right and wrong, and will be the most perfect human being on the planet. I'm sure you'll agree:




My Darling Angel Nephew Ben










Poor Trumped Shiloh

The Endorsement Series (Part 4 in a Series)

Sadly, I do not ever stand like this in my panties. Nor do I wear high heels with my bathing suit. However, while Victoria's Secret has failed miserably at capturing realistic poses, they have succeeded immensely in creating the perfect panty. From the Angels collection comes the "feather luxe" bikini. Mind you, there is also a "feather luxe" boyshort, which typically ends up in the same place the "feather luxe" thong starts out, and a "feather luxe" Brazilian, which is a little too exotic for my typical privates. Aside from all the other panty perks of staying out of my butt and not falling apart in the first two wears, these panties come with the bonus feature of looking good on. They've sort of got a couture vintage look, but their tried-and-true cotton is so comfortable I seriously sometimes forget I have panties on. Even to the point where I start to freak out a little before I realize, wait, you have underwear on, you just can't feel them because the engineers of Victoria's Secret have finally produced the greatest pair of panties ever. My favorite part is that the lace around the leg keeps me from getting the thigh bulge that other underwear so flatteringly lend me. At $10 apiece, they ought to feel like a little piece of heaven, and they do.

Introducing Benjamin Ace Messer

He's here. BAM arrived Sept. 15, at 5:28 pm EST, weighing 6 lbs., 11 oz. and stretching to a beautiful 21 inches. Leiah and Ben are doing great. Turns out he looks like Matt, but he did get the Scott stubbornness!

No one on the guesses from March was even close to 9/15, so let's look at times. Here's a recap. Phil said 11:59 pm, Jana said 3:23 am, Heidi said 11:23 am, Leiah said 1:34 pm, I said 3:19 pm and Mom said 4:45 pm. So that makes Mom the winner, and proves once and for all that mothers really do know best.

Today Is B-Day!

After roughly 14 days of morning calls to check on the status of Leiah's pregnancy, today, the day Ben is on his way, finally got here. She's in the hospital as we speak, having contractions in the middle of conversations with her very annoying big sister who wants to jump through the phone and rub her head and get her water and deal with the agony of childbirth from the comfortable distance of a camera lens. She's already been through so much and now she's at the hardest part... and the part with the biggest reward.

Nine months ago Leiah called me to say she was pregnant. I had no idea she was even involved with Matt, an on-again, off-again guy who I didn't exactly think very highly of... for good reason, really... so to find out that she was back with him and to find out that she was pregnant and to find out that she, a waitress without health insurance or the ability to pay her own rent, was going to have the baby sort of blew my mind. It was probably the most volatile situation I've been in with Leiah, really trumping even the times Shannon and I would make horrible, terrifying distorted faces with a see-through nightgown and threaten Leiah with "the guards" if she didn't do what we said. I made comments that shock me even today. I can't believe what I was capable of saying when actually put in a position where I was unmovingly convinced she was making the biggest mistake of her life. From my perspective, I couldn't believe she would put an innocent baby in the position of suffering from the same father loss we shared. We know how bad it feels for parents to split up, for families to completely break apart, for dads to start new lives that don't have a place for anything from their old ones, for your biology to reject you. We know how deeply painful and destructive that can be, and here she was, setting someone else up for that pain. I said what I said to stop that from happening, and I'm forever sorry for saying what I said with such hate and short-sightedness behind it. I'm still glad I posed the questions and scenarios though, if for no other reason than it hopefully made Leiah think about the reality of sloppy sex... that a human being with a life in your hands can come out of it. Leiah was the calmest I've ever seen her in the midst of an emotional situation, and that showed me she was really at peace with her decision. Jennifer, who I will always be thankful for for having the courage to question my reaction with just the right degree of confusion and disdain, and Kristin, who I will always be thankful for for sharing her own experiences to put mine in perspective, reminded me that no matter what my family is the most important thing in my life. That means loving them, supporting them, embracing them, accepting them even when it's harder to love them than to ignore them.

Nine months is such a short time, but these last nine months have felt like years. Leiah has matured into a responsible, grounded, level-headed woman. Matt has shown so much more dimension than I initially gave him credit for. The two of them have committed to Ben by getting engaged, sharing a home and starting a life together for their family. No one knows what the future will bring, but now that Ben is here (or will be in a matter of hours!!) the center of our universe has shifted. I'm so proud of Leiah and Matt for accepting this challenge, I'm so grateful to Leiah for growing my nephew, I'm so nervous and excited and terrified and thrilled at how our family will change with Ben in it. Right now though, I'm so curious to see if he'll have the Scott smirk from the get-go or if that's something that'll show up after he's honed the Scott stubbornness.

Happy B-Day Ben, Leiah and Matt!

West Coast, ya'll

Last weekend, Mack's mom and dad lured us out of our Labor Day loserfest and took us on an impromptu coastal tour. I've driven along California's gorgeous coast before, but only north of San Francisco. Turns out the coast is gorgeous all along it. We went to Hermosa Beach, Redondo Beach, Manhattan Beach and ultimately ended up at Point Vincente Park, which is beautiful and a great lookout point for when the whales migrate in the winter. All in a day's drive.

Nine Down, NONE TO GO!!

Any day now I will be an aunt. I've never been an aunt before. The other day a girl at work asked me if I was an aunt yet, and I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought for sure she was losing her mind or making some reference to the ants that had invaded the Triscuits in the cabinets of the break room... until she pointed out to me that I did have a sister due to have a baby boy any day now. I gotta get used to adding aunt to my title. I've been slow to even start calling Mack my fiance, even though he's really already my husband. I still talk about him like he's my boyfriend sometimes. All these titles to keep up with. Aunt, wife, daughter, sister, friend, senior editor... I guess it's all better than Grandma!!

Come on Benjamin Ace!! We're ready already!! Give us the baby!!

Four Little Fish

This post is dedicated to my dad for two reasons...

1. I have never been in a place where everywhere I go I think, my god, my dad would love this, so hopefully this will make him realize that fact as well.
2. He tries so hard to be a good fisherman every chance he gets, although the fish never, ever cooperate. I think I've finally found a place where even his weak skills will make him feel like a fisherman.

Hermosa Beach Pier, Sept. 4, 2006, Labor Day

Confessions of an 80s Something: Biker Shorts, Not Just for Bikers Anymore

Biker shorts came into my life at about the same time I was going into Maxwell's to read the dirty keychains and Spencer's to look at the cards with fat women in lingerie and really feeling like I was getting away with something. Basically the point in my life where I spent all my time at the mall and all my money on decorative soaps from Crabtree & Evelyn. I was totally rad.

It happened on accident really. I'd been longing for a bout with the bikers for some time, but, since I was a chubby kid, I never had mustered enough courage for them. Sure, I had the courage to drop pennies off the balcony of the food court to determine who below was Jewish (in my defense, I thought it was a legitimate test of faith, like a commandment "Waste not, want not," and not a statement about their stereotyped frugality), but facing the world with lycra sealing my thighs was not something I could do. I opted for leggings.

My mom helped me stay hip to fashion despite my assignment to the Huskies section by pairing my leggings with one of those long, decorative dress shirts. By decorative dress shirts, I mean, random color pairings in a geometrical vomit on a cloak of cotton that went to the mid-thigh. I think you were supposed to use the shirt side-tie clip with these shirts, but I needed the length to cover my chunky butt. Leiah was the queen of the side-tie clip because she's had a great ass since diapers. My premiere shirt was yellow, that god awful yellow that gives you a headache, is usually confined to socks and was born out of the 80's quest for tacky, with black polka dots on it. I was so sexy heads would spin, and I was only 8 years old. Those Jews would certainly skip over the pennies I dropped when they caught a glimpse of me in my new threads.

Or if they caught a glimpse of my first run in with the biker shorts. Having found a fashion that didn't restrict my body anymore, I was waiting outside of the Baskin Robbins counter when a man in his grey hair days came into the mall and stepped into the Baskin Robbins line wearing white biker shorts and no top. It's quite possible he had a top on, but since my young mind couldn't get over the ass hair I could see through his white biker shorts, I failed to remember if he had a shirt on. As he turned to walk toward the ice cream cone pick-up station, I got the frontal. It was my first and closest exposure to male genitalia in my life, and I was horrified. All balled up and lumpy, like a dying rat wadded up and tucked in his crotch. The vision was enough to make me barf, but when he actually set his manhood on the counter while waiting for the girl to give him his cone... gag me with a credit card and put me on lay-away. I backed away, either because my mom really was there telling me he was a pervert and to get away from him or because her good judgment had become a permanent voice in my head.

I retreated to the safety of Maxwell's, but now the keychain sporting "Grody to the Max" had newfound meaning.

Next up... a secret relationship with Strawberry Shortcake.

Confessions of an 80s Something (Part 1 in a Series)

My darling friend Amy sent me a forward today. Normally her forwards feature pictures of hot cowboys or links to bible study classes I must take before the end of the world, but today she really outdid herself. She sent me the following list, and now you're all in for it. I have stories about almost every single one of these things, and since I lack focus in my time of employment, I am going to relieve my memory through story telling inspired by this:

You Know You Grew Up In The 80's or Early 90's If:

1. You've ever ended a sentence with the word SIKE.
2. You watched the Pound Puppies.
3. You can sing the rap to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and can do the Carlton
4. Girls wore biker shorts under their skirts and felt stylishly sexy.
5. You yearned to be a member of the Baby-sitters club and tried to start a club of your own.
6. You owned those lil' Strawberry Shortcake pals scented dolls.
7. You know that "WOAH" comes from Joey on Blossom
8. Two words: Hammer Pants
9. If you ever watched "Fraggle Rock"
10. You had plastic streamers on your handle bars... and spokey-dokes or playing cards on your spokes for that incredible sound effect
11. You can sing the entire theme song to "Duck Tales" (Woo ooh!)
12. It was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.
13. You wore a ponytail on the side of your head.
14. You saw the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the big screen..and still know the turtles names.
15. You got super-excited when it was Oregon Trail day in computer class at school.
16. You made your mom buy one of those clips that would hold your shirt in a knot on the side.
17. You played the game "MASH" (Mansion, Apartment, Shelter, House)
18. You wore stonewashed Jordache jean jackets and were proud of it.
19. L.A. Gear....need I say more?
20. You wanted to change your name to "JEM" in Kindergarten. (She's Truly Outrageous.)
21. You remember reading Tales of a fourth grade nothing and all The Ramona books.
22. You know the profound meaning of "WAX ON, WAX OFF"
23. You wanted to be a Goonie.
24. You ever wore fluorescent clothing. (some of us...head-to-toe)
25. You can remember what Michael Jackson looked like before his nose fell off and his cheeks shifted.
26. You have ever pondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf.
27. You took lunch boxes to school... and traded Garbage Pailkids in the schoolyard.
28. You remember the CRAZE, then the BANNING of slap bracelets.
29. You still get the urge to say "NOT" after every sentence.
30. You remember Hypercolor t-shirts.
31. Barbie and the Rockers was your favorite band.
32. You thought She-ra (Princess of Power!) and He-Man should hook up.
33. You thought your childhood friends would never leave because you exchanged handmade friendship bracelets.
34. You ever owned a pair of Jelly-Shoes.
35. After you saw Pee-Wee's Big Adventure you kept saying "I know you are, but what am I?"
36. You remember "I've fallen and I can't get up"
37. You remember going to the skating rink before there were inline skates.
38. You ever got seriously injured on a Slip and Slide.
39. You have ever played with a Skip-It.
40. You had or attended a birthday party at McDonalds.
41. You've gone through this nodding your head in agreement.
42. You remember Popples.
43. Don't worry, be happy
44. You wore like, EIGHT pairs of socks over tights with high top Reeboks.
45. You wore socks scrunched down (and sometimes still do... getting yelled at by younger hip members of the family)
46. You remember boom boxes and walking around with one on your shoulder like you were all that.
47. You remember watching both Gremlins movies.
48. You know what it meant to say "Care Bear Stare!!"
49 You remember watching Rainbow Bright and & My Little Pony Tales
50. You thought Doogie Howser/Samantha Micelli was hot.
51. You remember Alf, the lil furry brown alien from Melmac.
52. You remember New Kids on the Block when they were cool...and don't even flinch when people refer to them as "NKOTB"
53. You knew all the characters names and their life stories on "Saved By The Bell," The ORIGINAL class.
54. You know all the words to Bon Jovi - SHOT THROUGH THE HEART.
55. You just sang those words to yourself.
56. You remember watching Magic vs. Bird.
57. Homemade Levi shorts... (the shorter the better)
58. You remember when mullets were cool!
59. You had a mullet!
60. You still sing "We are the World"
61. You tight rolled your jeans.
62. You owned a bannana clip.
63. You remember "Where's the Beef?"
64. You used to (and probably still do) say "What you talkin' 'bout Willis?"
65. You had big hair and you knew how to use it.
66. You're still singing shot through the heart in your head, aren't you!

Check back tomorrow for a detailed account of my experience with biker shorts. Sexy.

She Lights Up My Life

Jennifer, one of my best and dearest friends in my entire life, overcame her inaugural battle with cancer this year at the ripe old age of 26. I blogged about her chemo experience here, if you need a reason to love her (you'll have to scroll down, since it's a month's archive).

Well, Jen is now helping to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society through the Light The Night Walk in Cincinnati on Sept. 21. I'm donating the little bit of extra money I have because they allowed me to keep my Jennifer.

The treatment regime Jen underwent last year had been published only 6 months prior and was a result of a research study at University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center. She's proof positive that cancer research leads to results! However, research needs funding, especially since she will realistically have to deal with this disease again in the next five years, so I'm asking whoever reads my silly little blog to make a donation, however meager or grand, to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

Donate online quickly and securely, before you forget.

Feel free to link to this entry on your blogs or to send the donation link to your email lists.

Click here to learn more about the Light The Night Walk.

You Otter Know

Once again, I've developed that sweets after you eat disease that may have been partially to blame for a weight gaining stint I had in the early 2000s. It's not bad when you're in the midst of it... I mean, when do Twix taste bad?... but once it's piled on top of the too-much fish and chips you just devoured, man, does it suck. It literally rips all the energy you had stored for staying awake on the couch and redirects it to digesting the chemical mess you've plundered your body with. You end up fat, crooked and in pain that must be a pre-cursor to a scrip for Prilosec.

It all started with an innocent enough box of Otter Pops. You remember those, the little plastic straw of frozen kool-aid that creates a tangy juice deposit in the bottom of the package, the treat with the just right feel of ice... not too hard, not too soft, the after-school snack you relied on when you first got your braces or during a bout of strep throat, the dessert that got you in trouble for leaving the snipped tops laying all over the kitchen counter and the sucked-dry remnants all over the living room. (I've also known them as Flavor-Ice, but there always seem to be too many oranges and greens in the Flavor-Ice brand.) My box of 24 Otter Pops has grown into a box of 100, literally ripped open at the top and then checked every hour to see if the freezing process had reached Louie-Bloo Raspberry.

They are so good. They are so only 15 calories. They are so a gateway dessert.

What Louie-Bloo and his gang of Little Orphan Orange, Strawberry Short Kook, Poncho Punch (he's a randy one!), Alexander the Grape and Sir Isaac Lime have done is make me a sweet junkie. They've conditioned me to want the sugar cleanse after dinner. They've made gum seem like a dentist's recommended substitute.

A word to the wise, or at least those who want to stave off the sweet after you eat disease, step away from the Otter Pops. They're not worth it, man.

Back to Work

I've got to be heading out the door in a minute to walk (yes, walk) to work. I had my first day yesterday, and it was the best first day ever. I learned a lot (mostly that, as I suspected, no job is as hard as it might seem), and put my first contribution on the web. We're not live yet so I can't give you the site but we'll be up mid-September and then you can have another favorite bookmark! Also, if you know any women who've been through life changing experiences (whether it's a break-up, a baby, a career move, a health condition, a funny experience, a creative experience, etc) -- who hasn't! -- and think they might like to share their story, let me know. Especially you, Jen, because I am trying to pitch some women to interview in Louisville, Lexington, Cincinnati (and would love to showcase your grace and ass-kicking bout with cancer), and don't know many peeps in Cinci. Just so you know, my job is awesome, and I love it. "California Dreamin' is becoming a reality...."

The Job Hunt

In the last 24 hours I've gone from sulking over The Blind Assassin, to trying to sleep my life away, to devouring an entire box of BIG Cheez-Its while watching Mulholland Drive, to dancing with Mack in the kitchen, to calling every member of my family, to trying the new pomegranate Frapuccino at Starbucks (stick with green tea), to feeling like a human being worthy of oxygen again. See, I finally got offered a job.

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday, I was ready to hang up my professional hat and start waiting tables at the Casa Escobar or, worse, actually apply at the dry cleaner's up the road. I had a second interview with people far more qualified and daring than myself on Wednesday, and, based on the enthusiasm and hasty response I got following my first interview, expected to hear something on Thursday. I didn't. Hence the Cheez-Its and bed time.

I was devastated. Mostly because it was something I really wanted, and I'm spoiled and usually get what I want, but also because this was the second interview I'd been on that I thought I completely nailed. I mean I walked home (did I mention it's a job I can walk to?) on cloud nine, thinking I could do this job better than anyone else, thinking I'd really love to do this job better than anyone else, thinking I had this job. Then silence.

I figured that was because bad news is harder to give out than good news. I figured the woman who'd made me so excited and feel so promising had been scolded for having bad judgment and was now too ashamed to tell me. I figured my only prospect, or the only one I cared about, was coming apart, shattering all the eggs I'd packed into that basket of hope.

I cried. I was mean and nasty. I blamed Mack for telling his parents I got the job before I actually got it and jinxing me. I blamed me for being so out of touch with people that I could take a completely different feeling from the exact same event. I was a loser. I didn't deserve a job. I gave up.

And then she called. They all loved me. They want me to work for them. They want to grow my skills and expand my brain and consider my input. And pay me for it. So now I'm walking to the magic shop, sampling new coffee drinks, dancing in the kitchen, and feeling like a competent human being again.

I am, for the first time in three and a half years, an employee with health insurance. Watch out moles. I'm coming for ya! (on my lunch break, of course!)

The Fine Print (that I've lost the ability to make fine): I'll be Senior Editor for a website that is still in production and is only partially released -- conducting interviews with women positively transforming their lives, writing copy to bring smiles to people's faces, challenging women to be better than they think they can be, and enjoying a paycheck.

Walking the Walk

A couple of days ago as Mack and I walked to the beach, we noticed a ribbon of black paint strolling along the sidewalk with us. Some places were too smudgy and globby to read, but most were clear as a bell: "President Bush, this is a democracy, not a theocracy..."

A rolling message literally looped over and over and over the entire walk to the beach. It was pretty amazing that someone had not only invested the courage and the time to deliver this message to the masses in such a clever way, but also that he or she had engineered a device that let it be rolled out like a red carpet. I imagined it was like those popcorn push toys we had as kids, but this one with only one wheel, about 10 inches across so that the 2-foot-long message could be paved in one rotation. I was proud of whoever this was, for taking the time and making the effort.

Shopping on Melrose also opens the book on a lot of sneaky messages. Masked as graffiti on the sidewalk, it's easy to walk over these sometimes beautiful, sometimes bland, sometimes poignant, sometimes enigmatic sentiments. But I've never been so rewarded for watching my feet shuffle as I have been in this place. Thanks to the people who decorate the concrete.

Politically Incorrect

I watched Mike Wallace's interview with the president of Iran on CSPAN last night. I haven't been more depressed by the state of journalism or the role of the media in my life.

I was completely astounded at Mike Wallace's blatant disrespect and condenscention toward this man, who is the leader of a remarkable, albeit struggling, country. Wallace treated him like a second class citizen, as if he was doing President Ahmadinejad a favor by interviewing him when in reality it was President Ahmadinejad who was doing Wallace a favor by granting him an interview.

Wallace asked if after 26-27 years of not working with the United States Iran might like to re-establish that relationship. President Ahmadinejad countered with, "It was not Iran who ended that relationship," to which Wallace said, "Answer the question. It's a yes or no question..." Is it? He answered it by saying it was the United States' policy that terminated a relationship with the United States, so it's not up to Iran to re-establish that relationship. Beyond that, President Ahmadinejad sent Bush an 18-page letter to open those lines of communication, and the "leader of the free world" dismissed it. He turned his back on another country's leader, which is horrifying, embarassing, and shameful behavior that shouldn't be tolerated from the President of the United States. Ignoring a letter, an act of ignorance, and then suggesting that its author is the one not cooperating or working to rebuild a relationship is asinine.

President Ahmadinejad is as blind about his country as Bush is about ours, but we can learn something about ourselves by listening to other country's opinions of us. President Ahmadinejad pointed out two obvious shortcomings in the interview... One percent of the United States' citizens are behind bars, and we still don't have healthcare for our people.

Neither leaders is effective, neither truly cares about their people, neither wants to work toward peace and understanding and compassion. Both are caught up in their own political swordfight, preaching tolerance while at the same time cloaking their women or feeding their corporate fathers while their country's children starve to death (or eat to death in our case).

I'm sure that most people who watched Wallace's interview on 60 Minutes were proud as papas of him for asking "the hard questions," but I think Wallace should be fired -- for disrespecting a foreign leader the way he did and for letting his own American audience down. How many times has Bush or Cheney sat down with Wallace and answered the tough questions? How many times have our own leaders been called to the post, talked down to and been pushed into actually answering the question? (No, Condoleeza Rice on Larry King Live and FOX News interviews don't count.) Our media has failed us as much as our government, as much as our religion, as much as our economy.

I understand that Wallace was granted an interview and then brushed off for a few days because of President Ahmadinejad's other obligations (you know, running a country, keeping the world from believing his country is part of an Axis of Evil, dealing with the Lebanon-Israel crisis and trying to keep the war in Iraq from spreading to south to his country), and that must have been frustrating, but Wallace's interviewing should be condemned, his attitude should be checked and his machismo and arrogance should have been left at the door. You know, I think what pissed me off the most was how much he reminded me of Bush with his one-liners, his self-amsued smirk, the power glint popping out of his mirky eyes, and his narrow thought process. He didn't want to understand. He wanted to condemn. That's despicable. That's un-American.

My Run-in with LAPD

After another exciting job interview, I came home to find my alley blocked with POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS tape. Thinking that didn't apply to residents, I scooted under the tape and was informed that "that tape is there for a reason." Can I park? "No, this utility pole is about to fall over."

Apparently a cement truck doing work two doors down had hit the pole trying to come down the alley. Oops.

After a knock on the door by two cops, apparently the cement truck hit the pole trying to avoid our monster truck, which I had moved from its legal spot to in front of our door to get my scooter out, and which I had not put back because it is a monster truck that is impossible to parallel park. See, pole-hitting party's associates had parked some sort of bobcat in the driveway next to ours, so I couldn't do my comfortable back up and pull in front ways. I just left it thinking everything would be normal. I forgot to consider this is LA.

D. Ramirez, a female officer who really ought to try a looser up-do, took our information, but not before saying under her breath that she "could do it (park the monster truck) with a blindfold so tell me another."

There are several aspects of this event that are hilarious and ridiculous. First, that she could park that truck. She's too small to see over the edge to know if she's hitting anything. Second, that it is somehow our fault that the cement truck driver hit the pole dodging our truck, when he could have just knocked and asked us to move it out of the alley entirely OR gone in the opposite end of the alley, which is closer to his project anyway. Third, that the police are outside right now taking photos of the pole, our truck, the bobcat and the alley to build a case to determine fault. Seems to me you hit the pole, you hit the pole. That makes hitting the pole your fault, right? If I hit the pole, I'd think it was my fault. But see, I wouldn't hit the pole because I wouldn't be driving a massive truck through an alley unless I was sure it would fit without hitting something so I wouldn't be in trouble with the LAPD.



Life on the alley isn't as exciting as life on the edge, but it sure beats an episode of Days of Our Lives.