A Statement From Deval Patrick

This is already on Deval Patrick's website, but I'm recreating it here. Again, I don't like to write about anything political unless I'm making fun of it, but I followed the race for govenor a little bit this week, and what is going on is utterly disgusting. Disgusting. So here's this:

STATEMENT FROM DEVAL PATRICK

BOSTON—Friday, October 13, 2006—The following is a statement from Deval Patrick.

“For nineteen months now, I have answered every one of your questions. Today I just need to speak my mind.

Thirteen years ago, while living in San Diego, California, my sister Rhonda was the victim of a sexual assault. I have not made her experience a subject of this campaign, because I believe it serves no victim to have to relive such a thing in the public eye. But the media today has tried to take that option from me.

The assailant was her husband Bernie. He plead guilty to the charge and served a short time in jail in California.

In 1995, about a year after my sister moved to Milton, she and her husband reconciled. They took a personal crisis and rebuilt a life. They have raised two wonderful children. They are deacons in their church and live a deeply religious faith. They celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary this past summer with a recommitment ceremony. They now counsel troubled couples.

Their lives are about redemption, forgiveness and grace. I am proud of their turnaround and I love them both.

I got into this race with no illusions. In a world where negative campaigns are commonplace, I expected to have my own accomplishments trivialized, my own judgments questioned, my life choices challenged. I haven’t always liked it, but I knew it was a price I would have to pay to be an agent of change -- not just in our policies, but in our politics.

And I took the time to prepare my family for what I thought would be coming.

My sister and her husband went through a difficult time, and through hard work and prayer, they repaired their relationship and their lives. Now they and their children -- who knew nothing of this -- have had their family history laid out on the pages of a newspaper. Why? For no other reason than that they had the bad luck to have a relative who is running for governor. It’s pathetic and it’s wrong. By no rules of common decency should their private struggles become a public issue. But this is the politics of Kerry Healey. It disgusts me. And it must be stopped.

Kerry Healey has never offered a single reason why she should be governor that doesn’t depend on tearing me down. She has no vision, no plan, no positive agenda, and no leadership experience. Her record on jobs and the economy, on health care, on higher education, on crime has been one of shortcuts, gimmicks and failure. And so rather than deal with that, she has done everything she can to change the subject.

Well, my message to the Healey campaign is that I will not let you run from your record any longer. You can try all you want to change the subject and shift the blame, but we are going to expose for all just how your failed policies and your failed politics are the reason so many people are stuck and struggling and losing hope. The garbage peddlers who shopped this story around town are part of that failed politics, too.

We are going to ask the people to choose whether the politics of fear, division and personal destruction is what they want or whether we’re better than that and are ready to finally throw out those who dump this trash in the public square.

We need a change. Gimmicks, slogans and dirty politics is no substitute for progress. The politics of fear is no acceptable alternative to the politics of hope. That’s the change we need. And if anybody in the Healey campaign or in the public thinks I am unwilling to fight for that, you have badly underestimated me.”

A Poem, Unedited, Written On (And About) The Train

Red Line

The Braintree train rolls in two directions,
in and out, in and
out, the
old hell bassinet, filled to the brim
with the suds of infants. The Braintree

train is a black and tan-
more of a black and white- like spit up,
their skin, on the black of mother's sweater.

Every girl has a destination.

Every snake has a two way tongue, every train has a roar
and a tone, like they're
paging mother in Macy's- can you hear it?
The bassinet is rocking
wildly, giving birth to planets

The womb is in the river.

Crushed Bugs!

I don't know if you saw today's "Get Fuzzy" or not (I read it every day, along with F-Minus, and I'm not ashamed of that at all.), but here it is, for those of you who didn't see it:




(Ha, and yeah, that's probably a massive copyright infringement. Sorry Darby. I really like your comic, and I promise I'll buy your new book to balance things out.)

Anyway, someone (namely me) actually did "google it," and that someone found this in BusinessWeek:

"When you dig into a strawberry Yoplait yogurt, take a moment to contemplate where the beautiful pink color comes from. Strawberries? Think again. It comes from crushed bugs. Specifically, from the female cochineal beetles and their eggs. And it's not just yogurt. The bugs are also used to give red coloring to Hershey Good & Plenty candies, Tropicana grapefruit juice, and other common foods."

Yeah, they're being real with it. Cochineal Extract is actually crushed bugs.

This is something everyone else already knew, but I was totally unaware, and it blew my mind.

That isn't to say that I'm going to change my yogurt diet in any way whatsoever, but just think. Crushed bugs!

Fear Of Sleep

Alright, it's three o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep, and I'm wearing the headphones, and the headphones are plugged into my computer, and there isn't any music playing. I'm just going to sit here and wear the headphones. If there's a better time to write, you tell me when it is. If you can describe to me a better physical and environmental situation, well, we'll really have something going here.

I've been trying to start this play, that story, etc etc, and I'm telling you, I can't write anything. I can't write anything, and I can't sleep. I don't have a single good idea floating around in my head. I'm not making connections. I think it has something to do with the fact that I'm dividing my reading time between Edmund Spenser, Anton Chekov, Oscar Wilde, Franz Kafka, and William S Burroughs.

So I'm thinking of starting something called "THE COSMIC ADVENTURES OF LUNCHBOX AND OTTOMAN: A ONE ACT PLAY OF SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS IN SPACE."

Big in Japan. I can feel it.

But how can I dig myself out of this rut? I've been trying these Vitamin C tablets, but they haven't been helping much. (NB: I probably should have bronchitis, seeing as I've been exposed to a lot of it, I never sleep, and I happen to live in a dorm, but the Vitamin C has been saving me.)

This has gone absurd enough. I'm going to listen to Sunset Rubdown, and I suggest that you all do the same.

If I sleep at all I'd better have some Michel Gondry dreams.

Let's All Burn Out Together

I am inspired by August Strindberg's The Ghost Sonata, and I think that I am going to try to write a play.

I like Strindberg because he's so miserable. And because he hated Ibsen. And because (I suspect) he hated women.

Anyway, read The Ghost Sonata and dig what I am digging. It is bizarre and wonderful, and I don't want to subject it to too much deconstructive criticism because once you get something, it's dead in a lot of ways. This, I think, is especially true with theater.

My other lit class begs to differ, but fuck it. There's a distinct difference between modernism and Edmund Spenser.

Speaking of Spenser, I'll be spending the night with him.

I'll leave you with this:

MUMMY. But I can stop time in its course. I can wipe out the past and undo what is done. but not with bribes, not with threats-- only through suffering and repentance. (She goes up to the old man) We are miserable human beings, that we know. We have erred and we have sinned, we like all the rest. We are not what we seem, because at the bottom we are better than ourselves, since we detest our sins.

Red Sox Wrap Up

Yesterday, some guy I never heard of pitched five perfect innings before a rain out and the Red Sox beat the Orioles 9-0. It was a disappointing year for the Sox, and this offseason promises to be even more tumultuous than the last, what with the Manny Ramirez question, the probable departure of Trot Nixon, the announced move of Jonathan Papelbon to the starting rotation, Keith Foulke's retirement "threats," etc.

I dodn't write much about the Red Sox this year, mostly because, like everyone else, I smelled the smoke when Josh Beckett started giving up more home runs than anyone in the history of the world. The Globe put out an analysis of each player, and I'm going to kind of do the same thing, just to put some closure on this shit.

I like Kevin Youkilis. I think a lot of people like Kevin Youkilis. He plays like a Red Sox guy that everyone would like. He's versatile, and he gets pissed really easily, and I like that.

Mark Loretta is like the new John Olerud. He's quiet, and when you read his stats, you think "Jesus, he's doing that well?" His defense is stellar, and he hit better than Youkilis on the year at .285, which, you know, I really don't have a problem with. A consistent .285 hitter is just as good if not better than someone hitting .330 and then occasionally going on a 2 for 65 streak because it's a certain month. (cough, Manny Ramirez, cough).

When it comes to Alex Gonzalez's glove, I'm sold. That's all I'll say on the subject.

Mike Lowell surprised us all by being consistent (putting up numbers almost exactly like Loretta), and more of an impact than Josh Beckett, the guy that was supposed to lead us to the World Series. I can't take any issue with the infield.

Everyone loves Alex Cora, but can he play every day? We said that about Kevin Youkilis, and we were wrong, but we're going to be right eventually. I'm a little wary.

Who the hell is Dustin Pedroia? New prospect, top of the line, ship shape- 1 for 40 in his first 40 at bats. Fuck him, I've been nice to everyone else.

Jason Varitek is clearly a huge part of the pitching aspect, and he struggled with injuries, but he's also a dick, I learned this summer.

Doug Mirabelli doesn't wear batting gloves.

Manny Ramirez is a sociopath. A sociopath who hits .320.

Coco Crisp played hurt for most of the season, but you can't make too many excuses- the guy was supposed to be a lot better than he was. He didn't reach our expectations.

Eric Hinske isn't even going to be mentioned.

I'm not going to say anything bad about Wily Mo Pena because he's a monster and I think he knows who I am.

It doesn't matter what I think of Trot Nixon. He was a cool guy, he'll be gone soon, and he totally does steroids. I mean, his muscle seperated from the bone while he was swinging the bat.

Gabe Kapler gets an A regardless of his performance.

David Ortiz.

Josh Beckett was beyond disappointing, but keep in mind that he's moving to the toughest division in baseball, and he's a hothead. He'll calm down, I think.

Matt Clement's injuries will end his career.

Manny Delcarmen is going to be good.

What the hell is the deal with Keith Foulke's rebound in September?

Hansen is young, and he's going to get shelled for awhile.

I love Jon Lester, but it appears that he has cancer. I don't know what the deal is with that. I hope he's okay.

Javier Lopez was supposed to strike out lefties. Lefties hit .250, righties hit .200.

Jonathan Papelbon should be rookie of the year.

Curt Schilling is too religious.

Further evidence that Rudy Seanez is the living dead:


There is no way in hell that you're interested in what I think of Kyle Snyder.

Julian Tavarez can start and punch Carl Crawford, but he can't pitch relief.

Mike Timlin is old, but I'll bet he has a good year next year. I have a feeling.

Tim Wakefield can pitch until he's 50 if he wants to.

I used to hate David Wells, now I love him.

- - - -

As a total wrap, not much can be said for pitching and hitting, which were both terrible if you look at the numbers, but, on the bright and noble side, the Globe did have this to say:

The Red Sox committed only 66 errors on the season. No other team in baseball committed less than 80, while the Nationals committed almost twice as many (131). Sox shortstop Alex Gonzalez and third baseman Mike Lowell could sweep the Gold Gloves for the left side of the infield, while Kevin Youkilis and Mark Loretta both had solid defensive years.

That's something.

I've got to take a nap before class.

Absurd.

I was sitting in my room today, watching the Jets/Colts game in my poncho, eating pepperoni pizza and drinking a two liter bottle Cherry Pepsi (straight from the bottle, mind you) and there's a knock at the door.

I get up, brush some peanut crumbs off of my chest (because I was eating peanuts as well), burp, and open the door. A hallway neighbor, Scott, is there, with his parents. I'm introduced to them, they seem really nice, and then Scott says, "So do you mind if my Dad cuts my hair in here?"

"Uh, no, not at all."

So Scott's dad cuts his hair, Scott's mom sweeps it up, they go out to dinner, and we all move on with our lives.

- - - -

That's all I have to say. Read this.