Thursday, October 18, 2001  

Let me throw my dime in on this discussion of the so-called anthrax terrorism.

I believe the anthrax incidents are the work of run-of-the-mill weirdoes. I doubt very much that they are Muslims or attached to the Taliban in any way. I believe the first incident, the one in Florida was legitimate, the others are not.

Back in the 80s there was an incidence of Tylenol tamperings in the Chicagoland area.
Yes, very sadly some people died from the poisonings. But the point I wish to make here is that there were many copycat tamperings. Guess what? We have a lot of psycho-fried-brain people right here in America.

During the Tylenol incidents people were afraid to purchase any food or medication that wasn’t sealed. That is why so many things now come with seals. The incidents stopped and simple precautions were put in place.

Secondly, I have read a bit about police stuff and forensics. Do you know that when a murder or other dastardly deed occurs the police are flooded with confessors? Well they are. I haven’t exactly figured out what the motivation for a false confession would be but it does happen. Maybe this anthrax poisoner wants the same kind of attention. Maybe this person has had an ineffectual life and sees this as a way to make a splash.

This whole thing since 9/11/01 has us all jittery.

I am searching for voices of reason.

The best thing I have heard was a local doctor who was interviewed following the anthrax diagnosis in Florida. He said that even though there hadn’t been a reported case of anthrax in the U.S. in about 25 years that that doesn’t mean there haven’t been any. Doctors only look for what they know. That is a profound statement. Think about it.

Ask any honest doctor about this. He will tell you that it is true.

Lastly, our government needs to step up to the plate here. Stop perpetuating the fear. Stop saying that a supposed attack will happen in the next three days. Stop evacuating Congress. I would like to see some unity, some strength emanating from the White House. I would like to get an update, preferably from the President every night, say a ten-minute mini-unity speech during the regular ten-o’clock news broadcast. WE need leadership right now.

Hell, get Anthony Robbins. Better yet get some of those LOGICAL big-brain men, like the doctor I mentioned, to tell us the real deal. No more hype. No more supposition.

Tell me if I really need to be afraid.

Wednesday, October 17, 2001  

Dream # 387,476,109H

I’m in a store and I see a clear cellophane bag of live snakes packed in excelsior. They are brightly colored, red, orange, blue, green, and yellow, always with a contrasting black stripe. I am afraid of snakes, but I know I need to buy the snakes. It is a test of fear, I think. They will help me.

So I pick up the bag of snakes between my thumb and forefinger and place it on the counter. I ask the salesperson, an older woman, “Do you have other snakes?’ The ones in the bag on the counter are all the same size, in both width and length.

She shows me a big bag of various sized snakes, huge boa constrictors and little racers and everything in between. They are all brightly colored too! “I’ll take them. They are beautiful.” I tell the woman knowing full well that I am very afraid of all of the snakes. I wonder how I will get them out of the bags. I wonder what they eat. How the hell will I clean their cage?

While she is busy retrieving a large fish tank from a back room, the snakes’ prospective home, I see a shiny black robotic thing zipping back-and-forth across the shop floor. It is shaped like the Starship Enterprise (kinda, it flares out like a kite). It can’t talk. It is more like Zippo Marx, you know the Marx Brother that just whistles. It frenetic and I start to laugh because I know it’s movements and sounds are the equivalent of a human jumping up and down, waving, running back-and-forth, shouting “Pick me! Pick me! Hey don’t forget me!”

Right then the woman walks out with the fish tank and I tell her, “I’ll take him too.” Pointing to the U.S.S. Enterprise robot.

She says, “Okay. I’ll clean him up for you.” In a few minutes she returns. The robot has turned into a fluffy, kinda scruffy white dog! I smile so big. The woman adds, “He hardened up over the years.”

“I guess.”

That’s it. I walk out of the store with my new snakes and my new dog.

(Oddly, every dream I remember has two parts. Must be due to my Gemini split brain malfunction disease. Ha!)

Tuesday, October 16, 2001  

Monday, October 15, 2001