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	<title>Artisinal &#187; Storyarium</title>
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	<description>Delicately crafted worthlessness from people skilled in the art</description>
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		<title>Dated seems to be a euphemism</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/12/01/dated-seems-to-be-a-euphemism/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/12/01/dated-seems-to-be-a-euphemism/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Dec 2005 19:29:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blog.piratenews.net/?p=235</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The girls I have dated:]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><a href="http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/105664235.html">The girls I have dated</a>:</p>
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		<title>Storyarium RSS</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/10/24/storyarium-rss/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/10/24/storyarium-rss/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 25 Oct 2005 00:46:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blog.piratenews.net/?p=200</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[group hug // random confessions: I assume a lot are fake, but eh.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><a href="http://grouphug.us/random">group hug // random confessions</a>:</p>
<p>I assume a lot are fake, but eh.</p>
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		<title>Dear nobody in particular</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/10/19/dear-nobody-in-particular/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/10/19/dear-nobody-in-particular/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 19 Oct 2005 07:50:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://blog.piratenews.net/?p=190</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Letters from Jennie&#8230;: Praise God that He does work all things together for our good! He brought several wonderful friends into my life who led me out of my cynicism and finally helped me to see that I had been completely duped by Christian feminism. By the time I came back around to a biblical [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><a href="http://www.ylcf.org/journal/29/letters_from_jennie.htm">Letters from Jennie&#8230;</a>:</p>
<blockquote><p>Praise God that He does work all things together for our good! He brought several wonderful friends into my life who led me out of my cynicism and finally helped me to see that I had been completely duped by Christian feminism. By the time I came back around to a biblical worldview, I had met my future husband and had moved back home with my parents. I quit my job before I was married and have never looked back. In fact, I constantly thank God for getting me out of that mire and putting me in my place! My lifework now is my home, husband and children, and I glorify God for the beauty of His perfect design for the family.</p></blockquote>
<p>Why, oh why can&#8217;t we go back to the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/redirect?tag=ws%26link_code=xm2%26camp=2025%26creative=165953%26path=http://www.amazon.com/gp/redirect.html%253fASIN=0688046592%2526tag=ws%2526lcode=xm2%2526cID=2025%2526ccmID=165953%2526location=/o/ASIN/0688046592%25253FSubscriptionId=02ZH6J1W0649DTNS6002">English Renaissance of the 12th century</a> when women were treated as equals in the marketplace?</p>
<p>Full text reprinted below the break<br />
<span id="more-180"></span></p>
<blockquote><p>Letters from Jennie&#8230;<br />
On College, the workplace, etc.<br />
By Jennie Chancey</p>
<p>Letter #1<br />
I will start out on the topic of what a single Christian girl should do. It is very much on my heart and important to me.<br />
I currently teach a weekly literature/Biblical worldview class for young women ages 15-21, and I yearn to have them understand what God requires of us as daughters, wives, sisters and friends. God&#8217;s Word is so rich and His ways so rewarding! We should always turn to the Bible (both &#8220;old&#8221; and &#8220;new&#8221; testaments!) to find out what the Lord would have us do. Unfortunately, too many modern Christians look everywhere else for answers before turning to the Word (just look at all the &#8220;Christian&#8221; psychology and counseling books in Christian bookstores). This problem is particularly acute with Christian women, since feminism has slowly but surely crept into the church and stolen our hearts while we were not feeding them with God&#8217;s precepts and commands. So many families believe that a young woman, like a young man, is &#8220;free and independent&#8221; at age 18 or age 21 and should leave home to strike out on her own. This is in total opposition to God&#8217;s teachings.<br />
Let me tell you right off that I did go to a four-year college 300 miles from home. It was the worst decision my parents and I ever made. Mom and Dad later regretted it and asked forgiveness for pressuring me to go (I did not want to go away from home at all). At the time, they really felt I was &#8220;called&#8221; to go to college, since I wanted to build up my writing skills. My late father was a well-known author, and I begged him to teach me what he knew, since I did not want to go away from home to continue my education. To make a long story short, my parents told me that if I won a full scholarship to college (I had been home schooled for eight years), they would consider it as confirmation that I was to go. I did win a scholarship&#8212;for all but room and board. I said, &#8220;See, it wasn&#8217;t a full scholarship, so I don&#8217;t have to go, right?&#8221; But my folks said I could work at school to make up the difference, so off I went. I was able to hold my own as far as my convictions went on dating and a godly walk, but after three years, I grew very cynical and bitter. I saw little fruit in the lives of my fellow students, and even at my Christian college, kids were sleeping around, doing drugs and not pursuing righteousness. By the time I graduated, I was disillusioned and thoroughly brainwashed into thinking I was going to have to fend for myself in the world. I promptly got a full-time job working in media relations and writing magazine articles on the side. I liked my work, but deep inside, I was empty and bitter.<br />
Praise God that He does work all things together for our good! He brought several wonderful friends into my life who led me out of my cynicism and finally helped me to see that I had been completely duped by Christian feminism. By the time I came back around to a biblical worldview, I had met my future husband and had moved back home with my parents. I quit my job before I was married and have never looked back. In fact, I constantly thank God for getting me out of that mire and putting me in my place! My lifework now is my home, husband and children, and I glorify God for the beauty of His perfect design for the family.<br />
Since being married four and a half years ago, I have had time to really dive into the Word and find what God requires of the Christian woman. I do not claim to understand it perfectly, but I do encourage you to hold fast to what God tells us to do. His Word is true and pure, and we cannot go wrong if we follow Him! Starting in the Pentateuch (Genesis through Deuteronomy), we see that God made woman for man. As much as the feminists hate the idea, it is true. Conversely, man was made to protect, cherish and nourish the woman. Men who are not doing that and are not loving their wives as Christ loved the church are covenant-breakers. Women who refuse to stay home and obey their fathers or husbands are also covenant-breakers. They are inverting God&#8217;s created order, which is God-Man-Woman-Animals. Today we have Animals-Woman-Man-God. Just take a look at what our society holds dear and who gets the most press time! Christians must strive to return to God&#8217;s created order.<br />
Moving on to the books of the law, we see in the case laws (these are the laws which tell us how to live the ten commandments) that God puts a daughter under her father&#8217;s protection. He is to help her to remain pure until marriage. He is to guard her from all the &#8220;Mr. Wrongs&#8221; in the world while she waits for Mr. Right. The whole purpose of the &#8220;bride price&#8221; and the bride&#8217;s dowry was not to sell women like cattle&#8212;as feminists like to assert&#8212;but to show how valuable a godly daughter is and to protect her in case her husband turns out to be a dud (heaven forbid). The bride price (one year&#8217;s wages) and the daughter&#8217;s dowry (whatever her family gave her) were hers alone. The husband could not touch that money! Isn&#8217;t that something? It was hers to invest and use as she saw fit. What an amazing principle! This is how the Proverbs 31 woman could &#8220;consider a field and buy it&#8221; and use her own earnings to plant a vineyard.<br />
Your father is your covenantal head. He is your covering. Christ is over him, and you are under both. My husband, in the same manner, is my covering. I am protected as long as I remain under his authority. Modern women chafe at the command that wives &#8220;obey their husbands,&#8221; because they want to maintain their own autonomy. This is incompatible with the Christian worldview. &#8220;He who would be greatest among you must be servant of all!&#8221; When we step out from under our coverings and try to do things &#8220;independently,&#8221; we deserve whatever happens to us (financial struggles, family arguments, failed marriages, disobedient children, etc.). But you will note that the responsibility still rests squarely upon the male head! He takes the blame. We all died in Adam, you&#8217;ll remember. When Eve took the fruit and ate of it, it was Adam&#8217;s sin, because he failed to serve as Eve&#8217;s covering and head. It was Adam&#8217;s sin that killed the entire race&#8212;incredible, but true. This is one reason we should strive to be obedient and watchful, since our sins will reflect on our authorities. Yes, we are responsible for our sins and should confess them, but the &#8220;blood,&#8221; so to speak, is on the heads of our authorities.<br />
Study the lives of the women who are praised throughout Scripture. Look at Sarah, Miriam (Moses&#8217; sister), Rebekah, Esther, Ruth, Abigail, Jael, Mary, Elizabeth, Phoebe&#8230; You will find that, even though these women were not perfect in every way (Sarah!), they are held up as examples for us, because they obeyed God by obeying those in authority over them (in the case of Abigail, whose husband was a dodo, she obeyed God rather than receive the wrath of the king for her husband&#8217;s insult). Paul tells us we are to be &#8220;keepers at home,&#8221; living quiet, respectable lives, loving our husbands and children and not causing the gospel to be blasphemed. When the woman is out of her place, particularly if she is loud and strident about it, she is harming the name of the Lord. This should cause us to think seriously about what we do as daughters and wives. (Of course, the same is true for fathers and husbands, but I am addressing only the responsibilities of women here!)<br />
So what does the single girl do? Scripture tells us that sons leave, but daughters are given. Daughters do not go out into the world to seek their place in it. They are to serve at home and sit in discipleship at the feet of older women and their own parents. Only older, &#8220;true&#8221; widows who have lived godly lives are given authority to maintain their own households, but younger widows are to return to their father&#8217;s house until they marry again (if ever&#8212;see Leviticus 22:13). Unmarried girls are to remain virtuous and to serve their father&#8217;s household.<br />
I do not at all mean to imply that women should be uneducated, ignorant and unwise. The women hailed in the Bible as examples for us were exceedingly wise, clever, intelligent, capable and quick-witted. The single girl is not to sit around waiting for Mr. Right. She is to study to become Mrs. Right. This is more than just learning to cook, sew and take care of babies&#8212;although those things are extremely important! A man needs a &#8220;helper suitable for him.&#8221; He needs someone who can share his concerns, talk about them intelligently and help him come up with solutions. And he needs someone who will obey when he makes a decision and not be tempted to say, &#8220;I told you so&#8221; if something goes wrong. This is a delicate balance to achieve, but it is not impossible. My husband had an opportunity last year to meet with two very well known Christian authors, pastors and speakers. In the course of conversation, it became apparent that each man had married a woman at least four years older than himself. Matt mentioned that I was also older than he and asked the two men why they had chosen older wives. One replied, &#8220;I did not want to marry a ditz-head!&#8221; The other put it a bit more charitably when he said, &#8220;I needed someone who could think with me and work with me.&#8221; It is sad that so many Christian young ladies today either have a shallow piety which sees goodness in works alone or a shallow worldview which does not permit a lot of deep thinking. I do not need a PhD. to help my husband, but I do need to take care that I do not become a chain around his neck&#8212;a burden he must constantly carry along with his other responsibilities. The husband should be able to have total confidence in his wife to run the home, care for the children, teach, train, advise and encourage. She shouldn&#8217;t be an extra child for him.<br />
Daughters need to be taught how to add to the riches of their father&#8217;s household as a preparation for enriching their own future homes. If a daughter is not called to marry (the Lord gives her no desire to do so), she should serve in her parents&#8217; home or help other Christian families in theirs (like the servant girls in Proverbs 31 or like Dorcas). She should never venture out from under her father&#8217;s authority and protection. This sounds so backwards and servile in today&#8217;s society, but we mustn&#8217;t care what the world thinks. We must cling to God&#8217;s truth and rejoice in it! The gospel is beautiful. It is health and life to meditate upon it. It is death to reject it.</p>
<p>Letter #2<br />
All of the things I am going to share with you in this letter come from my own experience as well as from Scripture. Because I did go away to college and experienced many hard knocks as a result, I can speak from experience. I would not want any other woman to go through what I did in order to learn the same lessons. I wish I had just learned from God&#8217;s Word and had not disobeyed Him, but I am thankful that the Lord has hammered home the truths of His Word in the past six years as He has brought me out of the negative results of leaving home and becoming a &#8220;career&#8221; woman. None of these lessons have come easily; but I pray that I can share my thoughts with other girls who are struggling in this area and spare them a lot of pain and doubt.<br />
Let me address your concerns in an orderly fashion:<br />
1. A single woman belongs in a home, under a godly authority. As &#8220;medieval&#8221; or backward as it may sound, she should not go away to college for an education (or leave her God-given authorities for any reason except the few outlined in the Bible). This is not because the Bible says, &#8220;Young women shall not go away to college.&#8221; The Bible does not directly address many sins or improper choices, but we can find our direction from various principles in Scripture. For example, as we mentioned before, sons leave, but daughters are given (Gen. 2:24; Mark 10:7). And the father is the covering for his daughter&#8212;he can even cancel vows or promises she has made (Num. 30:3-5), just as a husband can do for his wife (Num. 30:6-14). Besides the father&#8217;s direct authority to instruct his daughter and give her away in marriage, older, godly women are given authority to be &#8220;teachers of good things&#8212;that they admonish the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, homemakers, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be blasphemed&#8221; (Titus 2:3b-5). Blasphemy is a grave and serious sin from which we should flee with all haste. Most churches today do not teach that it is blasphemous for women to be working outside of the home and obeying other men (which is what you are doing if you are under a male boss). We need to return to this Scriptural truth and embrace it in spite of the world&#8217;s scorn and the clucking tongues even of fellow Christians.<br />
2. Let me address your concern that you would need &#8220;something to fall back on&#8221; if your husband died or was unable to provide for you. This thinking is a crafty lie from Satan that has crept so stealthily into the church that most Christians think it is wisdom. Let me encourage you to get into the Word to find out the provisions God has made for these cases. Young women who are widowed are not to support themselves, but are to return home (Lev. 22:12), remarry (I Tim. 5:14) or receive their support from the church (I Tim. 5:16; James 1:27). There is never, ever a situation where a young, single woman will have to support herself if she is part of a God-honoring family or church. If she finds no support, it is a judgment on the family and the church, and she needs to seek help from godly brothers and sisters in Christ. This is what the body of Christ is for! We pray, &#8220;Lead us not into temptation,&#8221; but we rather expect to find ourselves in situations where we will have to sin in order to keep ourselves from starvation or ruin. This is a lie. Rebuke it! Tell Satan to get behind you. He is &#8220;cast out&#8221; and has no power over Christ&#8217;s children, so his lies should carry no weight with us. But we often have to expose his lies, because we&#8217;ve been taught they are &#8220;reasonable&#8221; or &#8220;necessary.&#8221; That leads me to my next point:<br />
3. We must always think biblically&#8212;not according to our own &#8220;wisdom&#8221; or &#8220;gut feeling&#8221; about things. The modern clich&#233; is &#8220;What Would Jesus Do?&#8221; as if our own inner feelings or reason can accurately tell us how Jesus would respond to certain situations. The real question is, &#8220;What DID Jesus Do?&#8221; since all of His actions and responses are already recorded in Scripture. We do not need to guess at His actions or responses. Our reason and our judgment are clouded by sin. We need God&#8217;s Word to thoroughly train our intellect and direct it. When I run across a confusing situation or something with which I am not certain how to deal, I should not ask myself, &#8220;What seems reasonable or correct?&#8221; By chance I might arrive at the right answer. But if I ask, &#8220;What is BIBLICAL?&#8221; and I thoroughly strive to study the Word and understand God&#8217;s principles, seeking godly counsel at the same time, I will be assured of godly direction and blessing. This is so neglected today! Too much of the &#8220;Christian&#8221; teaching out there tells us that &#8220;God will just tell us&#8221; when we are doing wrong by making us &#8220;feel&#8221; it in our souls or our hearts. Scripture tells us &#8220;The heart [is] deceitful above all [things] and desperately wicked; Who can know it?&#8221; (Jer. 17:9). We know that the Lord has taken away our hearts of stone and given us hearts of flesh (Ez. 36:26) and that He has written His law on our hearts (Rom. 2:15). However, this does not mean that we will always know exactly what is right. Paul exhorted Timothy to &#8220;study to show yourself approved to God, a worker who does not need to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth&#8221; (2 Tim. 2:15). Like the Bereans, we are to &#8220;search the Scriptures daily&#8221; (Acts 17:11). A mind that is captivated by the Word of God will feed a heart that is eager to obey His commands. This is the only way to know what He commands us&#8212;to study His Word and to seek to apply His principles to every situation. Not just in church. Not just in &#8220;Christian&#8221; work, but in every single, minute area. We are to &#8220;bring every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ&#8221; (2 Cor. 10:5). Every thought&#8212;about every action we can imagine taking. God has guidance for all of it! Praise His name!<br />
4. In an article I recently read about these same issues, I found a statement that stood out glaringly to me. The author wrote, &#8220;I am not saying all women should avoid college. What I am saying is, for the vast majority, God has called women to serve in the home.&#8221; I disagree strongly. God does not rule by majority. He does not say, &#8220;teach most of the younger women to be keepers at home&#8230;.&#8221; His standards are absolute, and to depart from them is to invite disaster (not that He is waiting to hit us with bolts of lightning or wrathful fire and brimstone&#8212;don&#8217;t misunderstand me&#8212;but when we depart from His ordained path, we can expect to pay the natural consequences). Women who go out into the workforce are &#8220;open game&#8221; and always lose&#8212;they are either defeated and subdued by the men with whom they compete, or their femininity is destroyed by their competition with other men and they are &#8220;consolidated&#8221; into the world of the working male. I will go ahead and put my neck on the line here. I do believe that all women should avoid going away to college (notice I did not say &#8220;avoid higher education altogether&#8221;). I say this in all humility, since I believe I disobeyed the Lord&#8217;s Word in this area myself and have repented of the choice. I am not trying to be hypocritical or holier-than-thou. My parents made the wrong choice, and I followed along. They repented of it and asked my forgiveness for the years of bitterness I endured during and after college. I also repented of becoming bitter and hardening my heart to the Lord&#8212;it took me two years to be cleansed of my cynicism and anger. Praise God for His grace, which &#8220;restored to [me] the years that the swarming locust had eaten&#8221; (Joel 2:25).<br />
Now, all of that said, let me assure you again that I am in no way opposed to education. It is a good thing to be instructed. It is a wonderful thing to learn. But my questions for you are these:<br />
1). Who is in charge of your education? (Scripture gives authority to parents for the education of their children; it gives church elders/pastors authority to teach the flock; it gives godly older women authority to teach younger women&#8212;only young men may go out as apprentices or start their own households).<br />
2). For what purpose is your education? To bring glory to God? Then it must be in line with His commands and standards, lest it cause His name to be blasphemed. To bring financial security to yourself? Then you are looking in the wrong place for your security&#8212;God is your security, and He gives it through His Body, the Church.<br />
3). What would you plan to do with a degree in nursing or business, given that it is unbiblical for a woman to work outside of her home and out from under her father&#8217;s or husband&#8217;s authority? This is antithetical to Scriptural principles and God&#8217;s commands for a woman.<br />
As a side note, there are &#8220;occupations&#8221; in scripture which are for women. Midwifery, for example, is only for women, since a man is not to uncover the nakedness of another man&#8217;s wife or a sister. The Hebrew midwives were praised in Scripture for saving the babies that Pharaoh wanted to destroy. Midwives appear frequently in Scripture, assisting women with births and giving God glory through their work. Midwifery is a &#8220;job&#8221; that can be practiced from the home and under a godly authority without compromise. It is an ideal job for a single woman or an older woman (my mother is now studying midwifery and serving as a birth assistant). Next, look at the Proverbs 31 woman. &#8220;Christian&#8221; feminists like to take these verses and shout from the rooftops that this ideal godly woman was working outside of the home as a realtor, manufacturer or what-have-you. This is pure self-deception. The Proverbs 31 woman is our ultimate ideal, and she does it all from home. She knows how to purchase land, plant crops, organize the home, order servants, cook, clean, clothe her family, create garments for the merchants, import food and bring praise to her husband because she is under authority and makes him look good. <img src='http://www.piratenews.net/blog/wp-includes/images/smilies/icon_smile.gif' alt=':-)' class='wp-smiley' />  Her children call her blessed, not because she is off slaying dragons and winning the world for Christ, but because she is a &#8220;worker at home&#8221; with her children, capably handling a multitude of tasks and talents with great ability. What a lot to emulate! And the example of Dorcas is another good one. She was a seamstress, making garments from her home for the poor. Everything that a godly woman needs to do or learn can be done or learned at home. In our age of easy internet access and correspondence studies, no girl can ever honestly say that she will not be educated if she &#8220;just&#8221; stays at home. I have learned more during the past four and a half years of marriage than I ever learned in college. I have read more books, listened to more lectures, talked with more learned and well-studied men and women, received greater counsel and felt more fulfilled than I ever did when I was away from home and &#8220;independent.&#8221;<br />
I just want to encourage you that the right decision&#8212;the godly, Scriptural decision&#8212;as hard as it may be to make, will be worth it in more ways than you can even think to count. The blessings and benefits will be positively LEGION!</p>
<p>Jennie Chancey is the wife of Matthew Chancey and the mother of three sons (3&#189;-year-old John Nathan, 22-month-old Alex and newborn Thomas). She enjoys reading, writing, cooking, entertaining guests, traveling with her family, corresponding with pen pals, and living in the country. She runs &#8220;Sense and Sensibility,&#8221; a custom sewing and pattern design business, from home and enjoys creating old-fashioned dresses and gowns that reflect the grace and femininity of times past (http://www.sensibility.com/).
 </p></blockquote>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Riggs</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/05/11/riggs/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/05/11/riggs/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 10 May 2005 19:36:46 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://piratenews.net/wptest/?p=104</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Driving 70 MPH on a Southern California freeway is no big thing, people do it all the time. This &#8216;limit&#8217; begins to increase as the number of vehicles dramatically decrease each hour after the sun as set. So when I tell you that the other night we were driving home at the rate of 82 [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div><font face="LucidaGrande">Driving 70 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> on a Southern California freeway is no big thing, people do it all the time. This &#8216;limit&#8217; begins to increase as the number of vehicles dramatically decrease each hour after the sun as set. So when I tell you that the other night we were driving home at the rate of 82 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande">, well that&#8217;s not really worth writing about.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">So what if I told you that while speeding down the road, trying to shave minutes off my best time from Orange County to Los Angeles I looked up from the dash gauges after hearing a peculiar noise to see a white BMW, fifteen yards in front of me, also traveling at 82 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> but sideways, perfectly perpendicular to my own car.</font></div>
<p><span id="more-132"></span></p>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">From http://www.airbagindustries.com/archives/007426.php</font></div>
<div></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">Driving 70 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> on a Southern California freeway is no big thing, people do it all the time. This &#8216;limit&#8217; begins to increase as the number of vehicles dramatically decrease each hour after the sun as set. So when I tell you that the other night we were driving home at the rate of 82 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande">, well that&#8217;s not really worth writing about.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">So what if I told you that while speeding down the road, trying to shave minutes off my best time from Orange County to Los Angeles I looked up from the dash gauges after hearing a peculiar noise to see a white BMW, fifteen yards in front of me, also traveling at 82 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> but sideways, perfectly perpendicular to my own car.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">Time froze. And then it started moving slowly from a solid to liquid state.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">There in front of me a man-made object was seemingly defying the laws of physics, because it remained sideways moving at the same rate of speed with puffy white smoke billowing from the tires ? the sound and smell of rubber being scrapped across pavement, in a way it was not designed to, filled the air around us.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">I quickly scanned the area around me. To the left, in lane one was a Latino family crammed in a small orange Asian import vehicle. A car length behind them, in lane two, was a full-size white pickup configured with a contractor package, complete with a ladder. The third lane was dominated by German engineering: The smoking, sideways BMW and my own Reflex Silver Volkswagen. The last lane, number four, was unoccupied and depending on how the rubber gripped the road it was my intended escape route.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">As my wife hit the hazard lights, I started working the brakes to bring our rate of speed down to a more manageable 55 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande">, traffic around me did the same. The BMW continued to slide and I thought for sure it was going to launch into an uncontrolled role as soon as one of the left tires connected with the round heavy plastic dots used to indicate lanes.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">It never did. Instead the back of the car started to slide a bit past the front and the vehicles momentum started to carry the car forward into the second lane. The smoke disappeared as all four tires started to grip pavement launching the vehicle towards the concrete sound barrier wall </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">ALA</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> Dale Earnhardt. I thought for sure the </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">BMW</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> was going to become half of it&#8217;s length in the next second and that the family of five, still in the first lane, would t-bone the wreckage requiring multiple ambulances and a </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">SIG</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> Alert.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">The car did hit the wall straight on but instead of crumbling it was, as if from by divine miracle, spun around ? facing the Latinos, then the truck, then us. It spun a full 270 degrees until it was once again back in a lane heading down the road in normal fashion. The brake lights went on and the wife reached for her cell phone to call for help, surely the people inside would require some medical attention.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">Instead the BMW increase speed and started to flee the scene. I looked over the right to see the family also looking in disbelief as they pulled over, probably to collect their thoughts and stop hypervenalitang. After all we had been through, all seven seconds of it, these clowns were just going to drive away. What a load of crap.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">I looked over at the wife, &#8220;Follow them&#8221;, she said, &#8220;what if they are drunk or hurt?&#8221; Upon instruction I downshifted into third, the </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">RPM</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> gauge jumped by 1000 revolutions and we started pursuit. As the wife dialed the phone the BMW continued to speed off.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">It wasn&#8217;t until I reached 110 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> that I was able to get close enough to read the license plate but even that was made more difficult as I didn&#8217;t want to get close enough to come in contact, or be put into a position where that would happen.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">As a side note I would like to add that at 100+ </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande"> the Vokswagen Passat performed admirably, feeling even more solid the faster we traveled. While the sound of the engine was louder than normal, it did not compete with the fantastic sound delivered from the Bose Monsoon stereo system. I can&#8217;t say that this is the perfect car to pursue idiots on the California freeway system but it is certainly up to the task when neeeed.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">The BMW swerved into the next lane the Rocket Scientist barked to the person at 9-1-1, trying to explain what was taking place on the 10 freeway. As we approached a sign advertising the next exit the BMW started to make their way over, the wife still reading off the license plate to the dispatch officer. With our crappy Cingular cell-phone connection a few numbers had to be repeated all the while the car was making it&#8217;s way to the exit.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">As this whole thing was not a good idea I was not about to compound the problem by getting off the freeway and into a neighborhood that I knew nothing about. Especially since we were speeding through East LA. Nice enough in the daytime I&#8217;m sure but there is a reason the area has never received an All American City award.</font></div>
<div><font face="LucidaGrande">Just as the car left the freeway the last number was read and as the wife left her contact information I slowed our rate of speed back to a more manageable 80 </font><font face="LucidaGrande" size="2">MPH</font><font face="LucidaGrande">. The rest of the trip back home seemed very boring and uneventful.</font></div>
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		<title>Bobby Gorin is presentable</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/01/24/bobby-gorin-is-presentable/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2005/01/24/bobby-gorin-is-presentable/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 24 Jan 2005 02:05:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://piratenews.net/wptest/?p=106</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Craigslist is a really weird place. Still why not pick up a used couch in the same place you pick up a life confession from a Homicide Detective? That is convenience. (text copied in the read more link for posterity) re: Question for Cops and Detectives Reply to: anon-53956630@craigslist.org Date: Thu Dec 30 19:51:15 2004 [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><font face="Futura-Medium">Craigslist is a really weird place. Still why not pick up a used couch in the same place you pick up a <a href="http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/chi/53956630.html" target="NewWindow">life confession from a Homicide Detective</a>? That is convenience. (text copied in the read more link for posterity)</font></p>
<p><span id="more-102"></span></p>
<blockquote><p>
  <font face="Times-Bold"><b>re: Question for Cops and Detectives</b></font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">Reply to: <a href="mailto:anon-53956630@craigslist.org">anon-53956630@craigslist.org</a></font><br />
  <font face="Times-Roman">Date: Thu Dec 30 19:51:15 2004</font></p>
<p>
  <font face="Times-Roman">This is my first time posting, so please be gentle. I am a homicide detective who works in Chicago. I&#8217;ve doing it for several years. I can think of roughly a dozen cases in the last three years that wrapped up in a nice tidy package. Until this year, the unit I work in averaged about 170 murders a year. I usually have knowledge directly or indirectly of about 50 of those murders, so the numbers of nice tidy packages are probably greater.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">Believe it or not, people do confess. Unlike the nonsense you read in the papers, physical abuse is not used and is not effective. Physical coersion will only &#8220;lose&#8221; the offender. Creating a bond between the detective and offender is what is needed to gain a confession. Hours are spent at the start trying to establish this bond. You just have to read the guy and go with what works. You might become his dad, or his priest, or his &#8220;homey&#8221;. Like anything else, some detectives are masters at getting confessions and some suck. Most are someplace in the middle. The offender usually confesses in stages. It usually starts with &#8220;I don&#8217;t know nothing&#8221;. After several hours of denials and bullshit that becomes, &#8220;I heard about it&#8221;. That eventually becomes, &#8220;I was out there(witnessed it)&#8221;. And finally the confession process begins. This can take just as long as the rest put together. The offender will try to seek out what you know and only admit to that. You&#8217;re trying to get new info out of him and don&#8217;t want to let him know what you know. Holding back what you know is how you verify the rest of his story. I don&#8217;t think people ever confess 100%. They always try to hold back the little things that will make them look really bad. At some point you have to go with the story he gives you. If you push him too hard, you might lose him. Before he is done, he will have confessed several times to different people. He is usually trying to work his own angle. Trying to make the co-offenders or victim look bad. During rape-murder or kidnap-murder (kidnapping is much more common than you think) confessions it can be difficult to keep your focus. These are usually your only truly innocent victims. When someone describes in detail for you how he raped and murdered some girl it makes you feel some kind of primal fear inside. Not the kind that makes you want to run away. You&#8217;re sitting next to some monster eating hamburgers with him. And you have to say crazy shit that revolts you like,&#8221;did the bitch like it?&#8221;. Its all about keeping him talking. But you feel dirty, jaded, and afraid for people you love afterwards.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">Murder is a brutal, ugly thing. 80 or 90 percent of the time it involves narcotics or alcohol in one way or another. Crime scenes can be physically revolting when you first start working murders. Decomposed bodies will always be revolting. One particular murder has given me a life long aversion to eating ribs. The victims usually aren&#8217;t people you can have a great deal of empathy for. Often times they have worse criminal histories than the offender. Between the low clearance rate and not guilty verdicts, I figure you have 3 out of 4 chances that you will get away with murder. Knowing who committed murder and charging/convicting them are two different things.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">I always think of a confession as going to a bar and trying to get a beautiful woman who has no interest in you to agree to a one time hook-up. Its really a twisted romance. You talk for hours and hours about meaningless shit, all the time trying to bring the offender back to the murder. Most people will eventually confess for various reasons that are too numerous to go into. Eventually there will be motions in court to supress the arrest and the confession. Every good defense attorney will attack your probable cause for arrest(the legality of it) and validity of the confession(you beat my client). During the motions stage of a prosecution truth is in short supply at the defense table. They will say whatever is necesary to get the offender off. The thought is if we throw enough shit some might stick. This is where a detective really earns his money. You have to be able to articulate to the judge what you did and why you did it.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">The Cook County State&#8217;s Attorneys office places great importance on confessions (probably too much). A supervisor from the State&#8217;s Attorneys Felony Review Unit is the person who ultimately approves 1st Degree Murder charges. Television gives great importance to DNA, etc. Physical evidence is rarely present or effective in real world homicides. Prosecution comes down to witnesses and confessions. That is why confessions are so important. The Justice Deparment even offers a seminar for local prosecuters in how to run a jury trial in a &#8220;post CSI&#8221; world where the jury has unreal expectations.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">Usually offenders who have been through the system for serious crimes before won&#8217;t confess. They know that all you are selling them is decades in state prison. The system isn&#8217;t perfect. Many offenders are not prosecuted. The States Attorney, the CPD command structure, and the Criminal Court judges drive the process. The detective just works within the system. None of those organizations would ever ask, &#8220;what do you need to put offenders in jail?&#8221;. The real corruption in the police department is not a dirty cop ripping off the dope man. The real corruption is clout. It&#8217;s the same clout that permeates the state&#8217;s attorneys office and the judicial selection process. Unqualified people in charge all around you. Phil Cline is the first police superintendent since Joe DiLionardi during the Jayne Byrne era who knows what the fuck he is doing(and it shows). However, he still has to give the devil his due.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">Sorry for meandering on. I do love my job. I believe in silly old-fashioned ideas like justice, integrity, and law &amp; order. No one, no matter what they have done, deserves to be murdered. I don&#8217;t believe in the death penalty. Not for moral reasons, I believe special interest groups have turned death row convicts into victims. It distracts from justice. They should be locked up in isolation for natural life. Let them die mentally every day. I ended up in this profession quite by accident and I can&#8217;t think of anything else I would rather be doing. Thanks for giving me the chance to write this down. These are all random thoughts that have been floating through my head for the last 6+ years. Work is not something I am not comfortable talking to people about. Being a homicide detective has had one personal drawback. I have an overwhelming sense of my own mortality. It is mildly depressing. But all that other &#8220;cop on the edge&#8221; stuff you see on television is a load of bullshit. All jobs becom routine.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">On a side note; never trust a detective who dresses like one of those TV characters. Detectives should be presentable and professional, like Mr. Big during his Law &amp; Order days. Homicide investigations are about justice not image. It has been my experience that self-involved people make useless detectives. Actually they make useless cops, and we already have way too many of those.</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">it&#8217;s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests</font></p>
<p>  <font face="Times-Roman">Copyright © 2004 craigslist</font></p>
</blockquote>
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		<title>See Spot; Run</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2004/11/02/see-spot-run/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2004/11/02/see-spot-run/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 03 Nov 2004 02:29:13 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://piratenews.net/wptest/?p=105</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Found on http://www.notmydesk.com/seespotrun.html I was flipping through a copy of Sports Illustrated while waiting to get a haircut, and I read an article about sports team mascots, like the San Diego Chicken and the Phillies Phanatic. Apparently, these folks get paid quite a bit to don furry, huge-headed costumes and run around the stadium, annoying [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div>Found on <span style="text-decoration:underline;">http://www.notmydesk.com/seespotrun.html</span></p>
<blockquote><p>I was flipping through  a copy of Sports Illustrated while waiting to get a haircut, and  I read an article about sports team mascots, like the San Diego  Chicken and the Phillies Phanatic.  Apparently, these folks  get paid quite a bit to don furry, huge-headed costumes and run  around the stadium, annoying fans, players, and officials, and I  thought, hey, why not me?  I&#8217;m small enough for the costumes, and I often embarrass myself in public anyway.   This way, I&#8217;ll be getting paid, plus no one will be able to tell  it&#8217;s me.</p>
<p>Then I remembered:  I&#8217;ve already done it.  Sort of.</p></blockquote>
</div>
<p><span id="more-96"></span></p>
<div>
<blockquote>Years ago, I worked at a Barnes &#38; Noble bookstore.  Every weekend, the  supervisor of the children&#8217;s department (or “juvie  section,” as it was lovingly called), would have a  book-reading for the kids.  Children would pour into the  store and someone would read a picture book to them and give  them juice and cookies, which is fun for the kids and prepares  them for similar events they will be subjected to years later,  when they are confined to a retirement home.</p>
<p>Every so often, a costumed character (Clifford the Big Red Dog, Madeline, etc.)  would attend these readings as well.  This was not a paid,  professional costumed character, mind you.  The company  owned these costumes and would send them from store to store for  special events, and some random, unsuspecting, height-challenged  bookseller would be forced to don the costume and make merry with the ankle-biters.  I&#8217;ll give you 46 guesses who was  tapped to play the role of Spot during the second week of his  (the bookseller&#8217;s, not Spot&#8217;s) employment.</p>
<p>The Spot costume had a  few separate pieces to it.  There was the body, which had a  big padded tummy and went from the neck to the ankles, including  the sleeves.  There were big furry gloves, and big furry  feet that went on over my shoes.  And, there was the head,  which was big enough to block three lanes of traffic.  It had an adjustable plastic strap inside that circled my own cartoonishly large head, kind of like what you find inside a  construction hardhat.</p>
<p>According to the Sports  Illustrated article I read, the people wearing the huge heads  generally peer out through the character&#8217;s  gaping, happy mouth, which can be a danger to your eyes if a fan  punches you in the kisser, which many apparently do.  I didn&#8217;t have that problem, since Spot didn&#8217;t have a mouth.   Spot had eyes, but they were above his huge yellow nose.   My human head was more or less inside Spot&#8217;s nose, so to look  through Spot&#8217;s eyes, I had to look up, meaning I could only see  the ceiling and the tops of my taller co-workers&#8217; heads.  It&#8217;s disconcerting enough walking around wearing giant feet (ask  any clown), and it doesn&#8217;t help if you can&#8217;t actually see  them.  As a result, I wouldn&#8217;t really be able to lope  around the store like a real dog, I would have to be led around  the store, like, well, a real dog.  I also wasn&#8217;t sure how  easy it would be to interact with children without actually  being able to see them, unless, of course, someone took the time  to attach them to the ceiling of the store, something you  generally need a permit for.</p>
<p>I was told it was time, so I gathered my nerve, hitched up my stomach, and walked  straight into a wall.  A couple of employees came over to  assist me, and with one holding each hand, I was slowly led out  onto the sales floor and toward the children&#8217;s section in the  back.  There were some cheers as I approached the unseen throng of kids, an excited chatter from the unseen throng of  parents, and several fluorescent lightbulbs that needed changing  in the ceiling.  Spot, the very opposite of a seeing-eye  dog, had arrived!  Hi, kids!  Wherever the hell you are!</p>
<p>I felt little arms around my waist as happy children began to hug me, and I turned,  trying to locate the tiny bodies I couldn&#8217;t see.  My elbow  connected solidly with something hard, which I presumed from the resulting cry to be a child&#8217;s skull.  “Oops,” I  said, forgetting that I wasn&#8217;t supposed to talk.  I waved  my hands around slowly in front of me, seeking mops of hair to good-naturedly tousle, miscalculating and jabbing another child  in the eyes with my big, furry fingers.  More arms linked  around my legs and I pitched forward, backhanding some poor,  trusting kid across the mouth as I tried to keep my  balance.  I decided to stop moving, and hesitantly tried  out a tender hug, only to find that I was tenderly hugging one  of my co-workers, and then, even more tenderly, a <em>Sweet  Valley High</em> spinning display rack.</p>
<p>“Time for the  story!” someone blessedly announced, and I took a step  forward, my knee encountering a small, soft, vulnerable  stomach.  I winced and stepped backwards, wishing I could  apologize, and stepped on another child&#8217;s foot.  At least,  I think it was a child&#8217;s foot, it could have been a child&#8217;s neck  for all I knew, a child I had knocked over and incapacitated  with a swinging forearm or elbow.  I felt like Godzilla, a  blind, spastic, apologetic Godzilla, unleashed upon a Tokyo full  of china.</p>
<p>With the help of about  a dozen of employees and several volunteers, I made it to the  tiny little chair I was assigned, and awkwardly planted my big  fuzzy ass on it.  The story began, and I found that while  sitting, I could actually see some of the children through the  eyes in the top of my head, provided I leaned forward far  enough, as if Spot were suffering some sort of intense abdominal distress.  I tried to act excited about the story as it was  read and the pictures were shown, but this was difficult, since  I was having to fend off a young boy who seemed intent on  pulling off one of my feet.  I also saw that none of the  children were even looking at the book that was being read to them.  They were looking at me.  Enthralled.   Devoted.  As Spot, I was a God unto them.  I was their  Tom Cruise, their Madonna, their Barry Bonds, their Tony  Randall.  They knew I probably hung out with Snoopy and  Odie and that I never returned Fred Basset&#8217;s phone calls.  I was, for the first and probably the last time in my life,  “cool.”  I was the shit.  They&#8217;d tell their  friends about me later, over milk.  They loved me.  I  could have led them anywhere, to war, to freedom, even to the ends of the earth, if the phrase “Follow me to the ends of  the earth, kids,” could be transmitted in mime with giant furry three-fingered hands.</p>
<p>I also realized I didn&#8217;t know what to do with myself.  I was trying to  emulate an incredibly happy dog, but how to do so without  causing injuries to my rapt yet fragile audience?  I wanted  to wag my tail, but since my costume butt was four times the  size of the chair it was precariously resting on, it seemed a  bad idea to frantically wiggle it back and forth.  I could  wave my arms around, but I&#8217;d never heard anyone say “You can tell how happy a dog is by how much he waves his arms  around.”  I gave a few thumbs up, and clapped my paws  (in surprise and delight) to my big hollow nose a few times,  which made a big hollow thumping sound.  I also did the  “I&#8217;m a champion” gesture, where you clasp both hands  and move them back and forth on either side of your head, which  no champion has ever done in the history of the universe.   Since my colossal nose prevented me from getting both hands  around the sides of my head, the clasped-hands arm-moving bit  might have come off as something a little crude.</p>
<p>This Spot book must have been written by James Michner, I surmised, as it seemed to  be going on for hours.  The little boy who was tugging at  my costume foot managed to pull part of it off, revealing my  black Reebok sneaker, as I saw when I put Spot&#8217;s head between  Spot&#8217;s legs, which was the only way I could see the sitting  child and probably made the audience think that Spot was  engaging in the sort of personal hygiene dogs do when you have  company.  The boy looked up at me curiously, and I tried to  playfully swat his hands away from my foot, missing and slapping  him in the forehead because, weighted down by my cavernous head, I almost fell forward off my chair at the same time.  I  fumbled to get my foot back on, a difficult task since I was  wearing big gloves, working around a large padded gut, and  couldn&#8217;t actually see my foot unless I stuck it out straight,  which made it impossible to reach as well as severely increased  my chances of kicking a small child directly in the face (I  think you need a permit for that, too).  At any rate, it didn&#8217;t signify the behavior of a happy dog as much as it did the  behavior of a dog with a considerable mental handicap.  It  wouldn&#8217;t have been so bad if the book was about Spot getting caught in a bear trap and trying to free his foot, as my actions  might have appeared more relevant to the plot.</p>
<p>The story ended, finally, so I got out of my chair with all the grace of a woman  late in her third trimester and waded back into the crowd of  adoring children, generously dispensing head trauma, delivering  fond blows to the midsection, and completely mowing down some of  the slower kids with my adorable yet dangerously ungainly body.  Parents swarmed in to take pictures, and once more,  tiny arms encircled my waist and legs while little hands yanked  at my gloves and clutched dangerously close to Spot&#8217;s personal  regions.  I had a somewhat odd moment when I realized that  I was actually smiling for these pictures, which was pointless due to my face being obscured by a giant yellow dog head.   I guess old habits die hard.</p>
<p>Most of the parents and  children were filing out and heading for the emergency room, and  I was led to the front door, where I waved goodbye in what I  hoped was the direction of the parking lot.  Then, feeling  I&#8217;d had enough, I was pulled into the back room by my co-workers  to shed my canine wardrobe, and I returned, red faced and sweaty, to the front desk to sell books.</p>
<p>Something seemed wrong  as I re-entered the sales floor, helped people find their books,  rang up sales, and answered the phones.  Then it hit  me.  The kids were now walking right by me without a second  glance.  No one wanted to hug me or hold my hand.  No  one wanted to take a picture with me.  No one wanted anything but to know where the latest Clive Cussler book was or  to get something gift-wrapped.  I was no longer a  celebrity, the star of a series of books that taught children  how to read.  I had no child army to lead, no prepubescent  acolytes to faithfully do my bidding.  Just a half-hour of adoration, and I already missed it.  I missed the rapt  attention, the unconditional love, and the blinding fame.   Most of all, though, I missed the small children, and especially  the gift of being able to punch, kick, and step on them, and get  away with it.</p></blockquote>
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		<title>June the Hitchhiking Mannequin</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2004/05/20/june-the-hitchhiking-mannequin/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2004/05/20/june-the-hitchhiking-mannequin/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 20 May 2004 13:29:47 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://piratenews.net/wptest/?p=103</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[In the spring of 1988, in the name of I don&#8217;t know what, we decided to send June, a mannequin who had been a fixture at our office in San Francisco, to the temperate and tolerant state of Florida for Spring Break. We got her up in her best Suzie Wong dress and her Blanche [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div><font face="TrebuchetMS-Italic" size="4"><i> In the spring of 1988, in the name of I don&#8217;t know what, we decided to send June, a mannequin who had been a fixture at our office in San Francisco, to the temperate and tolerant state of Florida for Spring Break. We got her up in her best <a href="http://birdhouse.org/words/june/june1.html">Suzie Wong dress</a> and her Blanche duBois mules, and put her on the side of the freeway just like any other hitchhiker, with a destination sign and a small suitcase. In the suitcase was a letter of introduction and a handful of self-addressed, stamped postcards. Call it a concept.</i></font></div>
<p><span id="more-38"></span></p>
<div><font face="Futura-Medium">http://birdhouse.org/words/june/</font></div>
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		<title>Emails from strangers</title>
		<link>http://blog.piratenews.net/2003/05/11/emails-from-strangers/</link>
		<comments>http://blog.piratenews.net/2003/05/11/emails-from-strangers/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 11 May 2003 16:48:35 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>RM</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Storyarium]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://piratenews.net/wptest/?p=101</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[For as long as I have had email addresses there has always been one (and only one per address) person who keeps sending me personal information due to what I can only assume is mistaken identity. Here are emails from one of the addresses: For as long as I have had email addresses there has [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<div>For as long as I have had email addresses there has always been one (and only one per address) person who keeps sending me personal information due to what I can only assume is mistaken identity.  Here are emails from one of the addresses:</div>
<p><span id="more-17"></span></p>
<div>For as long as I have had email addresses there has always been one (and only one per address) person who keeps sending me personal information due to what I can only assume is mistaken identity.  I can&#8217;t find the conversation I had with the guy emailing my cybergate account in Spanish.  Here are emails from one of the addresses, the most recent one being the impitus to post this.  I guess Storiarium reveals this, but I really am fascinated by this sort of thing.</div>
<blockquote><p>From:        S____ B____<br />
Subject:<br />
To:        xxxx<br />
Monday, June 24, 2002 10:40:27 AM</p>
<p>nina,</p>
<p>i apologize it has been what? weeks or months since we corresponded?  where does one&#8217;s time &#38; energy go?  i am working every day for e____ &#38; m____ trying to earn a few bucks for my trip &#38; trying to get the house in order so i can leave it for five weeks.  cooking a lot and doing yoga every morning with my friend j_____&#8211;getting into a nice groove i almost hate to leave.  but i&#8217;ve got reams of food suggestions for london, and am looking forward to getting over there and eating &#38; shopping.</p>
<p>i attended my god-daughter&#8217;s christening in may in new york and would you believe that the other god-mom [episcopals can have four godparents] was a woman named sue b_____ from state college&#8211;what a lovely woman, i loved her instantly and we found we had a mutual passion for you&#8211;she said she and her husband know you &#38; sam but have never gotten to really socialize&#8211;she said next time i come to town to please call&#8211;her daughter elizabeth plays soccer with or against jane.  small world, my pal ruth and sam lived in rochester for about three years after they married and sue and her husband were there, she and ruth became fast friends.</p>
<p>we wnet to del for three days with emilie to visit two dying [literally] uncles, otherwise have been nestled into the fold.  mike&#8217;s recovering from his malaria&#8211;he has more sense these days than i&#8217;ve ever known him to have&#8211;he rests for an hour each day and he&#8217;s exercising and eating really good foods.  this was a wake up call for him, much needed, talk about someone in danger of running himself into the ground.</p>
<p>last night we watched vanilla sky&#8211;i thought some of the scenes were extraordinarily directed&#8211;the times square scene, for one, but what a shite film.  the more i have thought about it the more it repulses me and it made me have nightmares, like mulholland drive, which was a far superior film and more successful attempt at the whole dream trope.  the problem for me is that i can&#8217;t really get my mind around the existence of diaz, cruise &#38; cruz&#8211;some times i want to like diaz&#8211;but i think she is painfully ugly and wonder why the world thinks she&#8217;s beautiful. cruz of course is painfully beautiful and a shite actress.  tom cruise had never done anything for me one way or the other&#8211;i think eyes wide shut and magnolia were good films for him, but this movie was so retarded it never came close to giving him the chance to be an actor, if he is in fact an actor.  anyway, what a bad movie.</p>
<p>speaking of bad movies, bourne identity?  hello?  i hate films like that anyway, but it made no sense.  mike didn&#8217;t understand it either and that tells you something.  i like framka potente, or whatever her name is&#8211;what a cute chick&#8211;and i also like damon sometimes.  the movie had great action scenes, but again, what the hell was it about?  oh, well.</p>
<p>i need some summer reading suggestions.</p>
<p>also post haste could you send me a__ c____&#8217;s blueberry salsa recipe?</p>
<p>hope you are well.</p>
<p>s</p>
<p>&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;-<br />
From:        S_______ B___<br />
Subject:    Mike&#8217;s Mom<br />
To:        xxxxxxx<br />
Sunday, May 11, 2003 10:14:27 AM</p>
<p>Hey, for Mike&#8217;s closest friends, just to let you know:</p>
<p>The doctor told Mike, Marty and Britt to begin making &#8220;end of life&#8221; decisions.  The COPD is progressive.  Jean&#8217;s lungs are literally cooked.  I guess she just passed a threshold beyond which she can no longer function without the extra 02, and the only thing the 02 is doing is stabilizing the levels of C02 in her blood to reduce the dementia. She&#8217;s throwing things, she&#8217;s hallucinating, she&#8217;s tried pulling out her tubes and &#8220;leaving,&#8221; and last night she told Mike she was withdrawing his POA because he&#8217;s conspiring to kill her.  Mike and Marty have found unpaid bills and don&#8217;t know where her checkbooks are, etc.  We had noticed small signs of the &#8220;forgetfulness&#8221; etc for the last two years, but now her friends are saying it was getting more and more obvious.</p>
<p>So, the 02 machine she&#8217;s on is one step removed from life support&#8211;once she goes onto the life support she never comes off.  Jean and the boys had agreed all along that that was not an option.  They have also told the hospital she&#8217;s a &#8220;no code&#8221;&#8211;the doctor said it&#8217;s entirely possible that she could go into cardiac arrest, etc, at any time.  For the time being, this machine will keep her 02 levels stable.  But when it won&#8217;t work anymore, the boys have told the doctor to make Jean confortable, and she&#8217;ll go into a coma and die.  The problelm right now is that no one knows just how long this will take.</p>
<p>Mike said that she is absolutely not coming home to live by herself.  Britt has planned for her to come to Dahlonega, where he&#8217;s made excellent accomodations for her.  She is saying &#8220;absolutely not&#8221; right now, insisting that she&#8217;s leaving the hospital and going home.  Mike meets a social worker Monday to find out about moving her up here once she&#8217;s released from the hospital, what she&#8217;d need in terms of home health care, etc. how to go about starting to plan this, etc.</p>
<p>My poor husband.  You know how stoic he is.  He won&#8217;t get upset until he feels like it&#8217;s &#8220;okay&#8221; to get upset. Although right now he&#8217;s really numb&#8211;this just suddenly happened and we&#8217;re all reeling.  The worst part is not knowing.  I am so grateful that all three boys are doing their part.  Britt is having a very hard time at work but if he is truly needed he&#8217;ll go&#8211;it&#8217;s really not his fault that he can&#8217;t away.</p>
<p>Poor Jean.  Mike says that she&#8217;s being very stubborn [gee, did the apple fall far from the tree? smile].  But it&#8217;s hard to know when she&#8217;s lucid and when not.  Mike &#8216;s feeling isthat Jean is unwilling to let go right now.  He feels that she&#8217;s really struggling.  But he also feels like she still has some physical strength left, so that she may hold on for a while yet.  Plus she has NO PAIN.  The doctor said that the COPD will progress to the point where she has no lung capacity and she&#8217;ll gasp for air like a fish out of water, til she goes into a coma.  The hell in this is not knowing how long that will take.</p>
<p>I thought you&#8217;d like to know.  If there&#8217;s any change I&#8217;ll post it.</p>
<p>&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;<br />
From:        S_______ B___<br />
Subject:<br />
To:        xxxxx<br />
Friday, April 16, 2004 12:01:46 PM</p>
<p>nina,</p>
<p>2 films:</p>
<p>kill bill I was very poor. highly stylized with moments of visual appeal, but utterly humorless, uncompelling dialogue, flat characters, and inscrutable postmodern tweaks with violence.  i tried not to be a prude, but the scenes involving children witnessing murder made no sense to me.  tarantino has made a film that could have been made by a brilliant 14 year old boy&#8211;totally immature.</p>
<p>pieces of april&#8211;do you love patricia clarkson?  this movie made me cry.  i think it is the best thing i&#8217;ve seen all year.  if you haven&#8217;t seen it, try it.  we can talk about how we related to this family.</p>
<p>mike and i are doing okay.  i have to drive to fla tomorrow as one of my best pals is getting married on the beach.  saving grace is that it&#8217;s a flip-flops or bare feet affair, and i am staying in the giant beach house they&#8217;ve rented.  i just don&#8217;t want to have to do all that driving, esp as i am working a lot and i just got back from a long trip to DE.  i wish i could teletransport.</p>
<p>i am learning to belly-dance this week with a former student, from lebanon, who wants me to dance with her on the quad next week for a campus anti-discrimination festival&#8211;belly-dancing is liberating and joyous, so i guess it fits the program&#8211;it&#8217;s the uber-feminist form of sensual expression.  ghida has this funny little roll of fat around her middle and she shakes it like a polaroid picture.  i am in awe.</p>
<p>we&#8217;re expecting you and sam for cocktails tonight aorund 7.</p>
<p>s </p></blockquote>
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