TakeYourMedicine

New moms Mary Cheney and Heather Poe got a rare look at their new son, Samuel David Cheney, when Vice President Dick and his wife Lynne Cheney posed for pictures with their new grandchild.

"We feel that the photo-op should be ours," Mrs. Cheney explained. "We don't want to upset our fellow Republicans with a lot of snaps of homosexual lesbians converting our grandson to their agenda and lifestyle. We thought we saw Samuel giving the eye to a hunky pediatrician, and we knew we had to nip that in the bud."

The internet has been devoid of images of young Samuel with his two mommies, as Samuel makes his conservative societal debut.

Mary and Heather will be allowed visits with Samuel as long as they are supervised by Rev. Ted Haggard, the 100% heterosexual evangelical leader who will be able to provide the infant with an appropriate role model. Haggard recently had his percentages adjusted and should be influential in the tiny lad's upbringing.

Meanwhile, web officials were at a loss to explain the continued bluing of key Republicans. President Bush suspects Democratic subterfuge and has appointed a red ribbon commission to study the matter.

Just because it's a beautiful day doesn't mean I don't get to be crabby. I've been tooling in the car this morning on a variety errands. It's sometimes dangerous to be in the car during call-in shows when you are loaded with opinions regarding the subject at hand. Add to that a presidential press conference, and you have a raving lunatic on your hands. All of which leads to this recitation of peeves. I won't call them pet peeves, out of respect to domesticated critters everywhere:

When Sydney, Jacqueline, and I were driving through a terrible spring snowstorm that had managed to close airports up and down the Eastern seaboard, I noticed that every third person in the big, nasty traffic jams that sent us home was on the goddam cellphone, yakking away happily as we inched forward in the several-inch thick soapy goo that separated tires from the roadway. What a fuckin' epidemic, thunk I, crabby first at our thwarted journey, next at the myriad stops due to the fender-benders that made the slow going even slower.

I'm not great with phones, anyway. I don't think that we always need to be available. When El Nino knocked out my phone one 80s winter, I was as happy as a clam. When I see the young high school and college set yakking as they walk down the street, and I know that I'm hurling toward certain curmudgeonhood. What a way to miss the sights and sounds around you! What age-specific narcissism! What intolerance on my part! At least they're not behind the wheel!

Except for the auto safety factor, this prejudice is small potatoes, I know. As we move from left to right in the graphic above, I go from peeve to outrage. What really triggered this round of bitchiness was a call-in show on immigration on the radio. It's a topic that makes me crazy, having read way too much about our worship of free trade instead of fair trade and of all the nefarious doings described in Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, which should be required reading so that we all understand what other mischief the Bechtels and Halliburtons and their ilk are up to in creating fresh, new America-haters. If we are so worried about immigration, we ought to take a look at our policies throughout the world that force those who aren't making it at home to move to the US. And if anything has me extra-cranky these days, it's the congressional indulgence of pimping to the non-existent security threat on our southern border and the sanctioning of building that dumb, big-ass wall. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Of course, the far right outrage of the lad on the right here should be accompanied by a photo of all the weenies in Congress who haven't the cojones to stand up to him. I am thankful that my guys in the Vermont delegation aren't among them, but what's with this nonsense, anyway? Remember the election? Have they checked Ostrich-Balls' approval ratings lately? Do they really think that our further fuck-ups in Iraq will protect our strategic interests in the region? Fat chance! All of my Progressive party buddies are wildly self-satisfied with the cowardace, the spinelessness of the Democratic Party. I'm thinking of sending a sympathy card to Nancy Pelosi, who had such hopes and dreams, but sure as hell not to Henry Reid.

Enough! Next post I will praise a couple of people and things worth celebrating.

But not today.

My esteemed colleague and personal inspiration, Princess Sparkle Pony, calls her Crazy Eyes. But behind her glazed exterior lies a dark tale of white slavery.

That's right. Crazy Eyes is a sex slave, the legalized prisoner of a crazed Christian, coked to the gills with testosterone.

It matters not to Laura's pastor that the First Lady finds herself in this (largely missionary) position. "The Bible tells us, Woman, that you must submit to your husband," he told her when she sought counsel for the nightly humpings and thumpings she has endured.

Laura has attempted to hide behind the family dogs, whom she has posted at her chamber door in a vain attempt to protect herself. That Mr. Bush has selected small dogs, easy to kick from the door, is no accident.

"She is being fucked senseless on a daily basis," confides a White House insider. "As exciting as that may sound, remember the identity of the Fuck-er. His sexual advances echo his foreign policy. You would not want to be his Fuck-ee.

"No wonder she needs to hot-box those Newports. I don't begrudge her one single puff."

It's official: Jerry Falwell was full of shit.

In a report leaked by the coroner's office in Lynchburg, Virginia, the cause of death was "an obstruction in the bowel" that had spread throughout the gay-hating evangelist's body. "He was literally full of it," explained an employee who had to don several high-tech masks to endure the fumes generated by Falwell's autopsy.

"I can see why he was so down on the environment," declared the employee, who asked not to be named for this article. "He was a walking Superfund site." Falwell had called the current concerns about global warming a "Satan's latest distraction" from the more crucial issues of abortion rights and gay marriage.

"If the guy had been able to take a decent shit, who know what ideas he might have had."

In the windy mingling of dust and sweat that is Crawford, Texas,tumbleweeds blow past the entrance to Prairie Chapel. A dilapidated pickup has been abandoned near the Sheehan encampment, bugged to the hilt, some say.

Others disagree. Lonesome Cal, a Crawford observer, draws a husky, tobacco-stained breath, then spits. "It ain't what it used to be out here," he says. "Somethin' special is dyin'."

Maybe it's the sour odor in the air of dreams having crashed and burned. Of an increasingly estranged Condi and Dubya. Or the strain in the fuck-buddyship of Paul and Shaha.

Once there was the merry tinkle of the saloon piano, the bright costumes of the dance hall Ph.D's., the roar of laughter that rode the river of red-eye.

Now only the lonesome whistle of a freight train pierces the stillness of the wind that buffets the desert chapparel.

Git along, little Dubya. It's your misfortune and none of my own.

About this time 17 years ago I blew off a computer workshop to show my adopted home town of Santa Cruz to a really lovely person who was visiting from Vermont. As we chugged around in my '74 VW, I kept thinking, this is really easy. This is great companionship. Why can't I find someone like this here in town?

As it turned out, I'd have to leave behind that home town, The-Land-of-as-Good-as-It Gets, in order to find Home.

She's bright, generous, funny, lovely, low-key, energetic, talented, and creative. She's constantly learning something, a trait I really treasure. We have a language, a million jokes that wouldn't be funny to anyone else, a series of rituals that make days and nights a joy. We have certainly had our problems, and I am better for having stuck around to work through my share of them.

Darlin', darlin': how I love you!

p.s. The Maddie-dog (who also adores her) is on the mend after three really harrowing weeks.

Embattled World Bank President Paul Wolfowitz reached out for the support of "ugly but influential" business men and high ranking officials who have little to offer but the perks of power.

"Your fate and my fate are inextricably intertwined," he declared at a lunchtime meaning of Old Farts in Pursuit of Young Skirts, a group which masquerades as a men's service organization.

Sporting the latest in a series of hats given to him by Queen Elizabeth II, who was gratified by Wolfowitz's apology to her for President Bush's recent gaffe concerning her age, Wolfowitz exhorted his peers to think of their companions as part of their community service, or in his case, anti-poverty missions.

"We must create a new rhetoric for the service we provide. Think of your current young lady as a developing nation, an entire country to be explored and exploited. Provide her with what she needs to take her place upon the world stage," he urged the assembly of gray-skinned, flaccid-bottomed executives and aides who had gathered for his message. "Provide the frocks and shoes and handbags that will present her proudly to her peers. And provide them in the context of prestigious positions that will enhance her resume."

Having received the blessing of President Bush for an extended stay at the World Bank, Wolfowitz will return to its offices after his awards ceremonies.

Stung by the World Bank's judgment of his ethical lapses, Paul Wolfowitz has applied for and received refuge in one of Queen Elizabeth's hats.

"He just needs to get away for a while," confided an aide who hadn't resigned yet. "Nothing can offer the solitude of one of Her Majesty's chapeaus."

The Queen, who was in the U.S. to celebrate the destruction of the environment and native culture at Jamestown took pity on the beleaguered World Bank executive and offered him her gray topper.

"It was carefully selected," continued the aide. "Gray is a color of fog, of light mourning, of regret, of moral relativism, but not apology. Wolfowitz can continue to lash out at his critics without having to make eye contact."

Mr. Wolfowitz will remain secluded in the hat until he is affirmed by President Bush to be doing "a heck of a job" and awarded a Medal of Freedom.

Here's Maddie, in happier times. She'd been for a swim and was entreating me to throw the ball, just one more round, heady with the pleasures of summer.

Today she's downstairs with a mild case of pancreatitis. Even a mild case of pancreatitis isn't mild. After a foodless weekend, three drips of intravenous fluid, two injections, and multiple pills, she's up to "eating" three small meals of pureed chicken and rice a day. There is now a flicker of interest in the old pleasures: sniffing her world, putting younger dogs in their places, greeting the people who walk down her street. But we are so far from the swimming Maddie, the romping, hiking, ball chasing Maddie. It's going to take time.

We've taken turns sleeping on the futon beside Maddie's bed on the first floor each night, since she isn't up to the stairs and has needed to go out in the middle of the night. One of her anti-puke medications has a side effect of depression, and we don't want her to be alone.

All this happens as I read and post on our library blog site about the FDA's less than stellar performance on the dog food recall continually in progress.

From the current FDA report:

* Total reports of illness or death: 17,000
* Total cats reported dead: 1,950
* Total dogs reported dead: 2,200

Then there are reported cases from the Pet Connection:

* Total reports of illness or death: 14,228
* Total cats reported dead: 2,334 cats
* Total dogs reported dead: 2,249

Itchmo has more bad news: Melamine contamination spreads to millions of chickens in the human food supply and possibly hundreds of food supply plants. Spiking going on for 15 years. (Speaking of chicken, The American Chemical Society reports of arsenic risk.)

We have avoided giving Maddie canned pet food for years, have instead roasted chicken and fed it to her with her Wellness kibble (still not on the recall list). But we wonder: is this pancreatitis, or is she poisoned? The blood counts say pancreatitis, and we may only have ourselves to blame. Maddie has been a successful beggar for years, elevated to the position of Scullery Dog, who cleans plates, mixing bowls, and pans. We have loved and indulged her to illness, probably--no need to blame anyone else so far.

But we see the Itchmo story on chicken feed and wonder. Do these shadowy worlds intersect?

Maddie is looking better, to be sure. There are signs of life in her that weren't there two days ago. I have hopes of seeing her in her summer elements. Still, I wonder whether we can keep her safe. So many of the recalled feeds are so-called premium brands. Is it a matter of time till Wellness hits the list? What about the chicken?

Such are the streams feeding the creation of that coming ocean, the practices of the localvore.