This brilliant photo was taken by my friend and one of Ruby’s most favorite people, the lovely and radiant Miss Angela. Ruby would like me to add here that she misses Angela and her dog Chewy very much when time passes and they don’t stop in for a visit. To quote my child, “ChEW-ee!ChEW-ee!”

I have no idea how I got my rebellious streak.

Check out this video. And if then read the post that follows. And then read the story I link to in that post. And then think about whether democracy even has a wisp of a pulse or if it flatlined long ago.

Will this work?

It really doesn’t matter any more what injustices Bush has perpetrated on humanity during these dark six years: his war, his torture, his eavesdropping, his corporatism, his lies—none of it matters because today, his Supreme Court gave his base what they’ve been salivating for since he swaggered into the national arena. From the very beginning, this presidency was about putting a more conservative face on the most powerful court in the land and what an ugly face it is. Bush wins. And it’s painful yet again.

It was the 5-4 opinion of the court that the law, which bans intact dilation and extraction otherwise known as the very effectively re-worded and unpalatable partial birth abortion by strategists on the right, reflects our “government’s legitimate, substantial interest in preserving and promoting fetal life.” Really though, shouldn’t they say it reflects our government’s legitimate, substantial interest in preserving and promoting American fetal life? Because I don’t see us bending over backwards to preserve fetal life in, oh—say—Iraq, for instance. Or working to preserve fetal life (or any life, really) in Darfur.

Any claim that our government gives a rat’s ass about life of any form is about as authentic as Bushie’s win in 2000. If they did give a shit about human beings, then maybe semi-automatic weapons wouldn’t be readily available to civilians, attainable by any mentally ill individual to purchase for slaughtering other humans on a college campus. If they did give a shit about human beings, maybe they’d make health care, including mental health care, available to all its citizens. If they did give a shit about humans, maybe they wouldn’t remove all information about condoms from the CDC website or withhold funding from schools that don’t participate in abstinence only education, which is proving about as effective as playing a cd on a turntable.

To say, as Republican Senator Mel Martinez of Florida did, that the court “spoke highly of society’s core values to protect the sanctity of life,” is as disingenuous as it is hypocritical. This government doesn’t care about life, unless it’s the unborn or the nearly dead (see Terry Schiavo) neither of whom has a voice, making both easy political pawns. They sure as hell don’t care what happens to babies once they’re born. Just look at our educational system here in ‘Murka. And we already know they don’t care about women who still only make a fraction of what men make in the modern day workplace. No, this ruling says to me that we’re nothing more than walking wombs, girls who cannot possibly have the clear-headed capability to make decisions about our own bodies, bodies that men like to ogle and play with and squeeze and kiss and fuck and impregnate before walking away carefree.

Of course, the wealthy will always have access. It will be the poor and the uneducated and the victimized women of this country who will suffer at the hands of these five father-knows-best men who just decided what choices my child will have when she’s of reproductive age. But this, I dread, is only the first domino to fall in the Roe v. Wade battle. It won’t be long before women are once again seeking unsafe and illegal abortions and dying because of it. I wonder where the Right to Lifers and their purported sanctity will be then.

My friend’s son, Martin, passed away early Friday morning, surrounded by family and friends. The death of a child has to be one of the more awful experiences I can imagine; it’s not the proper order of things and seems so utterly senseless. This weekend, my thoughts have been of his family.

When I decided to participate in the 365-day project on Flickr, I didn’t anticipate building relationships with people I’d never met or caring for someone who exists only on some far away keyboard. I’m not sure what I expected, really. I only know that at the beginning I thought, “Hmmm…take a picture of myself everyday? Sounds totally narcissistic. I wonder if I can do it in a way that isn’t that.” And thereby, I began snapping shots of myself. Whether I’ve risen to the challenge of the above stated goal is arguable but it’s irrelevant as it’s not the point of this story.

Shortly after beginning the project, I found myself looking at and commenting on the photos of other participants, some of which are intensely compelling, and thereby, through honest and revealing self-portraits, came to know and truly care about a select few people whom I’ve never met in what I call “real life.” One of these people caught my eye with his day ten photo. His image was a close-up shot of his face, handsome but pale and weary with sad blue eyes staring directly into mine, exhausted, frustrated, sorrowful. He’d included a caption below the photo referring to the fact that someone he loved—someone he didn’t identify other than by an initial—was beginning chemotherapy and radiotherapy for cancer. I was moved by the image and left a comment telling him this and sent him wishes of peace in his time of struggle. He soon responded and so began a loose correspondence that has continued over the past 132 days.

During this time, I’ve come to know him. He lives thousands of miles away from me and I’ve never met him for a coffee or a beer; I don’t know what his favorite color is, whether he’s religious, where he falls on the political spectrum or what he likes to do on a Saturday afternoon. I don’t have conventional insight into his character or beliefs like I do with my real life friends. Yet, our relationship is as real as any other and I venture to say perhaps even more intimate because we know each other by what we’ve chosen to reveal through photos, an extremely effective medium lacking the gloss of good manners, social mores or pretense. These images sparked a conversation in which he kept me updated on the progress of his loved one.

This same conversation had taken a positive turn a while back when his teenage son finished with his final round of cancer treatments. Photos of my friend hanging out in “the parents room” at the hospital became intermittent and obsolete, and there seemed to be a virtual sigh of relief as correspondence about his son moved from the realm of adultesque medical talk to the much more age appropriate topic of his son’s band. I’ve listened to his son’s music, and he has a beautiful, haunting voice.

So I was confused when I came across a picture this past Sunday of my friend once again alone on the couch in the parents room, part of his image awkwardly cropped from the photo as if only a portion of him could bear to be sitting there again. I immediately sent him an email asking what was going on.

And he told me that the cancer is back.
And he told me that his son is dying.
And he said to me, “Aaryn, what do you do when there is no hope? How does a parent help a 17-year old prepare for death?”

I am stunned and mortified and profoundly saddened. I have absolutely no answers for this person I’ve never met, who I like very much, who I care so much about and who I wish so desperately weren’t going through this. I wish I could reach him, this stranger who is not unfamiliar, offer him some hope and hug him for a while.

This is posted with his permission and he may check in here; please feel free to speak to him.

My next piece has been posted over at CityBeat. And for those friends who have called and/or emailed to inquire as to what’s happening with my ongoing breast gig, this column may offer a peek into my mental process. I’m not writing any more about it at the moment because anything else I might say would be redundant. But please know that I appreciate all of the support and encouragement from every single one of you. I am touched—if not a little bit baffled—that so many people care enough about me to make contact. I feel honored and humbled and not necessarily deserving of such an outpouring.

More than anything, I am so very, very grateful.
Thank you, people!