ChgoRed, Girl Editor

Friday Caption Contest: Special Convention Edition

Scroll down for the rest.

#2

#3

Speechless

All week, I've been reading the 9/11 commission report, and every day leaves me speechless. The first 30 or so pages were pretty bad, because that's all about what happened on the planes, followed by vivid descriptions of government officials dropping the ball when things went out of control. That was tears, then anger.

Then, yesterday was awful because I came to the explanation for, "So why haven't we been able to track down the money?" As it happens, that whole theory about "Bin Laden is rich--he's using his own cash," turns out to be basically...wrong. His assets have been frozen since the early 1990s. Instead, his happy troop runs on donations--from businesses, individuals, and charities that may/may not know they're giving him cash. I don't have to tell you it's mostly done outside of banks. Disheartening because, to me, it means we have little hope of drying up his funding...which also means they'll be operative for a long time to come.

Even though the book doesn't say it, fighting terrorism is basically going to be the Cold War of the new century--a long-term battle with little in the way of big successes. It makes me tear up to think how this struggle could very well outlast us.

Then, I got to today's fun fact. Page 198.

"Bush and his principal advisers had all received briefings on terrorism, Including Bin Ladin. In early September 2000, Acting Deputy Director of Central intelligence John McLaughlin led a team to Bush’s ranch in Crawford, Texas, and gave him a wide-ranging, four-hour review of sensitive information. Ben Bonk, deputy chief of the CIA's Counterterrorist Center, used one of the four hours to deal with terrorism. To highlight the danger of terrorists, obtaining chemical, biological, radiological or nuclear weapons, Bonk brought along a mock-up suitcase to evoke the way the Aum Shinrikyo doomsday cult had spread deadly sarin nerve agent on the Tokyo subway in 1995. Bonk told Bush that Americans would die from terrorism during the next four years."

At which point I had to stop reading. Too stunned, and I was crying again.

In George’s favor, he wasn’t president yet. Maybe he thought Bonk meant 1 or 2 people. Perhaps he envisioned something like the Achille Lauro hijacking--overseas, only a few people, something not really within our power to stop. Part of me wants to believe that.

The other part of me wonders if he wasn’t just too entranced by the cool suitcase to stop the meeting and say, "What the fuck? Well, how do we stop that? What’s in place? What do we need to do? This is preventable." I mean, if you were running for president and someone told you that people would be killed during your term in office, wouldn't you say something? Do SOMETHING? Whatever George did, the book doesn't say--and given how detailed it's been so far, I can't help but think that means he didn't say anything.

For the first time, I don’t know if I can finish this book. I'm too hurt, too angry, too heartbroken by the careful delineation of so fucking many missed chances.

Goddamned hindsight.

Eaten Up

Last night, a dream:

I’m hostess to a massive dessert party, somewhere that is not my house. Plates of cookies, pies, fabulously decorated cakes—the works. And people everywhere. Even Gary Sinise showed up, which is pretty weird because, well, he’s Gary Sinise, I do not know him, and no, he’s not this guy. Whatever. Tons of food, plus tons of people watching TV and eating sweets. For, like, two days.

Moral: You can act like you’re not on a diet; you can refuse to call it a diet; you can even tell everyone you know that “it’s not really a diet.” But your body always knows. And your body would like a Frappuccino, like, yesterday, please.

Friday Caption Contest (#1)

I couldn't pick just one this week. Thanks to Teri for helping me narrow down the list. Scroll down for #2.

Friday Caption Contest (#2)

I'm probably going to Hell for this one. Oh well.

God, No

Maybe if we're lucky, it won't be true.

Michael Jackson to Be Father of Quadruplets

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Pop star Michael Jackson, facing a trial on child molestation charges, is about to become a father to four more children—quadruplets—by way of a surrogate mother, Us Weekly magazine reported on Tuesday.

Friday Caption Contest (Early Edition)

Cyooooote

For the past week, The Boyfriend and I have been enjoying a new sight from our kitchen window: bunnies. At first, it was one big rabbit. Then, bless its heart, a baby bunny.

But Ms. Editor, you ask, isn't "baby bunny" kind of redundant? Not in this case. Not when the bunny is so wee and precious, your heart turns to Jell-O at the sight of him. And believe me, this kiddo is a whole other kind of adorable. Small enough to fit in your shoe or hide in a clump of grass. Itsy-bitsyness till you could just hurl. I love him. And of course, he has a name.

Carl the Agoraphobic Mini-Rabbit.

Because he looks like a Carl. He just does. And because every time he ventures out from the protection of grass clumps and onto the patio, he runs around like a lunatic looking for a place to hide. Cuter than you can imagine. A bit pushy, too--I watched him chase the grown rabbit around the yard. Because Carl don’t play that.

As of Sunday, there was a second wee bunny back there, which means the cuteness level in our backyard is growing exponentially. It's a good thing the bunnies will eventually grow into average-looking rabbits. Otherwise we'd need a defense--something so unbelievably, disgustingly cute that it had become downright cloying.

Like this, say. Anne Geddes is bad enough, but Celine Dion is pretty much the Antichrist in my house. And now, they're combining forces.

I feel compelled to mention that in my darker years, I did buy both a set of Anne Geddes Christmas cards and a calendar (for my mom). However, If I'd known it could lead to something like this, even indirectly, I never never woulda. (I also bought a Celine candle for someone when I was in Vegas, but since I bought it ironically, it doesn’t count.)

My apologies.