I'd like some more THINGS, please!

Is there anything more materalistic and self-focused than shopping for recreation? I don't mean deciding that you need to buy a particular thing -- or even that you'd just like to buy a particular thing -- and then embarking on an enjoyable quest for that thing. I mean people who frequently set out to roam malls and outlet stores just to find things to acquire, so that they can add these things to their vast pile of stuff at home.

Many of these people are obsessed with finding bargains on fine designer name brands. They think they're lucky to get an $800 pair of shoes for $250, as though anyone really needs $250 shoes. I read an article recently in the Baltimore Sun about a woman who is starting a magazine about shopping in Baltimore. Ugh -- an entire publication dedicated to finding and acquiring material objects that no one needs.

A tendency to spend one's time in this way strikes me not only as depressingly empty, but also as startingly selfish. It seems insulting to treat spending money as pure recreation when the basic needs of so many remain unfulfilled. (This is the same thing that bothers me about excessive casino gambling.) I don't think we all need to be martyrs, forgoing restaurant meals, movies, and other pleasures until everyone in the world is fed, clothed, and housed. But it seems pretty pathetic to me that people with the luxury of time to waste and money to play with choose to spend both doing something as utterly useless and self-indulgent as buying material items to fill up their overlarge houses.

And this concludes today's lecture.

Delicious

Some great quotes from Tom DeLay:


So many minority youths had volunteered…that there was literally no room for patriotic folks like myself. --Tom DeLay, explaining at the 1988 GOP convention why he and vice presidential nominee Dan Quayle did not fight in the Vietnam War

Now tell me the truth boys, is this kind of fun? –Tom Delay, to three young hurricane evacuees from New Orleans at the Astrodome in Houston, Sept. 9, 2005

I AM the federal government. –Tom DeLay, to the owner of Ruth's Chris Steak House, after being told to put out his cigar because of federal government regulations banning smoking in the building, May 14, 2003

We're no longer a superpower. We're a super-duper power. –Tom DeLay, explaining why America must topple Saddam Hussein in 2002 interview with Fox News

Nothing is more important in the face of a war than cutting taxes. –Tom DeLay, March 12, 2003

Guns have little or nothing to do with juvenile violence. The causes of youth violence are working parents who put their kids into daycare, the teaching of evolution in the schools, and working mothers who take birth control pills. –Tom DeLay, on causes of the Columbine High School massacre, 1999

A woman can take care of the family. It takes a man to provide structure. To provide stability. Not that a woman can't provide stability, I'm not saying that... It does take a father, though. -Tom DeLay, in a radio interview, Feb. 10, 2004

I don't believe there is a separation of church and state. I think the Constitution is very clear. The only separation is that there will not be a government church. –Tom DeLay

Emotional appeals about working families trying to get by on $4.25 an hour [the minimum wage in 1996] are hard to resist. Fortunately, such families do not exist.–Tom DeLay, during a debate in Congress on increasing the minimum wage, April 23, 1996

I am not a federal employee. I am a constitutional officer. My job is the Constitution of the United States, I am not a government employee. I am in the Constitution. –Tom DeLay, in a CNN interview, Dec. 19, 1995

Christianity offers the only viable, reasonable, definitive answer to the questions of "Where did I come from?" "Why am I here?" "Where am I going?" "Does life have any meaningful purpose?"
-- Tom DeLay, speaking to 300 people at the First Baptist Church of Pearland, Texas (April 12, 2002), quoted from Alan Cooperman, "House GOP whip delivers fervent paean to Christianity" (Washington Post, April 21, 2002)


Only Christianity offers a way to understand that physical and moral border. Only Christianity offers a comprehensive worldview that covers all areas of life and thought, every aspect of creation. Only Christianity offers a way to live in response to the realities that we find in this world -- only Christianity.
-- Tom DeLay, speaking to 300 people at the First Baptist Church of Pearland, Texas (April 12, 2002), quoted from Alan Cooperman, "House GOP whip delivers fervent paean to Christianity" (Washington Post, April 21, 2002)


[Believers] are told, "You can go in the church ... and stay in it, but if you stick your head out and you say anything that reflects your worldview, we're gonna knock your head off." And they do. And they come after me like you wouldn't believe. I'm the most investigated man in America. Especially when we impeached Bill Clinton.... If I wasn't walking with the Lord, I would have been destroyed. I was totally consumed with holding this man accountable, because what he was doing was not just, in the secular world, undermining the rule of law. He was undermining everything that I believe in and everything that I have been working for. And he was standing for the wrong worldview.
-- Tom DeLay, speaking to 300 people at the First Baptist Church of Pearland, Texas (April 12, 2002), quoted from Alan Cooperman, "House GOP whip delivers fervent paean to Christianity" (Washington Post, April 21, 2002)

The Mommy Track

I'm in the middle of re-reading the Goblet of Fire, and every time I read about Percy Weasley and his cauldron report, I get to wondering about the pointlessness of my own job. Percy is right -- a proliferation of substandard cauldrons would indeed be a major inconvenience (and maybe even a safety hazard) for the unwitting wizards who use them. But sheesh -- who really cares? Or maybe that's not quite right -- I do care; I do think regulations provide essential protections, particularly the regulations that my agency handles. (No, I don't work for the Ministry of Magic.)

But is this really how I want to spend my professional life? Toiling away on sometimes obscure and rarely exciting regulations? In truth, I don't really think my job is pointless. In fact, I strongly believe someone needs to do it. But this isn't the career I envisioned when I enrolled in law school. My passion has long been civil rights and civil liberties issues -- freedom of speech, freedom of the press, the establishment clause (separation of church and state), equal rights and opportunities for women, equal access to justice, children's advocacy, reproductive rights.

So recently, I saw a job opening with a high-profile non-profit liberal advocacy group for a staff attorney. The job description fits exactly what I have always wanted to do. And astonishingly, I am perfectly qualified. (Usually, these positions are for senior attorneys with 15+ years of experience.) Applying seems like a no-brainer.

Except as my husband reminds me, I had hoped to have a second baby and stay home with my little ones for a few years. We've been talking about moving to a less expensive area so that we could afford to live on just my husband's income, and I would be able to be a full-time mom for a while. My husband is excited about having me stay home. When I told my husband about this job, he was confused. He asked me, "so, do you want to be a stay-at-home mom or not?"

And here's the thing: I don't know. I've never thought of myself as a very career-oriented person. I like being a mama, and it breaks my heart to leave my son every morning. I think I'd be comfortable with making my family my highest priority for a few years. But I can't deny that this job is the job I've always wanted. It's the reason I went to law school. I can only imagine how cool it would be to spend everyday working on issues about which I care deeply. If I choose not to apply, I may never have another chance. If I apply and actually get the job, and then want to stay home a year or two from now, they probably wouldn't want to hire me in the future, even if another job did open up.

I try to remind myself that the women of my generation are so lucky just to have this choice. Even among women of my generation, the ability to stay home with children is a luxury. I am fortunate to have a husband that supports my wish to stay home and who is willing to pinch pennies to make it happen. But none of this makes the decision any easier. If I do not apply, I know this will always feel like a lost opportunity. And yet there is also tremendous loss in leaving my little son with someone else each and every day. I feel torn in two.

Ignorance of the Law

Today's entry is dedicated to debunking an oft-repeated legal myth: that if a man and a woman live together for 7 years, they are married. This is a misunderstanding of the doctrine of common law marriage.

It is true that common law marriages are valid marriages in a handful of states. But most states do not currently allow the formation of "common law" marriages, and many abolished them years and years ago. And no state, as far as I can tell, has a simple "7-years-and-you're married" rule. There are other requirements which differ from state to state, but may include an agreement to be married, presenting yourself in public as married, and a certain period of cohabitation.

For some reason, it drives me crazy to hear people repeat this myth as though they are actually knowledgeable about it. I don't generally have an elitist view of the law -- by which I mean that I don't think lawyers are the only ones capable of researching and understanding complex legal ideas -- but misunderstandings by people who claim to know what they are talking about when in fact they are merely repeating the legal equivalent of an urban myth irk me.

Of course, then you have people like the school board member in PA who allegedly claimed that there is no such thing as separation of church and state, and that it was therefore perfectly acceptable to include "disclaimers" for evolution and references to "intelligent design" in science classrooms. Presumably, he's one of those geniuses who has scrutinized the Constitution and concluded that there ain't no words about "separation" in that there first amendment. Yes, indeed, it is true that the first amendment does not include the words "separation of church and state." The Constitution is an admirably spare document.

But the body of relevant law on a constitutional issue merely begins with the Constitution; it certainly doesn't end there. To understand how the law has been interpreted and applied, one must examine the relevant case law. And Supreme Court case law is in fact the law of the land, until a subsequent Supreme Court decision, a permissible act of Congress, or a constitutional amendment say otherwise. One cannot claim to know the current state of any issue in constitutional law without an exhaustive review of the case law. So yes, while "separation of church and state" does not appear in the Constitution, it is a doctrine that has been fleshed out in a series of Supreme Court decisions, and public schools must make curriculum choices with that body of case law -- with all its imperfections -- in mind. But I have a feeling the PA school board is going to find that out the hard way.

Unemployed

The FDA Commissioner seems to be out of a job. Hope he has a Plan B, since things did not work out for him.

The Squeaker Has a Cow

We spent a cloudy Sunday at the zoo. The squeaker was beside himself with excitement at the prospect of seeing the "animals," a word that sounds just like "Elmo" when he says it. (On an unrelated note, the squeaker can in fact identify "Elmo," which I think is pretty good for a kid who has never seen Sesame Street. However, he does think that all furry muppets with ovular noses are Elmo, including Grover and Ernie.)

Anyway, we hurried past a number of less-than-impressive small animal exhibits in an effort to satisfy the squeaker's fervent and oft-expressed desire to see "neigh neighs." When we found a "Farmyard" within the Children's Zoo, I thought we'd find some neigh neighs for sure. However, there were none to be found. Instead, there were two large and seemingly mild cows, which the squeaker found interesting until they unexpectedly became mooing beasts of terror. Apparently, their loud "moos" were too much. I tried to put the squeaker down so that he could see the cows through the fence; I still have the fingernail marks on my arm to show for this reckless display of faith in his courage. We hurried away from the cows only to come upon a crowd of dangerous attack ducks, who were clearly quacking a vicious song about how wayward toddlers are their favorite Sunday afternoon meal. We rapidly retreated from this frightening mob and stumbled from the farmyard of terror to look for less alarming animals elsewhere.

We found leopards, elephants, a cheetah, a skunk, monkeys, penguins, rhinos, zebras (aka "neigh neighs with stripes"), crocodiles, and turtles. The squeaker particularly enjoyed watching the penguins zipping about in the water, and he also seemed pleased to see the frolicking zebras.

I suppose I can't really blame him for his fear of cows; maybe such a fear is in his genes. The Farmyard incident reminded me of another tale from our travels, which I will relate briefly here. When my husband and I traveled through Ireland and the U.K., we spent a good deal of time walking through the countryside. Indeed, we had no other form of transportation for day trips. We had to cross through many pastures occupied by sheep and cows; the fences actually have small ladders built into them to accommodate adventurous wanderers.

The first time we had to cross through a pasture of cows, we approached the fence with trepidation. Suburbanites that we are, the cows seemed extremely large and unpredictable to us. Were cows friendly? Were the ones with horns really just cows? Were we going to be killed by rampaging English bovines in the bucolic countryside? We waited until the cows seemed entirely absorbed by cowish endeavors like gazing at the clover and then skittered through the pasture. Emboldened by our success, we got quite comfortable with crossing through the pastures, though we always waited until the cows seemed so occupied with their own activities that they wouldn't notice us slipping by.

One time, however, the cows lulled us into a false sense of security. They were clumped in one corner of the pasture and appeared to be gazing at the clover, but when we were about 10 feet from the exit ladder, they suddenly seemed to have some interest in us. They began to wander in our direction. Now, they weren't running, and they certainly weren't stampeding, as it were, but they are large animals and can move surprisingly quickly. In my alarm at the approaching crush of bovines, I was heard to squeak, "The cows are coming! Let me go first!"

When my husband tells this story, tears of mirth roll down his cheeks. Certainly I'll admit that I was frightened by the sudden movement of the cows. And it's quite within my character to want to be the first one to safety. However, here's the kicker -- while I was expressing my terror at the approaching cows and squeaking that I wanted to be the first one over the fence, my husband actually hurried forward and ensured that he was first to scramble over the fence to safety, leaving me to face the herd of fierce bovines entirely alone.

He says that it was happenstance that he climbed the fence first, that he knew the cows presented no danger and that he just reached the fence a second before I did. He also points out that we both survived this encounter with the cows and lived to tell the tale. But then I remind him that the whole tale includes the bit about him escaping to safety first, a point that never makes it into his version.

In any case, the squeaker's fear of mooing cows doesn't seem so crazy in light of my own moment of bovine-induced terror.

Traveling Tale

I called in sick for the second straight day. I can't even remember a time when I missed two consecutive days of work or school. But I must be recovering a little, since I feel like blogging. Still, thinking is out of the question, so I'll share a tale from our long-ago backpacking trip, a tale that still makes the corners of my husband's mouth twitch when he recalls it...

When we were traveling from the Aran Islands to the coast of Ireland by ferry, we had to wait at a bus depot once we arrrived on the coast. There was a man nearby who was very scary looking. He actually looked a bit mentally unbalanced. He kept flicking his tongue from one side of his lips to the other in an odd way. But he had the same hat and backpack as my husband, and I teased my husband that they looked alike, which made him very grumpy at me. I had insulted him.

At some point, the guy ambled over and observed that he and my husband had the same backpack. When we boarded the bus, we each took a set of two seats. My husband was in front of me, and the guy sat right in front of him. He was from Chicago, I think, and he was very interested to learn that we lived near Washington, D.C. He mentioned that a girl he'd met earlier in his travels had given him her address in the US and invited him to come see her city.

So then the guy starts asking questions about where we live. Picking up on the fact that the guy wants an invite from one or both of us, my husband tells him that we actually live quite a distance from D.C.

From my seat, I chimed in: "No, we don't! We only live about an hour from DC!" I said.

My husband looked annoyed, but I still didn't get it. "Wow! Only an hour!" says this guy. "Well, is there an easy way to get from where you live to DC? I don't drive. Is there public transportation?"

"No," says my husband flatly. "No public transportation at all."

"What are you talking about?" I said, incredulous. "There's a train that runs from Baltimore to D.C. It's an easy trip! We've done it loads of times!" There was an awkward silence while my husband glowered at me.

Of course, then came the question my husband had long anticipated: "So can I come and stay with you guys? I would love to visit DC!" I was stunned into absolute speechlessness; my husband had to look away to keep a straight face.

But it gets worse: then the guy looks at me and smiles, then turns to my husband and asks: "So, are you two together?" (We'd been married for a year at that point.)

My husband looks at the guy, shoots me an evil grin, and says: "No, we're just good friends."

I spent the rest of the bus trip trying to make it clear to this guy that I was NOT interested. My husband chuckled to himself the whole time.

Super Duck

Last night I was running downstairs to throw laundry into the washer periodically while vacuuming. Vacuuming is complicated at our house because the squeaker loves to vacuum so much. He trails along behind me, and if I set the vacuum down to move a piece of furniture, he picks it up and vacuums away. He'll look for bits of debris to vacuum, but if he can't find any, he'll place the suction against whatever is handy -- his toes, his shirt, curtains. He also likes to gather debris and then "feed" it to the vacuum, as if it's some kind of warped electronic pet that consumes crayons and earrings and tissues without discrimination, much to his delight.

So anyway, I run downstairs, leaving the vacuum roaring away for his entertainment during my brief absence. When I come back upstairs, I find that he's pulled his shirt off most of the way, so that it's pulled onto his head and only his face shows through the neck. He's running around and giggling like a maniac, and he has apparently raided my underwear drawer again because he's swinging a pair of bright blue panties with little ducks on them (no, I don't wear them…) around as he runs. I remove the shirt, but then he places the panties around his neck and runs off again. Sometimes, parenthood is surreal. I suppose I should just be glad that the panties didn't end up stuck in the vacuum due to his affection for feeding the hungry vacuum cleaner.

A Final Word on Judge Roberts

Judge Roberts seems to have emerged from the Senate hearings unscathed. Listening to the political pundits and legal analysts talk, talk, talk about what he said is a bit like hearing Professor Trelawney reading tea leaves. Is there any doubt that, in this post-Bork age, he'll say what he has to in order to get confirmed? Lawyers are experts in reiterating the basic principles that form the backdrop of any case before the court, including stare decisis and the underpinnings of federal jurisdiction; that he can recite these principles in the abstract tells us nothing about how he will balance them within the context of any particular case.

It is simply impossible to predict how he will rule once he is on the bench. The very process of taking a seat on the Supreme Court is an opportunity for a judge to re-shape himself in a new role. No longer an advocate for any one side, no longer a federal judge who doesn't want to be overruled all the time, no longer a judge hoping that his decisions catch the eye of the politicians with the power to elevate him, a Supreme Court justice experiences a kind of legal freedom that makes it extremely difficult to anticipate what kind of justice he or she will be. That Judge Roberts appears to be a thoughtful, open-minded, well respected, highly intelligent person must be enough; there is no other reliable criteria.

I don't think there is much more to say about him until we begin to see how he rules once he joins the Court, a prospect that now seems almost certain.

Graveyards and Wooden Spoons

I like to scroll through the blogosphere sometimes; I click on that handy "next blog" button until I find something that draws me in. But I have recently noticed that the blogosphere is littered with abandoned blogs -- it's like a vast graveyard of failed efforts at writing. Some blogs only consist of an entry or two. And sadly, the intial entry is often tantalizing -- "in this blog, I will chronicle my travels around the world" or "this blog will document my work on my dissertation." The poor reader is left to wonder if the traveller returned home safely and if the dissertation was ever completed. I found one blog from a self-described "closet birth activist" that seemed promising, but she only posted once, and it was many months ago.

I suppose many blogs have a kind of natural lifespan -- the writer may eventually wish to move away from the particular tone or theme of a blog, and ending that blog and starting anew may be the best way to do that. For others, the blog may limp along and then fade away if the pace of daily living changes -- a baby is born or the blogger graduates or changes jobs, for example. But other blogs have clearly died a premature death. So many unrealized blogging dreams.

In any case, on to the wooden spoons. The squeaker did something quite clever yesterday. Maybe a week or so ago, he was helping me clean up the sunroom. I saw that several of his small toys had been knocked under the entertainment center, which is so low to the floor that it is difficult to slide my hand beneath it. So I got a wooden spoon with a long handle and pushed the toys out. The squeaker was fascinated and watched me closely.

Yesterday, his grandma was in the kitchen when he came flying out of the sunroom yelling "Spoon! Spoon!" Somehow, he managed to convey to her that he wanted the wooden spoon. When she gave it to him, he ran into the sunroom and fished a toy out from under the entertainment center. Such a clever squeaker! My boy is obviously a genius.

Mothers and Daughters

Friday night, we stopped by my parents' house with the squeaker. My mom enthusiastically subjected us to an Aerosmith DVD while expressing her admiration for Steven Tyler. My mom likes her men long haired, loud mouthed, and thoroughly hedonistic (though she made an exception for my dad, luckily for us kids).

I, on the other hand, must like the intellectual traveler type. I confess that when Marco Werman hosts NPR's The World, I'll leave work a little earlier to catch the whole show. I don't even care what he's reporting about. I just like his voice. A lot. He spends his time traveling the world and reporting about music from around the globe -- what's not to love? Yes, I have a crush on Marco. Yikes!

He may not have long hair and tight pants (though who's to say!?? Hard to tell on the radio....) but I guess we like what we like.



Turn that music down, Ma!!

BANG BANG BANG

The construction going on outside my window is beginning to drive me insane. Must . . . have . . . quiet. So if today's entry isn't quite coherent, you know why.

The Washington Post's Richard Cohen argues in today's column that it is unfortunate that Supreme Court nominee John Roberts has never known failure. Cohen writes: "If I had a vote in the Senate, I would not deny it to Roberts based on his lack of tough times -- nor, for that matter, would I have granted one to Clarence Thomas, who had plenty of them. But when it comes to civil rights, to women's rights, to workers' rights, to gay rights and to the plight of the poor, I would prefer that Roberts had had his moment of failure. He will lead one branch of the government. I wish he knew more about all of the people."

I have to agree that there is something disturbing about people who have known so much privilege making decisions that have such deep implications for people in all walks of life. While the Court's members do have diverse backgrounds, they generally have no experience with living on the margins of society. The Court is weighted towards those with elite, privileged backgrounds -- mostly old, mostly white, and mostly male. It is hard to imagine that such people could have any appreciation for what it means to be a poor black or Latina woman.

But for that matter, I've always wondered why Catholics care about the opinions of unmarried, celibate men on such matters as marriage, divorce, birth control, and abortion. Many people don't seem to give much weight to how one's personal experience shapes one's opinions. Indeed, I wonder if we look to people who are in fact removed from the realities of a situation for opinions on that situation in the hope of making complex issues appear simpler. After all, when you do not really know much about what it's like to walk in someone else's shoes, you can rely on generalizations and reach absolutist conclusions that ignore the complexities that a only a more worldly person would recognize. People like things to be black-and-white, so they embrace the absolutists who know not of what they speak.

Odds and Ends

Squeaker Update

The squeaker visited his pediatrician over the weekend. He was very unhappy about it. Most of the time, he stood near the door, looking at us and saying plaintively, "Please?" But he checked out OK. He's still very teeny tiny (below the 5th percentile), but no one seems worried, so we're not going to worry, either. And the nurse-practitioner was very impressed with his language skills. We told her he knew between 50 and 75 words, and she said that was excellent. Later on, we counted and realized he knows a lot more words than that -- his vocabulary is about 120 words, if you include the animal sounds he knows.

He does not speak in sentences or anything fancy, but he knows how to communicate. Favorite activities currently include coloring, pushing toy cars around, flipping through books, being read to, watching the turtles in Finding Nemo (yes, he thinks turtles say "dude"), and making stuffed animals hop around.

On the Supreme Court

I wonder how other justices feel to know that the newcomer is likely to be Chief Justice. Does it rankle more experienced justices? I hope it drives Justice Scalia nuts. :)

Dream Job

I'm sending my resume off to my dream job. I am so excited, and yet I know that if I don't get it, I'll be so disappointed! I think it would be perfect for me. I've been obsessing over my resume and cover letter. But I suppose the bottom line is that I've either got the credentials or I don't. A finely polished cover letter doesn't change that. We'll see what happens.

Hopping Mad

Now I am no longer speechless -- I am furious. I cannot believe the incompetence and poor planning that has made this hurricane far worse than it had to be. Heads had better roll when this ordeal is through.

Yesterday when I was driving home, I heard an interview with Secretary Chertoff on National Public Radio. The journalist told him about the deplorable conditions at the convention center in New Orleans, and he hadn't even heard about it! Even though city officials had been telling people to go there, and even though National Guardsmen had driven past the people there, Chertoff knew nothing about it. He even expressed some skepticism, though the NPR interviewer assured him that the situation was no rumor, but had been reported by journalists.

The people in charge have no idea what is going on, apparently.

Sitting here and reading the news amounts to helplessly watching thousands of people die, it seems. Some people are saying that authorities didn't anticipate this or that -- but they DID. Forecasters and experts had provided a very dire likely scenario DAYS before the hurricane hit. Why on earth did they house people in the Superdome when they KNEW it was likely that the building would lose water and power, and that it would be surrounded by flood waters? Why didn't the state and federal governments move mountains to get people out?

Even the looting, shooting, and chaos should be no surprise. Such a response is perfectly predictable when the civil structure of society collapses -- we know this. We've seen it before. (Anyone read Lord of the Flies? Seen 28 Days Later?) Experts anticipated that the civil structure would fall apart - why weren't authorities ready for the fall-out? Why didn't they take action to prevent it?

Before the hurricane hit, the feds should have declared martial law and worked to get everyone out. Some die-hards would have stayed. But the people who packed into the Superdome because they had nowhere else to go would have been safe. People who stayed at home because they felt they had no safe place to go would have gotten out.

It is an outrage that babies and elderly people and sick people are literally dying for lack of food and water while politicians dither and the people on the front lines of the rescue effort struggle without direction or communication. I cannot believe that this is happening in my own country.

Struck Dumb

Watching the horror unfold in New Orleans has left me speechless. I keep thinking about the people in the Superdome -- pregnant women, families, elderly people, babies. The toilets are filled to the brim. Water and food is limited. What about diapers? Baby formula? Tampons? Toilet paper? I can only imagine how awful it must be. I keep thinking about what it would be like if I was trapped there with the squeaker, crying and hungry.

And the rescue effort seems to be a mess because a few people are not cooperating. Looting ambulances? Looting the cars of hospitals workers who stayed to care for sick babies and critically ill patients? Shooting and throwing bottles at rescue workers? The fate of thousands hangs in the balance while a few disruptive opportunists prey on their fellow human beings. It's sickening.

I know I need to stop reading the news, but I can't help it. Thank goodness we don't watch TV. Evenings provide welcome relief from news trickling out from this disaster. I can't believe that the days drag by and thousands are still trapped in the city. What a mess.