Maggie Jochild, 8/5/1955 — 1/6/2017

Goodbye Maggie: Beloved, Brilliant Writer, Colleague, Friend

Maggie Jochild changed my life.

Maggie Jochild, 1980
Bean Hollow Beach, near Pescadero, Ca

Maggie was a brilliant writer — of blog posts, of poetry, of fiction. She was a fierce advocate for women, children, the disabled, dykes, people of color, for the underprivileged.

Maggie's novel Ginny Bates is an amazing exploration of life lived intentionally by women, as free of the patriarchy as possible. It addresses issues of class, sexism, racism, and anti-semitism, all inside the family-by-choice lives of lesbians and their families. It is appropriately called "The Great American Lesbian Novel."

I hope whomever now holds artistic control of Maggie's writings, facilities the novel's publishing as soon as feasible. Ginny Bates deserves a permanent spot in the pantheon of great genuinely American novels. More importantly, its publication to a wide audience would be an enormous contribution to schools and young people.

A serialization of GB is on Meta Watershed. Her other (all amazing) novels are also serialized and posted there.

Maggie in 7th Grade

Maggie came to write at Group News Blog in 2007-2008 during the first Obama presidential campaign. She made an immediate difference.

Her writing helped GNB in ways public and private. It is fair to say Maggie's writing was core to the respect and fierce devotion our readers gave GNB at its peak. In addition to her public contributions Maggie as a person, as a force of nature, caused numerous behind the scenes changes at GNB which made us better writers, better advocates for our readers and mission (which mission she helped redefine), and better with each other. She made us better people.

Personally, Maggie's writings and friendship were instrumental in revealing to myself my own automatic investments: in class privilege, male privilege, white privilege, straight privilege, in revealing privilege. I was not the only one. She also gave of herself unstintingly. Weeks of her time were spent helping myself and others learn to deal powerfully with our disabilities.

Even with (or more accurately, because of) her radical and courageous feminism, Maggie was kind, compassionate, willing to hear, understand and forgive the sins of childhood and upbringing. She was a good friend, someone whom it is a lifelong badge of honor to be able to say that I too was privileged to know Maggie, to live and fight by her side.

Maggie Jochild, 1999, Austin Tx
Photo by Harper Vinkemulder

We were colleagues, collaborators, and for some years, close friends. For the decade I knew her, even after our lives drew apart, she remained dear to my heart.

Maggie's medical condition has been serious to dangerous the past decade, including hospitalizations and surgeries. Recently, she was placed on palliative care at the University Medical Center Brackenridge in Austin, Tx.

Maggie Jochild died Friday morning, January 6, 2017, at the age of 61. She was predeceased by her family, including her mother Mary Jo and her younger brother Bill. She is survived by her beloved Margot Williams, and a vast network of loving friends, cyber and tofu, in Austin and around the world.

Bill and Maggie, Summer 1964
Houma, La

All week long friends and loved ones of Maggie's have been saying goodbye — in person at her hospital bedside, on Facebook, through blog posts, emails, messages and texts, in conversations with each other, and in our hearts. The enormous outpouring of support has been appropriate to the life Maggie lived and the contribution she made.

She really was that great.

I am grateful for the gift Maggie's writing was to our readers, and the greater gift her friendship and gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) corrections and coaching provided.

Today I am a different and better person because of conversations with Maggie: more gentle, more honest, more human, more able to love and care for others.

I will miss her. As will everyone privileged to have known her.

Tat Tavm Asi.




Further Information
Many additional poems and writings are inside the following sites.

Maggie Jochild — Facebook
Margo Williams — Facebook

Maggie's blog — Meta Watershed
Maggie's earlier blog — Maoist Orange Cake

Maggie's posts — Group News Blog
Maggie's tweets — Twitter

Search on: Maggie Jochild — Google

Me and Michigan

Chasing the Second Wave in San Fran
The White Night Riot

Partial List of Poetry — I Fight Like a Girl
Two Poems

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Steve, Two Years Later

Gilly Bear on Steve Gilliard's hospital pillow. photo by Jenonymous Feb 25, 2007.

Steve Gilliard (November 13, 1964 – June 2, 2007)

Internally we call this GillyDay.

A year ago I was still in mourning. We all were. (Scroll to June 2.)

To even think of Steve brought me to tears, and I thought of him two, three times a day. That's every day, not just on June 2nd, the anniversary of his death,

This year, not so much. Not to say I don't still cry sometimes. Get pensive. Or say to myself, 'Ah hell. Steve would love to be here now." or "Dammit all. I don't know how to write this. This... Gil would really knock this out of the park."

But then I sigh, drop an email to Maggie, MB, Evan or TLG, or pick up the phone and call one of them, and soon, another post goes up.

No, this isn't The News Blog. Two years later, Driftglass writes for Crooks and Liars and maintains Driftglass, his own blog. Hubris Sonic and The Littlest Gator have spun off Fighting Liberals. Lower Manhattanite has a new gig taking up all his time. Dr. Bopper is working with patients in a new setting, and Jen is brilliant, passionate, and wonderful. Minstrel Boy is back on the road making music. Maggie and I are working on a startup, as is Evan Robinson. And Sara Robinson is making brilliant predictions about the future, and is a Fellow at Campaign for America's Future.

People have gone in different directions.

Group News Blog abides. We're not going anywhere.

We all started, metaphorically, with Gilly.

I miss him. I remember him. I honor him. I thank him.

As always, I don't play the game of “Steve Would Have...”

For those of you who late to the party, you can get started reading Gilly here. *smiles*

Happy GillyDay.

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National Health Insurance Needed, Reason #247,342,589: desmoinesdem

“February Sucks”

February one year ago a writer named desmoinesdem made an appointment with a doctor for an issue which seemed minor.

Next thing you know, desmoinesdem was in the hospital on IVs.

Then multiple systems were involved. Mega pain killers were needed and even they weren't enough.

Her family was called in. Yeah.

Unlike Gilly, this February story has a happy ending... desmoinesdem lived and recovered. She wrote out not only what happened to her, but about the loss of Steve Gilliard. That cry of pain (slightly rewritten) was just reposted on MyDD a year later.

We make certain to talk of Gil on his birth and death days. Occasionally other days also seem right. February is the hardest month of winter, especially this year. No need to rip off the barely healing scar. No need to share your story unless you really need. Healing takes years, truly it takes years and years. For many people they're not even into let alone past the second stage of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. For others, it's over (or at least shut down for processing.) Wherever, whatever, however, suppress it if that's what you need right now.

It's fine to let others outside us speak. Just breathe...

Thank you desmoinesdem for beautiful writing, for reminding those of us inside The Group/News Blog family how much those outside cared and still do care. And for ripping your heart wide open by sharing your health, wellbeing and family with everyone.

Daily Kos (desmoinesdem)

My health insurance may have saved my life

I am a healthy woman in my late 30s who rarely sees a doctor outside of regularly scheduled checkups. I have had two uncomplicated pregnancies followed by easy, midwife-assisted births.

Most years we pay far more in premiums for our family's health insurance than our medical care would cost if we paid for everything out of pocket.

Not this year. Yesterday I returned home after spending seven days and six nights in the hospital. It might have been a lot worse if I were uninsured.

On Friday, February 15, I felt my left ear close up in the mid-afternoon. I soon realized that I was getting an ear infection, the first I'd had in approximately 30 years. I asked my husband to pick up some homeopathic ear drops (oil infused with garlic and other herbs) after he came home from work, and I got out the ibuprofen.

We try to avoid using antibiotics in our family, and the medical community has swung away from automatically recommending antibiotics for ear infections, because so many resolve within a couple of days on their own. The idea now is to use other methods to reduce the pain while waiting for your body to fight the infection.

By Friday evening I was miserable. The ear drops and ibuprofen did nothing to reduce the pain. Sitting upright was no more comfortable than lying down. I had no idea how I was going to make it through the night, but in the early hours of Saturday morning my eardrum ruptured. That released the pressure from the fluid building up in my ears and brought the pain level way down.

Saturday I called someone I know whose husband is a retired ear, nose and throat doctor. Her husband confirmed that many ear infections are viral, and it was prudent for me to wait it out. I used ibuprofen to control my fever and used tissues to wick out the fluid that was seeping out of my ear.

Sunday morning I noticed a slightly sore spot just below my right knee, on the outside part of my leg (around the top of the outer shin bone). I thought I slept funny, perhaps because of the ear infection. I also had a sore spot in my upper left arm, which I figured was from getting whacked by my two-year-old.

By Sunday afternoon I no longer had full mobility in my right knee. I take Pilates twice a week, so I called my teacher. I told him I couldn't think of how I would have injured my knee, since all I'd been doing was lying around getting over an ear infection. He said it was possible to strain a tendon by sleeping in an awkward position, and we'd need to keep an eye on it.

Sunday evening I started limping heavily, and Monday morning I could hardly put any weight on my right leg at all. I briefly considered toughing it out, but decided to make an appointment with our regular doctor, an internist. He was fully booked, but I got in with a nurse practitioner who called in my doctor when she saw my knee.

At that point it was painful and swollen, but not red or hot.

A blood test revealed a high white cell count, and my ear was still draining fluid, so they prescribed an antibiotic for my ear infection. I got the prescription filled right away and started taking the oral antibiotics around noon on Monday.

The big concern was that I might have a blood clot developing. The doctor and nurse were skeptical, given the location of the swelling. On the other hand, I had been lying around all weekend. Other possibilities included tendonitis, which didn't seem to fit, or some kind of inflammatory auto-immune reaction related to my ear infection.

Because I have health insurance, I spent all of Monday afternoon getting these possibilities checked out. First, to the imaging department for x-rays of my leg in various positions. Then, off to the vascular center, where a nurse used a doppler (ultrasound) to check for blood clots in my legs. Then, to a different imaging center where I had x-rays standing up and an MRI of my right knee.

Without insurance, these diagnostics would have been prohibitively expensive. I would likely have stayed home, hoping my leg got less sore soon.

I went home Monday with no answers and an appointment to see an orthopedic doctor first thing Tuesday morning to get his interpretation of the MRI.

Monday night was miserable for me. I was told to take a double dose of ibuprofen to help with inflammation, but even so my leg was killing me. I still had a low-grade fever, which shot up whenever the ibuprofen was wearing off. My right calf started to get red and hot.

That was when I should have gone to the hospital, but I didn't realize it at the time.

There's more...

Go read the rest of the story. It's well worth it. We'll wait.

Told ya. National Health Insurance for everyone. We needs it.

Make sure you have a tissue handy. Or at least can sniffle discreetly if in public.

MyDD (desmoinesdem)

Two years without Steve Gilliard

One day in February 2007, Steve Gilliard wrote his last post for the News Blog and went to the doctor to get a prescription for a cold he couldn't shake. He was admitted to the hospital right away for treatment of an infection of unknown origin, and he never was able to get back on his computer. He died that June.

I know I'm not the only former News Blog addict who thinks of Steve every time Republican Party chairman Michael Steele says something ridiculous. Steve would have had a field day with the RNC leadership contest. Just imagine the post he might have written about this list of prominent conservatives who endorsed Ken Blackwell.

Further reflections on what Steve's blogging meant to me are after the jump.

I don't go as far back with Steve as many bloggers. I only discovered Daily Kos after he had moved on from the front page.

I "got to know" Steve by clicking through links I found on other blogs. I liked his voice. He was funny, even when angry. He seemed to be about my age. Although his life experiences as a black man from New York City were very different from mine, I could relate to his perspective on many issues.

I absolutely loved his rants. His writing flowed so freely, and was so full of emotion compared to my own style.

I also found his optimism refreshing. I can be a pessimist by nature. He was convinced that George W. Bush would not serve out his second term. I didn't believe him, but I enjoyed reading the case he made for it. Although Bush was not driven from office as Steve expected, he did set records for disapproval ratings by the end of his presidency.

Steve was knowledgeable about military history, and I learned a lot from his posts, though I admit that I never made it through every piece in the thoroughly researched "Colonial Warfare" series.

I started checking his blog once a week or so. By late 2004 or early 2005 I was checking every day. In 2006 I often checked two or three times a day.

I didn't know him "in real life" at all. We had a few e-mail exchanges when I sent him links to articles I thought he'd be interested in (like this one, this one and this one, all about people who had volunteered for military service).

Eventually, I started commenting at The News Blog. I liked the community there, especially "Mrs. Robinson," whom I respected for her insights at Steve's place long before I had heard of Sara Robinson or the Orcinus blog. I could always count on Mrs. Robinson to say something sensible on the threads below Steve's posts on parenting. (As much as I loved Steve's blog, if he ever wrote anything on parenting that I agreed with, I can't remember what it was.)

When Steve's health crisis began, I was shocked. I hadn't been reading long enough to know about his previous heart surgery, kidney failure, or other challenges. The News Blog community rallied to produce guest posts every day until Steve was able to return to his writing, and I even contributed a few recipes to the mix. After a couple of months of this, I began to fear the worst. Finally, on June 2, I saw the post I'd been dreading.

For weeks after Steve's death, I kept checking The News Blog every day. I don't know why. I think that on some subconscious level, I kept hoping that one time I would click and not find Steve's obituary on the front page.

Not long after Steve died, some of his friends and regular commentators on The News Blog formed the Group News Blog. I am not a regular commenter or even a frequent lurker at the Group News Blog. It's not that I don't appreciate the writers' talents--I think that going there just makes me miss Steve more.

If you feel like taking some time to remember Steve, here are links to many obituaries that bloggers wrote, the the New York Times obituary that ran in June, and Matt Bai's piece published in the New York Times Magazine at the end of 2007.

I learned from sardonyx that links to Steve's Daily Kos posts can be found on Steve's dKosopedia pages. Also, the Group News Blog created a more extensive archive of Steve's writing here.

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Thank you desmoinesdem. You're always welcome here.

That's how it works with family.

*hugs*

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Tech Issues

Our Home Page was missing for an hour or so.

We're not sure why. It should be back by now for everyone.

It was showing the entire time in the Archive section. If you manage to pull this up via the archives, but you still don't have us on home page, try refreshing.

We're working to figure out what happened. Sorry about the problem.

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Production Is About Taking Care

I love production.

Eventually I'll start putting up some of the many photos we've taken; probably an entire page dedicated to photos so you cans them all, not just the ones we'll use in our posts. Right now however, I'm managing my energy carefully.

For days it's been 1-2 hours of sleep. Some nights -- at least twice in the last week -- literally it has been no sleep at all, going 50-55 hours with maybe a fifteen minute cat-nap sitting up somewhere, nodding out.

LM jokes about perhaps twice, ever, finding me asleep lying down. (We're roommates whenever we're on the road, plus I'm staying at his home in New York City.) Normally he finds me asleep sitting up, half-slumped over the keyboard, fingers just off the keys, in the middle of whatever. It isn't that I don't want to lie down; it's that before I manage to lie down, I just fall out.

So far this trip -- New York City to Washington D.C./Arlington VA (where we're staying)/and back to New York City -- we've been VERY lucky/the production Gods have smiled on us as these events go. We had a few VERY bad things happen which could have blown up the whole trip -- starting with my car electrical system which you wonderful readers saved us on -- which had luck, some good choices, and sometimes some lucky good choices, not broken our way, we'd have been up the creek.

We've also discovered some key tools and benefited from the kindness of strangers without which our entire coverage would have collapsed, or gone seriously awry.

• Car rental trouble - saved by the rental chain manager being wonderful.
• Renting a scooter for me as per Sara's - otherwise yesterday would be a FAIL; way too far to go. Even with the scooter the physical demands were intense. Being able to sit down and rest made it barely possible. If I'd had to walk, I'd not have made it half an hour, let alone stood up for the two plus hours of the concert.
• We had credentialing problems - the PIC were great with us in terms of fixing them once we showed up. The fact I was in my scooter may have had something to do with it. None the less, I'm very appreciative of how drama-free, rapidly, and properly they took care of us. The PIC has been WONDERFUL across the board. In contrast to those bastards at the Senate Press Galleries.
• We have a GPS. Oh, what a joy. Punch in an address, follow the instructions, and we're there. It also has saved us many times.
• The wonderful folks we're staying with. They've taken care of us, opening their doors, breakfast table -- BLUEBERRY PANCAKES, yo! -- and hearts. As well as the enormous amounts of electricity necessary to keep two bloggers and their cameras, video devices, multiple computers, telephones, the scooter, and assorted other weird devices all charged and running. I have at least six outlets going right now, and I'm sure some devices aren't charging currently.
• The people at Emily's List were amazing as well. More on them when I write my Emily's List post.
  
• Washington D.C. Metro employees whom have been helpful to us in the midst of chaos.
• And at least 5-6 other incidents I can no longer remember.

What I'm present to is how fortunate we've been this trip in people being nice to us, taking care of us, and in the choice of the correct tools, often seemingly by chance, but in retrospect our choices put us on paths which were just... right.

Today we slept in. I got ten hours of sleep. I can't remember the last time I got ten hours of sleep.

There are photos from last night. I have stories to write, about the Lunch yesterday at Emily's List, about the Concert (the Opening Ceremonies.) About what is is like to be back in New York City for the first time in a quarter-century. But today I had to sleep, try and get some energy back, just recover. I've been on the go, pushing pushing pushing, for at least 10 days, maybe longer.

My job, you see, on these events, is to get it done. There are no excuses for a failed event. Here, in Denver, and at other times, where ever GNB's goes to bring you a story, my job is to make goddamn CERTAIN that everything works right, no matter what, that our reporters and their needs (and the needs of everyone we come in contact with) are taken care of, leaving us available to report and file stories without anything getting in the way. If our reporters have their attention on production issues, I'm not getting my job done.

For example, this afternoon I and our host, drove to the Metro station LM and I are using in the morning and scouted where we'll park, if it's free or not (for disabled parking it is, everyone else pays), if there's a cut in the curb for my scooter, if there's an elevator. Then we drove into town to the ballroom where we're going tonight, looked around till I found the recommended parking structure, two blocks away and kind of hidden. It would have been HARD to find in the darkness. But now I have the street address and can program the GPS to find it no matter what. And I know about street cuts for the two blocks to the ballroom door. LM and I leave in less than 15 minutes from now. That kind of prep work is managing production. (And I'd already looked at one of those sites, as well as much of tomorrow's by overhead photo weeks in advance.) Plus I've been studying maps of tomorrow, writing down access/egress notes, and possible power recharging locations for the scooter, which is my biggest known problem for tomorrow, all morning.

Taking out the possible surprises. The one's you can't manage will be more than enough. *laughs*

Tonight (in minutes) we're going to the Netroots Nation ball at The Clarendon Ballroom in Arlington. Five hundred of the top bloggers and their friends in the country. Not even bringing a computer. (Well, my BlackBerry doesn't count, does it?) Taking the night off and just relaxing. We won. Time to have a night with friends and celebrate, dammit!

Tomorrow morning EARLY we're going to the National Mall to cover the Inagural. IF we can, afterwards, we'll swing over to Pennsylvania Ave and try and get some parade coverage (but no promises.) The ENTIRE National Mall has NEVER been filled. Last night the estimate was about half a million and from where we stood, able to reach my hand out and touch the stage-left corner of the stage (which I did more than once) the Mall looked packed. However beyond my view, at the GW Monument, the crowd ended. Tomorrow the prediction ranges from 3-4 million with EVERY part of the National Mall filled from one end to the other. Never happened before in history and may never happen again. This is the real deal, blueberry-baby-cakes. Place will be PACKED.

If you are attending tomorrow, DON'T BRING ANYTHING YOU DON'T HAVE TO HAVE. Security is intense. The checkpoints are through. They won't save anything for you, and you ain't getting whatever it is, through. Don't hold up the line; leave it at home.

If you want to watch either the inagural or the parade, be IN LINE no later than 8 am. Metro opens at 4 am. Be on the Metro by 5 am at the latest. We're going to be on the Metro at 4 am and in line by 5 am-ish. Why? Because to do otherwise is to risk being trampled under millions of people who are late, or to miss the event. Security (and the Metro) simply don't care if you're late, and can only process so many people an hour.

The key to warfare is logistics. The key to production is managing pieces, managing logistics, that is, making sure you are in a dance with the world and people as it and they show up. That way you're not surprised, and can keep dancing towards the committment you are that shall be. The bottom line to all of it is, taking care, paying attention, communication, giving people a safe space.

Our writing will continue over the next days as we bring you coverage. It won't all go up all at once, both because that isn't GNB's style, and because there are only two of us and we have living we have to do in the midst of this all including driving back to New York City tomorrow evening after all this is done. (We're not staying for the balls.)

More as we have it.

From the GNB Newsdesk in Washington D.C., this is Jesse Wendel. We're covering the inaguration of President-elect Barack Obama, now with under 19 hours to go before Mr. Obama is sworn in as 44th President of the United States. (Wow, try saying that last little bit outloud. It feels GREAT.)

Good Night.

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“Horses lend us the wings we lack”

Note: I urge you to enlarge these amazing photos. All photos from BOHICA's archives. --Jesse

Guest Eulogy by BOHICA

I lost my partner of 34 years this last weekend, Alsaan's Raffon (095704) aka “Mr. Handsome”, my Arabian horse.



It was the summer of 1974; I was sort of drifting around looking for direction as many of us were. I was working at Pete’s Mountain stables cleaning out stalls as a summer job between semesters at Mt. Hood Community College where I was using my G.I. bill. The previous winter one of the classes I had signed up for was canceled due to lack of enough participants. What to do? I needed credits to meet the number of hours to qualify for the entitlements so I went looking in the catalog. I needed some PE credits and there was a class, “Horsemanship 101”. It was held off campus just down the road at a big old stable. Sounded good to me and I signed up. When summer break came about, the instructor gave me the tip on the job at Pete’s Mountain and there was Alsann’s Raffon, a 16 month old stud colt for sale. I started letting him loose in the arena, getting to know him and decided to take the plunge and buy him. One of the deciding factors was he had the same birthday as me. $750 later, I was the proud owned of a pure bred Arabian with great lineage.


Me in the hat, my father on the left, the man I bought him from on the right.


Turned out at Pete's Mountain.


3 years old and starting to fill out.

For over 2 years I slowly trained him without actually getting on and riding him, since I believed if you want a sound horse, you don't rush it. Didn’t put a training bit into his mouth until he was 2 years old. Did a lot of lounging and ground driving. Walked him in hand down to the river teaching him manners. Gradually put on a bareback pad, then a saddle. Tied a pair of pants filled with sawdust on the saddle to get him comfortable with legs. Draped friends across back to let him feel weight on his back. When it was time for me to mount him for the first time, he accepted me without complaint and walked off just like he should. Now it was time to really get to work.


On a tear at 4 years old.

When I did start riding at age 4, we trained with an 80 year old Dressage master named Ward Wells. He could ride and make a horse do anything and you would never see him move his hands or legs, pure horse Zen. There were 20 horses in the class, 19 mares and 1 stallion. 20 minutes of a good trot in single file to “get us down to size” started each lesson. This training was the best thing that we could have done. It taught both of us control, balance, patience, and it was fun! Nothing like pairs and fours to the left or to the right, wheels where half the class went in opposite directions and you had to keep in line. Nothing like a cavalry charge with 20 horses all cantering in line and trying and succeeding in keeping him right in his place. Made for a spirited ride, but always under control.

For the next 6 years we did a lot of trail and urban riding. We boarded at a stable inside the city but close to a major park and open space where we could ride for hours. In 1984 I lost my right eye and started to go blind in my left one. Long story short, giant retinal tear after cataract surgery in the right eye, cataract forming in the left eye and didn't want to chance repeating the same outcome. For the next 8 years I was legally blind. That is why I wrote “partnered with”. For those 8 years he was my eyes and I trusted him to take me out and back. I wasn't totally blind just couldn't see for shit. In 1991 we move out to a stable called Magic Meadows and it is.

When we moved out there, I decided to geld him so he could be turned out with all the other horse in the same enclosure. Before, he always had his own paddock, although right next to all the other horses so he could still sniff and groom over the fence.


The big pasture is to the right.

In 1992 I had successful surgery on my left eye and with a contact lens I'm back to 20-15 and we started riding all over the stable's 120 acres and the surrounding tree farms, parks and trails with a vengeance. Had to make up for lost time! Nothing like a full gallop across a mile and a half field to get your juices flowing. In the deep woods surrounding the stable there are Elk trails (a herd of 30+ migrate through every years) so feint you can barley see them, yet I would give him his head and he would bust on through with a grace and confidence that I knew I could trust.

A couple of years ago he started to slow down, had some teeth pulled and generally just started showing his age. So we cut down on the hard riding but I made sure that on New Years day and his (and my) birthday we get a ride in, come rain, snow or shine. Last year he started losing weight, but the vet checked him out and said it was just old age catching up and his coat was still shiny, he still kicked up his heels and ate all his feed. So he retired and we didn’t ride anymore. His regular routine consisted of free grazing out in the big field. He was the patriarch of the barn and after all the other horses are put out to pasture, they just open his stall door and he is free to go wherever he wants without any fences in his way. He just wanders out to the big field for a while and then about noon he walks back to the barn for a mid day snack of oats and apples, then wanders back out to check on all the other horse to make sure they are where they are supposed to be and then goes back to grazing.



On Saturday, December 27th, I got a call that he was down and couldn’t get up. I knew this was coming just not when. It was time. I called the vet and would meet her at the stable. When I arrived the stable hand, Carlin (who I can’t enough good things about), had said he had gotten up and they took him to the indoor arena where he laid down again. He was not in any pain and no sweats or thrashing like a horse would do if it had colic or was in distress. I stroked and talked to him while I waited for the vet and when she arrived we made the call. She did a short exam and mentioned that he had a bit of heart arrhythmia so he might have suffered a small heart attack. I held his head and scratched his ears while she gave him the shot. He went out peacefully. Monday, December 29th, he was buried next to the above fence line, in the pasture which was his domain.

I could not have asked for a more perfect horse, we were in sync with perfect trust. He rode like a rocking chair and could go hours at a time without tiring.

“The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears”.
-Arabian Proverb

Two videos from 5 years ago

- BOHICA

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This I Believe: Our Noble, Essential Decency

(Robert Heinlein, "Our Noble, Essential Decency", from This I Believe (1952))

I'm writing this before the election for two reasons.

1) Because I don't want anybody saying I was influenced by winning or losing the election. That's not what this is about. And

2) Because I want everybody who hasn't voted yet to remember the stakes.

The above recording is Robert Heinlein in 1952, reading his personal declaration on Edward R. Murrow's old radio show, This I Believe:

I am not going to talk about religious beliefs but about matters so obvious that it has gone out of style to mention them. I believe in my neighbors. I know their faults, and I know that their virtues far outweigh their faults.

Take Father Michael, down our road apiece. I’m not of his creed, but I know that goodness and charity and loving kindness shine in his daily actions. I believe in Father Mike. If I’m in trouble, I’ll go to him. My next door neighbor’s a veterinary doctor. Doc will get out of bed after a hard day to help a stray cat—no fee, no prospect of a fee. I believe in Doc.

I believe in my townspeople. You can knock on any door in our town, say “I’m hungry,” and you’ll be fed. Our town is no exception. I found the same ready charity everywhere. For the one who says, “The heck with you, I’ve got mine,” there are a hundred, a thousand, who will say, “Sure pal, sit down.” I know that despite all warnings against hitchhikers, I can step to the highway, thumb for a ride, and in a few minutes a car or a truck will stop and someone will say, “Climb in, Mack. How far you going?”

I believe in my fellow citizens. Our headlines are splashed with crime. Yet for every criminal, there are ten thousand honest, decent, kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up. Business could not go on from day to day. Decency is not news. It is buried in the obituaries, but it is a force stronger than crime.

I believe in the patient gallantry of nurses, in the tedious sacrifices of teachers. I believe in the unseen and unending fight against desperate odds that goes on quietly in almost every home in the land. I believe in the honest craft of workmen. Take a look around you. There never were enough bosses to check up on all that work. From Independence Hall to the Grand Coulee Dam, these things were built level and square by craftsmen who were honest in their bones.

I believe that almost all politicians are honest. For every bribed alderman, there are hundreds of politicians—low paid or not paid at all—doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. If this were not true, we would never have gotten past the Thirteen Colonies.

I believe in Rodger Young. You and I are free today because of endless unnamed heroes from Valley Forge to the Yalu River. I believe in—I am proud to belong to—the United States. Despite shortcomings—from lynchings, to bad faith in high places—our nation has had the most decent and kindly internal practices and foreign policies to be found anywhere in history.

And finally, I believe in my whole race—yellow, white, black, red, brown—in the honesty, courage, intelligence, durability, and goodness of the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters everywhere on this planet. I am proud to be a human being. I believe that we have come this far by the skin of our teeth—that we always make it just for the skin of our teeth—but that we will always make it, survive, endure.

I believe that this hairless embryo with the aching oversized braincase and the opposable thumb—this animal barely up from the apes—will endure, will endure longer than his home planet, will spread out to the other planets—to the stars and beyond—carrying with him his honesty, his insatiable curiosity, his unlimited courage, and his noble essential decency. This I believe with all my heart.

In a week, Americans will finish voting. We believe that "our side" is the correct one to lead the country forward. So do "they". Most of us are sincere in our beliefs and think that those who disagree are merely misguided, not evil. The vast majority of us want the best for the country and our fellow citizens.

Many of us on the Left feel that the elections of both 2000 and 2004 were stolen, and we fear (with good reason) that 2008 may go the same way. We fear that Americans will not elect an African-American to the White House, or that a President-elect Obama will be assassinated, or that there will be violence during his term in office.

Some on the Right fear that international terrorism will somehow "win" if McCain is defeated, or that the evils of socialism will come to America, or that good Christians will be given the Mark of the Beast. They fear that "leftist radicals" will riot if Obama is defeated, or that an obstructionist Congress will halt what they believe is progress in the Middle East or Afghanistan or in fighting illegal immigration.

We are all Americans. We are all confined to this small globe we call Earth. Those of us who are entitled to vote next week will make a decision that will have world-changing effects on every soul on the planet.

We are all in this together. All of us -- "yellow, white, black, red, brown", as Heinlein said -- will suffer the consequences and share the achievements of the next four years. And the next eight years. And the next century, which will be dominated in no small part by decisions we American citizens make in the next seven days.

Regardless of the outcome of the election, regardless of the individual gains and losses, regardless of the emotions left behind in the wake of broken promises, missed expectations, and suspected irregularities, we must remember...

Our Noble, Essential Decency

and that

We Are All in This Together

as we lurch forward toward our preferred futures.

Breathe.

Vote.

Endure.

Sustain.

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You Heard It Here First...

“Nearly Eight Months Ago Today, GNB Put The Gollum Meme In Play...”

A week or so ago, a “new” McCain comparative made the rounds in several prominent places media-wise.

It was a noting of similarities between the dangerously flawed John McCain and the almost pitiful Gollum / Smeagol character from Tolkien's “Lord Of The Rings” Saga.

Crooks and Liars noted The Daily Show's Jon Stewart picking up the mantle...

We loves the bill! We hates the bill! We loves the bill… hates the bill!

That’s an unfair joke…it’s an unfair joke because Gollum is an old man, corrupted by his quest for ultimate power and…oh.

And the Times' Op-Ed doyenne Gail Collins took her swings at the big, fat softball of McCain's obvious pop-culture twin:

Remember how we used to joke about John McCain looking like an old guy yelling at kids to get off his lawn? It’s only in retrospect that we can see that the keep-off-the-grass period was the McCain campaign’s golden era. Now, he’s beginning to act like one of those movie characters who steals the wrong ring and turns into a troll.

During that last debate, while he was wandering around the stage, you almost expected to hear him start muttering: “We wants it. We needs it. Must have the precious.”

Even my man Keith Olbermann teed up McCain for the tough Tolkien takedown last week:

“And now, our No. 1 story on the COUNTDOWN, McCain as Gollum in "Lord of the Rings." Bringing his own set of brush strokes, comedian Richard Lewis presently. It's not his name-never mind.”

I don't know what brought these folks all to this point last week, but we here at the Group News Blog can say unequivocally that we were on that angle MONTHS AGO. McCain as Gollum? February 8th, 2008, folks. Eight months ago.

Wanna see it? Well...here it go!

(CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE)



So, for the record Jon, Gail and Keith, perhaps it was just “great minds” thinking alike, but THIS was where that shpiel got its start—replete with the infamous disturbing graphic image. And to you, dear readers, know that this place you come to day after day is here for you, more often than a little bit, ahead of the curve—and we thank you for coming by every time...every mouse click through.

And you may NOT be alone in digging on this place for fun, opinion, and maybe a little bit of thought-provoking analysis.

Say “hi” to our possible “lurkers of prominence”, whydontcha?

“Hi, guys!”

There's more...

“Work To Do”

“Sang It, Ron!”

You may have noticed a sparseness in my posting of late. It was not without reason.

In my life outside of Group News Blog, things are changing. And the thing that changed most of all was I needed a new job and then got a new job. Thank God! And much of my time of late has been spent learning new things, and buffing some things I knew well in a hobby / fun sense to a high shine for application in my new gig.

Gobs of training. Technical stuff. Some travel to facilitate that learning, too. But I've done it, and I thank you all for your patience while I got my feet up under myself again—I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

One thing I have come to realize in a major, and deeply personal way as I have changed / enhanced careers is just how awful the job market really is out here. It's one thing to write about it. To read about it. To know the numbers on it (i.e. The country needs to create around 175,000 jobs monthly to keep pace with new workers seeking, and existing workers leaving the market—and we haven't been hitting that mark with any consistency under the Bush administration).

It's another thing to live that shit out in real time in one's own life. When you can attach faces—anguished faces and breaking voices to those numbers—folks like the guy I saw riding back to Brooklyn on the train quietly destroying himself over an apparent flubbing of an interview to manage a Popeye's Fried Chicken franchise, or the fellow angrily dumping the contents of his briefcase into a subway trash can at the 51st Street station on the “6” line, and as people slowed to gawk at the sight, fairly roared “I just got fucking fired, okay!?”—when you see these people, and then have anxiety roil your own gut because you're out there looking to hook on in the same market that is killing them, you don't just get the picture...the picture is burned into the back of your eyelids forever.

I have worked pretty much non-stop for the last twenty-five years, and what we are going through right now is the worst I have seen in that time in terms of an across-the-board economic meltdown involving falling stocks, failing banks, home foreclosures and yes...dwindling to the point of utter evaporation —of jobs.

I feel it as a writer for this blog as much as you the readers of it do. It's scary out here.

A week ago, I was coming home late from work—having bopped by to do the whole benefits enrollment thing on the work computer—when I was walking down Seventh Avenue in the fifties. There were a few odd lights up on the street—video lights I would later discover—and what seemed to be a “red carpet” procession coming out of a building. I automatically assumed industry or fashion biz “party” (as “Fashion Week” was in full swing here).

But as I neared the focal point, lights trained on the door of a seemingly non-descript glass tower, I noticed one man coming out of the place. He was holding four coffee mugs from four different financial institutions, the handle of each around a clenched finger of his left hand, while balancing a water-starved potted plant in his right.

“Well...that ain't Tim Gunn.”, I mused to myself. And then I noticed it was a steady trickle of just regular people—plain, old “cube rats” carrying all manner of strange shit out the door and down the block. Some walking to late-model cars or down the street to the subway a block away, and others to the curb where a waved hand beckoned a cab somewhere. And where I immediately realized that those cabbies tips would be a tad lighter than the usual.

These were the soon-to-be refugees from the hours-from-defunct Lehman Brothers.

They toted odd talismans of a finance industry gone sour like milk left out for a summer's fortnight. One woman carried a big, inflatable Wall St. Bull. Another carried huge, foam core-backed blow-ups of pictures of partying fellow Wall Streeters from more flush times. A haggard-looking fellow struggled with three laptop bags and a small box of papers—probably a stack of just-printed resumés.

Schadenfreude naturally prompts one to feel little for these people. We tend to see them all as Gordon Gekko-ish,“big, swinging dicks”. But the fact of the matter is that while a few of the people trudging dejectedly out of 745 Seventh Avenue may have been the contrast-collared bastards who led us into this abyss (most of the bigwigs stayed away lest they be the butt of catcalls—or worse from pissed off underlings), many more were just cube rats. Not rich. Not poor either. Just that nebulous in-between that puts in its hours and cashes a check for it. A shit load of 'em leveraged heavily against student loans for degrees that won't mean squat now as the industry gets a forced, financial “gastric bypass”, where there won't be the space anymore for that many jobs. The big guns are gonna be alright to a degree—much moreso than the Schmoes and Sues I saw carrying the trinkets of a better time down a midtown street.

I don't know what that guy was gonna do with all those extra mugs he was toting. Maybe fill 'em all with coffee all at once so he doesn't have to get up for refills as he stays up late re-doing his C.V.? Who knows?

What I do know is that people are hurting out here. Big time.

When a place like Lehman Brothers closes and the late-night cleaning crew that emptied all the Starbucks™ Double Shot cans and Clif™ bar wrappers from the trashcans doesn't have to do that anymore, the cleaning company lays off people who are “in excess”.

The “grease” trucks and vendors who sold bananas, muffins and coffee for breakfast, and hot dogs and sandwiches for lunch on the street in front of these places, counting on three to four hundred people from the building every day to stake a profit on, will have to move somewhere else. You don't waste money cooking food in front of a “dead” building. And decent vendor spots are like gold here in NY. You move too close to someone else's selling territory and you get scalding-hot sauteéd onions tossed in your face.

“Times is tough.” The lovely Mrs. “LM” works on Wall Street in insurance (a major firm)—so you can imagine the trepidation she and her co-horts felt when it became clear that AIG, the industry's biggest wheel, was not just at death's door, but was being invited in for Strychnine cookies and a spot of Hemlock tea, that trepidation seeped into my house, too, right after I'd (thankfully!) just gotten the new job.

It wasn't pretty.

In fact, it's ugly all over.

But, we're coping.

Through the half-assed bailouts of connected pals and entities while regular folks are told to pound fucking sand, we're all coping.

So, I'll be here more often now that things have settled a bit, thank goodness—ready to analyze, and share and just plain old talk again.

And speaking of talking, feel free to take this opportunity to share any stories about how this economic meltdown is affecting you or anyone you know. We're all going through this collectively it seems—we may as well get it off our chests collectively while we're at it. Keeping it in is bad for ya. dontchaknow?

Now, you sang it Eddie, Walter and William...“For The Love Of Money!”

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Morning Tent

Long night, we wandered out of the Pepsi center, high on Michelle Obama and them really cute kids of hers. Hearing rumors of assassination attempts. Sniper rifle from 750 yards? yeah right, tell me another on. Maybe they could get "lasers".

I saw David Brooks gapped toothed monkey ass walking down the street hitting on some co-eds. What a loser.

Day 2 is even more chaotic as people try to maintain some sense of order while their schedules spiral out of control, as they try to make all the caucuses and talks they want. Tonight is Hillary Night. Unity Bitches!

I am attending a thing with Richard Danzig and some other mooks moderated by Jokeline and then off to the DNC Veterans and Family Council Caucus.

Tlg is running around interviewing people and not eating her lunch.

There's more...

Happy Birthday, Hubris Sonic

Man, you are getting old. Thanks for your posts, we need to hear from you more these days. Thanks for your wit and your direct fierceness, thanks for being one of the founders of this corner of out progressive blogosphere, thanks for carrying Steve's torch, for being reasonable, pragmatic, progressive, and strong.

Happy Birthday, Redbeard!

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Get To Know Me

Jesse Suggested This

He wants a semi-autobiographic "This Is Who I Am" kind of post so that we can all get to know one another. Sometimes, though, immediate events will supercede even a good suggestion.

The photo is my new niece. My sister adopted her. She has spent the bulk of her young life in foster care and has been brought into our lives and our family. I wrote a series about her being adopted into the Apache.

Asking For Vision (day 1)
Rez Drums
In the Kiva
Hoop Dance
Itsa Ga'an

You might also want to read The Origin Story of the Raven Soldiers

I am the sum of my life experience. Some of it has been noble, some of it cool, a lot of it violent and tawdry. I needed all those lessons to be where I am today, and I needed them all with this little girl yesterday afternoon.

I was spending the day with Dani. She is a total and complete charmer, with beguiling eyes and deep dimples. We were puttering around the kitchen and having ourselves a ball. I was doing cleanup in the kitchen and Dani went into the den to go and get some cartoon time. She took a glass of cranberry juice.

She spilled it on the carpet. Now, you're probably thinking, great big honking deal, nine year old girls spill stuff all the time. Any rational adult should know this. I heard the spill and grabbed the cleaning gear ready to be "uncle-on-the-spot."

This darling girl was in a state of panic, and terror. She was pale and trembling, her breath was coming in pants between sobs. I remembered what my sister had told me about the day she came into our lives. She was removed from her last foster placement by her social worker on an emergency basis, with only the clothes on her back. Most of our inquiries regarding her history of care have been met with silence. This girl's history has more gaps than a 25 year CIA black ops veteran's. There are things that happen in foster care that the state is unwilling to address because it would expose ugly truths about the system.

Think Dickens.

I was looking into those beautiful eyes and all I could think of is that this darling young girl had been beaten terribly. Over spills.

I dropped all my cleaning stuff and scooped her up in my arms. I held her for nearly half an hour, trying to soothe her fears and calm her sobbing. I told her that she was far more important to me than all the carpets in the world, including the ones that fly. I told her that I was her very own personal Raven Soldier who would stand beside her always. I told her that she was one of us now, and that no adult was ever going to hit her for any reason.

While this was happening my tribal side, my combat veteran side was thinking about making a night visit to the sons of bitches that dared to beat this child. Throats would be cut, blood would be spilled, the hands that did the beating nailed to the doorway, scalps taken back to the rez, with the rest left for the scavengers. Vulture food, coyote food, that would be the deserved burial.

Just as quickly I noticed that Dani was sensing this welling of anger inside me. Poor little dear was thinking it was her. I stuffed my anger, quickly and deep. Of course, it stayed there and has festered all night and all morning. Stuffing does that.

I poured this out to a couple of friends. I talked myself down from my anger.

I know a thing or two about violence, and revenge. I know that neither of them would be any sort of a healing for me. I know that they would not help my niece do any healing from her previous life.

She needs me here, loving her. Loving her unconditionally. Loving her without any holding back. Loving her with all my heart and soul.

There's an old story from Xenophon about the Greek mercenaries on their way home from a Persian disaster (read Anabasis). They are sitting around a fire talking about philosophy and life. Talk turns to the old heroes of Greek history, Achilles, Ajax, Theseus, Heracles and such. An old veteran, a grizzled sergeant from Sparta named Glyppus says he wants nothing to do with those heroes of old. They break the integrity of the phalanx to do single combat. Because they don't know the fears of mortal men, they take risks that are unneccesary and often stupid. Glyppus doesn't want those kind of men with him in the line of battle. He wants me who know fear, but also know something else. There are things that matter more than fear.

Courage, he says is not the absence of fear. Courage is knowing that there are things more important than fear.

What then, he is asked, is the opposite of fear? What matters more than fear?

Glyppus sighs at their silly ignorance and says "Love."

There. Now you know a lot more about me than I usually let on. We'll talk more.

There's more...

Gilliard Grant Awarded to Michael Shaw at Netroots Nation

“The Gilly” artwork by Lower Manhattanite
GNB Exclusive

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

AUSTIN - TODAY at 11:15 AM Eastern Time, Michael Shaw, clinical psychologist, blogger/writer, visual journalist, and curator of BAGnewsNotes, was awarded the first annual Gilliard Grant of Merit by Group News Blog.

The presentation was made immediately preceding the final keynote speech (Van Jones, with introduction by Mayor Gavin Newsom) at Netroots Nation in the Austin Convention Center, Austin, Texas.

Presenting The Gilly were five members of GNBs' staff: Jesse Wendel, Publisher; Lower Manhattanite, Chief, National Affairs Desk; Hubris Sonic, Chief, Foreign Affairs Desk; The Littlest Gator, Staff Writer; and Sara Robinson, Managing Editor.

The Gilliard Grant, named after blogger Steve Gilliard (November 13, 1964 - June 2, 2007), including a monetary award, will be awarded annually.

Dr. Shaw was awarded the Gilliard Grant of Merit for Excellence in Journalism and News Blogging.

The Gilly artwork was created by Lower Manhattanite.

Contact:
Jesse Wendel
Dr. Shaw

---30---

There's more...

Gilliard Grant To Be Awarded at Netroots Nation

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

AUSTIN - TODAY at 11:00 AM Eastern Time (10:00 Central), Group News Blog will present the first annual Gilliard Grant immediately preceding the final keynote speech of Netroots Nation (Van Jones with introduction by Mayor Gavin Newsom) in Exhibit Hall 4, Austin Convention Center, Austin, Texas.

The Gilliard Grant, named after blogger Steve Gilliard (November 13, 1964 - June 2, 2007), including a monetary award, will be given annually to the blogger or blog who strives for and achieves excellence in journalism and news blogging.

Contact:
Jesse Wendel

---30---

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GNB Masthead Changes

Kindergarten graduation, Georgetown, Kentucky. Click for LARGE.

Promotions, New Staff

I am pleased to announce the following Group News Blog masthead changes:

Current Staff:

Sara Robinson, to Managing Editor.

The Littlest Gator, to Staff Writer.

Evan Robinson, to Staff Writer.

New Staff:

Maggie Jochild, to Staff Writer.

Minstrel Boy, to Staff Writer.


Sara Robinson is an extraordinary futurist and writer. She is a Fellow of the Campaign for America's Future where she blogs at the Blog for Our Future. She will complete her MS in Futures Studies from the University of Houston in 2009 and holds a BA in Journalism from the USC Annenberg School of Communication. She is a principle blogger at Orcinus and a co-founder of Group News Blog. Over the last year, Sara's many years of new media and journalism experience have saved and guided us, over and over.

The Littlest Gator is the Managing Director of an extraordinary restaurant, first opened in Tokyo's trendy Omotesando District, with a second version now open in Kona, Hawaii. She manages a staff of 50 people. The restaurant's commitment to local, fresh food is so enormous they have purchased their own farm on Hawaii so as to ensure the quality of their supply, its variety, and to guarantee it is grown without harmful chemicals. The food they are unable to use themselves in their restaurants on Hawaii and Japan, they sell to local customers.

Evan Robinson was one of Electronic Arts' first computer game developers and later became a Technical Director, one of the people who says if a product ships or not. He went on to be a Senior Computer Scientist at Adobe, ultimately accountable for a core portion of Adobe Acrobat. He spent twenty years in Silicon Valley, working his way up to being a Technical Director, Engineering Manager, and Consultant. He holds a MBA in Management of Technology.

Maggie Jochild is a poet and a writer. She is currently writing "The Great American Lesbian Novel", Ginny Bates. Maggie is a radical dyke second wave feminist activist. She was one of the most widely active agitators of the 80s on the west coast, and helped start The White Night Riot.

Minstrel Boy is a professional musician, a member of the Apache Nation, and makes delicious truffles. He made three tours with Seal Team Two in Viet Nam.

Jesse Wendel, Publisher
Group News Blog

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No More GNB Fundraising Till January

The $400 Question

When last we saw our heroes, they were struggling to raise one grand in 72 hours.

Y'all saved our asses.

I promised to explain what said $1,000.00 was for.

Let us review.

$400 -- embargoed till last Tuesday, to be explained in this post. Finally!
$350 -- OTR (off the record) then, OTR today, OTR tomorrow.
$250 -- shit we intended to pay for anyway in the final 3 days of fundraising.
---------------
$1,000 total emergency fundraising

That handles the last two, leaving only the story of the $400 to be told, which, I'm happy to explain very fast.

Only a few blogs were credentialed to report from inside the Democratic Convention this coming August. Some leading bloggers came up with The Big Tent -- a 9,000 sq foot tw0-story media center sponsored by the leading progressive blogs and liberal think tanks. Problem is, we didn't hear about the details till they let us know we'd been approved for four credentialed seats inside The Big Tent.

These seats solve a HUGE logistical problem for us during the convention. See, when we received our DNCC credential for the actual convention, that only lets one person inside the Pepsi center at a time. Plus, the actual "convention" only happens for a few hours a night. The question is, where do we work?

The Big Tent with its multiple large-screen television feeds and closed circuit is perfect. Perfect at $100 a seat...which I discovered when I logged in to their site late at night Saturday to register our core writers to write at the convention. When is why we turned to y'all Sunday morning for help.

Which you provided.

And we deeply thank you.

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Technical Problems

Jesse:

Massive technical problems. As in, I am gonna eat their ass.

Downstairs in the lobby on the wireless network from hell...

Beautiful hotel, but they has gots me upstairs (non-ADA) which is not only dumb, but PAIN. LM and/or Hubris have to help me up and down the stairs, carry my bags, and in general, wait on me.

Hmmmm. Strike what I said about “dumb.”

Hopefully LM and I get moved in the morning. I sure as shit can't go up and down these stairs another day. (Although maybe if they got me a mountain bike. Some of those suckers gear down so low a rider could climb telephone poles.)

Ooooh... and Maggie Jochild is here in the morning!!! Go Maggie!
.
So... No more writing from me tonight. Not till they fix their fucking technical problems. Or till I get to the convention center.

I'm also not even naming the hotel...YET. Not till after we, um, negotiATE an appropriate change in our room charge given I had to go down and up the god-awful stairs from my room which I'm paying for to their lobby which I'm not...

Austin rocks. This hotel's IT setup is rocky.

Lower Manhattanite:

“Whats a dazzling urbanite like you doing in a rustic setting like this?”--Gene Wilder's Waco Kid to Cleavon Little's Sheriff Bart

What am I doing here? Hanging with the rest of the GNB crew, commiseratin', “conversatin'”, and Netroots Nation-aytin', faithful readers. Be fooled not--this is not some cow-town, this beautiful Austin, Texas. From the moment I hopped off the plane, I knew I was in what one would call "cool" environs. It probably had a lot to do with the huge, bronze statue of the amazing Texas political giant Ms. Barbara Jordan, staring down thoughtfully, weighty book on lap and glasses at rest.

Nothin' like that at Kennedy or LaGuardia, kiddies.

Then, walking to the ground transportation area, I was captivated by a beautiful woman in a coral-colored dress--seeming to walk in slow motion in the sticky night air. She floated damn-near, dress catching just enough breeze to where she looked akin to something descending from a cloud---but then, it could also have been simple fatigue on my part--a tough flight after a doubly tough night full of more drama than Wagner's "Ring Cycle" on crack. Ye Gods!

But, the kid is here, along with Jesse, Hub, TLG, and Mme. Robinson. The nicest touches were entering the hotel room, and finding it festooned—not with corny-ass hotel art--oh, no! Instead? A beautiful, striking, vintage silkscreen poster of Bobby Womack and his Peace Band playing at Port Arthur, Texas from back in the “That's The Way I Feel About Cha” days. Then, descending the balcony steps, the ring and peal of live music from across the street at The Continental Club. Oh yes...I think this could be fun. Fun indeed. But now...on to sleep, perchance to dream...of a nice breakfast.

I doubt it will be bagels. :)

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Public Service is NOT Charity Work

The Crucible with Daniel Day Lewis and Winona Ryder.
February 4, 2002. photo Barry Wetcher/Twentieth Century Fox.

“You Must SUFFER in the NAME of His HOLINESS”
“But I wanted a BLACK iPod. Frack!”

I dunno. You're buying the lastest gadgets, but then asking for money.
Bollox Ref

I'm not picking on Bollox Ref. This is one of those “attack the idea, not the person” moments. The above idea is about to be taken out. Bollox Ref on the other hand... no problem. *smiles*

Let's understood, then kill off this concept. It is an ENORMOUSLY destructive line of thinking and an ongoing barrier to raising funds for progressive causes.

The concept, said simply is this:

"Public service is charity work."

It sounds silly, but when you cut down to it, that's how many people think.

Call it the "Mother Theresa" VOW OF POVERTY life of public service model.

The penitent one takes a vow of poverty, turns over any and all income from all sources to charity, and works around the clock ceaselessly in a life of selfless service dedicating oneself to that which is being served. But it's okay, because of God.

In the Mother Theresa model, nothing is allowed but service. No money, no belongings (other than simple gifts made on potting wheels from Mother Earth, lovingly presented at a ceremony while school-children sing a song composed especially in honor of the occasion.) Of course, if the gift has genuine monetary value from a serious artist, one would naturally auction it at Sothebys and contribute the funds to “the cause.” If one suffered a little and wrote a short but heart-felt poem on tree-bark which was then posted on your blog to inspire your followers, so much the better.

Oh. My. Gods.

THAT IS NOT A FUCKING LIFE. (That is not a fucking life.)

No wonder the Republicans have been kicking our ass.

They have institutions, research grants, scholarships, third-party offers, 501C3s, 501C4s, and so goddamn many different institutes, universities and colleges, it isn't even funny.

From the moment Republican kids walk into college they are taken care of. An entire HOST of institutional choices are available to Young Republicans, all designed to make certain of two things:

1. Republicans get paid.

Got that? Republicans get paid.

Let me say it again. If there is one thing Republicans always make damn sure happens, it is this: they get fracking paid.

We could learn from them.

2. Republicans have careers.

I didn't say jobs. I said careers.

Upward fucking mobility. With benefits. Mentors. Fully-paid conferences, retreats and education. All designed to make certain they STAY REPUBLICANS (because that is where they get paid) and that they have Republicans all around them all the time, telling them how great it is to be a Republican.

Damn. Sounds sweet.

Furthermore... (and this is really a third point.)

3. Republicans get quoted.

Where? By other Republicans. It's a damn echo chamber. Hello, 'lo, 'lo...

But Republicans also get quoted by the traditional media, which is lazy enough to fail to mention such-and-such an institute is being funded by Adolph Coors who coincidently gives x million a year to hard right-wing causes.

Which gives the Republicans cred when they apply for the research position. Which gives them status when it's time for that University appointment. Fellowships. Book deals. Editorial appearances on radio and television.

Round and around and around.

Republicans take care of each other, always. They have each other's backs.

* * * * * * * * * *

Progressives?

We?

Don't make me laugh; it hurts.

We have bloggers who hold fundraisers to pay some blogging bills, yet even though it's our own damn money get looked at funny if we buy a fucking iPhone!

Let's get a few things clear.

Professional work requires professionals.

It requires hiring pros. It requires being professional.

I used to cringe when Steve - a fucking pro if there ever was one -- felt he had to justify himself every time he bought Jen something nice. While with his enormous talent and big donor base, he still lacked the funds to buy a world-class health care policy.

My dear friend Melanie died in part due to lack of health care.

No damn well-known Republican ever died because their job didn't have full benefits. And a 401K. And stock options with a golden-parachute kicker.

We have fundraisers. And people questioning our commitment.

STOP IT.

It's ugly and it's mean and it is wrong.

Donate, don't donate, it's your call. But be clear... We are not Mother Teresa and we don't follow that model.

We will use the money you give us wisely and carefully. We are using it overwhelming for items such as:

• hotels (probably)
• travel (maybe)
• basic business expenses
• back end blog costs
• stuff you'll find out about Tuesday

I wish we had more money so we could pay for more. As it is we're all having to pay too much of our own expenses to suit me. But we do that and don't complain. Because we all believe in public service and we believe in America.

That the four of us, er, six of us now with Evan and TLG are able to afford to pay for our own expenses (and buy iPhones if we want) is what has kept Group News Blog up and running. We've been up for a year and this is the first time we've ever asked anyone for a nickel.

Why? Because I respect you too much to do this any other way.

Let us be blunt. Jen put the keys to the kingdom in my hands. Before I'm going to ask y'all to give us money, I had to be sure you thought what we were giving you was worth it. That takes time and trust. Traditionally it takes a year.

So here we are.

From the donations pouring in, you trust us.

You've read our posts. You know we're the real deal. You know we're not nuns or monks. If we get the chance to have a good time, we will. Probably not with GNB funds simply because there aren't enough of them to use them that way. But if there was, I wouldn't feel even slightly guilty having a good meal and buying the gang a nice bottle of wine on the company nickel. (I don't drink; with my meds it could kill me.)

So...

My point is, each of your bloggers contribute enormously to Group News Blog:

• financially with actual money in various forms and ways,
• editorially by writing posts and comments as well as emails,
• technically each within our own specialties, and
• physically through giving hundreds or even thousands of hours of time and energy.

What we do with your financial donations is... We use them wisely.

We have great lives which we're happy to live. We ask you to contribute financially because we can not afford to fund -- nor frankly, should we -- the expenses of a serious journalism business which is growing and expanding.

Mother Theresa was a Saint and she practiced holy orders.

Group News Blog is a business and we practice journalism.

Being a progressive liberal and a journalist doesn't foreclose owning cool toys.

Please continue donating -- $100, $75, and $50 dollars.

Thank you for your support.

There's more...