Raunt! Although smoking pot won't kill you, it is killing others.

Last night, I learned that a relative's relative was killed by drug traffickers in Mexico. He was about 20. I'm a believer in the "Mi Casa Es Su Casa" mentality and in this case, that saying translates to "Your Nephew Is My Nephew". Hearing about his murder set off a physical reaction in my brain that reaches all the way down into my soul. I'd like to scream: "By using illegal drugs you are contributing to drug trafficking which has created slave labor, oppression, and all-to-often the murdering of Mexican youth. You are literally smoking out a generation." But since I can't scream it loudly enough, I'm going to Blog it.

That scream is really how I feel. It's how I've felt for a long time. I think since I first read about a massacre in a parking lot somewhere near the Mexican-US border. The kids who were killed were tossed in a shallow grave and the photograph mimicked those you see of the Holocaust graves, except in this picture, you saw Levi tags and Nike logos, Hello Kitty purses and sandals. I'm tired of feeling like I can't talk about this because people will think I'm being preachy.

I am being preachy. And I mean this message like a religious zealot means "Jesus Saves". When you smoke pot/other drugs coming out of Mexico you are contributing to the killing of someone's relatives because that's how that business is. So STOP IT. I think it's just that simple.

(For those snarky, sarcastic pals with a source out of Iowa: sure, quit reading.)

There are a lot of things that tick me off this much: War, Starvation, Poverty, Human Trafficking, Child Abuse ... ya'know, stuff of oppression and horror. These things seem insurmountable to me. Putting down a joint doesn't seem insurmountable—especially since I've been told by people who use it that pot isn't addictive. It seems like a smart, socially responsible thing to do. Use your newly found time to petition for making it legal if you want. It's a free country.

Smoking pot is a choice, right? This nephew didn't have a choice about being killed. He was kidnapped in the middle of the day while working on his family's farm. He was held hostage as a slave laborer, he escaped and came home but was found and murdered by his kidnappers. This scenario is happening a lot. Enough that for the first time in my life, my relatives express fear about going to certain States in Mexico. I'm really sad that anyone's relatives are being kidnapped and murdered just because anyone else wants to smoke pot. In an overly simplistic and perhaps inanely stated scenario: if children in Portland were being kidnapped and forced to harvest grapes on the Oregon coast at gunpoint, I'd stop drinking wine. Come on, people.

My take on illegal drugs is simple: they are illegal. I'm not preaching a moral statement here, it's a fact: when a drug is illegal, the business around distributing it is nasty. When you use illegal drugs, you're breaking the law and you could go to jail and/or get fined. Sure, you might be willing to take a chance on getting fined or getting tossed in jail for a bit, but are you seriously willing to have a nephew killed just to smoke a doobie? 

This choice isn't all that different than choosing to drive drunk (illegal) which I also hope you don't do. Nor is it all that dissimilar to choosing to buy Apple products (legal) now that we know about the hellish factory conditions: you're contributing to a rise in Chinese suicides. We've cried foul before and made a difference ... like when we had knowledge of sweatshops being used by Nike and The Gap. Right now, celebrity men are holding up signs on YouTube protesting Child Prostitution. How about holding off on pot and protesting Child Execution? 

Illegal or legal, some personal actions/choices of ours contribute to horrible personal situations for others. The good thing is knowledge, which is often referred to as power. Once you know what you're contributing to, you have a choice about whether to make that choice again. This Blog's plea is to make a choice to not contribute to the killings in Mexico. I believe you will make a difference.

Raunt!

I hate toilet paper squares that tear off so easily it takes you 50,000 pats-o-da-roll to get a good size 'mitt'! Honestly. It seems to be a commercial toilet paper issue. You go into a stall where already, the tp is installed at the height for a leprechaun to reach it, and you give a little tug and one sheet pulls off. Then, you can't without "buns up," reach far enough to get more. You finally get a little corner of another sheet, and poof! off comes one more square. Ya'bun-up again, and meet with the same fate. By this time, you're basically air dry, so you say a 'whatever' and call it a day. But really, how crazy is all that. Time for the mass-toilet-paper-makers to stop being chintzy on the cheeks!

Review of "after the quake" ... a great play only open for one more weekend in Minneapolis!

Republic Restaurant

Guess I'm going to use this Blog for all things Betsy. Woot! And thanks to my aunt, Mitzi, who I know loves me so much that she will actually read everything I post.
Aunties rock, aunties rule,
aunties think that kids are cool!

1.30.11

Rave


I love coffee mugs with destinations illustrated on them. This morning, I went to Moose and Sadie's, one of my favorite coffee shops, without leaving home first, then I actually went TO Moose and Sadie's for more. It's a good morning. My aunt got me started on these little joys. Some mornings, I go to Florida, the Sunshine State, other days I take my coffee from Dean and Deluca in NYC, or Coffee Talk in Taylors Falls. These are really NICE mugs, porcelain with nice sippy edges. You have to draw the line somewhere! Some perhaps may be a little on the tacky side in terms of 'decor' but they all bring me to a place, at least in my mind and my mouth, that provides a great little respite to get the day started with. And for the evenings? Well, I take my chammomile tea with my "big sister who loves me," "the Buddah," or Van Gogh's Starry Night. It's not Paris, but it's not bad! Who needs a vacation or a staycation when you can have a caffination evey day?!

1.23.11

Rave and Raunt. A new idea for 2011.

I love people who put a lil'extra time in parking meters! It's like the ultimate urban pay-it-forward tactic. I think you'll all be in heaven sooner than I. I try to bring quarters, really I do. But I'm so sad that meters don't accept other coins anymore. It's really just like social classes, isn't it? The big and shiny take all. What's wrong with little faux copper pennies? NOTHING. What's wrong with slim, sleek dimes? NOTHING. What's wrong with chubby, tarnished nickels? NOTHING. But *sigh* ... only big, "designed" quarters rule on the streets. That's sad. I hate that only quarters rule on the streets. So, this is a raunt and a rave: I love people who are organized enough to have quarters with them at all times and are generous enough to "spare a quarter" for those of us who just might come up short in the change (or well, accepted change) department. And I hate that, even in the world of coin, there's an established hierarchy based on size. Harumph!

11.15.10

Eep! It's been a while.

Raunt

Call me sexist, but male bikinis just don't work. I mean, there's tmi and then there's TMI and males wearing bikini bottoms (aka 'speedos') are the TMI that hurts. I'm currently in Miami, land of the equal opportunity bikini ... if ya'knowwhaddImean. I've see too much hair, too much volume, too many shapes, and too much cleavage (and I'm not talking on the top half of the bod, although there's all'dat and some), too much well, information, and it ain't pretty. Especially all lined up on the beach. Little soldiers, take your marks! But, IMHO, no, no, no, well proportioned body or not (but particularly not), bikinis need ta'say 'bi-bye' as far as male swimwear goes.

Rave

Hugs from a 3 year old. There's a simple vivaciousness illustrated by 3 year olds that isn't 'quite' there at 2 and is gone by 4. It's a freedom that seeps out from their heart and passes along through their arms into their hands ... like a high voltage line. If you're lucky enough to be loved by a 3 year old, get right in the way of receiving that "seepage" and see what I mean. From their heart and hands to your soul the energy flows. A current event of epic proportions! I love hugs from 3 year olds!