Before there were blogs, there were journals. People actually wrote words on paper. I’m not a pundit on camera, so I rely on my friends’ memory to back up my own sometimes, and I was shocked when one didn’t remember me speaking out against the Iraq war. I have a vivid memory of singing war protest songs against The Iraq War: Number One with my band, Fugitive Blonde, at the China Club in Los Angeles, and I have a fixed memory of loathing the current decision to bomb Iraq from day one, but where is the proof?
Things have been fuzzy since 9-11 around my house, what with the business crashing, and the downsizing, and the graduate writing courses, and one crisis after another. Since I’ve had no public platform to speak from of late, the only documentation of what I’ve said is from reliable witnesses and my journal.
These may just be words swirling around in the blog-o-sphere and who cares anyway. But at least I can read my typing. And as long as the internet keeps going, and I can hang on to my computer memory sticks, my computer, printer, and ink, everything will be swell.
My handwriting is not much above scribble these days, but I did scratch out a few thoughts about The Iraq War: Number Two to myself, and luckily the journal survived a move and my I-Love-Lucy filing system. There is no search button to find things in my closet.
As I recall, if one spoke out against either Iraq war, one was labeled a traitor or aiding terrorism. Obama’s stance on the war in Iraq was one of the big reasons I voted for him. Yes, even the appearance of change feels good.
The funny thing is I did go to Mérida four years later–Mérida, Spain. Life gets weird sometimes.