The Voice of Treason

Deborah Jeane Palfrey insists that the escorts she dispatched throughout the nation’s capital were not engaging in any illegal activity. This reminds me of the assortment of oddly named businesses in Albuquerque that caught our attention when we first moved here. Based on their names and the manner in which the establishments were advertised, we wondered what sort of business was really going on there. When we asked residents about them we always got the same response.

“Oh… those. Yeah, well, those are lotion demonstration parlors.”

Lotion demonstration? This conjures memories of Avon Ladies dispensing those little foil packet samples to housewives. “Try this one! It smells good and it won’t leave you sticky or slimy!” Why, with all the skin-softening products on the market, and a Walgreens on every corner, would someone want to drive to a questionable part of town to have someone demonstrate lotion? And yes, I did just fall off the turnip truck – what’s it to you?

After twelve years in Albuquerque, I still don’t really know what all is going on in these places with the exotic names, but I’ve been led to believe that these are legitimate businesses, because everybody knows about them, and they are mentioned prominently in Bernalillo County Board of County Commissioners official papers and zoning codes.

Miss Palfrey says hers is also a legitimate business – obviously well-known because she has so many clients – and she says she provides a “legal, high-end erotic fantasy service.” Whether or not this service includes lotion, I do not know. But I’m certain many of her clients will insist that it does.

This story will be in the news for some time and many families and careers will be destroyed. Before we engage in exposing the identities of Miss Palfrey’s clients, perhaps we should ask ourselves one question: If White House interns and congressional pages are off limits, where do we expect those “high in the echelons of power” to get a massage?

I’ve developed the dangerous habit of spending entire weekends with C-SPAN – especially C-SPAN 2, or “Book TV.” I like to watch the book festivals and this weekend featured one sponsored by the Los Angeles Times. I knew I was in for some fun when I started getting the feeling that many of the panelists and participants were acting as if Christopher Hitchens was the event’s token right wing fanatic.

Another Chris was there — Chris Hedges — and he was quick to make the point that if the U.S. engages in a war with Iran he’ll stop paying his taxes. He has friends in the Middle East — friends in Gaza, Tehran, and Lebanon — and he just won’t support such a war. He will, however, support the impeachment of George Bush, because rules are important, laws are important, and Bush has violated rules and laws. If I stopped paying my taxes, I’d be violating certain rules and laws. Obviously these rules and laws don’t apply to Mr. Hedges.

But I fully understand his feelings. He has friends in the desert. The U.S. has friends in the desert, too, and they are called Israelis. Mr. Hedges has not fully explained how we are to support those friends, so I suspect an entire country is somehow less important than an assortment of his personal friends.

He dropped the I-word at the festival and received a standing ovation from a portion of the audience. I’m going to assume that it is all right for the Democrats to pursue impeachment because it’s no longer a bad thing. How can it be? Because if impeachment was bad, why would so many people be so hot to have an impeached Clinton back in the White House? It’s not bad – it’s just America’s way of saying that if they knew then what they know now they wouldn’t have voted the way they did. Impeachment is an easy fix for their mistake.

Robert Scheer was at the festival, too, and he and others applauded the November election because it really “means something.” It means, they submit, that the country is against the Republicans and against the war in Iraq. I like the way the Republicans get full credit for this war. Unlike many of my Democrat friends, I actually watched the “debate” in South Carolina, and some of those people voted for this war. A few of them even admitted that there is something called a “global war on terror.” If this war is a lie, if this war is illegal, if this war is an impeachable offense, then why isn’t Congress being held accountable?

The pacifists in the group seem to be more concerned about global warming. They’re anti-war and pro-planet. Humans, they say, are responsible for war and for the destruction of the planet. My question is this: If humanity is so bad, contributing to the death of our planet and all, why not then support this war and the annihilation of the species in order to save the planet?

The Democrats won the last election and pundits are quick to say: This is significant! They also say that 2008 will be a “slam dunk” — the country is so obviously against the Republicans and the war that they will overwhelmingly vote for a Democrat congress and president. This is strange, considering their argument in 2006 about the importance of “checks and balances,” but why rain on their parade?

But what if – by some weird chance – a majority votes for Republicans in 2008? What, then, will be the significance of that?

It was on The View: Alec Baldwin, sandwiched between Rosie O’Donnell and Barbara Walters, revealed that he is willing to walk away from his career – just stop acting – because the tabloids have been so unkind to him. These professional gossips, says Baldwin, are people who are so full of “self-hatred and shame” that the only way they can manage their feelings is to lash out at others and destroy their lives.

Psychologists will tell you that actors, too, are full of the same self-hatred and shame, and they explain that this is why actors want to be other people and not themselves. Baldwin says it’s the tabloid types who want to destroy you and “reveal your secrets.” Don’t biologists call this symbiosis?

Celebrities and the tabloids are dependent on one another, that’s understood, and there are no complaints when the consequences of that relationship are beneficial for both parties. Yet when the relationship doesn’t work out… well, it starts sounding a lot like marriage. Or at least the Baldwin marriage. Aren’t these two trying to destroy each other? Aren’t they revealing each other’s secrets to the public?

I’m reminded of the pair, captured by the tabloids in happier days, when rumors swirled about the twosome’s political future. Remember the perfect photos of the perfect couple, and the stories that they were the next Bill and Hillary or Jack and Jackie?

There was, ironically, a nugget of truth there: like the other couples they’ve been compared to, Kim and Alec have had some marital issues. And just because the marriage is over, it doesn’t mean the drama has ended. And it doesn’t mean Baldwin’s political ambitions have been put to bed. It must have occurred to Alec that the infamous phone message he left for his daughter might put a damper on his political future. This would explain the mea culpa, the claim that he wants to put acting behind him, and the declaration that he wants to devote his life to exposing injustice perpetrated upon fathers – oh, did he mention he’s writing a book about parental alienation?

Generally when celebrities want to show the world that they intend to turn over a new leaf they sit down with Barbara Walters for an interview and one or both of them weep on camera. When Alec touched Barbara’s knee, she recoiled. Now if Barbara doesn’t buy your story, no one will.

The Baldwin brothers all seem to have issues, but Stephen seems to have found some degree of happiness in Christianity. Unlike the other Baldwins, Stephen isn’t so quick to criticize the current president. Is Stephen acting? I don’t think anyone would suggest that he’s a better actor than his brother Alec. Is Alec acting? It would appear so.

Baldwin has no qualms about saying things that might destroy other people – there’s a long list of individuals who have been skewered by him. Yet when he is the recipient of harsh words, he threatens to end his career. “I don’t need this,” he says. I’m sure George Bush doesn’t need the criticism, either, yet he doesn’t tell Barbara Walters that he’s ready to give it all up and head back to Crawford.

If Baldwin is still considering a future in politics, he might just want to study someone who knows how to handle bad press.

“It’s like going into the Senate. You know, the first time you get there, you’re all excited, ‘My God, how did I ever get here?’

Then, about six months later, you say, ‘How the hell did the rest of them get here?’

And I got to tell you, after standing up with them, some of these people frighten me — they frighten me!”

Well, it wasn’t Mike Gravel, but I’ll give him bonus points for entertainment value and for quoting Ronald Reagan. The media can wrestle over their pick – Hillary or Barama – but I think it’s safe to say here in Nuevo Mexico that Bill Richardson was a bit off his feed last night.

Williams: Governor Richardson, you were one of the last people on this stage to call for the resignation of the attorney general, Attorney General Gonzales. When asked by a journalist why you were taking long to make up your mind about this, you replied, quote, “It’s because he’s Hispanic. I’m honest.”

Is that the right way to make personnel decisions?

Richardson: That’s how I felt.

Now, what I said, too, Brian, was that I wanted to await Alberto Gonzales’s testimony before the U.S. Senate, before the Senate Judiciary Committee.

He hadn’t had a chance to fully explain why, number one, he’d politicized the Justice Department; number two, why he indiscriminately fired U.S. attorneys, including one in New Mexico who was just doing his job and was being pushed to have some political indictments; and third, why is it that, as attorney general, he did not — he did not act as the lawyer for the American people rather than as the lawyer and political adviser to the White House, staff and the president.

So, yeah, you know, he’s — came from nothing. I know the guy. Did it affect that he was Hispanic in what I said? Yeah, it did, and I said so.

I think the American people want candor. They don’t want blow-dried candidates with perfection. That was the reason I held back. I did call for his resignation.

Maybe I was last, but I wanted to give him a chance to explain his position. He didn’t do it, and I called for his resignation.

Williams: Governor, thank you.

Where to begin. It’s unfortunate, but if you live in Nuevo Mexico you wake up every morning and thank God for Louisiana and Mississippi. Our governor is now on record for saying that the American people want candor and he certainly delivered. I hope viewers of last night’s “debate” also got a glimpse of how our state really works.

Coincidentally, a few nights ago, Dateline NBC aired an episode profiling “the ultimate con artist.”

“Say hello to Fred Brito, a smiling cherubic liar.”

Fred moved around a lot and he adopted new names with each relocation and each new career. As a psychiatrist, he was Dr. F. Mark Esparza. In Albuquerque, he became Mark Gomez and soon he was receiving commendations from Bernalillo County Commissioners, the New Mexico House of Representatives and the State Senate. Ken Sanchez, who was interviewed by NBC’s Josh Mankiewicz, had been one of the Commissioners then; now he’s an Albuquerque City Councilor. Sanchez was unaware that Gomez was really Fred Brito, an impostor.

But Sanchez wasn’t the only one fooled. Couples at the Arizona church where Catholic priest Father Federico B. Gomez de Esparza (a.k.a. Fred Brito) presided over their weddings were also fooled.

As Federiqkoe DiBritto, he worked as Director of Development for the Division of Digestive Diseases at UCLA. As Frederiq Brito-Gomez he was Chief Financial Development Officer for the Red Cross. At the end of the show, Mankiewicz says he was last seen in Albuquerque – hired, then fired, by a performing arts academy. I’m pretty sure I know the one he’s talking about.

It’s no surprise that Brito did so well here in the Southwest. After all, he was fluent in Spanish and many of the aliases he chose sounded Hispanic so no one questioned their authenticity.

Like Brian Williams said to our governor: Is that the right way to make personnel decisions? If you live in Nuevo Mexico, it is.

“Instead of dirt and poison, we have chosen to fill our hives with honey and wax, thus furnishing mankind with the two noblest of things, which are sweetness and light.”

– Jonathan Swift

In a week in which there were so many reports of the looming apicultural crisis, a friend informed us of a massacre in what is practically our own backyard. See, in our actual backyard this week, T and I have been discussing what we can do to attract more bees.

We like to stand under our purple robe locust which, when it produces those enormous blossom clusters each spring, attracts so many bees that the humming they produce will rattle your teeth. On the other side of the yard, bees cover our VLR – very large rosemary – creating a big buzz in stereo sound.

Soon our roses will open, and then the hummingbird and butterfly bushes will erupt – the Chinese lilac is already spent – but the golden rain and chitalpa trees and the crape myrtle will bloom to replace what has already come and gone. This means even more bees. I’ve put several containers of flowers out to attract others, and have visited bee websites to look for additional varieties to plant. I’m thinkin’ I need some bee balm.

We now have several types of bees showing up, but no bumblebees. I haven’t seen a bumblebee yet this season and I saw only one last year. People are running around in a panic over the polar bears – and don’t get me wrong, I do love the polar bears, and I’m still thinking about that one on Planet Earth who curled up in a ball, starving and wounded, to die in the snow – but polar bears don’t live in my backyard. Bees do. And when I don’t see bees, I know there’s a problem.

We have friends who work at Intel. I’ll say it again. INTEL. One friend called this week to inform us of a mass murder that took place on the premises. He’d noticed a tree that wasn’t producing any flowers, but one limb was attracting an impressive number of bees. He estimated bees possibly in the thousands. Intel made the decision to tape off the area – the company couldn’t very well have employees attacked by insects on their watch.

But our friend had a troubling story to tell. The next time he and other employees passed the tree on their way into work, they noticed piles of lifeless bees on the ground. Yes, Intel had terminated the bees.

The employees were outraged: “Haven’t they heard about the bee crisis? How could they kill all these bees?” But with another crisis looming – Intel will soon be laying off employees again – no one wanted to complain to management.

So there it is. With the local honey producers here in Nuevo Mexico, no beekeeper was contacted to come out to capture and relocate these bees? I suspect these were not Africanized “killah beez” – local media would have been alerted. To be fair, I do not know if there had been an attempt to save the lives of these bees, and I do not know if fear of stung employees was greater than the desire to preserve the bees, but the end result is this: thousands of dead bees.

I recall when I was working for the non-profit and a decision was made to eradicate the winged urbanites – er, pigeons – who lived on our roof. A professional poisoner was contacted. I merely suggested that this was a bad idea: After all, the university was nearby, and all our organization needed was a concerned student with a camera to wander by and document the carnage.

The pigeons dodged the bullet. Unfortunately, the bees at Intel did not.

I don’t know the particulars of the story, nor do I care, but whether it was a contract dispute or just the sack, Ms. O’Donnell will soon be off The View. Not that I really care about that, either. I simply do not tune in. (If I wanted to be with a group of women who just sit around and say nasty things about men I’d go get a job.)

My interest in the event, however, is this: the Rosie story is the biggest news since Imus. And, like that little narrative, this one is disturbing in that so much time has been spent on it. Some suspect that Rosie has been singled out because she’s a lesbian. Some say it’s because she’s fat. True, she does belong to a group that’s still fair game. You can still criticize conservatives, Christians, smokers, and the overweight among us. (I don’t know if she smokes.)

The attacks on her appearance have been offensive and I’d prefer it if her critics would knock it off. But then I feel the same way when someone calls Rush Limbaugh fat. People need to rethink this method of assault in a hurry. The fat, if they don’t already, will soon outnumber the thin. I say it’s time for the corpulent majority to speak up. They may say fat, but what they mean is fat and lazy, fat and ugly, fat and stupid. It’s like the hate speech police go deaf all of a sudden. What – it’s okay to hate fat people?

But if the fear is that people will hear the comments from Ms. O’Donnell and be influenced by them, believe them, or agree with them – which, considering the caliber of our government-schooled citizens, is more than likely – then the problem we face is even bigger than Rosie. And, no… that isn’t a commentary on her weight.

In general, I am an advocate of leaving legal decisions, such as abortion and gay marriage, up to individual states. We currently have fifty of these and if an individual takes issue with one state’s laws, he can — if he chooses to do so — pick up and move to another. The downside might be the responsibility of staying informed on how one state’s law differs from another. (Funny, that was legal where I used to live, but gee, now I’m a felon.)

A tricky one is Jessica’s Law because so many states are adopting child protection legislation but modifying the rules so that each state’s law is somewhat different. One state defines a crime as a violation of a child under the age of 14. Another state might say it’s 13. Yet another, 12.

And there are entire websites dedicated to stopping all versions of Jessica’s Law, and the list of grievances is long and complex. First, these laws, say critics, are the product of repressed Republicans on a witch-hunt. If it were up to these nuts, everyone would be in prison! (Well, that’s just silly. Not everyone would fit.)

Another popular argument is that children are usually not abused by “Stranger Danger.” Research, they say, shows that 90% or more of children are sexually abused by someone they know and trust — a family friend or relative. So… incest is okay then? We’re not saying that, they insist, but if you start pulling abusive family members out of the home, there could be problems. (Gee whillikers! A bigger problem than having a pedophile in the house?)

Yes! A woman who loses the financial support of a convicted husband or “partner” could find herself and her children in poverty. How will she be expected to provide shelter and food for her kids? (Ah… so it’s better for everyone if she just continues to prostitute one or more of them? Yes, let Daddy bang little Ashley so the rest of us can eat – now there’s a plan!)

I’m sorry, but like I’ve said before, I live in a state in which the official sport is child abuse. Both men and women are beating the snot out of kids – three people were just arrested for torturing a toddler. Story after story of infants who have so many broken bones that they must feel like ragdolls when the authorities find them. This doesn’t even begin to include the cases of sexual abuse. My position is clear: Any woman who allows her child to be abused is complicit and should be arrested and convicted with the perpetrator. But the next question is always: But what happens to the child? Answer: The child gets away from its abusers.

But what happens, critics ask, when a vindictive woman accuses an innocent partner of abuse? (A woman accusing innocent men of rape? This happens? Oh, that’s right… there was that recent case at that school down south somewhere…) Well, it’s unfortunate but it happens. Soon new anti-crazy legislation will pass and people will be turning in their neighbors for “peculiar behavior.” (I’ve seen him talking to his shrubs, you know. He’s usually very quiet. Reserved even. Until, of course, he gets around those hydrangeas…) The courts will be so tied up with that, no one will care about persecuted dads.

But if someone is arrested and convicted of a sex crime how will they ever get a job? I don’t know. Perhaps we should ask someone who’s been convicted of embezzlement, forgery, or murder.

But what about these “no-live zones?” You can’t expect people not to live where there are children! This is true, because I’m always looking. Hear this: Avoid a cul-de-sac! But all seriousness aside, why can’t we ask child predators to live where there are no children? It’s not fair, critics say. Yeah, and it’s not fair to a kid when his or her life has been destroyed. So sorry, but that’s the breaks.

But what if he’s a deliveryman and he has to drive into an area where children live and he’s pulled over by a cop? Good point. But why is he being pulled over? And how can he be working? Didn’t you people say these individuals would never get hired?

How can a person be expected to wear a GPS monitor the rest of his or her life? What if he cuts it off? How can we monitor this? How can we afford this? This is cruel and unusual, and if it’s true that child predators already feel bad about themselves, wearing a monitor is only going to make them feel worse. They might even commit suicide! (Hmmm. I understand the same can be said for their victims.)

But not all sex offenders are the same! Sometimes they only do this when they’re drunk or are on drugs! (Oh, well that’s comforting.) And if these people can’t live or work in cities they’ll have to go into rural areas where there are no jobs and they’ll end up on welfare! We should be spending money on education programs and working to prevent substance abuse and helping those with mental illness – not throwing people in jail! Fine. But what about all the research that says that child predators never ever f*cking stop?

This is only a portion of the argument against Jessica’s Law. Truth be told, I have a couple issues myself. The law may require mandatory 25 years to life sentences for a first time aggravated sexual assault against a child. I don’t have too much trouble with that. But in the event the predator is released from prison and is arrested and convicted again, he or she might be sentenced to death. Actually, I don’t really have an issue with that, either.

The problem, some say, is that the Supreme Court and others might. We can usually justify capital punishment when we have a corpse, but can we put someone to death who hasn’t committed murder? Actually… yes. We have… we do.

And one might argue that it is murder. The death of innocence, a slow lingering death worse than homicide. There is plenty of evidence, I’m sure, to support this. No, I don’t have a problem with putting a child rapist to death. My problem is with the law. Why wait until the second conviction? Molesting a kid and getting caught is okay – you can live – but do it twice and you’re really screwed? A fine message to relay to that first victim. Your life is ruined, sweetie, but not that ruined.

Gosh darn. If I were a convicted pedophile and I knew I’d be on Death Row if my next victim squealed, I’d make sure that kid kept quiet. And generally there’s only one way to ensure that.

The story of the weekend has picked up steam and today the news was chock-full of Crowisms. I’ve read her description of the “dining sleeve” and I will go out on a limb here and suggest that she is making an attempt at humor. Unfortunately, now she has come out with the identical statement, insisting the toilet paper proposal, too, was “a joke.”

I can understand the frustration of those who believe in conservation: dustups like this can set a movement back. Instead of reporting about two wealthy women misbehaving on a Stop Global Warming College Tour, we should be asking: Where have all the honeybees gone?

And speaking of keeping crazies off our college campuses, the other story in the news is, of course, the one-week anniversary of the “Virginia Tech Massacre.” A “comfort dog” was on hand today to commemorate the event. Or should I say, hands were on the comfort dog?

Today is Earth Day and it’s a day that should be spent outside experiencing our earth! Why, one should plant a tree, or take a walk. We decided to take our dog into the little village of Corrales to smell all that is “country.” Yes, our little Corrales smells of fresh air, green grass, manure, and newly arrived Californians with real estate money to burn.

We saw a spectacular turkey. T “gobbled” at it from the car and it responded: “Gobble, gobble!” We wanted the dog to see it. “Gobble, gobble! Look! See the birdie?” Then we remembered that we are adults and that the people who live on the property might think we’re casing the place. We drove on.

“Let’s go look at that dog again!”

You see, several months ago we drove through Corrales and saw a ghost. There was this dog that looked just like our Doogan. Uncanny! “Look!,” we said to our girl. “There’s the dog who looks just like your dead brother!” We pulled closer when we saw the woman who lives there and we told her how much her dog looks like our dog’s deceased brother. The markings, the expression, the way he moves – it’s like seeing our dog again. She cocked her head, smiled, and slowly backed away.

It reminded me that today is my sister’s birthday and we always joked that her birthday was also Earth Day. And just about the time she was getting over that, Richard Nixon chose her birthday to depart the earth. That was something she never got over.

Earth Day is still just one day in this, the cruelest, month: I’d noticed earlier this week that Kitty Carlisle has departed, as well. And then I saw that Pat Buckley has, too. I’d been thinking of posting something about her son last week and hadn’t; then I was reminded that it’s only a matter of time before we lose her husband, too.

“I’m glad my sister won’t see that day,” I told myself. “She loved Bill Buckley.”

I sat down to watch the repeat broadcast of the White House Correspondents’ Association Dinner. I’d opened my eyes around three-thirty in the morning and caught a glimpse and thought it was really quite awful, but I wasn’t sure because I wasn’t awake. Strange, but I got the same impression the second time I watched it and this time I knew I was awake. The problem is that Rich Little has spent so much of his career imitating Richard Nixon that he has actually become Richard Nixon. In effect, it’s like Nixon is impersonating other presidents and celebrities. It doesn’t matter what they sound like – they always look like Nixon. And this is unnerving.

Or maybe it was because I was watching French election results – I was reminded of an interesting word: terroir. They say it’s a French term that describes wine or coffee. It can mean “earthy” or it can refer to specific characteristics stemming from the product’s geography. A definition I like is the loose translation: “a sense of place.” This suggests certain qualities and the effects that the environment had on the production of whatever it is we’re talking about. A wine, for instance. I imagine the word suggests terre, terra, terrarium. I see the word terror in it.

So when I heard that a couple people – why mention their names? – accosted Karl Rove at this dinner, the word popped into my head. Terroir. A sense of place. It’s similar, I guess, to a sense of decorum… or, more accurately, a sense of knowing your place. No one much likes that term – it suggests classism, sexism, racism, and all the other isms – but there is… no pun intended… a place for it.

And this might explain Little. So often the comedy portion of these dinner events is awkward or out of place. Again, Little, like others before him, seemed to lose his “sense of place.” Similarly, Rove should not have been accosted and those who perpetrated the act should have known better. But it’s clear they have no sense of place, either. And that is ironic, considering that the two are supposedly so globally aware. Aware of the earth, the planet; in effect, the whole place.

And then it hit me. Those who are claiming to know and love the earth and care so much about it really seem to know so little about it. And, really, I think this comes from us humans just not knowing our place on it.

“Give Blood
But you may find that blood is not enough
Give blood
And there are some who say it’s not enough
Give blood
But don’t expect to ever see reward
Give blood
You can give it all but still you’re asked for more
Give blood
But it could cost more than your dignity
Give blood
Parade your pallor in iniquity
Give blood
They will cry and say they’re in your debt
Give blood
But then they’ll sigh and they will soon forget…”

– Pete Townshend

It occurred to me that I was way overdue for a blood donation. When I discovered how long it had actually been since I gave up a pint, I felt ashamed. I felt guilty. I felt stupid. Why, I need to get back on a regular schedule and give more blood, I told myself. They need A Positive, I have A Positive, and I’m going to make an appointment!

I called the number and got a recording. What am I – retarded? I’ll go to their website and make an appointment! And what a marvelous system it is. I was surprised that my information was right there, it was easy to access, and it was even easier to make an appointment.

Do you know how many blood drives are going on in your area? It’s staggering! Really, there’s just no excuse not to go give blood. Unless, of course, you’re anemic. Or sleep around a lot. Or sleep around with people from Africa. Or have traveled to Africa. Or are sleeping with people who have traveled to Africa. Or Europe. Or you inject illegal substances. Or have AIDS. Or hepatitis. Or a recent tattoo. Or have taken an aspirin lately.

I know it’s been a long time since my last donation because the questionnaire is a lot longer now. No, I don’t have SARS. West Nile Virus? No. Mad Cow? Uh-uh. A cold? Don’t think so.

T made the mistake of driving me to the blood collection center. Where he waited. And waited. And waited. I waited, too, but was glad to see that so many walk-ins were there with those who had scheduled appointments. People are ponying up their blood – that’s swell! I’m so happy I’m doing this! I’m going to go straight home and sign myself up for the Heroes For Life program so I can give even more!

But there was that long questionnaire. Really long. And the worst part: the anemia test. Your finger is pricked and squeezed, and a tube is raked across the hole to collect blood. Again and again. Just a little more. (rake, rake) A little more and we’ll be done. (rake, rake) Just a little… bit… more.

Labels are printed. Bags are labeled. A squishy object is squeezed. And squeezed again. And again. A needle is inserted. The rest should be easy. You bleed into a bag, you get some juice and a cookie, a volunteer chit-chats with you, and you stagger away, feeling pretty good about yourself.

But this time there was a problem. It took awhile to get my blood pressure. That was odd. Finally, it registered and it was perfect. Surprising, but a good thing. Then they needed my pulse. I didn’t have one. Generally, this is not a good sign, but eventually the pulse appeared and it, too, was very good.

“You must exercise a lot!”

“News to me.”

I was passed off to someone who passed me off to someone so she could have lunch. The new someone would have passed me off to someone who had just finished lunch, but he told that person to go back and get seconds – he had it covered.

He then asked me what my plans were for the weekend and told me about every yard and home project and dinner plan he had to look forward to. Clever. He was obviously trying to distract me so I wouldn’t feel the big needle going into my arm.

And then he gasped and said those three little words: “I’m sooooo sorry!”

Uh-oh. I know it had been a long time, but I just don’t recall that part. The “I’m so sorry” part. I looked at my arm and so did two other people who came running over to see it.

“Eeeeeeewwww!!!! That’s not good!”

“Did you try this?”

“Let me move it… here a little… no… hmmm… that’s not it.”

“Oh, well!”

I suggested they try the other arm. But it appears I have no veins in the right one, so I wasn’t going to be able to donate that day.

“But you’ll still get a free T-shirt!”

It was one from last year’s university blood drive, but that was okay. It’s the perfect thing to wear if I want to show off my new bruise. Except that the shirt says 2006, and the bruises and needlemarks look like I’m shooting heroin in 2007.

As soon as I heal, I’ll make another appointment and try again. But with trepidation this time.