Cold Spaghetti

So. Pat Robertson is crazy. Now that he has shown his true colors as a “terrorist“, as defined by our (their?) president, what I find crazy is that the Christian Right hasn’t rushed to discredit him as a spokesperson for their cause(s).

While many others believe themselves to be the ultimate mosquito magnet, I must argue, I have yet to meet anyone who can match my ability to get bitten. As a child, my bites were so plentiful and humongous that my poor legs were a mess of scars, bruises, and red lumps. I was forbidden to swim in the public pool at times. Parents and teachers questioned me about if I was being beaten at home. Medicines were sometimes taken.

There is some medical confirmation of my attraction. A doctor once told me that folks with my blood type (AB negative, present in less than 1% of the US population and the most rare) seem to attract more mosquitos. A possible, but odd, confirmation of this: on a Discovery show about vampires (I watched an odd assortment of things while confined to a breast pump after Will was born) a woman who claimed to be a vampire said that blood did differ in taste according to blood type, and that AB negative blood tasted the best, it was the sweetest.

Anyway, my point is:

What the frack is the deal with the mosquitoes in our front yard?!? I am beyond tired of getting bit several times every time I walk out my front door. And I *swear* it is something unique about our house. Yet there is no standing water anywhere in our front yard, porch, or (so we know) neighbors yards and porches. So where in the world are these beasts coming from?!?

Current thought: we have a storm drain in front of our house. Could they live in the storm drain? And if so, is there something I can do to kill them off? I will surrender my usual affection for organic yard applications in this instance. I want them dead and gone!!!

After 20 months of talking about it, I finally made a plate with Will’s handprint. It took some coordination from Paul and I to get his hand on the plate (notice that Will dragged a bit) and Paul had to babysit while I finished painting. But it was worth it! I picked up the final product today. The back reads HAS *heart* WSW. I can’t wait to do more!

Paul painting the numbers on the front of our house! They were painted over in the same white as the front of the house and not visible — we’ve been meaning to paint it for awhile. (Although this type of painting is usually my contribution, I cannot step outdoors past 7:30pm without turning into a ‘skeeter buffet. I did take on a few bites to get the outside view, though…)

Our house! Paul is painting the second house numbers over the door on the left. When it was originally built (circa 1900, give or take 10 years) it was two units that shared a center wall and fireplaces. We only use the door to the right, although it is popular to keep both doors in renovated houses to honor the wonderful architectural history.

Paul: “Will, do you have a poopie?”

Will: (while straining and grunting as his face turns red) “Noooooooooo…. ah”

*pause*

Paul: “Now do you have a poopie?”

Will: (with innocent, blinking eyes) “No.”

Will gives the duck statue a kiss (much to the delight of passers-by!)

Yesterday afternoon, I had a painting date with Weezy (our retired medical anthropologist neighbor*). So Paul took Will to our neighborhood Zoo. It was a quiet afternoon visit for them and they spent a great deal of time in the bayou nusery with the baby nutrias and snakes. (Unfortunately, those photos didn’t turn out.) But here is Will with the giraffes!

*Weezy and I love to talk shop. During our talk yesterday I found out that she is very close with Rayna Rapp (very awesome anthropologist and author of a book on amniocentesis that I think is fabulous called “Testing Women Testing the Fetus“) — that is TOO COOL.

This toy mimics a plane control panel — when buttons are pressed, it okays for take-off or landing and makes ‘whoosing’ flying through the air sounds. We press the buttons and go running around the room, arms wide, pretending to be airplanes. As the picture shows, it takes a lot out of him. Tired out from playing “airplane”, Will rests.

I am having a tough time with the “ONE” campaign. All in ‘one’ place (pun intended) you can read about the plight of poor (read: pathetic) folks living in vulnerable places of the world, *and* get your fix of glossy photos of your favorite celebs. A bit creepy, no?

While I am absolutely for celebrities coming out in support of foreign aid, debt relief, and fair trade, when these messages are surrounded by pictures of Brad Pitt and trendy bracelets, they are reduced to catch phrases. Somewhere along the line, the effort misses the point. Educating the world about poverty shouldn’t be about celebrity, fundraising, donations, and sorrowful stories.

It is either patronizing to assume that Western youth will only engage on important international issues when brought to their attention by celebrity, or it is terribly sad. Do we honestly need that kind of buzz to think beyond I-Pods and Idol?

And yet I have to admit: if I were the director of CARE, or Save the Children, or OXFAM, or another of the One campaign partners, I would be all over this. I would know that this campaign would be an important political tool and possibly help us acquire funds. But I would also be sad, as I do not believe in trotting out the world’s hardest luck cases to drum up sympathy money. On the outside, I would champion the One campaign, play to the sympathies of celebrities, and work to promote my agency. But inside, I would know that I had only compromised to something that would never be a solution to the problems I seek to challenge.

The campaign would do more if it put efforts in educating the on the why(s) and how(s) of health and poverty. Educating about the dangers of liberalizing trade agreements, ill-focused structural adjustment programs, drug company games, and business monopoly — this is more worthwhile than yet another picture of starving children. While giving voice to those ‘on the ground’ is incredibly important, I am not comfortable doing so when it is framed in such a limited and damaging binary: rich vs. poor — white vs. black — giver vs. receiver — educated vs. noneducated — free vs. not free — etc. These distinctions only serve to create divides between us, minimizing our similarities, trivializing the complexities of our lives and experiences. They do not make us One.