March 2005: Families, Valued (Or Not)

This appears in the women's room at work... Can the arrival of $1 store Spring décor be far behind?

I return with an inter-office envelope; slip the jar inside while hoping no one opens the door; bring the concealed object back to my desk; scan it when the others have left for the day.

More of the label:

Angelic™
Raspberry Cordial
Creme Pour Le Corps
Angelic™ presents a heavenly hand and body moisturizer, especially formulated…for the feel and touch of silky elegance... [followed by a list of not so heavenly chemical-laden ingredients]
Mostly Memories™ Ozark, MO
An Angel will whisper the right way in your ear

A product that promises to make you hear voices? Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant needs no additional help with that...

And this will keep doctors away? We have quite a few "doctors" here—is this wish not subversive?

The arrival of March each year since 2003 means yet another anniversary of the horror that is the invasion and occupation of Iraq. Marking 3/19 last year was Bush's "no WMD under here" performance.

Early this month, U.S. military open fire on the car of released hostage, Italian journalist Giuliana Sgrena.The circumstances are highly questionable, like everything about the occupation.

First published in Year One of the "war," Harper's posts Sam Smith's "The revision thing: A history of the Iraq war, told entirely in lies"—compiled from quotes by Administration officials and assorted henchman.

And not to forget the earlier "war on terror" front, there is this 3/19 account of random disappearance, torture, and death of civilians in Afghanistan, 'One huge US jail'.

In Shock and Awe measures for the home front, Republicans—along with enough hopeless Dems—are about to pass the bankruptcy bill. It's another win in the class war of the rich against the rest of us, and another step toward what Paul Krugman calls "The Debt-Peonage Society".

Then, there's the Schaivo exploitation circus. Juan Cole looks at the Republicans' "disturbing tendency to make private, intimate decisions matters of public interest and then to bring the courts and the legislature to bear on them." It's the "Islamization of the Republican Party," says Cole, and it brings us "closer to theocracy on the Muslim Brotherhood model."

As Bush interrupts his vacation to sign grandstanding legislation, a breathing tube is removed from the infant son of a non-white Texas mother —against her will. The treatment of that particular mother is the result of legislation signed in 1999 by life-lovin' Governor George W. Bush—a law that allows hospitals to remove life support from patients, against the wishes of their guardians.

And in a bizarre piece of timing: the moment Schaivo becomes the big media story, Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant is in the midst of family dicussions about an elderly aunt just placed on life support.

The medical verdict is that the situation is hopeless, and the uncle consents to ending support. Jesus' BAA complacently wears her "All Is For The Best And Is In Heaven's Plan" look.

Then, there's some business about a resident talking—Bible in hand?—to the uncle... Most of the family—including Jesus' BAA —are upset at the resident's interference, but the uncle decides to continue life support.

About ten days later, I see Jesus' BAA with her most Rapture™ ready expression: she says tells me she is on her way to buy a get-well card for her aunt, who has come out of the coma.

The unexpected development is wonderful, of course. What is not so wonderful is the smugness of Jesus' BAA's new position: All Is For The Best And This Was Heaven's Plan All Along. Also not wonderful is the inevitable next step: she now considers herself an expert on a situation like Schaivo's.

One encouraging thing about the larger issue: the Republicans' gambit backfires, as normal people find they resent the political intrusion into such a difficult private matter.

Interestingly, Cruella tries talking sense to Jesus' BAA about Schaivo. Which she does by laying on some fundie-speak very unlike her usual manner: "Just look at your Bible! It says the wife follows the husband!"

Funny in itself, but the real howler is the idea of Cruella's not being the boss in that marriage!

The pitch goes nowhere with Jesus' BAA.

But at a later date, she lets the holiness slip long enough to reveal a little of the ol' Sin Of Jealousy. While Cruella is away for a week in Vegas, Jesus' BAA bursts out to the student helper: "I don't know how she has a disabled husband and can afford to go, and my husband works and I can't afford a trip!"

Clever Sister reacts:

ha ha! why can't she use her tax cut to go on a trip?
or go into debt & help the economy!

Cruella's trip is a Family Values get-together with her mother and her daughter [the good daughter— not the other, overly independent one].

Not only do the three generations get to commune with each other, but they do it in a truly magical setting—where "liberal" is a good thing, seeing as it precedes "slots."

July 2006 (I): Invitation

Photo: etsyapril

An envelope appears on my desk. In the handwriting of Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant, addressed to "[My Name] and Guest."

Enclosure #1 is a printed card:

Two lives, two hearts
Joined together in friendship
United forever in love.
It is with joy that we,
Elly May Xxxxx
and
Sonny Xxxxx
Invite you to share in a celebration of love
As we exchange our marriage vows
[date/time/church location]
Cake Reception to follow in the Fellowship Hall

"Cake Reception"...? Clever Sister informs me this is a Southern Baptist rite: cheap sheet cake and fruit punch, which eliminates booze and the expense of a meal, while allowing the family to demand gifts.

Jesus' BAA seems to be in some sect that perhaps stops short of snake-handling, but includes glossolalia. [Although wouldn't the deaf parishioners have to sign in tongues?] But the cheapness and alcohol phobia definitely fit.

Enclosure #2 is an 8 1/2 by 11 sheet [done on the office printer?]: the couple's photo, with groom's smiling display of his bad teeth. Below the photo—

Sonny is the son of Sonny Xxxxx and Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant.
Sonny is pursing a career in network administration.

[Translation: he's struggling to not flunk out of community college.]

Elly May is the daughter of ...
Elly May is pursing a career in sales with Lia Sophia jewelry.

A "career" in home sales parties! And she's being "mentored" in this by Jesus' BAA, who's been doing these parties.

Though Clever Sister suspects this is what she's really selling.

A NYT "Weddings" page power couple, this ain't. Though since the bridal shower, the gift begging has become slightly more ambitious:

Sonny and Elly May are registered at Sears (Sears.com)...[local chain]...Target (Target.com) and Mikasa (Mikasa.com).

The wedding is at the end of the month. Typically, Jesus' BAA is only taking a couple of days off, so is available to be annoying throughout most of July.

Which is when there's a huge local story—Google has announced plans to open a facility in town...and the residents are bewitched by visions of dollar signs dancing before their eyes. It sounds like there will be only a handful of jobs, but a large segment of town seems to believe they personally are about to be hired. And the real estate owning types expect Google will buy their particular piece of property.

I know about this because people are blogging furiously, and Clever Sister has been sending me links. Then, this arrives from CS:

Does anyone have information on where Google is interviewing or on how to apply? There is nothing on the Google website indicating they have openings.
—[signed with first name identical to that of Jesus' BAA]

CS' reaction—

Is it her? If u are too stooped to figgur how to apply don't...

Jesus' BAA most certainly would believe she can get Sonny a job—she sees herself as a first-rate expert who knows exactly how things are done in the professional world.

But I think it's too unlikely the post would be hers. Her name isn't all that uncommon, for one thing. But mainly, I don't see her finding her way to an "urban" blog—who knows what kind of heathens might be hanging around there, after all.

But Clever Sister is convinced that the post is really from Jesus' BAA. CS goes into action, replying to the poster of the question about interviews—

If you can't figure out to apply maybe you or your family should not bother?
—Larry & Sergey

That post is followed by a helpful person, John Q, who offers a link to the job postings.

Followed by a reply—

John Q,
Are you forgetting your Darwin?
—Larry & Sergey

24 hours later, CS says about the thread:

So far, since yesterday, L&S have the last word!
They must think that was really from L&S and Google won't build here if they reply!

In other news this month, C.I.A. Closes Unit Focused on Capture of bin Laden . Mission Accomplished, no doubt. And bin Laden certainly has served his purpose when there's been the need to fill the media with a boogeyman.

And as Jonathan Schwartz observes, We're Making Real Progress! Comparing remarks by Bush slightly before the Iraq invasion with some after the mid-month G-8 meeting—

You see, he's learning! ...Bush doesn't know who or where different kinds of Muslims are. But still, after a brief 5 years of our "war on terror," he has learned they exist!

And Bush vetoes stem cell legislation—to date, his only outright veto.

Because, the transcript says, science "offers temptations to manipulate human life and violate human dignity"...

Something Bush and crew are already doing only too well on their own.

January 2007: Hello, And A Goodbye

The 110th Congress is sworn in, Democrats becoming the majority party. Which would be helpful, if the Party only had a majority of Democrats.

Bush issues "Warm Congratulations Note Welcoming New Democratic Congressional Leadership..."

The regime rolls out marketing of "The Surge." It's been promoted in the right wing media by American Enterprise Instute operative Frederick Kagan. To connect with the masses, the term appears to already have been vetted in consumer culture. It's been a Coca Cola product. And one recent morning, a student gets on my bus wearing a brand-name backpack, with the prominently placed model name, "Surge."

At the office, Ghengis subscribes to a number of magazines that I have to place in the waiting area. The "Surge" cover story in the January 15 Time includes a photo of Bush, Cheney, Rice, and others, captioned, "NO HOLIDAY: Bush huddled in Texas with top aides after Christmas to plot Iraq policy." Oh, the pain of gazing on their sacrifice...

On the reverse of that page is a column by William Kristol: things are great in Iraq now, but will be perfection if we only we take a lesson from "the just verdict for Saddam" and "commit to victory." The layout is two text columns split by a large vertical graphic: a noose, positioned as if hanging from beyond the top of the page.

Besides regularly documenting their influence, Glenn Greenwald writes about the nepotism that has gained Kagan and Kristol their visibility: "Our country's tough guys and their moms and dads."

In other Ghengis reading matter, he commands that a book be ordered: The Nature of Leadership: Reptiles, Mammals, And the Challenge of Becoming a Great Leader. I'm very surprised he feels in need of this, as I expect he could teach reptiles a trick or two...

Alberto Gonzales appears before the Senate Judiciary Committee on January 18. He "comes prepared with a menu of empty, platitudinous buzzphrases that he repeats over and over no matter the question," complains the earnest Mr. Greenwald, but that's SOP for a Bush flunky. Further, why would it be a surprise for a Bush Attorney General to claim the Constitution does not ensure the right of habeus?

The Libby trial opens on January 22. As Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant has sniffed to Informed Non-Citizen IT Guy: "There was no crime!" I know her kind has the marching orders, so only takes in the upsidedown-world stories of Faux TV.

But it's always breathtaking to see who the J's BAAs of the country accept as being on their "family values" team. Especially with Scooter being among the illustrious ranks of right wingers whose Family Values include being published authors of porno novels, with Scooter's little example including child sex slavery and bestiality. And on literary merit, some of Amazon's reviewers make good points, as in, "If there were a prison for bad writing, Libby would be doing a life term."

One morning at work, a burst pipe has cut off heat to the executive suite and a suite across the hall. I find the place over-heated normally, so I'm not too uncomfortable. But beyond my glass fish-bowl space I can the opposite room, and a shivering secretary. Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant scurries around looking for a space heater—for the Chairman. There are people around here who run heaters in summer, so I wouldn't expect anyone to let go of those babies easily. It takes J's BAA a while, but some suck-up finally makes the sacrifice. The Chairman's comfort is attended to, and Jesus' Best looks ready to be Raptured away at any moment, in reward for such devotion.

Speaking of our earthly master, he has reacted to the news of a major corporation's capital flight that will have a devastating effect locally: "it will be horrible for real estate values."

Priorities, priorities.

Another day this month, I'm in the hallway, walking toward a bulletin board where seminar announcements are posted. From a distance, I see a poster with this mug:

It's bad enough that Jesus' BAA and assorted department fundies are always putting church fund-raising crap in the lunch room; now I'm fuming at the brazenness of posting this in a public space.

Until I get a little closer, and realize: this is a scientist (and Certified Genius)What can I say, but that my brain is being nibbled away by the years spent in this environment...


At the end of the month, Molly Ivins loses her fight with cancer. The loss of her voice is incalculable, especially when we still have to endure another year of a fake Texan in the White House. But Molly's work and memory live on.

June 2007: Makeover

The Office of the Chairman returns to its original space, after a three month redo.

It's been an even longer saga. Before work could begin, there were several months of meetings between Dr. G. Zuss and interior decorators. They brought sample after sample, in a procession much like one of hapless subjects bringing offerings to placate a jaded king. As Dr. G. Zuss is so keen on "our corporate branding," no detail of wall treatment or furniture selection was too small for his scrutiny and thumbs down or up.

Now we're surrounded by the results: dark red walls and blonde furniture. People from around the Department make sure they are seen stopping by to ooh and ahh over how bright and shiny. The luckiest do it when The Decorator-in-Chief is around, so as to note they've paid tribute. Even so, a couple of dissidents have whispered to me, "it kind of clashes, doesn't it?"

Then there's the day the boss compliments Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant on the red dress she's wearing—for coordinating with his decor!

Actually, what she wore clashed badly with the wall. Perhaps he suffers from color-blindness; it would explain his paint choice.

Jesus' BAA—need I say?—was as close to Rapture™ as could be. After all, the boss may not be Jesus, but he is her worldly master, so his praise is next best. Despite that excitement, J's BAA thought fast! "Dr. Schmoe's Assistant and I have been saying: we need a clothing budget, so we can be appropriate for the improvements!"

Quick thinking pays off, and the great man laughs.

Having made a funny, Jesus' BAA repeats it to any and all admin assistant types who enter the room. After quoting herself, she pauses to say, "I'm joking." And just to prove it: she pauses again, to rev up to just-a-notch-below-hysteria level of laughter. And once she gets that started, she takes it for a lengthy spin...

I have to hear this process repeated the rest of the goddamn day. And no doubt, for however long I will work in this room...

A big feature of the remodel is that Cruella has maneuvered an early move to an office of her own, where she begins "my new role"—no longer supervising lowlife secretaries, but instead serving as HR officer for faculty.

She summonsed me to her new space, to say, "You will be returning—temporarily" to the throne room. Then I will be moved somewhere else, or perhaps be sacked, she doesn't know which. In any case, someone else (she doesn't know who) needs to take over my current job.

Cruella presents final decisions as to be made by a new Department Administrator; another part of the redo is that Ghengis will "retire" (meaning only that he won't be here full-time).

Plans to kick me out the door are of course Cruella's doing. She detects an insufficient degree of servility and fawning, and before she left the immediate premises, she wanted to curry favor with Dr.G. Zuss by lining things up to replace me with someone better at servility and fawning. As always, she came up with a lame cover story no one can seriously be expected to believe.

But not having to inhabit the same space as Cruella is already a big improvement. Now, if we pass in the hall she doesn't acknowledge my existence. Nice that there seems to be no further interaction ever required.

Ghengis, however, is still very much with us. The day of the move, he called together the remaining servant class—Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant and me. First thing he has to say: "We'll have to be very careful about what we place on furniture surfaces."

Meaning: the master's surroundings are not to be sullied by our return to that space, so we'd better get ourselves there without any visible signs of a move (e.g., cartons). By teleportation, then? Technology would not seem to be keeping up with what would best please Dr. G. Zuss.

Ghengis also means that, although we're expected to order and receive purchases for the whole Department, packages must be invisible until someone bothers picking them up. This is a new extreme of the usual expectation that the womenfolk work non-stop at doing the bidding of all, while also letting no piece of paper mar the pristine orderliness of their desks.

Next, Ghengis informs us to prepare for an immanent Big Announcement on permissible décor for staff. It seems soon Our Leader will promulgate a new policy: that personal photos and decorations are not to be displayed.

Cynical as I am, even I find this surprising. I've lived with micromanaging of the executive suite for nearly three years, as is only to be expected in such a pompous hierarchy. But suddenly, they intend telling several hundred people to spend their lives at the office, without being allowed so much as a picture of the kids on their desks! Isn't that a big thing keeping the workforce under control—that they display the family photos to keep reminding themselves of why they have to be there? And they post official Office Humor, of the "Dilbert" ilk. Those are small enough safety valves, and meant so employees don't do anything rash, like try to unionize, or show up with an AK-47...

Personally, I would never dream of displaying pictures or anything the least bit personal—not the way I spend 40 hours a week trying to divorce myself emotionally from this environment. Still, it's rather astounding that even a control freak on the level of Dr. G. Zuss would go against something so sacred.

Not to mention—if you dare gaze upon his office, what's the first thing you will see? A display of his family photos!

Well, word starts to get around, and it seems the mutterings are bad enough to cause Dr. G. Zuss to back off. So far, no staff have been separated from the grand-kids' photos and desktop teddy bears.

While The Leader of our Department appears to give up one of his schemes for combined interior design and behavior modification, the Homeland's Leader faces no interference in his Extreme Makeover project.

About the ongoing remake of our most basic principles, Hilzoy notes that this month—

...six human rights groups released a report (pdf) on 39 people who they think the US government might be holding in undisclosed locations, and whose location is presently unknown. (Thus, they are not counting anyone known to be at Guantanamo or Bagram; just people who are missing.) That we have disappeared anyone is shocking, and a violation of treaties we have signed and ratified.

This report has gotten a fair amount of play, but in all the coverage I've read, only the Philadelphia Inquirer has mentioned what is, to me, the most awful allegation: that we disappeared young children...

In a noble effort by some American kids, Presidential Scholars Tell the President 'No' on Torture, presenting him with a letter to say—

"As members of the Presidential Scholars class of 2007, we have been told that we represent the best and brightest of our nation. Therefore, we believe we have a responsibility to voice our convictions. We do not want America to represent torture. We urge you to do all in your power to stop violations of the human rights of detainees, to cease illegal renditions and to apply the Geneva Convention to all detainees, including those designated enemy combatants."

In response, whitehouse.org reports: President Graciously Responds to Retarded Anti-Torture Ramblings of Insolent Teenaged Nerds.

February 2007: I Hate Breathing

Band poster, found on a utility pole.

Which about sums up the years of this regime and all that it's pulled off, from the "Clear Skies" style attacks on the environment, to the toxic acts on all other fronts.

This month, there's some rare media coverage, as the Washington Post begins a series exposing conditions at Walter Reed.

Weekdays I'm surrounded by people who believe anything approaching journalism must be a lie invented by a fantastical "liberal media." Or, if they acknowledge any facts, they convince themselves that these things could have happened only because evil bureaucrats do bad things they know they must hide from the godly Leader's disapproval.

From mid-month, Cruella is on a Carribean cruise for 2½ weeks. She takes off nearly as much time as Bush, but I'm free of her presence pretty often, even if I'm trapped in a room with Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant.

While Cruella is gone, Jesus' BAA emails (cc: Ghengis) to inform me that she will be conducting a candidate for a muckety-muck administrative job from office to office, for the various faculty muckety-mucks to check him out.

"I will be out of the office from 2:30 – 3:00 pm on Wednesday. On Thursday, I will be out for a few minutes at 8:30, 9:00, 2:30, and 3:00. Please arrange your breaks around those times."

It's to highlight what a bad employee I am, taking breaks as I do.

I send the schedule to Clever Sister, who says, "But which minutes will she be gone? Shouldn't you know precisely which ones?"

During one of the Jesus' BAA-less minutes, Dr. G. Zuss exits his office and remarks that His assistant sure likes the heat on high. I check the thermostat between her desk and his office: it's on 80. I turn it down, and leave Jesus' BAA a helpful note, just so she will be sure to know she has done something displeasing.

This is strictly for her own good—just as she looks for reasons to inform on me to Cruella, for my own good. Could this deflect some of Cruella's tirades from Jesus' BAA to me? That would be suspicious of me to think so, as Jesus' BAA has no selfish motives, but does only godly things in everyone's best interst. So the least I can do is return the favor.

I note the goings on to Clever Sister, who replies, "wtwjp - what temperature would jebus prefer?"

On the 21st, Tony Blair announces troop withdrawals from Iraq. Reading the news at her computer, Jesus' BAA looks crushed.

Clever Sister later says she heard ABC mumble the news to make it sound as if Blair were sending more troops.

On the 27th, Cheney is in Afghanistan, where he is the apparent target of a bomb that doesn't touch him, but kills a number of other people. Presumably, to the great relief of Jesus' BAA, after the terrible scare she got a year ago.

Driftglass notes:

"'Behold a Pale Horse: and his name that sat on him was Death,
and Hell followed with him'

...I am also very confused by the story itself, since we know that the Taliban has been utterly defeated in Afghanistan.

How?

Well, because our government said so:

For your RDA of irony, we'll shall cite this from the People’s Daily January, 2002:

The United States on Tuesday formally announced that the Taliban has been completely defeated and can no longer control any territory in Afghanistan."

February 2006 (II): More Tragedy Averted

It's February 13, and no patriot can be happier or more relieved than Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant: "When I heard the news, I was afraid Vice President Cheney had been shot!"

But because even most fervent of the Bush-loving Rapture Ready may be in need of testing, Jesus' BAA will soon face a month of medical crises in her own home.

Actually, it's at the office, where she will face the medical crises of her home... And I will be subjected to hearing about them.

This all begins mid-month. She's on the phone, presumably with husband Sonny. Sonny, Jr., ex-Marine, has a high fever. There's a flurry of calls, then a trip to Emergency. More incoming calls; then from her side of the room: "BRAIN HEMORRHAGE?!! MY SON MAY BE DYING!!!"

Here, I need all caps of my own, since I want to ask:

IF THIS IS AN EMERGENCY, IS IT TOO MUCH TO EXPECT YOU TO LEAVE AND DEAL WITH IT, INSTEAD OF SUBJECTING EVERYONE IN EARSHOT TO YOUR MELODRAMA?

I already know the answer: the martyr must not leave this room because her Earthly Master might need his Assistant.

Later that afternoon, it's determined that Sonny, Jr. has a virus—not brain hemorrhage—and is not dying. Jesus' BAA announces that since she is having such a stressful day, she will need to leave the room long enough to buy a bag of potato chips.

When she returns, she's regained her usual façade of certitude that All Is Well And Is In God's Plan. A façade she will maintain, more or less, until the next crisis.

A couple of days later, the teen-aged daughter develops a "stomach ache" that impels her to phone Jesus' BAA throughout the day. It's like clockwork with this bunch: if one is sick, the others quickly find a way to bid for Mommy's attention. It might seem Jesus' BAA would consider that her family needs her doing her jeezusly duty at home, instead of being a brazen Career Woman... but that would require too much consistency from the mind of a right-winger.

Jesus' BAA brushes off the daughter's ploy. A few days later, there's a new round of calls from home. This time Jesus' BAA is a more discreet than during the Sonny, Jr. scare. She keeps her voice low, but I hear: "Your arm is swelling? I'm sure it will be fine..."

Later: "Your arm is twice its normal size? I'm sure it will be fine..."

Later still: "It's turning purple? I'm sure it'll be fine..."

Finally, Jesus' BAA addresses the room: "My husband was bitten by our pet starfish!"

Now, after a year and a half here, I have much experience with needing to retrieve my jaw from the floor. But this reaches a whole new level of gob-smacking.

After I've composed myself enough to send the story to Clever Sister, she works her research magic, sending me this:

There's only 1 venomous starfish: "crown of thorns" (!)
1. Phylum echinodermata, Class Asteroidea. Acanthaster planci. This is the only known venonomous starfish, its arms having large spins with venom producing integument. The composition of the venom is unknown.
2. Symptoms: Rapid onset of edema, erythema and pain. Cleanse the wound and apply topical antibiotics. Give tetanus protection.

An attack by a "pet" selected because it sounds like jeezus' favorite echinoderm?...words fail...

Photo: Michael Wood
Paris and the Surrealists, by George Melly

June 2006 (II): 666

That is, calendar date 06-06-06. pennypostcards.com

Which soon was followed by an anti-climactic 06-07-06.

Perhaps some fundies were quietly raptured away, or at least went into hiding on the 6th. As far as I can tell, though, it was just another day in another month and year, here in the world Cheneybush hath wrought.

Responding to the suicides of three Guantanamo detainees, camp commander Rear Admiral Harry Harris

...said he did not believe the men had killed themselves out of despair.

"They are smart. They are creative, they are committed," he said.

"They have no regard for life, either ours or their own. I believe this was not an act of desperation, but an act of asymmetrical warfare waged against us."

A Tiny Revolution notes Other Ways They Are Waging Asymmetrical Warfare Against Us. Including such clever subterfuges as, Not Being A Terrorist, and, Being [a civilian] 4 Years Old.

The Homeland's Leader has been plagued by asymetrical terroristic disrespect from people like the wheelchair-bound man who did not rise in Dear Leader's presence.

This month, it's terroristic wearing of sunglasses, by a blind reporter.

Digby last month, after the wheelchair incident—

There's an interesting simple psychology involved in such things. If someone can coerce those in a group to help him attack a single member they become his accomplices. For instance, getting everybody in the press corps to laugh at a reporter's baldness makes those reporters part of the president's gang. And, of course, it intimidates them. If they stray, they too will be subject to that kind of public humiliation. It's the evil fratboy theory of social relations, very primitive stuff. That Bush may be reduced to plying this unconsciously with senior citizens in wheelchairs is not surprising, given his poll numbers.

Back on 666 day, Dave Neiwert pointed to "The targets of the psy war"—the targets being the American public. The media serving to "catapult" the administration's propaganda.

Neiwert quotes Craig Unger—

For more than two years it has been widely reported that the U.S. invaded Iraq because of intelligence failures. But in fact it is far more likely that the Iraq war started because of an extraordinary intelligence success—specifically, an astoundingly effective campaign of disinformation, or black propaganda, which led the White House, the Pentagon, Britain’s M.I.6 intelligence service, and thousands of outlets in the American media to promote the falsehood that Saddam Hussein’s nuclear-weapons program posed a grave risk to the United States.

Unger interviewed former intelligence and military analysts who had worked in a variety of agencies, and "at least nine of these officials believe that the Niger documents were part of a covert operation to deliberately mislead the American public."

Unger's sources, says Neiwert, confirm "from the inside [what] some of us observed from the outside fairly early on," that—

...The entire meaning of the Iraq war -- and by extension, the "war on terrorism" -- is inextricably bound up in the psychological manipulation of the voting public through a relentless barrage of propaganda.

This is why the both the runup to the war and its subsequent mishandling have been so replete with highly symbolic media events -- many of them played repeatedly on nightly newscasts -- that have proven so hollow at their core, from the declarations of imminent threat from Iraq's supposed weapons of mass destruction, to phony images of Saddam's statue being torn down, to flyboy antics aboard airline carriers, to meaningless "handovers" of power. It also explains why certain important and humanizing symbols of wartime -- civilian casualties, the returning flag-draped coffins -- have been so notably absent from our views of the war.

The role of the media in this manipulation cannot be understated. The abdication of the media's role as an independent watchdog and its whole subsumation as a propaganda organ bodes ill for any democracy, because a well-informed public is vital to its functioning.

Hell being co-workers, no special date is needed. For that matter, the fundies at work don't talk specifically about the EndTimes™ stuff, although they no doubt fall for it. Instead, what I generally have to hear is inane conversation about whatever comes up in the course of the work day.

Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant phoned the faculty secretaries to ask what each of their bosses wants to drink with a lunch she's planning. When one of the faculty happened to walk in, she asked him directly. The answer: "A sweet German white would be good!"

Jesus' BAA waits for him to leave, takes a deep breath, then asks Cruella: "What's a sweet German white?"

Cruella—unhesitating expert on all subjects—shoots back, "A coffee drink!" A fraction of a second later: "No! It's a beer!"

It must be painful for Jesus' BAA to be Cruella's subordinate, rather than being the ordained authority herself. And Cruella is never more sure of herself than when she's inventing a snap answer to something she knows nothing about. Jesus' BAA has her peculiar mentality of aspiring to reach the top of the Administrative Assistant heap,while also being so unacquainted with ungodly, worldly things that she cannot understand a mild joke from a faculty guy. Yet, she does so want to Improve Herself into understanding what faculty are talking about. On the other hand, who knows if she wants to understand such talk mainly to learn what forces in need of conversion she is up against.

Getting started on this topic leads to another notable date this month: 6/16, when a non-faculty staffer stopped by on some business or other.

His usual topic of discussion with Cruella and Jesus' BAA is American Idol, but that's over for the season. Now, this guy is so completely deadpan that I can't know for certain about what follows. Though it's possible he's genuinely reaching for a topic, he sure seems to be baiting the most unlikely of persons. Either way, he asks Jesus' BAA if she realizes that today is Bloomsday? And—cherry on top!—has she ever read Ulysses?

That line cannot be topped for this month. Anyway, in another week Jesus' BAA is at away at Camp Su-Mo-Fo. In her absence, there's a surrogate provider of daily annoyance.

Red State Girl is forever trying to browbeat secretaries into crowning her Social Director. This time around, it's this e-mail—

Thursday June 29th GIRLS NIGHT OUT!!! Please let me know if you are going so I can make reservations at Olive Garden right after work or 5:00 pm. For anyone interested I still have not seen The Breakup with Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston so perhaps a movie after.

Hope to see you all!

Clever sister responds:

Yuummmm!
Olive Garden!!!!!!
Eyetalyan food!!!!
Can we go ?

Sure—to CS it might be a bit of amusing tourism, but I'm stuck spending my days with these people. Anyhow, GIRLS NIGHT OUT soon is cancelled, due to lack of interest.

Later the same day...(the demands never end). From the subject line, I thought Red State Girl was going into competition with Jesus' BAA and her camp crafts—

Date: 6/22/2006 1:33 PM
Subject: Egg Cartons

My nephews are raising Rhode Island Red and another variety of laying hens, 20 in all and will be selling brown eggs for 4H. They will need lots of egg cartons because these hens can lay 2 or more eggs a day each...

So I have been asked if I could collect egg cartons...Just drop them on my desk if I am not there.

Thank you in advance!

Clever Sister:

it will cost her if she wants any damm egg cartons from me!

April 2006 (I): Doggie C-Sections...And Other Tales Of Family Values

I make a badly timed trip to the lunch room, where Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant is telling a captive audience of secretaries: "My daughter's dog is having puppies...that breed always needs a C-section... "

I first hear this as, "My daughter's having puppies"...

Which doesn't sound all that strange, considering how Jesus' BAA usually describes her canine relationships. But the special obstetric needs are her point: this appears to be a great distinction and source of pride—something like inbred diseases as a mark of royal breeding.

"American Idol" still exerts its thrall over the office, particularly Cruella. Who is called for real-life jury duty this month, then released.

"Lucky for me," she says. (But so much luckier for the defendant, I say.)

Now Cruella can devote her full attention to passing harsh judgements on teevee contestants: "Kelly was horrible! Paris doesn't have her own style!"

Jesus' BAA tries to pipe up: "But she's just a kid: she just turned 17."

Cruella insists, "Paris will go! The girls will be in the bottom and boys in the top 3!"

Though she takes this stuff very, very seriously, Jesus' BAA is also trying to Better Herself, ever since the arrival of Dr. G. Zuss and spouse. She is feeling especially full of Rapture™, because a campus orchestra (employee amateur players) is about to give a free concert. A Tchaikovsky overture/Broadway show tunes kind of program, over which Jesus' BAA exclaims, "I love classical music!"

Instant comeback from Cruella: "You'd have to kill me to make me listen to that kind of music! Now 50s music: that was the best there ever was!"

"I never heard it," says Jesus' BAA.

Presumably, because she spent her childhood locked in a closet, per instructions from the voices in her parents' heads.

One night this month I dream that Cruella is yelling about
F.D. Roosevelt. Though she can't bring herself to speak his name—she calls him, "that damn WWII Democrat!"

My dream self says to her, "if you hate him so much, why don't you give back your husband's Social Security?"

Cruella may invade my dreams, but at least that's one place where speech is still free. Though when I say so, Clever Sister forwards some "they're working on that, too" items from New Scientist. The articles are no longer free, but from CS's email:

It is possible to read someone's mind by remotely measuring their brain activity, researchers have shown. The technique can even extract information from subjects that they are not aware of themselves.

So far, it has only been used to identify visual patterns a subject can see or has chosen to focus on. But the researchers speculate the approach might be extended to probe a persons awareness, focus of attention, memory and movement intention.

Even without yet having that technology, DHS is busy protecting us from threats like eco terra-ists likely to terra-ize Patriotic American fax machines with terra-ist flyers.

There have also been a couple little bits of news about some of the officials...Such as the arrest of Brian J. Doyle, Deputy Press Secretary for the Office of Public Affairs:

Homeland Security official arrested in child sex sting

And appearing in court after his arrest in 2005:

Frank Figueroa, the former head of the Department of Homeland Security’s program to stop child predators (Operation Predator), today pleaded no contest to charges he exposed himself to a 16-year-old girl. According to the victim,"Figueroa pulled up a leg of his shorts, exposed himself and masturbated for about 10 minutes" in front of her.

TalkingPointsMemo does a rundown of the new DHS arrest, as well as scandals involving other administration officials. And, speculating that DHS must really stand for "Degenerate He-Men's Society," watertiger suggests

We're gonna need a bigger Post Office wall for the mug shots of this Administration.

It just happens that the day of Doyle's arrest, a faculty visitor refers to Fawn Hall (in some context I don't catch).

After the speaker leaves, the others scratch their heads, until Jesus' BAA suggests: "it sounds familiar...didn't she have an affair?"

Cruella: "Then, that must have been the Bill Clinton era!

Huzzah for no more scandals, not with Godly Republicans in power!

September 2004 (I): Objects Of Admiration

Photo: Steven Peterson

The Republican Convention opens for maximum date proximity to and exploitation of the magical 9/11 anniversary.

New Yorkers and others speak out, with CNN headlining a story, "GOP convention protest covers miles of New York." And also reporting the "miles" were filled by "tens of thousands of demonstrators."

Organizers estimate 500,000.

There's also this on September 1: Three-Mile Long 'Unemployment Line' Gives Bush the Pink Slip.

Over 1800 arrests are made in the course of the convention. Police documents will finally be released in 2007, after years of ACLU efforts. From James Ridgeway: the documents show the NYPD began plans in May to arrest protestors at the August convention instead of issuing summonses. Meaning, "You got to a judge in New York faster during the convention than you would have had you robbed a bank." And—

The documents show the cops themselves agreed with the protestors in that 40 officers filed occupational health forms complaining about environmental conditions at the 57th Street pier, a former MTA bus depot, that served as a holding and processing facility. The officers said they were exposed to asbestos, carbon monoxide, sludge, oil, fumes and toxic materials.

At my workplace the wingnut women go on about listening to Laura's speech and how wonderful she is. From Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant: "she humanized him!"

Also according to Jesus' BAA, "Vice President Cheney has a lot of good ideas, too...I don't remember what they are ... [pause to rev up manic laughter] ...Eh heh! Eh heh! Eh heh!"

Charles Pierce later observes of this election season—

...At the end of August 2004, the Zogby people discovered that 57 percent of undecided voters would rather have a beer with George Bush than with John Kerry. Now, how many people with whom you've spent time drinking beer would you trust with the nuclear launch codes? Not only is this not a question for a nation of serious citizens, it's not even a question for a nation of serious drunkards.

The regime has two strategies of public image management. One is the story for the rubes—George is a regular fella, with adoring, properly Stepfordian, wife by his side.

Which must be what Jesus' BAA meant by Laura's "humanizing" her awesome leader. It no doubt takes a zombie to identify with another one, and this one sure seems to feel a kinship with Laura. In the case of Jesus' BAA, I have no idea if the glazed eyes and fixed smile are just the mark of a 100 percent true believer. Or if Jesus' BAA is emulating her heroine's level of medication.

Of course, when anyone with access to the public ear and eye tries telling a story different from the regime's, that activates the other tactic: to smear—and if possible, destroy—the subject. (A little on some recent efforts in Part II.)

Meanwhile, the glow that comes from a well-cleansed mind sometimes departs the face of Jesus' BAA, and worry over Sonny, Jr.'s departure for boot camp takes over.

The wheels begin turning—she works for Dr. Gott, a big man in his field who travels the world attending professional meetings. Jesus' BAA asks the good doctor for travel advice, as she plans a family trip before Sonny, Jr. is to leave. Specifically, could Dr. Gott suggest good places to eat at -----burgh?

Now, this place is about 50 miles from here: one of those staving off Depression foothill/mountain towns (there are a few around the country), that made themselves into "alpine" theme towns following the loss of logging, or whatever economic source they once had. Low-budget Disney, in other words, and Jesus' BAA's idea of an exotic trip.

For which she seeks guidance from the world traveler...she's so pathetic, there are times I start to feel sorry for her. But I soon get over it, as I listen to the rest of what she spouts.

Charles Pierce again, from a piece this month, "Daddy Darkest"—

[Andrew] Card...had to interrupt the ensemble reading of The Pet Goat in order to tell George W. Bush that someone had flown airplanes into the World Trade Center, thus starting the clock on the now-famous Seven-Minute Glaze. Card was talking... about that moment, clinging to the GOP talking points like a nun to her beads. The president "didn't introduce fear into any of those young children or through the national media, to the American people," explained Card. Then, he attempted to explain how the president feels about the 200 million-odd souls who are, after all, his employers:

"It struck me as I was speaking to people in Bangor, Maine, that this president sees America as we think about a 10-year-old child. I know as a parent I would sacrifice all for my children."

Let us leave aside any discussion prompted by Card's remarks that might uncomfortably contain the word "Fatherland." Let us take him at his word -- namely, that the president of the United States looks at the world's longest-standing free democratic republic and sees . . .

A middle-schooler.

...what Card said perfectly encapsulates this administration's approach to governance -- its fundamental contempt for democratic restraints and its hubristic insolence toward any limits on its political appetites. Our president is our Daddy. He will make his wars to keep us safe, and all we have to do is love him back, and do what he tells us to do. Go shopping. Go on happy vacations. Leave the decisions to Daddy and to Daddy's friends. They run things so we don't have to.

"Love him back"—and give him your first-born.

They've certainly tapped into the psychology of my office.

July 2005: VIP Service

This month brings the changing of the guard—longtime department chair Dr. Gott retires to his research, and his replacement, Dr. G. Zuss, arrives.

Although Dr. G. Zuss doesn't bring along his own person, he could replace Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant, should he get the urge. So, Jesus' BAA is frantic to prove herself indispensable.

She comes in early, leaves late, takes 10-minute lunches...

Fresh from an institution elsewhere in the country and not knowing the landscape (and landmines) here, Dr. G. Zuss is content to have a dogged gatekeeper, who is always to be seen at her desk. From there she controls access to him, orders his lunches, and does whatever she can think of to dazzle him.

But give Jesus' BAA an inch and she will overstep miles...

As the family gets settled in their locale, Dr. G. Zuss talks of planning summer outings with Mrs. Dr. G. Zuss and the kids.

Jesus' BAA bursts out with an offer: she can babysit the kids and take them to a Friday event in her town, so the Dr. and Mrs. will have a night to themselves.

I clamp my mouth tight, to keep from screaming, "Don't let those kids anywhere near her!"

But there's no need to intercede. Dr. G. Zuss face changes to an apparent mild exasperation, but he says nothing.

In the future, this is something I will see often, and not only in response to weirdness from Jesus' BAA. Dr. G. Zuss often suppresses a reaction when underlings (including me) speak; it seems he is simply startled at being spoken to by an inferior, and does not deign to respond.

The non-response to her offer of an evening's indoctrination of his children is only a momentary setback for Jesus' BAA, who redoubles her efforts to please.

After noting what's a hit at her first executive lunch order, she phones catering—"What's the name of those bars with the coconut-chocolate-nut filling?" She records the answer for her rolodex. Then, ordering two trays full of sugary overkill, she sounds about to swoon—gasping out, "they're my boss' favorite!"

By the end of the month, she's glowing with martyrdom to the point of wandering into my space and picking up work of mine to do! She can have it (all of it!), as much as I care... But she sure looks ready to be Raptured™ away at any moment!

If only... And if so, it can't be too soon for me.

It's just a good thing that Jesus' BAA is safely married, or she would begin making slips à là Condi Rice: "My husb - I mean, Dr. Zuss..."


It has been ordained by the upper reaches of the University: major job reclassification began on July 1. All persons in secretarial jobs now have a title other than "secretary." This because there had been murmurs of a union organizing drive—hey, presto!—if there are no "secretaries," they can't be organized by the union that would have represented them. Of course, this takes care of the vast majority of women working for the University.

Not that the danger of secretaries here joining a union was ever high: even if most are less insane than Jesus' BAA, they usually are like her in being very self-identified with their masters.

But management is taking no chances, so "secretaries" are no longer seen on campus. Except for pretty much every day; when I look at job announcements, the listings cleared by HR include this supposedly non-existent job. It's OK for the disappeared title to stick around—just as long as no one can claim it as a reason to join a union.


Later in July, John Aravosis writes about executive decisions of the kind with deadly consequences—Bush admin may be responsible for botching effort to thwart London bombing.

According to British officials, the London transport bombings had been planned for the last two years, and a year ago, they were forced to hastily arrest a dozen of the plotters. But others got away, having been tipped off by a Bush Terra Alert— timed to follow the 2004 Democratic convention.

Juan Cole's August 2004 piece, The Outing of Muhammad Naeem Noor Khan: State of Play, outlines how the cover of an al-Qaeda double-agent reporting to the British was destroyed. Tom Ridge's August 1, 2004 announcement of "an unusually specific" threat against named buildings in the NY financial district, Newark, and DC clued the press to discover and report the agent's name. Which then led the British to make the premature arrests.

Since the London bombings, Cole's update: The Ghost of Muhammad Naeem Noor Khan.

Upon catching side-by-side international cable news shows a couple of days after July 7, Bob Harris reports on Media after the London bombings: compare and contrast—

One of these things is not like the other. One [CNN International] is constant, constant fear-pandering. The other [BBC World Service] -- from the country that actually suffered the bombings, no less -- is still reporting something resembling actual news, with something resembling a dose of actual perspective.

And so far, nobody on the CNN show seems to have realized that a London crammed with security cameras seemingly every few feet... didn't keep the bombing victims safe at all...

Harris points to the deceptiveness of CNN's message, in "advocating measures which attack our freedom much more directly than anything a terrorist can do."

And in a statement sadly unthinkable for our own political class, London mayor Ken Livingstone says of the attack—

It was aimed at ordinary, working-class Londoners, black and white, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Jew, young and old. It was an indiscriminate attempt to slaughter, irrespective of any considerations for age, for class, for religion, or whatever.

...Londoners will not be divided by this cowardly attack. They will stand together in solidarity alongside those who have been injured and those who have been bereaved and that is why I'm proud to be the mayor of that city.

And ending with words directed to the terrorists—

In the days that follow look at our airports, look at our sea ports and look at our railway stations and, even after your cowardly attack, you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world will arrive in London to become Londoners and to fulfil their dreams and achieve their potential.

...They flee you because you tell them how they should live. They don't want that and nothing you do, however many of us you kill, will stop that flight to our city where freedom is strong and where people can live in harmony with one another. Whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail.

December 2005 (I): War On Brains

Soon after my arrival in this office, Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant forwards me a pantyhose coupon—"I hope you can use this! I send them to all my friends!"

She has "friends"? When the other workplace fundies try avoiding her, because she creeps out even them?

Of course, it may only have been meant to suggest that pantyhose are something I should be wearing...

Jesus' BAA does take sartorial improvement as one of her Rapture™ preparation duties.

Once, as I'm looking through the Chair's Office drive for a file, I come upon a Word doc of hers: "How to choose the right purse for your personality," copied from a cheesy site by one "Crystal Coons." I can't find the document or that site (if it still exists)—too bad I didn't save Jesus' BAA's extracurricular work at the time.

In over a year of having to brace myself to go to this environment every week day, listening to "Morning Sedition" until 8:00 was a sanity preserver. Something no longer there, since Air America yanked the show this month.

Considering how much we, the peons, have our lives ruled by executive decisions over which we have no say, this is a small thing. Yet it reaches some classic level of executive stupidity, connected as it is to the media climate we live in.

After the cancellation was announced last month, the network was deluged with support for the hosts and pleas to continue the show. But the program was deemed "not funny" by an audience of one: the CEO who wanted the show axed. Air America may not have much of a reach, but its management proves,unsurprisingly, that those who control media are those who shouldn't.

It's true that the show often made me late getting into the shower. And—a geezer on a rush hour bus full of sullen, half-asleep undergrads—I often had stretches of laughing uncontrollably.

There are audio archives here, thanks to a fan. This has selections for entire shows and individual segments, including the Jim Earl bits that had me hopelessly cracked up on the bus. "Rapture Watch" and "The War on Brains"—what could have been more appropriate, just before my daily in-person encounter with such things.

Jesus' BAA has been out since having shoulder surgery at the beginning of the month. This was supposed to have happened next March, but the hospital suddenly re-scheduled a few weeks ago.

Cruella was livid that Jesus' BAA "just ups and leaves when she feels like it!" She has spent the whole month bitching about Jesus' BAA, to everyone in earshot.

That even includes me—when I have to ask Cruella about something, I get a tirade on the lines of, "it's here, though it should have been done this way, but Jesus' BAA is incapable of that."

There already was a temp working on this floor; she has since been planted at the empty desk in our office, where she can listen daily as Cruella and Ghengis attack the missing one.

Whenever Jesus' BAA is not around, Red State Girl can be counted on to step in and keep up the annoyance level. She's another character I might feel a little sympathy for, if she weren't so obnoxious about trying to bully the other women into her schemes as would-be social director. And she always comes across like she's taking names of the gals who don't fall in line.

RSG is forever bringing in fund-raising projects on behalf of nieces and nephews, and I often hear her talk about how much time she spends with them. Judging from how officious she is with the female employees, I assume that she hijacks the kids to have people small enough to dominate. And I also assume that she uses them as a public shield, to look as if she were really a married lady with kids.

RSG's current project: selling plastic baggies of "Reindeer Food"—

Make a wish and close your eyes tight,
Then sprinkle on your lawn at night.
As Santa's reindeer fly and roam
This food will guide them to your home.
For your gift to the reindeer and Rudolph
Your wish may be real,
Your dreams may come true.

A pome so bad, I was sure she wrote it herself. Until I found it all over the Web—along with the recipe for oats mixed with glitter. Schools all over the Murkan Heartland must be making the kids raise funds with this. So there must also be mass wildlife poisonings from glitter ingestion.

I have no idea what blend of horror at the thought of idleness plus need for martyrdom motivates her. But on the 23rd Jesus' BAA drags herself from her sickbed, stopping by to distribute "gifts"—bags of homemade cookies and candies.

I didn't see her (or what kind of condition she was in)—just came back from lunch to find the bag left on my chair. Sugar cookies, three kinds of fudge, chocolate-coated peanuts, and peanut butter balls. I unloaded nearly all of it in the lunch room, but kept some of the peanut things, thinking my choc-aholic brother-in-law might like them.

He wasn't home when I got there, but Clever Sister tried a chocolate. And immediately spat it out, with an outraged—"Is she trying to poison you?!" The peanuts tasted rotten, the coating was dollar store quality fake flavor... of course I should have known better than to think anything from Jesus' BAA could be edible.

This is Jesus' BAA in a [rancid] nutshell: she believes she's doing a wonderful good deed and goes to so much work over the gastronomic equivalent of her "camp crafts."

Jesus' BAA will return to work early in the new year. When she will sit happily at her keyboard, and say, "It's amazing how much your shoulder hurts after surgery!...eh HEH eh HEH eh HEH..."

April 2007 (I): May I Dust Your Dust?—and—"From Dust To"... Plastic?

Renovation of the executive suite begins, and the occupants move to an adjoining space for the duration.

The next morning we arrive to find the temporary digs coated in plaster dust from the work next-door.

Ghengis stomps off to intimidate the work crew.

Moments later Dr. G. Zuss walks in, and Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant goes into action: "I've already dusted my office. Would you like me to do yours?"

There's no reply. I can never read Dr. G. Zuss on whether even he is sometimes gob-smacked by the degree of self-abasement that Jesus' BAA achieves.

At she does at times like early this very month, when her husband was hospitalized. The day of his release, she's getting ready to leave—at her quitting time—when Dr. G. Zuss steps out of his office and directs a lost, helpless look in her direction. Jesus' BAA immediate reaction: "Oh! I'm supposed to take my husband home—is it OK if I leave?"

This time, too, Dr. G. Zuss does not reply. I don't know if even he gets a bit uncomfortable with his assistant's slavish nature. Or, if he's simply taken aback when an underling speaks in his presence.

The others are in temporary offices while I'm in an adjoining space—sitting in a hallway, in fact. The space is partly partitioned off from foot traffic, but open to the Ghengis' inspection, which happens whenever he walks in or out of his office two rooms away.

It's still coat weather, and there happens to be a hook attached to my workspace partition. One day I decide—just for the hell of it—to hang my coat there. As expected, it hangs only until Ghengis' next trip past—he stops cold, bursts into the space, and—at least his clenched teeth moderated the volume of his screaming—"It looks bad! Hang your coat in the closet!"

I'm sitting in a shabby hall of a shabby building, newly hung with plastic tarps so dust will never again threaten the executives' spaces. What this really is about is the attitude that employees are meant to seen only when needed—a hanging coat intrudes on management's need to believe that staff are invisible until summoned. And as Dr. G. Zuss can see me from the side opposite where Ghengis does his inspections, those executive eyes need shielding from the fact that an employee owns a coat.

Simultaneously with this move, the lunch room is being redone and the coffee maker has moved to the floor below. So that Dr. G. Zuss will not be inconvenienced, Jesus' BAA brings her coffee maker from home, setting it up in a vacant cubicle outside Dr. G. Zuss' office.

She also brings a daily haul of Sam's Club industrial-sized packs of cookies and cake. These grow stale, sitting as they do in a space that only Dr. G. Zuss may enter. I presume that in her fevered mind, Jesus' BAA believes the master has a bottomless and godlike capacity for caffeine and sugar, which she must supply in suitable quantities.

This whole procedure leads her to send me annoying e-mails—

Subject: Coffee pot

Before you leave, can you be sure the coffee pot is turned off, left-over coffee is dumped and the grounds are taken out?

This suggests she actually plans to leave on time (a half-hour before I can escape), so must intervene to prevent Dr. G. Zuss' being deprived of coffee from 4:30-5:00.

A piece of news in our town: a "Body World" show is coming to the area. It's one of the knockoffs, where all the formerly living people have very Chinese features.

Though I refer to her here as "Clever Sister," she is just as much Serious, Thoughtful Sister. For a year or two she's forwarded articles about these shows, and how profoundly disturbing they are—given uncertainties about how bodies are obtained, and the questionable poses used in exhibiting them.

Some British coverage of the exhibit, and its creator, Gunther von Hagens, is here, here, and here.

And this reports Van Hagens' plan to open a "plastination factory" on land he's purchased in Poland. His father travels there to represent the business... before skipping out, following accusations of his involvement in World War II war crimes against Poles.

Articles, including some graphic description of exhibits, are here and here.

This British writer also places the "redefinition of the human body within consumer culture" in the context of medical service cuts joined to the current thinking on individual responsibility of "health care consumers"—

The foundation of the National Health Service in 1948 institutionalized the idea that health was a matter of state responsibility towards the public. Within this context, patients tended to defer to medical experts, in whose hands they placed their bodies. In recent years, however, these patients have become consumers of health care with contractual relationships to service providers. In the new order consumers’ rights over their bodies and the bodies of their relatives are paramount. Furthermore, as state paternalism has diminished, health-care systems place increasing responsibility on individuals for maintaining their own health. Health, in other words, is less a matter of social welfare and more a matter of individual choice, self-awareness and responsibility

I bring up the topic to someone at work who previously worked in nursing (and who seems to be one of the more OK people in this setting). She's gone with relatives' kids to a show in another state—and found it "very educational, and tastefully done." She also sounds offended at my bringing up questions about the appropriateness—I don't know if that's just my read, or if she imagines being annoyed by picketers outside her tasteful exhibit.

This all relates to what seems most disturbing (if predictable): these shows become just one more entertainment opportunity to be consumed by the masses. And they're being justified as "educational," instead of "mindless entertainment."

A local weekly publishes a story about the exhibit that's arrived, as well as the other shows and controversies around them. And the article reveals that our very own university does "plastination" of cadavers, for use by the medical school.

This has no connection with the commercial shows—and there is no question about how those cadavers are obtained. Nevertheless, the whole enterprise sounds creepy, and the article includes a photo of the two Chinese pathologists who prepare the cadavers. The family and I immediately dub the shorter, more stooped, large-eared of the two—"Igor"—as he totally, unnervingly looks the part! (The other, somewhat less frightening in appearance guy becomes, "Not Igor.")

After reading the article, I suddenly begin seeing these two get on my bus at the end of the day! I don't know which to suppress first: the urge to bail, or the urge to laugh hysterically.

And I'm also cringing at the thought of them coming near me, though that never happens. Igor, in particular, always makes for a seat in the front. He's quite voluble, getting into animated conversations with whomever he sits next to. Not a good sign, as we know from horror pix...

One day Igor appears to be daydreaming (of what, I would not want to know). He snaps out of it when he sees the bus is leaving his stop, while he's still seated. He gasps, frantically pulls the cord, bolts out of his seat and charges toward the rear door of the bus—where he slams full-force into a strap-hanging passenger unlucky enough to be in his path.

I'm not sure if this is just bus etiquette in Beijing. Or if it's more like narrowly focused specialist behavior—it may be that people just aren't all that noticeable to the guy, until it's time to go to work on their corpses.

It's a male passenger of average height who's been slammed: he's stunned to look down and see a middle-aged man charging him at chest level. Then he observes the demented rush at the exit, and smiles nervously.

Despite Igor's frenzy, the next stop is not far, and it's where I get off. The slamee exits ahead of me and walks in the same direction. I avert my eyes, fighting the urge to "share," as in asking, "Do you have any idea who slammed into you?!"

After this incident, I manage to get through an Igor-less day or two, until a takeout meal offers me this suggestion:

May 2006 (I): Do Not Touch Your Dial

An irresitable invitation: Department Gals' Day Out—


Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant is in the midst of caring for the post-Caesarian puppy bounty: "I have hives so bad! I'm allergic to newsprint, with the puppies being potty-trained. I thought it would get better, but it's not!"

Mid-month, Jesus' BAA takes a day off to prep the party she's throwing at home, for her [special needs] church camper-parishioners. The day before, she announces she'll have to start hiding things tonight, because: "Deaf people are the biggest thieves you've ever seen! They take everything that isn't locked down!"

It suggests a level of psychological projection I don't want to think about.

Another day, a rapt audience of Ghengis, Cruella, and Jesus' BAA listen to Dr. G. Zuss tell an anecdote:

After the announcement that I was leaving X University to come here, a friend who's a ... [pausing to come up with a euphemism] ... liberal thinker... said, "That's the worst news I've heard since Bush won!"

Jesus' BAA gasps, "Oh, no!" as Ghengis and Cruella laugh heartily.

Which may not even have been sucking up by those two; they may have laughed to think Bush won, so the no-good librul was PO'd!

An amused Dr. G. Zuss says to Jesus' BAA, "Don't look at me that way!"

Turning red, she insists the story doesn't bother her.

Dr. G. Zuss gets sly: "Now, I know you have a Bush sticker on your vehicle!"

Which Jesus' BAA also denies, claiming she doesn't put on stickers because they make a mess. Then she goes on (and on, and on) about how her husband's vehicle is "plastered with them," and he's been asked to be the county chair for [local Rethug running for governor], but she told him not to, it's just asking for headaches...

It could mean she's toning down her political activity, since realizing the boss is somewhere vaguely left of Joe McCarthy.

And that, I gather, is mainly due to the anti-science stance of the current regime.

When not trying to impress the Chief, Cruella is busy as ever with American Idol commentary. In one morning's phone conversation with her Good Daughter:

I was in shock! She did an awful job, she deserved to go!
...Taylor has a fan base: he's never been in the bottom…
To be honest, I thought Chris would win...incredibly market-savvy: that's the kind of music people listen to...
... [Some other name I don't catch] is awesome! He's phenomenal! He's so emotional when he sings!

Another morning, after a favorite has been bumped, "I was devastated! Absolutely devastated!"

Though Idol takes up the airwaves, some news still seeps out, if not into the consciousness of Cruella and the others. The Hartford Courant publishes "Mentally Unfit, Forced To Fight"

The U.S. military is sending troops with serious psychological problems into Iraq and is keeping soldiers in combat even after superiors have been alerted to suicide warnings and other signs of mental illness, a Courant investigation has found.

...Once at war, some unstable troops are kept on the front lines while on potent antidepressants and anti-anxiety drugs, with little or no counseling or medical monitoring.

And some troops who developed post-traumatic stress disorder after serving in Iraq are being sent back to the war zone, increasing the risk to their mental health. These practices, which have received little public scrutiny and in some cases violate the military's own policies, have helped to fuel an increase in the suicide rate among troops serving in Iraq... accounting for nearly one in five of all Army non-combat deaths.

Earlier in the month, Ray McGovern attended a talk in Atlanta by Donald Rumsfeld, and managed to get out some questions. Prior to that, protestors were removed—to the applause of the audience at the Southern Center for International Studies.

In this interview, McGovern says of the encounter, "I suppose the good news is that finally someone had a chance to ask Don Rumsfeld—if I were in Washington, I never would have got into a session where Rumsfeld spoke." McGovern also quotes a pre-event leaflet distributed by The World Can't Wait:

There's going to be a question-and-answer period, but please adhere to these guidelines. Refrain from using the word 'lie' in relation to the war in Iraq. Do not question the secretary’s personal responsibility for torture. And please don't discuss first use of nuclear weapons against Iran. If you violate these guidelines, you'll be immediately removed from the auditorium, flown to an undesignated prison location somewhere in Eastern Europe and tortured. Thank you for your cooperation.

From the LA Times on May 18 there's a piece by Laura K. Donohue—originally headlined "Battlefield: U.S."—currently posted by the Times as "Pentagon spies are watching you"—! It succinctly describes the ever-growing list of methods of surveillance of Americans—the methods that have come to light, that is.

But, to paraphrase the Reich-wing's, "you have nothing to worry about if you have nothing to hide" — you have nothing to trouble you if stay tuned only to American Idol.

July 2008: Pictures, Words

When the daughter-in-law of Jesus' Best Administrative Assistant threatened to abandon unemployed Sonny, Jr. (and baby) for an army paycheck, J's BAA went into action.


Sonny, Jr. has now worked in our Department for nearly a year.

By hiring Sonny and making Jesus' BAA happy, the IT manager surely made Dr. G. Zuss happy, too.

This couldn't have been nepotism because, according to Jesus' BAA, Sonny, Jr. is a computer jeenyus. Just like his pappy, who is, "a geek in civilian clothes...just a nice guy..." Unlike your usual satanic computer guys, apparently.

Whatever talents Sonny, Jr. may possess, they don't include figuring out how to compose an email and send it to the appropriate persons. The entire Department—over nine hundred strong—receives an All Staff—

Subject: sonny not coming in today

7/16/08 8:59 PM

i have a dentest and doctor appointment today so i will be missing today

Which doesn't even make sense in terms of time stamp/"today" correlation...

Clever Sister remarks:

"Dentest"
It ain't in the dictshunary

"will be missing"
MIA?

Wow! What does this person do?

A rhetorical question, as I've already told her what Sonny does—be related to our Department Chairman's admin assistant...

Later, CS actually finds a "dentest"...


With McCain's campaign so busy setting up their candidate as the butt of jokes, water tiger keeps busy with photo enhancement opportunities.

There was McCain's Baghdad jaunt at the end of March—

One of Mr. McCain’s colleagues on the visit to the Baghdad market was Rep. Mike Pence, an Indiana Republican, who marveled at the peaceful scene and compared it to a "normal outdoor market in Indiana in the summertime."

Earning water tiger's response—

John McCain Visits Indiana

In April, visits continued to be paid...

John McCain Visits Orlando...

...San Francisco...

...The Lower East Side...

...Portland, Maine...

This month, water tiger on McCain's trip to Columbia (with soulmates Joe & Lindsay)—

The Sunshine Boys play Cartagena

In contrast to that bunch of losers, are the real players:

Well, somebody accomplished his mission.

From Think Progress:

In a 1998 interview, Osama bin Laden — the terrorist organizer of 9/11 who still roams free — listed as one of his many grievances against the U.S. that Americans "have stolen $36 trillion from Muslims" by purchasing oil from Persian Gulf countries at low prices. The real price of a barrel of oil should be $144, bin Laden demanded.

Ten years ago today, the price of a barrel of oil was just $11. Heading into this holiday weekend, the price of a barrel of oil rested at $144 — a thirteen-fold increase.

water tiger is such a treasure, I was thinking of just using this month's space for links to her recent stuff.

Then as soon as I had that thought, I saw

Bush looks to legacy at last G-8?

From McClatchy:

"People read the American poll numbers and realize there's no juice behind Bush," said John Hulsman, an analyst for the German Council on Foreign Relations, a research center. "They (other G-8 leaders) will be polite, they'll be respectful, they'll listen to him, but they can't wait for him to leave the room."

They're not the only ones. Let's recap, shall we?

Followed by water tiger's compilation of some key images from the last few years: the smirking frat boy juxtaposed with some of the consequences of his having been placed where he is.

Sometimes a picture of Bush is worth a thousand laughs.

But the pictures that remind us of his victims—there's no counting the tears or measuring the pain caused by what those images represent.