My Inaugural Address

I've been kicking myself for the past week, for the short "essay" I wrote to try and win tickets to the inauguration, plus airfare, hotel, and invitations to all the best parties. I bet lots of you entered too- gave one last donation to the Obama transition team for the chance to be in the Chosen 10. If you won, and got to go, please be kind enough to blog about it with photos. Please.
When I wrote my little paragraph I was feeling emotional anyway, and so didn't tell my personal story for fear of completely bursting into tears, at work. Instead I spoke in generalities about what it means for a country to be truly great, and how I would for the first time be proud of my country, etc.etc.
This is the essay as it should have been written.
What does this inauguration mean to me? It means I won't I have to shave my head again on Tuesday, for one thing, to commence another 4 years of mourning. Instead of wanting to scream and cry every time I hear the news of what's being done in our names, I just might be able to remain calm enough to use my faculties of rational thought and empathy. And not that I've ever personally enjoyed anything above subsistence-level living, but this inauguration brings me hope that someday soon, I may actually get to enjoy life and live my dreams, which have lain dormant more than 10 years. I also might finally get a passport, since I may be able to afford one now, and I won't feel like I have to lie and say I'm Canadian, or hang my head in shame at my American citizenship.
In short, it means I get to change back into a human, after becoming a human volcano for what seems like 10 years.

Since I didn't win (unless they're waiting til tonight to call me), I will be watching it on TV with millions of other Americans, at work, trying not to cry tears of joy. But I probably will anyway. And at the risk sounding trendy, I'm kind of hoping Obama will mention something about that amazing "miracle" plane rescue on the Hudson last week. If I was writing the inaugural address, it would include something about that. To the effect of, see folks, this is what CAN happen, even in a crisis, if everyone remains calm, does their job, keeps a clear head, but most importantly, helps each other out.
This is what can happen, and what will happen from now on, because we will all remain calm and clear-headed instead of shitting our pants and running around like chickens with our heads cut off, screaming, "every man for himself!" like the jackasses who've been running the show for the past 8 years (or 30, depending on how you look at it.) The photo of all the passengers standing on the wings of the plane kind of says it all for me. This is what can happen if we all take care of each other. This is what can happen if we all take responsibility for ourselves, and then help those who are having a little trouble, for whatever reason. It's not up to you to judge if it's a good enough reason or not, leave that up to God. It's only up to you/me/us to help.
This is what can happen. Everyone stays calm. Everyone is rescued. Everyone lives.



Now, Obama is going to have to say it more diplomatically than me, just to be sure people don't take it as a back-handed slam against how 9-11 was handled. That's not what I'm getting at. Well it is, and it isn't. The firefighters, police, and people on the planes and in the buildings did their humanly jobs- they took care of each other as best they could. It's the leaders who failed us, with their inaction and unexplained actions. That sort of thing doesn't set a very good example for the rest of the country. We the people may have been united on September 12th, 2001, but we were very quickly put asunder by the very leaders who should have been using that unity for good, rather than evil.
I'm looking forward to not hating my countrymen anymore, because of a bumpersticker they might have, or a group they belong to. I'm looking forward to feeling good about being an American, and not just smug about being a liberal in a neo-fascist America. It's already starting, but I won't really breathe easy until about 12:35 EST tomorrow. We just got back from the MLK Day Marade here in Denver, and it always leaves me feeling extra mushy about my fellow man, but this year especially. Are whites and blacks making out on the streets, on the buses, spontaneously, yet? Well, no, but there was a lot of dancing in the streets, and you know what that leads to. :)

MERRY MAYAN CHRISTMAS!!!

Here's a little story that will either warm the cockles of your heart, or make you laugh, or both. It involves approximately 20 bored archaeologists and historians (but mostly the archaeologists are to blame on this one), a gingerbread structure, and some mayhem. Really, it's best told in photo-essay form, so a tip of the Santa Hat goes to Troy for inspiring me and my cohorts to document these inspiring events in this way.

It all started a few weeks before Christmas, with the miraculous appearance of a beautiful Mayan Pyramid, made of gingerbread and candy, on our front office tables....

Here's an aerial-view to give you the full awe-inspiring effect, obviously taken by a brave Peeps in his Peeps-o-Copter....


We admired the structure with all the hushed reverence of 2nd-grade children, for a full 2 days. Besides, there were Gummi Bear guards clearly posted at the main entrance, and we seriously didn't want to mess with them.


Alas, after 2 days of hushed reverence, the gawking public and voracious looters could be held back no more, and some of the inner chambers were cracked open... to reveal... treasure!

Here you can see what must have been a Sacred chamber of Peanut M&Ms, and chocolate kisses... Not surprising, considering the Mayans worshiped the cacao bean as a god, and practically invented chocolate as we know it.

Above is the Chamber of Skittles, "mistakenly" opened by one amateur archaeologist when he fell into a trap door. Fortunately, his body was impaled on 1,000 spikes and then consumed by albino alligators that have been living in the underground river for the past 1200 years. Thus taking his greedy insolence out of the gene pool forever. Yaay!
Unfortunately, his comrades managed to destroy (probably by eating) the top of the pyramid, exposing the greatest treasure inside- a mural of The Sacred Mayan Hippo God! Named um, uh... Hippocatepetl. Yeah.


This apparently loosed the spirit of the great Hippo God(dess) and not in a good way. Protector spirits soon showed up, chased away the looters and gawkers, re-set the ancient curses protecting the pyramid so that anyone who touched it would find their flesh falling off of them in a matter of minutes, and erected licorice barriers to protect the site.

This is the main guy. Pretty fierce, que no?
He stayed on top of the pyramid to guard the Hippocatepetl mural, and deployed his troops all around as needed.

Nevertheless, looters snuck back in and viciously cut out the heart of the Hippo mural. And probably ate it, because it wasn't made of solid gold or anything, it was just sugar candy.

Emboldened by their victory, the looters and the looting continued.

And continued....

Reinforcements were brought in, including Santa the Roaring Hippo, but to no avail.


Things were rapidly getting out of hand. In the interest of science, we had to participate, and by doing so revealed another mysterious symbol on one of the inner walls. What is that thing? Could it be... Peace?

The looters were getting cheeky, even venturing to replace the hippo's heart with a red M&M...

And then, even cheekier, putting one in Santa Hippo's mouth.


At some point in here, I tried to appease the Gods by sacrificing some marshmallow Santa's on the pyramid and rolling them down the steps, as is customary, but some people in the office got offended. Go figure. I mean, what's Christmas without a little Mayan sacrifice? Complete with Cherry Cordials for blood? So there are no pictures of that. Sorry. Try and have a good Christmas without it.

Some of the hippo guards starting arming themselves with toothpicks.


One rather large fellow decided to block the entrance.


While still others doggedly kept up the licorice rope-barriers.




And of course, a few of them started getting punchy after awhile...


And then, the unthinkable happened. Worse than looters, or gawkers, or amateur archaeologists, or meth-head "arrowhead hunters"- yes, that's right. Developers.
The next day we arrived to find this sign erected in front of the pyramid. We rubbed our eyes like the little Whos in Whoville, not believing what we saw. Also, it was very difficult to read the fine print.


But it was true. Our beautiful sacred Mayan Pyramid site had been re-zoned, right out from under us. Something called "The Pyramid Lofts" starting at $700,000! were "Coming Soon!" We were sore' amazed and confused.

The hippos put up a valiant last stand.

But in the end, greed won out, and historic preservation was annihilated by something the developers like to call "Progress."


I won't show you pictures of the destroyed pyramid. It's just too sad.
So boys and girls, brothers and sisters of all stripes, everywhere, please remember this Christmas to treasure and protect your cultural resources, whatever they may be. That's the only point of this blog, other than to show what a serious bunch of dorks we are. And also, if you live in a capital city, go to your local SHPO office and take those hardworking guys and gals some cookies or something, because clearly we're all losing our minds.

As Hippocatepetl would say, "Oooga Booga Wooga Chooga, Happy Freakin' Christmas to Ya!"

Appendage to the Greatest Heist in History

I should have been more clear with my original post, titled The Greatest Heist in History, until Now, and I apologize. Mostly the 3 Trillion dollar question for these past 8 years, for me, at least, has been- are they merely thieves, like the Territorial governors of New Mexico, or are they fixin' to build on this heap of destruction, a good ol' fashioned dictatorship? So I've come to the conclusion, after much nail-biting, fear, disorientation, calamity, and hives, that they are indeed the former rather than the latter.
They know as well as we do that not only would the American people not put up with such crap, even if there is an "R" after some elected official's name, and 2) this country is too damn big for one person to take over. Hell, it's too big NOW for one elected president to preside over. We just baaaarrrrrrely got control of this uh, United States of 'merka, as it is.
They also know that trying to bomb us into submission will only call them out and mark them as the bandits and scum-sucking sheep ticks they are for life. As it stands now, they've manipulated the media and public opinion to the point where the average citizen now feels justified in making up their own facts to support their own extremist, hateful, flimsy opinions, which are probably just extrapolations and regurgitations from the Republican Talking Points, aka Sean Hannity. (so that's a double regurgitation...eeeewwww, sorry for that).
You know that old saying, the first casualty of war is always the Truth? Well, I think we can go ahead and say that first, middle and last casualty of any Republican administration is the truth. Seriously. Go test this out on your neighbors or co-workers or friends. After 22 years of no Fairness Doctrine, and now 12 years of a completely de-regulated media, people now take Entertainment Tonight more seriously than the nightly news. That to me is the most damaging thing that's happened to this country, especially in the last 8 years. That people actually believed the shit those assclowns were throwin' up on the TV, just because they were saying it, loudly, and it was on- did I mention?- the TeeVee, it was taken as the God's Truth- that's what broke my heart and turned my stomach.
Those babies that were killed during the first bombings of Baghdad- well uh, they deserved to die, right? Because their parents were evil Iraqis or insurgents or something. I mean, how dare they stand up to the United States Military? If they had just fled like they were supposed to, or surrendered before the troops even showed up, they wouldn't have died! so it's THEIR fault! Stupid brown people. AND- how freaking irresponsible are those parents, living in a potential war zone??? I mean COME ON- they knew the United States Army was on it's way!
puh.
Yeah, with serious shit like this going on, no wonder we thought they had plans for totalitarianism. That's what a lot of their propaganda was designed for, to keep us afraid, to silence us. So we'd keep our own necks and heads inside our little turtle shells until the danger passed. But what if it didn't pass? We asked ourselves, repeatedly, and with good cause.
I started this blog a month ago, and now even more shit is hitting the fan. But it makes me even more certain that the plan all along was not to impose absolute power absolutely, if even for only a few years, but it was to break this country financially and leave it in such a huge fucking mess otherwise that we'd be too busy dodging chunks of falling sky to notice them sneaking off to their Leer jets bound for Dubai, holding big sacks of cash.
Where did that 9 billion dollars go, Paul Bremer?
But no, they're just a bunch of fucking thieves. And murderers. Who will high-tail it to the nearest, friendliest, extradition-free country (Dubai, Dubai, and Dubai) next week on January 20th at approximately 12:35 pm EST. They're not competent or smart enough to "build" on any of this catastrophe, anyway. Which is reason #3 that we don't have to worry about that.
They were smart enough to look at history, and know that greedy, murdering dictators who try to grab ALL the power and control ALL the people never survive long enough to enjoy their booty. So it was always this delicate tightrope dance, balancing just enough fear with just the right amount of media manipulation and corruption (wherefore art thou, Justice Department?) so that people wouldn't scream too loud about all the money they were stealing and the people they were killing.
As one of my hero/heart-throbs, John Cusack, said in his blog, "You gotta hand it to 'em, their gall is gorgeous."
But I still hold out hope that whether it's by special prosecutor, or Grand Jury investigation, or international tribunal, they will be held accountable for their war crimes, and the trashing of the Constitution, and for the stealing.
I still hold onto that image of Jenna Bush in a brown polyester waitress uniform, groveling for 35 cent tips so she can slowly, day by day, pay off her daddy's sins. One way or another, they will be held accountable. If not by the Congress, then by Grand Jury. If not by class action lawsuit ("The People of the United States vs. former President George W.Bush and Richard D. Cheney" has a nice ring to it) then by the Hague. If not by international special-forces peacekeeping units then... well, ya know. We'll figure something out. The important thing is that justice is restored to this country. We can't just turn the page and pretend this never happened. And remember, much of the country still doesn't know what really happened to it/them, and they may well be in post-traumatic denial for quite some time. Yes I'll say it, we need to give them a helping hand out of the swirling shame spiral.

See? it's possible for people to see the light.

Dick Cheney says he's going back to Casper, Wyoming. (yeah, right.) I think what he meant was, "I'm going to the island off of Dubai that I had created to look exactly like Casper, Wyoming. Oil rigs and all."
I'll leave it at for now- FBI agents are probably monitoring this.

And furthermore.... America, Thank You.

I forgot to say this, because I was so busy not gloating, but thank you America. I love you. So much.
Thank you for making me feel sane again.
Thank you for lifting this burden off my shoulders, and sharing it with me, and putting your arms around my shoulders instead.
Thanks for singing with me. Thanks for praying with me. Thanks for having faith in me when I lost faith in you.
Thanks also for crying with me, and drowning out my embarrassingly loud sobs with your own, in chorus.
But thanks mostly for letting me know I'm not only the one out there with these ideals, these hopes, these dreams. I'm not the only who cares about the sanctity of the Constitution, and common decency, and justice. I'm not the only one who can put aside self-interest and think long-term for once. I'm not the only one who's sick to death of this death culture, of war-mongering, of raped women and slaughtered children on the evening news. I'm not the only one disgusted by corporate soldiers, and real soldiers being kicked to the curb after their service, or told to shut up and go home (if they have one). Yeah, I know, it's conceited of me to even think that.
Because, and maybe I should have come clean with this earlier, I grew up in a family that was like a microcosm of the Bush Administration, with the lying, and the favoritism, and the daily injustices, and the secret addictions, and the bullying, abusive, crazy-making behavior, and the lying, and the lying, and the lying. As a result, I still have this ingrained belief that if I don't do something, take responsibility for something, it won't get done. If I didn't water the plants, they would have died. If I didn't feed and walk the dog, she would have died. If I didn't clean the whole damn house every weekend... you get the picture. So I tend to take the weight of the world on me, and shoulder all sorts of guilt and burden that isn't mine to bear. It was true in my family, it's true for my country. If I don't try and save my family, who will? If I don't try and save the world, who will? It's odd, and not entirely coincidental, for the past 8 years, we as a people have been in a very sick, co-dependent relationship with our government. And for the past 8 years, almost to the day that the Thief got sworn in, I have not spoken to my family.
Now it seems, some kind of global intervention has taken place, and everyone else woke up from the abusive, codependent denial haze sometime after I did. For some, what shook them awake was the immediate aftermath of the 9-11 attacks. For some it was the bald-faced lies told in the mainstream media to get us into this ridiculous, tragic war. For some it was Katrina. For some it was seeing a loved one come home from said war(s) broken, uncared for, and thrown away by this government. For many it was the crashing economy that took their dreams with it.
For me, it was the carpet-bombing of the American people with lie after lie and scandal after scandal that did it. At first, I was so triggered by their violence and deception, I could only duck and cover like everyone else. I could only try and take care of myself and my husband and our cat, which was hard enough to do for the first 3 years of this nightmare, anyway. I was so triggered, most of the time, I could barely catch my breath, nevermind speak out against the atrocities, or tell my story. Even the husband said, right after I'd shaved my head in protest at the Thief's 2nd stolen inauguration (and then immediately decided to get pregnant) "you seem to be taking this personally." Well, I was. That's the understatement of the decade. For me, every time the Bush Regime cranked out another whopper, like "We know Saddam has Weapons of Mass Destruction and he plans to use them!" right after the UN Weapons inspectors were interviewed and said, "yeah, nothing here, we got rid of them all in the 90's, like we told you" it was my psychotic, narcissist of a mother threatening to kill me, herself, and burn down the house all over again- complete with the sneering at my tears and a "you're not abused, you're a spoiled little bitch." for good measure.

So thank you America, for validating my perceptions, what I've seen with my own eyes and felt with my own heart, as real. You don't know how much that means to me.
And if you're not crying yet, just read Alice Walker's Open Letter to Barack Obama, available here http://www.theroot.com/id/48726- but even it doesn't contain the crying-est part. That you had to hear on her interview with Amy Goodman of Democracy Now! today, Veteran's Day. Many black and other oppressed-people leaders around the globe have been calling to remind Obama that the White House was built by slaves, and how he should never forget that. For many of these people, Obama is not enough of a "grievance politician" like Jesse Jackson, one who is constantly reminding whites of the wrongs they've done, and blacks of the struggles they've been through. They know he is a transcendent of that type, and not of that type, so he needs to "remember" as a cultural descendant of American slaves, if not a strictly racial descendant of them (since his father was not descended from slaves). This gets tricky because white racists could just as easily remind Obama constantly that the White House was built by slaves, but they'd be doing it to try and belittle him or "put him in his place." As Alice does, she reframed it in her gentle, rip-your-heart-open way. She said look, the ancestors have long memories, and they also think long-term. So I think they knew, when they were building that house, that they were building it for him. They poured their loftiest dreams into the sweat that built that place, and they dreamnt of him generations before he ever arrived. They knew he would come. They knew they wouldn't see it in their lifetimes, or in their children's lifetime, or in their great-grandchildren's lifetime, but they knew he would come. That's faith.
(crying yet?)
I liken it to that old saying about Cathedral builders in Europe back in the day. It would take at least 100 years to build a good one, and workers were little better than slaves, but the honor and "glory" of doing it would be passed down for 3, 4 generations.
It also strikes a similar chord to one of my favorite quotes, from one of my favorite activist heroine-moms, Winona LaDuke. She was, in turn, quoting one of her Anishinaabe elders on the struggles of Native Americans and whether or not they would ever "get there." The elder said, in a nutshell- "all this- our lands being taken away, our people diminished from disease and warfare, our people's families torn apart by poverty, drugs and crime, these past 200 or so years, all this, is but a thunderclap (and here he smacked his hands together loudly, for effect) in the history of our people."
We'll look on these past 8 years as such, amigos. I have faith. But thank you again, so much, for weathering the storm with me, and for handing me a damn umbrella when I wouldn't get out of the rain myself.

(and thanks for allowing me to officially re-christen this space as The Campfire! The Crowbar was starting to give me bad visuals.)

What, Me, Gloat?

Nah, no gloating to be found here. Nuthin' to see here. Move along. Except, this is me, right now
I have no wish to behave or speak like the blowhard asswipes who bellowed their pre-supposed superiority from every rooftop, after they STOLE another election in 2004. No desire.
On the other hand, I'm not going to button my lip and sit on my hands either. A song keeps coming to me, and it's sung to the tune of, and in the style of, one of Dora the Explorer's victory songs at the end of each episode. Need a refresher? Here you go:

But my version goes a little something like this:
Hey, we e-lec-ted a President, who isn't an id-i-ot! Yeah
We did it! We did it! We did it- Hooray!
Yeah we listened to our hopes instead of our fears, yeah
we did it- We did it! We did it! Hooray!
We used our hearts and minds to win some hearts and minds
Yeah we did it. We did it! We did it! Hooray!

Ah. Feels good, huh? I'm still in that nervous, waiting-for-something-terrible-to-happen mode, which is not entirely unwarranted. And then every once in a while, I tear up, or burst out giggling, thinking of how awesome this is.
President-elect Barack Obama.
I knew it would happen, and yet I didn't. I'm still worried for him. A lot of people are. And their feelings are not entirely unwarranted either. If he is a cross between JFK and MLK- well- that's awesome, but it doesn't bode well.
We have to imagine a different outcome this time.
I've harped on this before. Our imaginations could use a little exercise, out in the fresh air and sunshine. So I'm busy imagining a more perfect union, and everyone working together to make sure it happens. I'm visualizing Malia at age 18 - the age she'll be when they turn over the White House to someone else. And yes, I'm picturing the new puppy growing up, and growing old there too (FYI, it's a Wheaton terrier from a rescue group- they have hypo-allergenic hair instead of fur, they're an American breed, and they're great dogs.)
I'm imagining the fashion standards Michelle will set as a "real" working woman, and a real woman who is really in love with her husband and not afraid to show it, while being her own person and setting a fabulous example for her daughters, all at the same time. I'm jubilant at the thought that President Obama is the first president my daughter will remember. I'm pretty glad that Bush & Co. will be but a vague memory to her, if at all, much like the Nixon administration was to me.
So. With all that happiness and sunshine- and really, I haven't gloated all week- you can ask my friends- I still have to wonder why the McCain supporters are so genuinely down-hearted.
Seriously. But if any of them are reading (doubtful)- I want to say, you have nothing to fear from us. Barack Obama means it when he says he will be your President too- he's not just paying lip service to that notion like most Republicans do. We are not the ones who keep Enemy lists of people and then act out our revenge fantasies on them as soon as we get a modicum of power (helloooo, Mrs. Palin....). We are not the ones you have to worry about dragging your family from their beds in the middle of the night because you sorta look like an "enemy combatant" or your name is similar to a terrorist's. We are not the ones who detain and torture people without due process, just because we've consolidated power in all branches of government, and we'll get away with it at least for a few years.
Nope. And ya know what? They know that. The one, lone blowhard conservative in my office used to say some amazing shit right to my face like, "Obama is a sleeper agent- his story is bullshit- how do you get into Harvard after going to highschool in Hawaii? That's right, affirmative action. yeeha, we'll have the first affirmative-action President." My jaw would just drop, my fists would clench, then I would remember I'm in an office environment... and walk away. Then I realized, he's saying this shit because he knows that when we're in power, we won't pull any of the common crap they pull on a daily basis, just because that's not who we are. He knows I'm not going to put him on an "S-list" and have him beaten senseless just because I can, because that's not how we roll. Schmuck.
So it boggles the mind as to why all these yahoos are out buying up every assault weapon on the market right now, before Obama is sworn in, because they think one of the first things he'll do is ban assault weapons. Ostensibly. What they're really afraid of, and what they won't admit to (unless tortured) is a big "Black Uprising" - the kind that Ron Paul used to warn about in his little Texan Libertarian newsletters. http://www.cnn.com/2008/POLITICS/01/10/paul.newsletters/index.html
He explicitly advised his subscribers to stock up on weapons, food, and more weapons, because as soon as blacks got a little bit of power, they would use it to avenge almost 400 years of slavery and general mistreatment.
Now, I've never heard any black person say anything remotely similar to what Mr. Paul projects onto them, as an entire "people"- but seriously dudes- we have bigger fish to fry right now than the whole assault weapons/ 2nd Amendment problem. Do you really think you and your damn hunting rifles are priority 1?
For instance, the economy is looming large. And global warming, which is escalating.
It's November 7th, and Cuba is about to get hammered with ANOTHER hurricane. So- even if you think we're about to go all Mad Max because of these combined maelstroms... did you really think we were "safe" under the Patriot Act, which basically suspends the Constitution whenever Dubya gets nervous (which is frequently)? And the warrantless wiretapping of American citizens by the government- that didn't make you nervous? And again, the carting-off of people to black-site prisons just because they looked a certain way, talked a certain way, worshiped a certain way.... that didn't bother you in the least? The fact that these mercenary corporate armies were sent into New Orleans after Katrina, to SHOOT CIVILIANS didn't bother you at all? But now... that we have a black or mixed race man in the highest office in the land... all of a sudden you feel the need to buy an assault rifle. And that's not racially motivated at all? Sorry, not buyin' it.
If anyone else believes it, I've got a mountain to sell you, complete with Scenic Roads open 5 months a year, and Snackbar.
Refreshments, anyone?

Mop-up

Hey y'all. Suzy here, with my night-before-the-election blog. There were a few tacks I was going to take with this one, but (I mean, for cripes' sake, how could I not blog?) I think it's more important to do the pre-election thing first.
And primero, I am not trying to freak anyone out, I'm just warning everyone to keep a sharp eye out, and stay prepared, until the evening of January 20th. And even after that, we probably can't relax. No way the right wingers are going to just fold up their cheap tents and go home. We'll have to protect Obama while holding his feet to the fire on the issues, and be watching his back at the same time. For eight years. Yep. Thought it was time to relax? Sorry. When I was on a wildland fire-fighting crew, our chiefs trained us that most accidents and injuries happen not during the fire, when everybody's senses are sharpened and heightened by adrenaline, and you can work for 24 hours straight without knowing it, but during "mop-up" or the aftermath of the fire. When you're not directly battling flames, you tend to relax a little bit, let your guard down, start goofing and horsing around with your crewmates, and before you know it, someone falls into a stumphole and gets seriously hurt. Stumpholes are what they sound like- a tree burns almost completely, leaving maybe part of a stump behind and a whole lotta ash and smoldering charcoal. They're deceptive because the tree looks totally burned- like there's no fuel left to burn so how could it be dangerous? But what you don't see is that the fire has also traveled down the main roots of the tree and burned them out under the ground on which you're standing, and it may look solid, but as soon as someone steps on the thin layer of ash and mineralized soil - whoosh! Down they go down the rabbit hole. Actually they're much worse than rabbit holes- half the time the fire is still burning down there, the ground is hot enough to melt rubber soles on fire-grade boots, and the gaping black maw that opens to swallow you up looks like an entrance to hell. Or, what I am imagine the entrance to hell would look like, having never been there. (* correction, I thought I was in hell once, but I was just in New England.)
If you prefer sports metaphors, try the one Michael Moore trotted out a couple days ago, in an interview with Amy Goodman. He told the story of the Detroit Lions running back who was blazing a trail to the endzone and thought he was home-free, and started celebrating before he even got to the endzone... doing his little dance and all...and a running back from the opposing team came and smacked that ball right out of the Lions' dude's hands. And took it, and ran with it, for quite a distance. Yeah.
Or if you prefer the much shorter, Yogi Berra type warning, "it ain't over til it's over."
So don't fall into any stumpholes out there tomorrow, horsin' around and doing your premature victory dance/laps, and I'll see you at the Global Tiki Party afterwards. :)
Oh and here's a preview of that other blog I was going to write:

Anyhoo, here goes

O, Death

Yesterday was shit and today wasn't much better. Death sucks. Don't let anyone tell you it doesn't. At the end of yesterday I felt like crap after crying, then talking to lots of people and feeling better, and eating lots of rich food, then crying again. Not even 2 mocha grandes could get me through it, and that's usually my anti-grief/ uncontrollable crying weapon of choice.
A few people even gave me bewildered glances as I sobbed when the casket with our mutual friend and colleague in it came out of the mortuary chapel, bourne by other, stronger mutual friends and colleagues. Yes, I was crying. I cried- at a funeral! For God's sake, why couldn't I control myself??? F- them too. At least I spared the family my blubbering in that condolences line or whatever you call it. Got about 5 feet away, then sprinted for the side door. Couldn't do it. Perhaps it gave them comfort just to see how many people loved, admired, respected and knew him, but cripes, they don't know me. Why burden them with my grief when that's all I have to give at the moment? I'll get myself together and pay fitting tributes later. Like, for the rest of my life. But right now, I still can't believe it.
After finding out a few more salient details at the funeral and the "wake" reception held by a co-worker, I'm also still officially in that "angry" phase of grief. For instance, apparently all the men on Dale's side of the family had died in their 50's of some sort of heart problem. But he wouldn't go to a doctor. Dammit, Dale! People need you! People depend on you and love you!
I think he must have had inklings, and decided to eat better, but still didn't want to go and get the official prognosis, because it would have just depressed him. In the last 6-8 months it seemed like he was slowly fading away from us, physically and emotionally. I hardly ever saw him, but when I did he barely said "hi" and he looked pale, and gray. I think the last time I saw him, it was crossing Colfax at Grant, him going towards the museum, me going to the gym which is near the office he worked in. I recognized him (barely) and said "hello Dale!" he smiled in recognition and said hello back, and kept quickly walking. I knew he was having stressful times at work and seemed to be withdrawing into himself. Like he just didn't want to be bothered. Maybe this is too much psychoanalysis but this is what people do when someone dies suddenly.
Actually, I'll bet he's doing a big Homer Simpson "doh!" up in heaven right now. And perhaps, St. Peter's giving him a gentle smack upside the head. He's saying, geez louise, I knew my days were numbered, but couldn't I have just a little more time? St. Pete's shaking his head no. "Well pal, if you'd gone to the doctor a year ago like your wife told you to? Maybe. But no."
Apparently this was nothing new, because one time he slipped and fell on the ice and broke his wrist, and didn't go to the doctor then either. Just wrapped it up with Ace bandages and an ice pack for several weeks. It never healed properly, and caused him pain for the rest of his life. But he never complained.
Apparently he had been visiting his mother last Sunday, and left kind of earlier than usual, and it happened while he was walking up to the bus stop. Someone must have seen him collapse, and called an ambulance. Jesus, I hope so.
It was a week ago. Just a week ago.
I have to post this final, hilarious story that Mark Wolfe told at the service, as a tribute to Dale's humour which is what we all appreciated most about him (as well as the encyclopedic knowledge). Mark had left the Colorado SHF office for greener pastures in of all places, Texas, as their new State Historic something or other- in August. Evidently the desk that he had used all these years belonged to him, not the State, and he wanted it shipped down to him as soon as feasible. At his expense of course, but still, kind of a pain for the office staff. So in typical Dale fashion, he makes a big practical joke out of the whole thing. Last Monday, Mark walks into his office bright and early (not having heard anything at the time) to find a medium-sized cardboard box on his desk addressed to him but marked "PERSONAL."
It doesn't weigh a lot, so he opens it cautiously and inside finds... a ransom note, complete with stereotypical magazine-cut-out letters, for his desk. It says basically, give us $500 or you will never see this desk again. DO NOT call the police. He digs down further in the package and finds, in a small plastic baggie, one knob, taken from the desk.
We all hooted and howled with laughter, through our tears. Dale had the last word, and he made us all laugh.
The most poignant part is that then Mark sat down and opened his email as usual, and found out that one of his best friends had died.
There's not a whole lot, funny or unfunny, that can make that better. I don't think many of us want to be "better" just yet. We want to keep on feeling shitty for as long as it takes. We'd like to be the better people that Dale inspired us to be- to have more integrity, a stronger work ethic, more patience with idiots, strive for greater accuracy- but frankly that seems impossible right now. As historians, archaeologists, and human beings, we need to mark the passing of a truly great man, and mourn him properly. It's the end of an era, the Dale Heckendorn era, and none of us know what that means yet except a lot less laughter in the face of adversity.