Just got home from work. Opened a bottle of red wine after my wife had fallen asleep on the couch.
I'm drinking 1995 Eco Domani Merlot, pondering those lucky grapes plucked in such an easier time. The only war going on was East Coast versus West Coast. Tupac versus Biggie.
It cost me ten dollars and you could taste each one as the viscous liquid went down like shredded paper. It isn't the best wine on the planet, but it'll do.
Must be 21 and over to enter.
The first glass of wine goes down like manna and the mindless babble of Saturday Night Live does nothing to upset the senses. But Now. Turning on CNN International as I worked my way to a good buzz. Breaking News! Israel accidentally bombs dozens of innocent people. Women and Children. Blood in the street. More rubble. Angry people outside the UN building in Beirut. Men with blood in the veins pumping passionately trying to break through the glass. Fists in the air. The camera is a few feet away from the mob. The anchorman doesn't know what to say. He just stammers.
Now Condoleeza Rice is on the TV screen wearing a half-inch thick gold necklace around her neck. She's lamenting the loss of life and says she wished the violence could have ended yesterday. Another image of her butts into my thoughts. She's playing the piano. Up on a stage. To applause. It strikes me that the image is rather fresh in my mind, like, a couple days ago. And now. She's preaching an end to the violence. She's talking peace. Nice words: they mix smoothly with the merlot, make it go down easier, but I can't help but think.
So... why are we asking Israel to stop?
You see, if Condoleeza Rice wants peace, then she sure doesn't lead the way by example. Talk of willy-nilly overreaction. Need I remind anyone we're still in Iraq, still occupying a country tens of thousands of miles from our borders. With a bloody hand she wags her finger at Hezbollah and Israel. Imagine if Tijuana was firing rockets into San Diego. You think the wingnuts in Orange County would speak of a cease-fire?
The gall. The hypocrisy. The humungous balls.
I'm sure even Stephen Colbert would be impressed in a pissing duel The first question asked of her in the press conference is if Israel acted disrespectfully to America by launchings these rockets that succeeded at accomplishing what they were built to do: kill anybody in their way. I'm thinking: what about the disrespect shown to the victims? She batted her eyelashes, smiled caringly and reminded us that rockets can fly both north and south. I wasn't keeping time but it took her about a minute and a half to assure us that she didn't get her feelings hurt by Israel's action. It's all good.
And in Seattle a Muslim man walked into a Jewish center and shot whoever he saw. More innocent blood is spilt. More tears. More froth from the wingnuts. Hate is bursting out everywhere. In 2006 the televised reality is that there are terrorists by the thousands and terrorists of one and rich countries with powerful bombs and the wherewithal to drop them. Conservatives argue that that's a good thing. I'm starting to believe they truly like what they see; in their eyes and the eyes of their favorite savior Newt Gingrich, World War 3.
Oh, Jesus, where do we go from here? Oops. Wrong person to ask.
Speaking of Jesus, his number one fan boy got busted for acting like a drunk maniac on the side of the PCH spitting out anti-Semite epitaphs like a, umm, nazi sympathizer. I remember when Mel Gibson used to be cool. Long time ago. When he had a mullet. What in the world has this world come to? At the station he called a female officer sugar tits. Who is this guy? Frank Rizzo. Makes the synapses jump some axons thinking about this guy leading a "movement" a couple years back. Now they only movement he could stir is in the bowels.
I'm nearing the end of the bottle and regret staying up late to catch up on the news. You can see. My jokes are becoming crass and my mood plain surly. I'm feeling noxious in my stomach but it's not from the wine. Next time I'm just going to skip it all and go to sleep with my darling. Turn off CNN, that constant hum of swirling chaos, and slip into the sheets next to her. Under the cotton blankets I escape the oppressive air of war. The warmth of her body and the sound of her breathing confirm in me my most-holiest of hopes, that deep down in the heart the universe is quite simple.
Folks, I wish I had an answer. I wish any of this made any sense. How can we condemn Israel without condemning ourselves? But how can we sit by and not do anything? I may not know the way out of this mess but I know, like the sun rises in the east and drowns itself in the pacific, that if the warmakers are now supposed to be our pathway to peace we're in a big old heap of trouble with tahini sauce.
I'm going to go to bed now, sleep this off. Maybe when I awake this would have been a dream and I can press delete on this diary. If only with a snap of my fingers I could make this all go away. If only I had a pair of ruby slippers. But if you're reading this, then it really is just another unfortunate bloody Sunday.