Man Overboard

Diane just got out of our local ICU unit. She suffered from an acute illness, but is in stable condition now, resting at home. She will return to her blog when she can.

Time for Altruism, Like it or NOT. Continuity, Your Slip is Showing

While watching the TV show Eli Stone (I think) there was a shot where the continuity was off. Two plaques on the wall behind main character, then just one. A lack of continuity is the mark of a lackluster production. Our United States is afloat in a lack of continuity. Unlike a TV how, movie, or play, no one has the job of Continuity Manager around here.

Now, NOW, people are angry about Playboy magazine's latest cover? Oh, right, religious reasons---not cool to be turned on by a naked religious-resembling person. Jennifer Aniston must hold such a place in some minds since there has been an uproar (so says the media anyway, and they always know what we Yanks think.) over her partial nudity on the cover of GQ.

Let's shoot for some continuity of altruism for a change. We have a president-elect waiting more patiently than most of us to bring our nation back to us. We have a Kennedy, free of any untoward behaviours and full of contributions to the betterment of New York (NY: not a place she just made residence in for political reasons as the former Senator Clinton did.) for years now.

Caroline Kennedy, this is the LAST spot she wanted to ever be in. This was the spot her baby brother was born and bred for. Teddy may want her aboard, but JFK, Jr. is the wind beneath her wings. Yes, I am biased. She is my age. I watched her grow up. I've read and kept all of the books she has written. Yes, I've waited for this moment of continuity a long time.

Yesterday another play ended with applause all around when John Walsch ("America's Most Wanted" TV fame) could tell the world that his son's abductor and murderer had been pronounced/named/dead in prison---the drifter Mr. Walsch suspected long ago. Case closed.
Justice delayed does not mean justice unserved, I heard him say. True, the police never gave up and the bells of continuity ring.

Now, where is my bell? I am told my money is only safe in an FDIC savings account or CDs (switching gears here---keep up), yet the interest rates are cut to...ZERO?? I always hated math, but I GIVE my money to a bank that played dirty; THEY loan it out ; THEY make money off of MY money and I get WHAT exactly? I never had a 401K, no house, no car, and don't owe on a credit card---oh, I'm screwed. I'm helping everyone else.

The continuity of altruism, no thanks required.

Okay, Kids and Shoes

Okay, damn it, I have to care again. I didn’t want to. I’ve wanted to stop blogging more than I can count—the bad computer, endless typos, negative events, but then I’d get an email, encouraging or full of joy, crap. So I didn’t even open my crappy laptop and what happened? I get a Christmas photo card from a blogger---“Who ARE these people?” my partner asked. (We don’t get many cards as our friends aren’t the Christmas types, or regular letters/cards have gone out of style I guess. I really miss Mom’s and Aunt Vi’s)

Well, there they were two adorable children I recognized right away. Crap. My heart grew two sizes and they are the reason joy continues to engulf this holiday season. And, of course, their mom for thinking of me; you know who you are and thank you.

So, here I go: Bush. So many things wrong with that shoe attack. First, I loved it. You go, fella. All those innocent lives Bush destroyed. Second, WHERE was the freakin’ Secret Service? Our president is in Iraq, they hate his guts, and not one but TWO shoes are tossed. Fifty bullets could have passed in that time! GIMME A BREAK Did I spy two men step casually out a side door? Is it in their contract that they will take a speeding bullet for the prez, but not a slow shoe?

If I don’t see Obama surrounded by giant, ferocious looking men and stealth sexy women, ready to take a bullet, my fury will not be held back.

Next, (stop reading now if Elizabeth Hasselbeck makes you grab the tonic and gin) ---if I hear her say one more time how much safer we are today and NOT hear SOMEBODY on The View REMIND her 9-11, HELLO!? He had intel it was coming and did NOTHING. Then he spends all our military might on a small, oil filled, “slam dunk” country; while the people who attacked and killed OUR innocent people continue to regroup and have become stronger than ever.

Security in the USA is pathetic. Safe? Tell it to those who lost their homes to nature---HE CAN’T EVEN HELP THEM. Safe? Tell it to the homeowner’s in foreclosure. Safe? Tell it to the people driving cars made by factor workers from busted unions, happy workers with less pay, less health insurance, that should make for a safe car. GIMME A BREAK

I Don't Care

I don't care. I just don't care. The auto industry, a new president, 26' high on Mon., my MS, Hugh Jackman hosting the Oscars, my story unfinished, my chance of falling, politics, diversity, your blog, my blog, I just don't care.

A Country Without Cars

Sorry, automakers, no deal. Henry Ford, in every man's life some rain must fall and rust sets in the cars big and small.

Republicans Try to Involve Obama in Illinois Scandal

All I can say is: Show your stupidity if you must and bless your heart.

A Day at the Art Museum/Neurologist OR Help Me I'm Drowning in a Mocha Filled Health System

My day long attempt to reach the “Wheel Chair Assessment Clinic,” which led to many transferred calls, many different phone numbers, many “We don’t have such a clinic,” and “Never heard of her.” (I had a name too), many accidental disconnects (right), until I finally got so fed up I requested a supervisor who argued with me and made a comment that struck me hard today: “We don’t have all the money the city does; we are non-profit.” (I had told him I worked with the city for 18 years and I was able to find employees.)

Today I had an appt. with my neurologist to review my MRI and vitamin D test (this is Seattle in the Fall, Pleeez) AND deal with the wheelchair “assessment.” Non-profit? My, oh, my. My caregiver and I felt like we had entered a millionaire’s mansion instead of a medical facility. Beautiful art work displayed on all the walls (and this place covers and entire city block), Christmas trees with decorations galore (one especially fantastic one covered with Japanese folded birds and paper lamps---WHY didn’t I take my camera?); I foolishly had purchased a poinsettia for my Dr.’s office lobby, but they and everywhere we looked were gorgeous poinsettias. New carpet, wood in elevators with fabulous tile floors, hallways with flat screen TVs running the news and stocks reports, all in a non-profit hospital. The same hospital that cut home health care workers because that division was not making enough money. Call me stupid, but I don’t get it.

My neuro was, as usual, about 20 minutes late again, even though my caregiver and I were not just the only patients in the registration center (!!??) but also the only people in the neuro waiting room. Just us and 4 couches, at least 12 chairs, two huge new cubes, and window seats surrounding a city view. We whispered about the strangeness of it all, until I finally said loudly (well, it seemed loud) “Why are we whispering? There’s nobody else here?”

That brief outburst of sound did seem to summon a nurse-looking person who took us into the exam room to take my blood pressure (never done there before) and my pulse (nope, buying time I guess) ---neither of which she could FIND (I kid you not. I AM a cool cat, and this is not uncommon. I try to warn them but they ignore me. They used to give me grief about having too low blood pressure until a study, yep, another study, showed that a lower BP is actually better than 120/80. VALIDATION!) After two tries she was satisfied and then we waited.

When it seemed we had waited too long (Oh, LOL, at one point a nurse person stuck her head in the door, saying she was looking for my Dr., “Me too!” I shouted as she quickly ducked out.) I told my caregiver to open the door, and who should be standing there but my doctor!

We greeted each other and she asked how she could help me. (?) I said: “3 things, the MRI results, the Vit D, and I was asked to have you fax this info to the wheelchair assessment clinic.” She showed 5 of the many photos taken, on her computer, mostly pointing out my nose, teeth, etc., as if to let me know what I was looking at. I don’t know where I’ve gone wrong with her. I really want to make this relationship work, but she doesn’t get me and I’m not sure how to proceed…maybe I will tell her just that. (There goes another $80 for the van ride.) I mean, she knows I’ve had MRIs before; she knows I’m not new to my brain…no holes, no plaques that weren’t there before (I had to insist she compare the pics to my last MRI taken with a less modern MRI, because I have studied them and I know what areas are affected, I wanted her to admit what I believed to be true. Maybe she is just mad because I won’t/didn’t go on the drugs she thought I should. (She only offered me one choice.)

She backtracked on a previous comment, not denying it (as my previous neuro did and the reason I’m taking a witness or tape recorder with me from here on) but spinning it in a way she didn’t before. Yikes! Sometimes I just want out. I’m tired of dealing with this crap. I’m trapped in a broken health care system. Now SHE wants me to see a DIFFERENT person for my WC assessment (So, now I cancel all the other appts.?!!)---THEY ALL WORK FOR THE SAME HOSPITAL/INSTITUTE/REHAB in different buildings AARRGGHH. I am thisclose to using my own money, buying the damn power chair and %^&*() with them.

Oh, now I’m exhausted and I dragged my poor readers through my mess; and you didn’t even get an over-priced mocha at the end.

Greatest Fear Public Speaking or The Boy Who Stuttered

When I got to high school I couldn’t wait to try out for Drama class. If you got in the class then being on the speech team was mandatory. I was placed in original oratory. School teams traveled around the state to many cities and schools, every Saturday. I’ve posted about MY experience with this, but I want to share a young man’s experience.

His name is forgotten by me, as is the school in Indiana that he represented, but his face and body are clear pictures in my mind. He was placed in the debate category. He came in last every round. The first three round scores were added together to determine if you moved on. (It was a day long event.) This handsome, well-groomed, dark haired, boy never moved on. In all the years I listened to him; he never moved on.

This tenacious kid stuttered, a lot. Many other kids who were in the room watching were also giggling as he struggled. It was painful to watch. But I couldn’t stop watching and wondering why his speech coach would put him through this. What did his parents think? Were they forcing him? Punishing him?

Fairly quickly my thoughts during observation turned to: What a courageous guy, where does he get the inner strength? Whenever I could sit in on his speech I would. My admiration for him grew the more I listened. If you were scored on sheer bravery, then he would have won every time. His points were solid, but I knew he would never win.

After I graduated, I judged speech meets at the bequest of my Drama/Speech coach. There he was, debate, his senior year. He stood, “In in in in in in the the final da da da days of….” a very long speech and the other kids were much more to the point; I gave him last place. Sigh.

The very next meet I had to judge him again. “The the the rea rea reason most companies subsidize their vast…” he stopped stuttering. He stopped stuttering. In fact he never stuttered again at any meet I judged. Three years (some schools started sooner), countless Saturdays, 3 rounds per day and as many meets as there were high school and colleges---he persevered.

I would follow his scores. He didn’t place at the top that last year, but who knows how far he went in college? I have no doubt he will succeed in whatever he pursues. The look in his eyes is locked in my brain---no fear, no hesitation, just moving forward with his thoughts.

Another Contradicting Study on Cancer and Vitamins

Yet another research study to appear in JAMA, Jan. issue, says vitamins C and E have no effect on preventing cancer. (The study only involved men.) Am I the only one getting tennis neck from watching these “better health” studies fly back and forth? Too much crying wolf, I ignore them now.

The Selling of America Reaches a Senate Seat and Bank of America Forced to Give In

Good news, bad news, day for Illinois. The Chicago sit-in of dumped factory workers forced money drenched Bank of America to pay up (way to go for the workers to hold the right party responsible!!) and the sleazy Gov. Blagojevich is goin' down. What a creep and so arrogant, he really felt he was above the laws. Now I wonder how often this happens. I was not surprised to see (but deeply saddened) that a major union (SEIU, service workers) was allegedly dealing with the creep.

Gov. Blagojevich called Obama a "...mother f***er..." Oh, my, isn't politics a wonderful career full of admirable people? Excuse me while I go puke.

Pain from the Complications of MS Symptoms

"We must all die. But that I can save him from days of torture, that is what I feel is my great ever-new privilege. Pain is a more terrible lord of mankind than even death itself". Albert Schweitzer

As I surf multiple sclerosis blogs, the topic of pain is often on the menu. I read the horror stories, the fears and worries of commenters, the relief of many that their pain with MS is normal. Please, if you have recently been diagnosed with MS, take one person’s story about their MS pain in the same way you should take any blogger’s (“experts” or “RN” or any various letters they may use to define themselves) posts as you should take any health info from a blog---as a stepping stone to investigate further.

Much more reliable than we bloggers are actual professional and educational institution sites, like the Mayo Clinic, JAMA (Journal of American Medical Assoc.), Harvard and so on---take a search engine train. You know enough to never self-diagnose from the Internet. We are lucky enough to have this Internet tool, but it can not replace a doctor visit. (Believe me, I wish that it could.)

When it comes to pain and MS, the many sites I read list percentages from 10% to 80%, quite a wide range, and the reason is because pain itself is so vast an experience. Should you read the many bloggers on my 100 Chronic Illness link, you will read of much pain associated with most illness. Severe pain due to only nerve damage is rare in MS. But pain that is caused by common symptoms of MS, like spasticity, is common and treatable. My concern after reading some blogs is that you will assume your pains to be MS and address it only with your MS neurologist, or worse, your MS “RN Specialist” the latest tactic to free up neuros, since most patient questions and complaints can be handled just as easily by a “specialist.” The first time I was treated that way and handed the “MS Specialist” business card, I wanted to puke. More on this trend later.

First we need to define pain. And of course we can’t. One person’s headache is another’s migraine is another’s aneurysm---but we can define the reason pain exists: to tell us something is wrong with our body, damage is taking place. That begets the doctor’s age-old question, “Tell me where it hurts.”

Pain has been with our decaying bodies since birth and since the beginning of time. (Yes, we start dying the day we are born. This is not morbid, it is a fact.) On ancient Babylonia clay tablets pain is front and center, prayers, exorcisms, archaeologists have found testimonies regarding pain throughout most every civilization they excavate artifacts from. Since we still suffer pain in 2008 AD, it is clear there is no cure. The best modern medicine can do is search for the cause and attempt to ease that symptom. With MS, pain is a complication from a complicated disease.

The French surgeon Daetigus wrote: "Were we to imagine ourselves suspended in timeless space, over an abyss, out of which the sounds of revolving earth rose to our ears, we would hear naught but an elemental roar of pain, uttered as with one voice by suffering mankind".


The history of pain is fascinating and leads us right here in 2008. No, it is not a punishment, though I’m sure some will still believe that. Yes, it transverses its way through the CNS (central nervous system) 200 AD, courteously of Galen.

My point is this: get your pain checked out and ask what could be causing it besides ____ (fill in the blank) and check in with a doctor who specializes in that area of the body. It is common to have Fibromyalgia with MS, and many other painful conditions. We have come to agree that pain is a condition unto itself and should be relieved to achieve quality of life. Don’t settle for less. (MY pain turned out to be cancer. And I deal with the pain complications from my MS with diet, exercise, rest, and drugs.)

Egg Nog, Go Green, Vegas Puppy Bookie and Get in Shape for 2009

It is post-Thanksgiving and pre-Christmas food orgy time. (Ask Starbuck's how many calories are in their eggnog. By the way, who put the nog in there? Shouldn't there be booze?) The Gold's Gym in my building is spinning non-stop. I chuckle to myself as the over-eaten hit the bikes and the thin yoga students glide by.

Those poor runners, they will need knee and or hip replacements by 45. My marathon running brother had both replaced. He wants to outlive our father who died at 56. All things in moderation, I say.

Are any of you thinking about New Year's yet? We sped through all these other holidays. I guess it is time to make a resolution. Like, oh, going green (BE KERMIT--ZEN) or supporting our unions before the fat cats bust them, or placing that Vegas bet on the Obama puppy...yeah, I better start thinking.

Bill O'Reilly AKA Mr. Morals Sent Vulgar Christians to Washington State Fire Dept.

Man of the Conservative Non-Free Thinkers, Billy O'Reilly has taken aim at my state of Washington for allowing an Atheist display (a simple sign) to join other religions at our state capitol. The Know-it-all, girl-phone sex harrassing Mr. Bill gave out our governor's phone number, a digit off a local citie's fire dept., which has had to listen to foul-mouthed, angry, CHRISTIANS, who left vulgar messages. Thanks a lot Bill, and all you nasty callers---take a reality check on your morals.

Do We Need God to Have Faith? "We Are the Stuff that Stars are Made of."

Sittin’ around planning our next steps in life, I asked my partner of 29 years if she believed in God. Her mother was raised a Catholic; her father was an Atheist (black listed and called a “Commie” in his day.) They are both dead now, having died in their mid-eighties.

Perhaps you are wondering how such a deep question would not have come up before; well, I knew her mother was ousted from the family and that Dad was revered in their home. I also knew that partner had attended a Quaker school; mostly I simply understood that she believed in science and not the unproven fancies of fanatics. Since I met her, however, I felt she needed to have more faith in her life. Faith in something more than what she had known. I wasn’t desiring to have her praying or going to some church or reading a bible…just have faith in something after death more than nothingness. I have witnessed some of this somethingness; she never had.

Her answer was (She truly is an intellectual which I love about her and which she vehemently denies, but I really have to stay on my toes.) a trip into the Holocaust. I countered with the free-will deal and how could we value good without bad? The discussion wrapped up with our joint memory of our parakeet, Arthur.

When Arthur died from a large testicular cancer, we were devastated. We never knew a bird could become such a big part of our family. He spoke (a lot), and he demonstrated deep emotions. So happy when we played with him, so sad that his cries were heard two floors down when we left for work. When he heard us open the elevator door at end of day, his loud happy-chirping began. If we were sad, he would fly to our shoulder and snuggle.

He had a plastic parakeet that he fell in love with. He spoke to her, whispered, “I love you,” while pushing her around her perch. He played with her so much that one day she broke and fell. Uh-oh. Arthur was beside himself; he screamed bloody murder and implored us to help! He wouldn’t eat. We removed her and he became crazed. He stopped talking. He curled up in a ball in his baby-sad place, the highest, small perch that fit him when we first got him.

So, off to the pet store we went for a replacement. Took it home. If looks could kill we would be dead. He now was despondent and furious. How dare we? Now, I considered myself an unofficial expert in psychology and this bird brain wouldn’t get the best of ME. I tried (hold your laughter) talking to him about death and how the Mrs. was in a better place. Obviously he had no faith in that and he was ignoring me anyway. So I did the next best thing: driving all over the Puget Sound area searching for an exact replica of that damn plastic bird. The clerks thought me daft when I’d whip out the broken bird and go through every packaged bird they had: no, nope, uh-uh, uhhhh—almost, but too much yellow on the left wing. Arthur may have stopped speaking to me, but I got the message loud and clear. Finally, I found an identical bird.

As soon as he saw her it was a go. His excitement was palatable. No sooner was she replaced on the main perch when he began kissing and loving her and running his mouth, er, beak off. Before the starving guy even ate, he began feeding her. It really was adorable. Our happy household returned to normal. Until he died a few months later.

Now, what has this to do with God, life after death, and faith? Sitting on our couch, shaking together with tears filling our souls, my partner and I heard at the same time the distinctive flapping of Arthur’s wings in flight. There was no other sound like it as he would fly about our large apartment. I knew; did she? We looked at each other and yes, she knew. He was letting us know that he was okay and we needn’t feel sad.

While she had heard my stories of Aunt Vi’s ghostly meetings and my own strange abilities, she had never experienced anything like it before, before Arthur. When her father, whom she was very close to, died, he appeared to her during a night of great pain. She was overcome with the comfort of his brief appearance---he the Atheist.

My God question will be a good point of pondering between us, but she can no longer deny there is something okay after the death of our bodies. Together we only have to hear “Arthur.”

Caroline Schlossberg Kennedy to FINALLY Enter Politics?

WASHINGTON (AP) —" John F. Kennedy's last surviving child, daughter Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg, has spoken to New York's governor about the Senate seat that will come open when Hillary Rodham Clinton becomes secretary of state."


Okay, now all my dreams have come true. I don't know if I can handle much more exciting news in one year. To hear Caroline speak moves me as Obama's soothing voice does. Oh, please, make it so.

Big Stars, Musical About Prop 8 on the Web

"Gay" the musical! A short video with big stars goes on the Web video road. Starring Jack Black as Jesus, "It's all downhill from here," he laughed. Actually called: "Prop 8: The Musical."

A must see for all who value rights for all and our Constitution.

As of Thursday, the clip ascended to viral status, with more than 1.1 million views on FunnyOrDie.com.

Lost Your Job? Be Happy. Find Happy People!

Be around happy people and you will be happier. 29 year study. REALLY?? I've been hearing this for 40 years. GIMME A BREAK. OK, all you half a million out of work Americans: Don't worry be happy! Just find a happy person (like Donald Trump, Bill Gates, you know--rich white people) and yuk it up!! Y E A

O.J. Juice Did Vegas; You don't Mess with Vegas

O.J Simpson: A rich black man going to prison due to Vegas funny business AND

Barack Obama: A rich black man going to the White House due to no funny business---

EQUALITY! Woo Hoo "Only in America."

How to Live Longer with Booze

I am always interested in old people. People over 99 and what their response is to how hey lived so long: the secret. I listen to the "experts" too. One thing pops up often---booze.

Now, we know that too much booze will kill ya and you age faster. But, it seems liquor in moderation helps you stay young longer. (Get ready, I am retired now and busting with theories about stuff. Okay, I ain't no expert in nutin'; but by God I know a little about a lot. Yep, and more often than not my theories are eventually proven true by them there experts, so, yeah. Just think about them and remember I said it first.) (Excluding the millions of others who probably already said it but I just ain't read it.)

I believe booze/wine (they don't seem to be the same) relieve stress from the brain, thereby making pathways relax and loosen up/open up/stay easier to open---messages can travel freely. While stress hardens and blocks (think Alzheimer's) the paths.

Probably marijuana in moderation does he same thing. Look for studies as the pot smoking baby boomers age---in 100 years people will be using it like we use milk to build bones.

101 year old Aunt Vi always had her shot of whiskey. I'm just sayin'.

Is the Clapper a Good Gift Idea?

There is a reason certain items like the Chia Pet and Clapper are only sold around Christmas: They don't work. You would think I'd have figured that out after getting a Chia Pet as a gift one year; you get it, it doesn't work, you have no receipt and you don't want to hurt the feelings of the giver so you get rid of it.

After reading one sentence in the Clapper ("Clap On, Clap Off") instruction paper, I knew I was screwed. "Clap once, then pause, Clap, pause, pause, pause. (To let it know you will not clap again.)" GIMME A BREAK I started laughing so hard, as my caregiver kept trying different outlets, clapping loud, clapping soft...NOTHING but a mysterious display of lights on the Clapper. INSANE The directions continued for pages and no matter how many times she and I read them---the made no sense. You would have thought this was brain surgery.

Luckily, this was not a gift and was swiftly returned. No little old lady or man will ever figure out that Clapper. Am I wrong? Anybody ever use one?

Why I HATE MS Today

OK, I had a bad day this week. I’ve had multiple sclerosis for at least 30 years, actual diagnosis in 1990, so a bad day here and there is to be expected; but this one day got to me.

Oh, yes, I still embrace the disease because after all it is big part of my life now and I won’t allow self-hate to linger…that said, here is what I hate most about MS: nobody close to me knows the pre-MS me.

My partner and friends, doctors and people I meet may hear my stories of who I once was, may even believe every word---but where’s the proof? Let’s take one example: my job with the city of Seattle. One week after staffing the position m first “STOP. You are unwell,” moment happened and it was downhill from there until I retired on disability 18 years later. I ache for my best friend from that job who will never know the pre-MS me.

He is a walker. I was a walker. He and I took maybe one snowy, memorable walk together. That makes me hate MS. He loves good movies (independent, foreign, avant-garde, and provocative). I love good movies. We have seen less than a dozen together. That makes me hate MS. I loved to drive, road trips, and the Seattle area is full of wonderful places to explore. He and I took one short trip in my car. He and I share a world view---I think our job would have made us crazy without the other around, yet my telecommuting accommodation and final departure took that away. MS did that and I hate it. He has suffered his own and his partner’s health issues and the pre-MS Diane would have been there, helping him, now…I can do little but sympathize. I hate MS.

It weighs on me at night; you know how the demons lay waiting in the darkness, that he and I will never be the friends we should have been. To be so close, yet unable to touch it…

Then there is my partner. All of me she never got to see, the actress, the speaker, the athletic, strong, sweep her into my arms (I have one photo of that feat…one.) person I used to be. I hate MS for its intrusion into my relationship with her. Too upsetting to even think about.

My nieces and nephews, will always remember me, if they ever remember me, as “The one with MS in Seattle,” yes, MS took away my chance to drive back 2,500 miles to visit them. On the long drive from Ft. Wayne, IN to Seattle, WA, my partner and I talked about how much fun going back to visit would be and taking our time, sightseeing along the way---I hate MS for stealing that trip away.

When I was a kid I shot hoops in daylight, moonlight, hours upon hours (In Indiana if there is no hoop at your house, people will think you are not quite right.) finally perfecting my shot in college; by the time I got to Seattle my “game” was gone. My co-workers I enticed to play with me, only saw a person who had no jump to her jump shot. I hate MS for taking away my game.

I hate MS for not allowing people to really KNOW me. Those parts of me never leave, but they are invisible. It is as if scissors cut out parts of me that I really liked and tossed them aside, only remnants remain for the world to see. I guess I just miss me sometimes. What I have left to embrace grows smaller each year. I hate MS for giving me less to embrace.

Palin to Speak, Pass Out the Signs

Oh, sure, I know it happens, but sometimes I think my political biases just get the best of me---until I SAW it. There she was, Gov. Sarah Palin getting ready to speak on behalf of Georgia Sen. Chambliss and in doing so hoping his win would prevent the Democrats from reaching that glorious 60 (so no Republicans could filibuster and WASTE TIME), and some dude was passing out signs, all painted to look like Joe Router-Rooter had just made them, to people hanging out.

He tossed one big one, "Moms For Guns," to two older ladies who struggled to turn it around and read what they were promoting! Amazing, I always knew, but didn't want to ever see it.

Palin must be flying high now that he won. Blam Blam Bye-bye moosie.

Why I Hate Multiple Sclerosis

Because there are days like today.

World AIDS Day--The Stigma Lives On and so does AIDS

A new memorial for World AIDS Day
BY BILL EGBERT AND ERICA PEARSON
DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITERS

Sunday, November 30th 2008, 10:59 PM

On the eve of the 20th annual World AIDS Day, activists unveiled a memorial to the tens of thousands of New Yorkers who have died from AIDS.

"I can sail without wind, I can row without oars, but I cannot part from my friend without tears," reads the black granite bench, dedicated yesterday on a curved path in Hudson River Park.

Riverside Church in Harlem was filled with speeches and songs last night as the city prepared to commemorate World AIDS Day today with marches, vigils, prayers and parties.

Princess Kasune Zulu, an activist from Zambia whose parents died of AIDS, reminded the crowd that more than 1,000 Africans 15 years old and younger are infected every day.

Dr. Monica Sweeney, the city's assistant commissioner for the Bureau of HIV/AIDS Prevention and Control, said that in New York City there are resources to treat every HIV-positive person. She urged everyone to get tested.

"I know it sounds cliché, but in this instance, if you aren't part of the solution, you really are part of the problem," Sweeney said.

In City Hall Park at midnight, Housing Works began calling out, as part of a 24-hour vigil, the names of those who have died from AIDS

To mark the day, the Empire State Building will have a red glow.

There have been huge advances in treatment and testing, but Marjorie Hill, head of the Gay Men's Health Crisis, cautioned that World AIDS Day isn't just about reflection and remembrance.

"New York City is still the epicenter of the AIDS epidemic," she said. "The one in four New Yorkers that right now, on World AIDS Day, is living with HIV but does not know his or her HIV status is of keen concern."

epearson@nydailynews.com

The stigma of AIDS lives on. We all have been touched in some way by AIDS---friends, family, lost or suffering with this disease. The horror lives on.