Dear Mr. President,
I would like to thank you for finally putting some sanctions on the government of Darfur which has, for the past FOUR YEARS, been terrorising half its population. I'm sure the Janjaweed militia is quaking in their boots (government bought) at the thought that three oil refineries will no longer be able to sell their oil in the American markets. When you said ""For too long the people of Darfur have suffered at the hands of a government that is complicit in the bombing, murder and rape of innocent civilians. My administration has called these actions by their rightful name: genocide. The world has a responsibility to put an end to it," I could only cry tears of happiness at the thought that soon the slaughter would end, just as it has ended in Iraq. I didn't get the rest of your speech, sorry, because I was too busy putting my head through the computer screen in frustration. Now you are trying to get the UN to impose more "pressure" on Darfur to behave--when did the UN become your bestest buddy? I refuse to celebrate your actions, which are too little, too late, because I suspect they are a PR move to distract the American people once again from the war which you started, by waving the shiny flag of "economic sanctions" that, in the long run, aren't going to hurt anyone except people who have already been hurt enough.
If you're going to be a cowboy, act like one.
Yr Hmbl & Obt. Srvt,
I spent last night with a woman from our cast who doesn't like to sleep alone in her house. L is a lady of a certain age, and her husband works for a very large company and travels quite a bit. They live in Evanston, in a gorgeous house surrounded by trees, a couple of blocks from the lake. We had salmon for dinner, and this morning we strolled down by the lake and watched the lucky dog owners and their charges play in the water. I felt like I was on a mini-vacation, a feeling that wasn't helped when we went to get a coffee at the Unicorn cafe and the barrista started speaking German. Ah! How I miss strolling along the South Bank in the hot summer sun, stopping for coffee and pints. After blogging yesterday I ended up going to the lake but, mistrustful Midwesterner, I wore jeans and failed to bring a blanket, so I couldn't go down on the sand. Now I know better and the next time I go I will be prepared. I am actually wearing shorts today--proper shorts, like, that are above my knees, and I'm quite smug about how small my waist is getting. I'm not losing any weight, but all my trousers are falling off my hips and my knees aren't rubbing together. I'm trying not to brag--money is so tight right now that I'm eating less, and I've never been skinny but...tee hee isn't this fun!
The good news is I have another job interview with an agency this afternoon, so hopefully they'll be able to find me something that is a little more permanent. As soon as I stop stressing out about work, hopefully I will be able to write. Must finish the one about the dogs...
The bad news is there is a copy of Bill O'Reilly's book "Culture Warrior" on the floor in my roommate's room:
"Hey! One of the cats vomited on my book!!!"