It was on again this morning

MSNBC reran their documentary on Betty Broderick. That dame still makes my blood boil, even after all these years.

For the uninitiated, Betty is serving time for killing her husband and his new wife. Before dawn on a Sunday morning. As they slept. In their own bed. Betty stole her oldest daughter's keys to Daddy's house, went up the stairs, and plugged them. She then ripped the phone out of her bleeding ex's hand so he couldn't call for help.

Betty likes to portray herself as a feminist icon of some sort. Her husband left her for a younger woman. She felt that she was "gypped" in the settlement. She was upset that she had worked him through college and supported him through the lean years. She was angry, angry, angry.

Poor Betty. Life sucks, don't it? What she fails to mention is that she abandoned their four children on her exhusband's doorstep one night when he wasn't even there. That's perilous, bad mothering even in the best neighborhoods. It was then that he took custody. Even after their separation he continued to pay her credit card bills. For five years (the time it took Dan to be legally rid of this shrew), she drove her Suburban through his front door, left obscene messages on his answering machine (which she knew would be heard by her young sons), broke into their home and vandalized it, as they planned their wedding she stole the bride's guest list from a desk drawer.

Ah yes, the bride. That was Linda Kolkena. After only 7 months of marriage, she was murdered in cold blood while she slept in her own bed. She was only 28 years old. I've included her photos here, not Betty's, because Linda is the one who lost her life.

We live in a nation of laws. Betty broke them. Lots of them. She is a murderer. She killed the father of her children and their new stepmother. She left those children with no one because she couldn't control her rage. And somehow she thinks we women should support her.

There are mothers right here in the Chicagoland area who are raising children without the financial support of the fathers. These women not only don't get $9,000 each month in child support, they often find themselves at the business end of a fist. These women deserve my compassion and support. Not that blowzy old narcissist in California who is right where she should be, behind bars.

And for Linda Kolkena, whose life was stolen just as it was beginning, I say a little prayer.

The People's Choice

My uncle has Parkinson's Disease and with each passing day, his world gets smaller and more isolated. To make him feel a little more connected and to give him something new to think about, I'm sending him a variety of DVDs recommended by my friends.

The way I worded it was: You're channel surfing and you come upon a movie. You have seen it dozens of times. You may even own it. You have been known to recite the dialog. Yet you keep watching. You can't NOT watch. What movie is it?

A diverse and motley crew (aged 19 to 61, black and white and hispanic, gay and straight, Protestant and Catholic and Jewish and agnostic, married and engaged and single), they delivered quite a selection of titles. From Holiday Inn and The Little Foxes to The Sound of Music to Swingers.

What surprised me about their selections was how well represented Redford is, as both actor (The Way We Were) and director (A River Runs Through It). Only one movie was recommended by more than one person -- Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. So if you're looking for a movie to rent this weekend, my friends recommend a certain pair of doomed, blue-eyed anti-heroes.

Lesson learned

I can be rather self critical at times, but here's one of my good qualities: I have nearly infinite patience with kids and pets. It's not so much that I have a way with them. I am not exceptionally good at quieting crying babies and I'm not a "dog whisperer" or anything. I just don't get upset and don't give up. I have been blessed with empathy for things smaller than I am. And it's a good thing for Reynaldo.

We've been together just over two years now. He will be three years old in April. He is no longer a kitten. But he is a madman.

The shelter told me he was a stray. Yeah, right. His previous owner obviously opened the backdoor and showed Rey the bottom of his boot. He is an exhausting, infuriating creature. He seldom sleeps and finds genuine joy in destruction. This morning was typical. While I was showering, he knocked over 5 framed photos and ripped down the living room drapes, rod and all.

Rey is impervious to discipline. In his world, any attention is good attention. "Oh good, we're playing the game where she yells at me!" "Yea! It's time for the game when she chases me!" "My favorite! The game where she squirts me with water!"

He has his good qualities, too. His appetite for chaos is only matched my his gentleness. The toddler next door can pull his ears and yank his tail, and Reynaldo responds to this rough play with affection. When my nervous girlcat Charlotte gets upset, he gently grooms her ears. He's best friend to my big old tomcat Joey. And, oh, how he loves me.

I have always realized that you don't own a cat, you share your home with it. God deposited Rey into my life to remind me of that natural fact. And to help me remember that ancient Roman truism, "Patience is the greatest of all virtues."

Trying to look at the glass differently

Yesterday afternoon, while shopping at Carson's (which is most definitely NOT my beloved and most mourned Marshall Field's), I felt myself slipping into The Dark Place. Sliding into depression. Getting on the express train to the Stoney End.*

This was the first birthday in 25 years I celebrated without "John," and I had to confront the uncomfortable thought that there may be many, many more if he doesn't take care of himself. And I really missed my best friend.

Here I was, out of the office early, shopping until I caught the train to go to dinner with my oldest friend on my birthday. Not only was nothing really wrong, I had much to be happy about. So why wasn't I happy?

What is wrong with me? Why is my glass always half empty? I hate that!

But getting angry at myself doesn't help, because a shot of self-loathing is not always the best chaser for depression.

But then I remembered, this isn't real. This is hormones playing tricks on me. We're getting it under control, but it takes two-three weeks for the Lexapro to kick in.

So I tried to relax, reminding myself this was temporary. Took out my imaginary disposable camera and snapped photos of the Stoney End. Sent mental postcards. Because I know I won't be visiting there again the future.


*A Barbra Streisand song, written by Laura Nyro, which portrays depression as a location, the place where you go when "the fury of the broken thunder's come to match your raging soul" and "you don't believe you want to see the morning."

What a cool birthday gift THIS would be!

There's a rumor floating about that my beloved may be returning to me. Barry Rozner of The Daily Herald spoke to Greg Maddux (who was on his way to his daughter's Thanksgiving play) and reports that he is open to returning to the Cubs.

He enjoyed the Dodgers, but he also loved the Cubs. And Rozner believes that the new Cub regime wants to win right now, this year, and that Lou Pinella would appreciate what MLB's 10th winningest pitcher can offer.

I think I've been a good girl. This is what I really, really want for my birthday. If it's too big a birthday present, feel free to get Santa involved and we'll consider it a combination Christmas/birthday gift.

Why I Love the Internet

I admit that on some days I do not eagerly open my emails. This is not one of those days.

So far I have received a free movie pass from the local theater and a coupon for a free dessert at Border's Cafe. And there's a special discount at The Body Shop. All because I Am the Birthday Girl.

You say it's your birthday. It's my birthday, too, yeah.

Yes, it's the old girl's birthday. I'm spending this evening with my oldest friend. I believe we're having stir fry … and a lot of laughs.

Yesterday my coworkers took me to lunch at my favorite deli. I had lox.

Monday night another friend took me to dinner. Italian. I had lasagna (and the leftovers were my dinner last night).

The first salvo was dinner with my old boss at her favorite French restaurant. Seared duck and chocolate souffle.

Tomorrow I will share my birthday celebration with the family Thanksgiving turkey.

It sounds like a lot, and it is. There will be phone calls and cards, too. I'm fortunate that people remember, but I'm still feeling a little melancholy.

Friday I was supposed to go to the movies with "John" (previous post). I'm astonished by the lengths he'll go to, just to avoid seeing Bobby.

And last year my best friend was still in Chicago regularly. He helped plan a big and very perfect birthday dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. This year he's in Denver, with his whole, big extended family. He loves to cook so he's completely in his element -- planning an elegant Thanksgiving dinner for more than 20 guests. I'm happy that he's so happy there, but I miss him terribly here.

Those two men have left quite a void.

But the sky is blue. The office closes early today. I see a lot of beer and laughter ahead of me. I shall try to concentrate on what I have, not on who I miss.

The heart of the matter

I first met my friend "John" back in 1981. It was my first advertising job. He'd already been there about four years and was being moved to another group. I'd been assigned his old office. He stopped by to give me the keys to the file cabinet, which I never locked. (I was writing about sheer and semi-sheer drapes, and that never seemed too confidential.) He was like no one I had ever met before. Tall, black, and gay. We became instant friends. He taught me how to party with The Boys, which was partying ratcheted to a new level. We also talked about our families and our (mostly failed) romances. I was fascinated to discover we actually had far more in common than I'd thought. We've been friends ever since.

Over the years we've seen one another through more failed romances, the death of my dad, the death of both his parents, promotions, lay offs, birthdays, fireworks by the Lake … The stuff of life over a quarter century.

Over the summer he began experiencing horrible bouts of gastrointestinal … ickiness. He'd be so violently ill, and lose so much weight, that his rings would no longer fit. But he didn't feel this justified a trip to the doctor. He has good insurance, so it's not the money. It's a guy thing.

This month he started feeling uncomfortable when he tried to go to sleep. Pressure on his chest.

At 53 he's outlived both his parents. His mother died of an aortic dissection and his dad had a fatal heart attack. You would think alarm bells would start ringing. Alas, no. Or perhaps they did. Maybe he subconsciously feared the worst, and that's why he still didn't go to the doctor.

On the 13th he looked so bad that his coworkers began mentioning it. This scared him. He doesn't have a doctor he can call, so on the way home he stopped at the hospital midway between work and his apartment. That hospital happened to be Northwestern (one of the benefits of living in a world-class city is that you can literally stumble onto a highly respected cardiologist).

"John" was suffering from heart failure. He had so much fluid around his heart that after they aspirated it, his pants no longer fit. He was in the hospital until Friday evening.

If he exercises (yeah, right) and watches his diet (go on, pull the other leg) and restricts his drinking (tee hee), he should recover very nicely.

I admit I'm angry at him. He doesn't take care of himself and it's selfish. He's my friend, my running buddy, my touchstone. I am not ready to give him up.

I am once again aware of how much I fear death. Not my own. My spiritual house is in good enough order that I don't think I have anything to worry about. But I am not prepared to lose those I love.

In praise of Helen Mirren

Watched the latest, and it looks like the final, Prime Suspect on PBS last night and was once again bowled over by Helen Mirren. Her performance was sympathetic but not flattering. Tennyson is a jaded, bitter, frightened alcoholic, looking over her life and questioning her choices, longing for her youth and wondering about paths not taken. I was stricken by Mirren's apparently complete lack of vanity. There's a scene in a shower where her plain face looks as bland as an old, erased blackboard. It added to her credibilty and vulnerability, but I imagine an actress would have to have a might strong self image to allow herself to be photographed that way!

I recently saw Mirren on the big screen as The Queen but saw no traces of Elizabeth in Tennyson, or vice versa. She manages to disappear into her roles. I prefer her work to Meryl Streep's because, unless Streep is doing comedy, I'm always aware that I'm watching a Great Actress at Work. Last night, I was watching Tennyson, not Mirren.

Calendar Girls, The Clearing, Gosford Park … she was wonderful in them all. While I'm going to miss Tennyson, I'm sure she's going to introduce us to many other fascinating women in the future.

That was fun

Had a terrific time at Toys R Us. Cesar, honey, you are set!

I discovered Hot Wheels Truckin' Transporters … Trucks that can carry Hot Wheels cars from hither to yon. I got him three of the trucks and five individual cars. I also got him a race car tin filled with crunchy chocolates and a set of 8 little green army men. $28, including tax. That's close enough to the $25 limit.

I also got some sort of Buzz Lightyear vehicle to leave in the Toys for Tots bin on the way out.

Now I've got to put together my box of toys for Hephzibah Home, the children's organization right here in my home town. They provide affordable day care, family counseling, and a home for traumatized and abandoned children.

I heartily encourage you to join in the fun:

www.hephzibahhome.org
www.toysfortots.org


If you don't have time to shop this busy holiday season, feel free to send a check. Not as much fun as a trip to Toys R Us, but still important.

Merry Christmas, Dear Cesar

I requested a Santa letter from the Chicago Sun-Times. Through this program, a child who lives below the poverty line writes to Santa, the letter goes from his teacher to the Sun-Times to someone like me.

I'm a sucker for programs like this, and toy drives, and Toys for Tots because I'm in advertising. While I currently don't have a client who sells toys, I still need to do penance. After all, I'm still in an industry that equates Christmas with visions of Bratz and Legos and Gameboys and iPods. What happens to the children whose families can't afford the cool new stuff? Do they feel less loved? Do they wonder why Santa gives good gifts to everyone but them?

What happens to kids like Cesar?

I'm holding his letter, rereading it for the 100th time. The program imposes a limit of $25 per child, so when the gifts are distributed at the school Christmas party, there won't be a great disparity among the value of the presents. Fair enough. Apparently not asking for anything that costs too much was really drilled into this little guy. According to his request, decorated with candy canes and a Christmas tree, his favorites are little green soldiers (though he likes other colors, too) and Hot Wheels cars. "Hot Wheels maybe they cost $2. But I like my little soldiers and they cost less than $1."

His teacher included a note, explaining that Cesar is in 4th grade. His parents work hard, and they insist Cesar work hard, too. He gets good grades and has an exceptional attendance record.

Oh, Cesar! I don't mind spending $25 on you! I think it's enormously moving that you rein in your dreams rather than be greedy or disobedient. I wish there was someway to contact you, to find out what you really want, even if money was no object. You'll get your soldiers, Cesar, and your Hot Wheels, too. And maybe a nice warm Chicago Bears cap. (Every Chicago kid loves those 8-1 Bears.) I want you to believe the magic of Christmas after you open my gift, Cesar. I'm going to work on it. You're going to love this present.

I love my doctors

I know a lot of people who have horror stories about their doctors. I'm not one of those people.

I have been battling perimenopausal depression. It lasts a few days at a time. When the feelings of worthlessness pass (and they do and they will), I am left with the dread that it will return (and it will).

My shrink, a PhD, has explained the difference between situational depression (which I've battled since junior high) and biochemical depression (which is new and completely awful). She doesn't minimize the pain I'm in, even as she promises me it will pass. Instead she encouraged me to call my GP and ask for antidepressants.

This made me a little uncomfortable. Not because I'm against better living through chemistry. But because I don't want to be medicated incorrectly. While I like my doctor very much, I only see her two or three times a year. I don't want her just cutting me a script for something this serious without really knowing what's going on.

So I asked my shrink if she would consult with my GP. She said, "Of course. We won't let you suffer." Music to my ears.

I contacted my GP and she told me she was going to give me (free) samples of Lexapro, chosen because unlike Zoloft, weight gain is not a major side effect. She assured me that she believes this is a short-term, hormonally-driven problem. But, just to be sure, she agreed to call my shrink.

I felt so much better late Thursday when my shrink called me back and told me my two doctors had conferred and that all three of us agree this is the best path for me.

I am so glad that these women treated me with such sensitivity and respect. And I'm sorry that all women don't have access to the care I have.

Baghdad vs. New Orleans

The pundits keep saying that the election results were a referendum on the Administration's Iraq policy, that the electorate is angry about how the war has been conducted.

OK.

But what about Katrina? Please tell me we haven't forgotten. These are our fellow Americans. Please tell me we know that this simply cannot be allowed to happen again.

My favorite headline

"PRESIDENT BUSH VISITS VIETNAM FOR THE FIRST TIME"

It's about frigging time. Why didn't you bring Cheyney with you? It would be nice if he finally saw Vietnam, too. The President asked for "cooperation" in finding out about more then 1,000 POWs still missing from the Vietnam War. Why isn't he embarrassed, ashamed to ask about those who fought and probably died in his place?

I respect all the soldiers who went. The ones like Senator Kerry and my uncle, who served their country in the jungles but wonder what it was for. The ones who still insist it was worth it. I respect those who fought against the war at home, like Bill Clinton. The ones I don't get are the Bushes and Cheyneys, who supported the Vietnam War ... for someone else to fight and die in.

I want Elliott and Liv!

I'm watching a Law & Order: SVU rerun. Elliott and Olivia are sitting outside on a curb, sharing their thoughts, partner to partner, the way they never could with anyone else.

This is why I like the reruns better than the first runs. I love the interaction between these two.

I hope that as the season wears on, Olivia and Elliott will be reunited on the new shows. I know that when she was undercover as Persephone, in the hospital and drifting in and out of consciousness, it was Elliott she called out for. We know they're in love, even if they don't, and I love it.

Not real? What do you mean, they're just TV characters? NO!

And they tell me how to live

Fox, the media conglomerate that pays Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity and all the other arbiters of morality when it comes to reproductive rights, the sanctity of marriage, etc., is airing a two part interview with OJ Simpson.

Here are Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman. Look at these two faces. These two people were deprived of a future by OJ Simpson.

Keep these faces in mind next time you hear Hannity and O'Reilly go on and on about morals, right and wrong and Christian values.

But this is today's BIG news

Yes, I know. I've heard. McCain was posturing on the Hill today, grilling General Abizaid. OJ is going to tell us all how he did it, If He Did It. Murtha and Hoyer are working hard to discredit one another. Bobby Knight smacked another kid. A soldier plead guilty to raping and murdering an Iraqi child. I'm still more interested in THE news story that eclipses the rest.

Clooney knocks out Dempsey to be named 2006 Sexiest Man Alive!

I simply cannot wait till the new issue of People arrives. I admit it. I love these men. This is my equivalent of the SI Swimsuit issue.

So, hello, Gorgeous!

Oh, look who is on The Daily Show. He is a charmer. And while John Edwards does a cursory plug for his book and answers questions about Iraq, you can tell his message is populism. He wants to talk about ending the violence in Uganda and raising the minimum wage here.

He most definitely does not want to talk about Senator Kerry, which made me a little squirmy.

He also looked just soooo yummy, which made me a little squirmy, but in a different way. But it seems so wrong to be this hot for a potential President. Next you know it, I'll be longing to date a priest.

Saving me from myself

I keep getting a "system too busy" message from Pogo! That gives me nothing to do but throw out some of the paper that's littering my floor. (Yes, my floor. Both the coffee table and dining room table are already filled with magazines, catalogs, bills, credit card statements and charity solicitations.)

Plastic shopping bags are a problem, too. I even have bags of bags. I keep meaning to take them to Jewel-Osco to recycle because just throwing them out seems wasteful, but …

A contractor is coming by Saturday morning to give me an estimate for replacing my windows. I wonder if how this place will look to him if I don't shovel some of this shit out of here … and whether it will have an impact on the estimate.

Question: Can I put these sheets of self-adhesive return address labels in with my recyclables?

Sad but true

Actually overheard while waiting in line for Borat:

"I wanna see Bobby. Lindsay Lohan is in it."

I look at that poster, see the words, "He saw wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it, saw war and tried to stop it," and mist up. She walks by and sees Lindsay Lohan's credit. I can only shake my head.

Oh, well ... I haven't seen the movie yet, but I suppose it's possible that she'll go to see Lindsay Lohan, but will leave the theater with an awakened sense of populism.

Really. I either have to think that, or cry.

I wanted to love it ...

… but, alas, I only liked Borat.

I think that even at only 84 minutes, it's a little long. The segment where our hero ruins the antique store ran on a bit, and it seemed like every piece after that could have been edited some.

Which is not to say I didn't enjoy it. I did. And I certainly appreciated much of what Mr. Cohen was trying to say. It's just that I'd heard this was the funniest movie ever. And I believe I laughed longer and harder at Animal House.

So hi, Mr. Sagdiyev, I'm Eric Stratton and I'm damn glad to meet you. While I hope that your cultural learnings of America will make benefit glorious nation of Kazakhstan, I'm afraid you're no Bluto Blutarsky.

The dirty little secret behind the Senator's joke

Senator Kerry botched what would have been an unfunny joke. That's one thing that happened just before the election.

The other thing that happened is that he accidentally spoke an ugly truth, one that no one wishes to confront, and that's part of why the story wouldn't die.

It is the poor and lower middle class who are fighting in Iraq.

A friend of mine lives in Deerfield, IL. "The Community that Lives and Works Together." Home of Walgreens. A cheap home in Deerfield is $200,000. The most expensive one listed on Realtor.com is $9,990,000 (6 BR, 9 BA). It is historically very Republican and many of her friends are staunch supporters of the war. As the mother of two sons, she asked her neighbors how they, as parents, could be so enthusiastic, could not have second thoughts, about a venture that is turning into a meat grinder for our young. The response? "90% of the kids in this district go on to college."

How reprehensible is that? And how different is it from what Senator Kerry said (but didn't mean, about doing well in school so you don't "get stuck in Iraq?"

As a girl I was so marked by the Viet Nam conflict it's practically a tattoo on my soul, so I can't believe I'm saying this ... but maybe we need a draft. Maybe then people would look at war differently, if it was possible that their precious little Caleb or Jason or even Brittany would have to go, fight and die.

Lonely for words unspoken

I know my best friend trusts me and thinks I'm funny. I also know that he admires my prodigious moral compass, which most people think makes me a pain in the ass. (The evening we went shopping for his mother's birthday present was memorable; I believe after hearing the phrase "blood diamonds" about a thousand times, he ended up giving her pearls.) I know he feels this way because he drunk dialed me. Actually, he drunk dialed my voicemail, which is safer (and even more gutless).

He is far more comfortable, though, ribbing me. Teasing me. If my hair was longer, he would pull my ponytail. I like to think this is his way of sublimating sexual tension. But then, I like to think that Martin Sheen is President.

My best friend makes thoughtful little gestures. He sends me song downloads and magazine articles he thinks I'd appreciate. Most recently he purchased a lovely little tome about farting called "Pee-Ew, Is that You, Bertie?" for my six year old nephew, who loved every page. My birthday is next week, and I know he will remember it with a gift that is just as appropriate.

I need to hear him say it, though. I want him to tell me, sober, that I matter to him, that I am special to him. Sometimes I want to hear it so badly that I ache.

The sign does apply to you, too

One of my neighbors smokes … constantly. I can always tell where she just was because it reeks of smoke. She's very nice, very chatty, and very smelly.

This afternoon we are sharing the laundry room. Where there is a "no smoking" sign posted. Where my clean clothes are going to come out of the machine smelling powder fresh. So her smoking can contaminate them.

I hate doing laundry. It leaves me in a bad mood to begin with, so my judgment might be a little cloudy. That's why I'm going to hold my tongue for the sake of my reputation as a good neighbor. But I am not happy.

Hey! Bonus!

Tuesday's election is having unexpected but positive aftershocks here in the Chicagoland area. Congressmen Luis Guitierez and Jesse Jackson, Jr., have both decided not to challenge Richard M. Daley for the Democratic nomination for mayor. Washington DC is suddenly a far more attractive place for ambitious young Democrats, now that the House of Representatives is decidedly blue.

I spend at least half my life in the Loop, I have for decades, and have come to love Richard M. as much as I loathed Richard J. The City is, for the most part, cleaner and safer than ever. Architecture and culture are flourishing under this plain spoken, red faced mayor. Business isn't just concentrated in a few neighborhoods anymore. The projects have made way for scattered site housing.

Most important, there is no one, NO ONE, I want at the helm more than King Richard II. Not after 9/11. Not after Katrina. I trust Richard M. Daley with my life. And make no mistake about it, when you're in a major American city, you are trusting your life to the mayor.

The Federal government is currently conducting "The War on Terror" overseas. That means there is precious little money or oversight left for locals. I was downtown on 9/11, in Illinois Center, in the shadow of both the AON building and Sears Tower, and experienced first hand the solemnity and speed with which the City was emptied. Today, when there are rumors of terrorism, it's the Chicago Police with dogs at the el stops, Chicago Police boats patrolling the river, not the National Guard. If there was a natural disaster here in Chicago, it would be Richard Daley, not FEMA, looking out for us. And I'm 100% fine with that. Mayor Daley offered New Orleans the use of CTA buses before Katrina hit. He was refused. He understood, better than Nagin or FEMA, what it would take to evacuate a city filled with people who don't have cars.

Ok, Ok. Yes, I know. There are city payrollers who have never shown up for work and still enjoy direct deposit. Some people are in jobs that aren't qualified for because their uncle was an alderman. I realize all this. I'm not stupid.

But as long as the image of those planes hitting the Twin Towers is seared into my soul, as long as I remember the horrified faces of the displaced in the Super Dome, I'm more than willing to put up with Cook County shenanigans. Because whatever else you want to say about Daley (and I've lived here all my life so I believe I've heard it all), he loves this city. While I admit corruption has undoubtedly gone on during his tenure, he hasn't personally/financially benefited from it, and that's important to me. And he's tough and smart and quick to act, and act accordingly. The world is too perilous a place to let someone learn on the job. We need The Mayor.

Long live King Richard II!

PS I have included this photo because I think he would like it. I still hate, loathe, despise and abominate the White Sox with every fiber of my being.

She really was that good

I'm watching The Wizard of Oz. Again. And this time I am amazed by how perfect Judy was. I know … duh! But tonight I am keenly aware that this dreamy, brave and utterly sincere little girl is being played by a teenager. Teens are by their very nature cynical, sarcastic, and just plain smart-assy. There is none of that in her purely lovely performance. Dorothy is talking to a scarecrow and a tin woodsman about finding a wizard. (We have yet to meet The Lion.) She is not at all self conscious and completely credible. I wonder how, especially with her tumultuous personal life, Garland was able to do it.

Hello, I'm Old

According to the E! THS (on now), Kevin Federline has long had an incredible impact on women. The girls in his high school were in love with him, when he got to LA and was juggling a car wash job and dance gigs, Christina Aguilara had a crush on him, a working actress (Shar Jackson) willingly had babies with him, and then Britney.

EW! ICK! Look at this guy! Tattoos, cigarette breath, greasy hair, dopey hats … I so completely don't see it. And I guess I shouldn't. It's a new generation.

Showing the kids how it's done

Saw a story on one of the magazine shows about how Sir Paul McCartney handled the paparazzi this week. I believe he was in Washington, DC. He got into his car and pulled away, and to his dismay the photogs followed him. He stopped, got out of his car, smiled and waved merrily, looking as though he didn't have a care in the world. The audio revealed something else. No matter how cheery he looked, he sounded like an angry school principal. "OK," he said (more or less) to the paparazzi, "I got out of my car. You are getting your pictures. I am being nice to you. Now there's no need to follow me. There's no need to harass me." Then he got into his car and pulled away ... alone.

Better than leading them on a high speed chase or trying to swat them away. Clearly, the man who has been famous more than half his life knows how to handle the press.

Enjoying a rainy Friday night

It's cold and rainy and windy out there. Just walking home from the train I got completely soaked. Now I'm warm and I'm dry and I'm looking forward to ... a quiet, comfortable night by myself. First I'll soak in the tub for a while, slathering on a nice thick facial mask while listening to Streisand. Then I'll curl up in front of the TV. I want to watch a good old Hollywood movie, preferably in black and white. Maybe enjoy some green tea. I like nights like this. I need nights like this.

One of my more enduring heroes

How can you not love old Julius? I first became acquainted with Groucho when I was in high school. Fortunately he was still alive in those days, so in addition to all the Marx Bros. movies, I was able to see him interviewed on a couple Dick Cavett shows. He was witty and verbal and lascivious and a complete anarchist. I saw so much Grouch in Alan Alda's portrayal of Hawkeye Pierce.

Enjoy these Marxisms:

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

We took pictures of the native girls but they weren't developed. We're going back again in a couple weeks.

Military intelligence is a contradiction in terms.

Madam, I've known and respected your husband for many years. And if you're good enough for him, you're good enough for me.

A fool and his money are soon parted. But nobody can part a cheap toupee.

I wish you'd keep my hands to yourself.

Is it true that your getting a divorce as soon as your husband regains his sight?

Remember when you're out there risking life and limb against shot and shell, we'll be in here thinking what a sucker you are.

Halp us Mr. Rumzfield. In Amerika we R stoopid.

As he left his position as Secretary of Defense, Rumsfeld reminded the nation one more time about "this little understood, unfamiliar war, the first war of the 21st century -- it is not well known, it was not well understood." It is, he said, "complex for people to comprehend."

Yes, Rummy stood there with the President, with the flag as a backdrop, and called us all dumb.

This does not offend me. This is Rumsfeld. In fact, I find his overbearing arrogance even as he's losing his job almost valiant. Whatever else he was, Rumsfeld was always true to himself.

What does offend me is the way the press handled this.

Senator Kerry botched a joke and ended up saying something about the troops being uneducated -- something no thinking person believed he meant. Yet it was reported, replayed and generally beaten into the ground for several news cycles.

Rumsfeld calls all of us stupid (and clearly means it) during his last briefing and no one says a word.

So much for the press and its liberal bias.

The autumn of my discontent

I'm suffering from that free floating, completely non-specific malaise again. Nothing is really wrong. It's just that nothing is really right.

Sometimes I feel rather spoiled at times like this. Bratty. There are people in the world with visceral, insurmountable problems. And here I am, wallowing in the blues. As Holly Golightly put it, "The blues are because you're getting fat or because it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all."

Maybe it's post-election depression … or that I haven't been working out … or because my career isn't traveling down the path I expected … or that the weather is unseasonably warm and I can't believe I went Christmas shopping in a short-sleeve sweater and no coat. Just, please God, don't let it be hormones!

Farewell, Rummy

Donald Rumsfeld is really easy to demonize because he's such a stereotypical rich old white guy. He knows better than you, Missy, about this war and about the armed services and about the world. Everything in his fabulously condescending manner says, "How dare you question me?"

But he was Secretary of Defense, not our national den mother. And he was only Secretary of Defense. George W. Bush was ultimately responsible for every decision Rumsfeld made.

That made his conduct today, as he stood there beside the man he served so loyally while being unceremoniously canned, very touching. Rumsfeld is a tough old bird, stoic and classy to the end.

I know, I know. As a liberal Democrat I'm supposed to hate the old guy. And I am happy to see him go. But I will always view him with grudging admiration. On 9/11, he very bravely ran toward the the Pentagon crash site. (You can actually see the smoke from the fire in this photo.) The old fella willing walked into danger when he didn't have to in an attempt to help save lives. So even though I disagree with every aspect of how he's handled the war, I still say, "Thank you for your service, Mr. Secretary."

The politics of faith

One of the reasons I'm happy about yesterday's nationwide election results is that now, perhaps, government will go back to being more secular.

I am a Christian, and my faith infuses my beliefs and how I vote. However my Christianity does not jibe with what the Religious Right tells me my values "should" be, and I find that insulting and disturbing.

For example, stemcell research. I am for taking fertilized embryos that would otherwise be destroyed and using them to find cures for catastrophic diseases. This is completely in keeping with my faith, and with conversations I have had with clergy. I am not convinced that IVF is God's will (which is not to say I think it should be illegal or curtailed; as with abortion, I think every woman should have reproductive choice so she can follow her own conscience and her own faith). Therefore I celebrate that these embryos can be used in such a positive way.

Then there's the death penalty. I am simply against it. Regardless of the crime. In this world of plea bargains, it is not fairly assigned. It is an unfair burden to put on a juror. Taking a life does not bring back the one that was lost. As a citizen and as a Christian, I am against it. And yet the Bush Brothers, as governors of Texas and Florida, have signed many a death warrant and seem to feel that squares with their Christianity. But you see, that's my point: THEIR Christianity. Not mine.

One of Chicago's most famous crimes, the Leopold and Loeb thrill killing in the 1920s, ends with what is, for me, a wonderful example of Christian redemption. After serving decades in prison, Leopold was paroled and spent his middle and late years working with missionaries in Puerto Rico. I think that's beautiful. These dedicated Catholics accepted and forgave this Jewish murderer and let him spend his last years in the service of the Lord. This is a far better reflection of MY Christianity.

Gay rights. One of the dearest, most committed couples I know is gay. They love one another, have been together for decades, and now take tender care of one partner's 93 year old mother (and she can be quite a handful). Yet there are those who will say with absolute certainty this love is wrong. Well, my faith tells me otherwise.

And what about Muslims or Jews or agnostics or atheists. Shouldn't their government reflect their values? As Lincoln said, "of the people, by the people, for the people."

So hopefully now one group will no longer govern as though they have a hotline to Jesus. Perhaps now we will be able to search our own souls in privacy and reach our own decisions. And government will serve us and reflect us, rather than preach to us. My spiritual house is in order. I don't appreciate Washington white guys telling me how I should feel, and how I should relate to my Lord.

Today's best headline …

K-FED UP!

That's courtesy the folks at Eonline. Apparently Britney Spears and her staggeringly fertile husband just can't make a go of it.