PeaceBang

My Striped Nurse

Thanks for your concern, Peacebangers. I’m feeling better today, although still weak, thinking that asthma was a complicating factor in my little adventure. Like, breathing toxic fumes on an empty stomach in an overly-warm, tiny, enclosed nail salon for an hour that day prolly didn’t do me any good. But hey, my NAILS LOOK GREAT. My hands will be just lovely as I’m writing out all those checks to the hospital and ambulance company.

My cat plastered herself against me all night, which is quite different from her usual Miss Independence routine (she has her own little blue toile bed at the foot of my bed and sleeps there, thank you very much). I would open my eyes and see this adorable striped face with big concerned green eyes staring at me. When she saw that I was awake she’d bust into purring and lick me. I am starting to get very Egyptian in my concept of God: I’m pretty sure today that the Great Cosmic One is a Cat.

My Near-Death Potato Ricer

Peacebang had a very bad night. I woke up suddenly and thought the furniture was moving but when I turned on the light I realized it was my eyes that were jumping around like a muppet’s, that my vision was badly blurred and my body shaking. It’s amazing how many things go through your mind when you think you’re having a heart attack or aneurysm and might die: (1) don’t call family and freak them out or make them cry with helpless grief, just leave instructions that they should be told you love them after you’re gone (2) put on a bra and a sweater, for god’s sake (3) grab your purse and phone (4) call a neighbor (5) go into your study and put a small olive wood Cross in your pocket, which proves to be a big comfort through the rapidly deteriorating physical situation (including a really entertaining seizure with legs flopping and kicking all around), ambulance ride on icy roads (with two really young, hot EMTs!), and subsequent night spent in the ER.

I actually was very calm and cool about the possibility of dying, I just felt an atrocious wave of grief what it would do to my loved ones. I had the physical sensation of a gargoyle squatting on my chest most of the night, filing its nails and chewing gum. And I thought more than once, “What if this is my last thought? What if this was last image I saw before I died?” And then I’d respond to myself, “Well, that would be fine. Stop obsessing. Everyone has to have SOME last thought or image… don’t expect yours to be all profound or something, Miss Saint Therese of Lisieux.” I kept seeing patterns, lots of patterns and textures, as though the cosmos were a big potato ricer squishing out patterns and colors. Nothing like that has ever filled my head before.

Today I just feel like the Samsonite luggage must have felt after the gorilla got done with it.

Because You Need To

This from my friend T (hola, Petunia), an Episcopalian priest in the Bronx who would like to invite you all to a Hip HopE Mass:

http://www.hiphopemass.org

Because the Word was made flesh and dwelt in the ‘hood.

And you know how right that is, people.

Emergency Contraception Non-Story

Now this here ticks me right off. Channel 7 (WHDH) had a leading story on Emergency Contraception (EC) on the 4 o’clock news today whose promotional blurb made it sound as though women were using EC as birth control of the first resort and whooping it up with all kinds of unprotected sex. “Contraception Controversy” was the name of the story. But ‘twarent no story. Just a misleading promo aimed at hooking viewers and insulting women. The subsequent story, au contraire, informed us that a study by the AMA shows that women are (ohmigod!)using EC responsibly, keeping an Rx on-hand and using it for risky times such as condom malfunction, or a missed Pill. The AMA studies show that women are NOT, in fact, using EC as birth control; they’re using other methods of legitimate birth control and saving EC for its intended use.

EC-supporting gals and the men who love them: fling your old Pill packs and foil condom wrappers at health reporter Janet Wu (or her producer) at WHDH-TV: http://www1.whdh.com/newsteam/

and tell her what you think of WHDH for leaving those viewers who didn’t stick around to see the story with the impression that EC is the drug of choice for scads of Bad Girls around Boston. And while you’re at it, visit the good folks of the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice and make a donation in Ms. Wu’s name, or Peacebang’s!

http://www.rcrc.org

http://rcrcorma.org

Boston Web Ring??

?

bostonites

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20 Facts About American Voters

Well, I just thought ya’ll should see this and please do comment (since no one is yet commenting on this blog anyway):

http://nightweed.com/usavotefacts.html

The doubter in me wants someone tell me how it’s all wrong; the crazy ravings of a paranoiac. Anybody? Anybody?

I woke up this morning to the news of the assassination of the governor of Baghdad. Way to GO with that bringing democracy to Iraq! Whenever I see Bush or Rumsfeld I just see blood dripping off of their sneering faces. And yet they both continue to walk around free men — collecting paychecks, no less.

Jerry Orbach and "Right Hand" Diamonds

I forgot to mourn the passing of Jerry Orbach, best remembered for some police show (”Law and Order” I think) but cherished by Broadway babies for his creation of such characters as El Gallo in “The Fantasticks,” Paul in “Carnival” and Billy Flynn in “Chicago.” Jerry O. was so cool, and he looked like a real guy on stage; like some ordinary joe you’d meet on the street. He was so adept, so comfortable and so masculine without being overtly macho. His wasn’t a voice you’d pick for its great technique or anything — he just sang the songs straightforward, without any show-bizzy tricks. Of all the parts he brought to life, his role in “Carnival” is probably least well-known, as that show isn’t often done by regional theatres, and I’d like to know why not. Get the CD and cry as you hear his rendition of “Her Face.” Then switch real fast to his balls-to-the-walls version of “Lullabye of Broadway” as Julian Marsh in the 1980’s revival of “42nd Street” and you’ll be a convert. I promise. God bless you, Mr. Orbach. Thanks for the memories.

Meanwhile, I am admiring a really pretty $15 bit of bling on my left hand that I got at Filene’s yesterday. There’s been a campaign by the diamond sellers recently to encourage spinsters to purchase “right hand” diamonds for ourselves, to tell the world we’re our own best friend or some such nonsense. Sister spinstresses,I recommend that you stick with the $15 version, wear it on whatever damned hand you like, and bank that extra few thousand in an interest-bearing account. You’ll need the dough when you’re old and getting ready to die alone.

Speaking of which, I’ve buried dozens of people and I haven’t yet met anyone who didn’t end up in that box alone, even if they had a devoted spouse.

And so far, I haven’t seen any diamond rings go into the casket. You truly can’t take it with you, but it’s also true that old age is expensive, girls. Look out for #1 and let DeBeers rot in hell without a penny of your hard-earned cash.

Releasing Souls

I saw an image in Time magazine today that showed a saffron-robed Buddhist monk releasing birds from a cage. The caption said that releasing the birds was a way to symbolically release the souls of the tsunami victims. In the midst of all the images of destruction and grief, the sight of this tranquil, compassionate monk making this simple gesture really got to me, and I sat and cried off all my mascara.

Those of us in the religion biz often wonder if our preaching and praying and ritualizing does any good at all, especially in the face of such dreadful occurrences. But right now I realize: some people deliver medicine, some put bodies in make-shift coffins, some release birds from cages. We all have our jobs, and they all have their beauty and necessity.

Pray without ceasing.