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Deb's farewell "Sunset White Party at Lounge 8" ... she's a classy lassy ...There are many differences between life on a small tropical island and life just about anywhere else, or in what those of us here refer to as the “real world”.

Some of those differences are annoying, like a slow and sporadic Internet connection, unpredictable shortages of things you never expect a whole country to run out of … potatoes and toilet paper, for example … and the ridiculously high price in time and money of going anywhere.

Some are great. The climate, the beaches, the pristine water, clean air, lack of crowds, mass media, marketing blitz and glitz in general all contribute to the positive aspects of Seychelles life.

(In completely classic timing, the electricity just cut off … again … so it may be hours before I can actually post this.)

A double-edged sword, as is so much in life, taking the good with the bad is a daily practice.

On an important up note, inhabitants finding like-thinking, fun others learn quickly not to take anyone for granted. Friendships are founded fast and furious, and with so few entertainment options available, social interactions … meals, beaching, dives, hikes, mutual veranda confabs and such … happen regularly to the enjoyment of all.

The downside is that all but a handful of these like-thinking, fun others are only here for a short time. Work contracts usually run for a couple of years; a long enough time to get attached, dependent on the entertainment value of the said fun other, and accustomed to their presence.

The first few years of life here saw me avoiding any closeness with expats. Goodbyes were much harder for me then, and it seemed a set up to allow myself to get close enough to temporary islanders to face suffering the predictable loss of them after only a year or so.

I’m over that now that I’ve learned the payoff; not only are there fab times while we’re rock-bound together, the result of them moving along is a wide and global scattering of people I adore. Even with island Internet and its issues, we stay in touch over the years between visits, and there’s no shortage of holiday ops in some of the most interesting places on the planet.

As of this coming Thursday, another treasured wonder bites the dust: our own Miss Kinky Black, Deb Wilson, is buggering off after two and a half years of keeping people here smiling, drinking and generally well amused.

As is tradition, a farewell is conducted with appropriate amounts of booze, food and conversation. In Deb’s case, classy woman that she is, it happened at Lounge 8 with everyone decked out in white to best offset the fabulous sunset that arrived on cue to thunderous camera clicks bent on immortalizing the occasion.
As a departing gift, a book compiled of our individual memories concerning Deb was printed. Titled appropriately “Paradise My Arse” … a phrase trotted out by Ms Wilson on more than one occasion … and emblazoned with a photographic representation of her making that point so well, it’s bound to be a gift she’ll keep handy throughout her life for ease of reference to this rock, her time here and those of us who will still be missing her.

New, wonderful, funny people will show up, though, and we’ll let them into our lives, enjoy them while they’re here, then think up leaving gifts special to them when it’s time for them to head back to the real world. That’s just how it works …

Cheating … at golf?

A bit behind the pop culture curve as always, I’m just catching up with the flap over Tiger Woods and his wandering putter and can’t help but wonder about the reactions his now-admitted infidelity is getting.

It seems people are surprised … and disappointed.

Why?

Because he’s such a “nice guy” in his public personal? Do the People Mag photos of cuddling a new baby in tender fatherhood sum up the man? Does the fact that his wife presents the best of model-like beauty convince the world that he’s bound to be bound?

Gimme a break.

Tiger is a man.

It doesn’t matter one bit if he’s a famous, rich, handsome, charming man … in fact that makes philandering even more likely than for the obscure, poor, ugly and socially clumsy.

It doesn’t matter one bit that he’s happily married with children.

It doesn’t matter one bit that screwing around could cost his reputation, his marriage, his career.

It doesn’t matter one bit that sinking one in other women’s grassy greens could rip the heart out of the woman who dedicated herself to him, threaten the stability of his children and ruin lives.

Nope.

The only thing that matters is an easy hole at the end of a short fairway and a chance to make the shot without drawing a crowd. The hole doesn’t need to be special in any way, nor even well groomed … a hole is a hole is a hole.

Because there are so many public courses offering free play at the drop of a smile, opportunities to take off-the-books strokes are aplenty, and few players resist the pull of a new lay, especially those that offer no real challenge.

Tiger can cry now, beg for forgiveness, plead for privacy, experience deep and profound remorse … because he got caught.

Men are dogs, whether they carry a seven iron, a fishing line, a football, a guitar or the Presidential Seal.

It’s time to revisit this post, perhaps …

The year begins ...
Cj and me in February
First f 3 trips to Bird Island
Anchor Cafe
With Shrone at the beach in March
Book promo in April
Happy and Iris were here in May
June 2nd ... the worst day of my life
California ... filled with sadness
Lots of love in Mexicoa
Switzerland in July
Tribute tatt ...
Old friends leave ... Ciao, Lio!
New friends come ... Me with Carlos and Violeta
With Deb and Mel
Visitors Kim and Cake
New friends Tommaso and Helen
Alan adds my kids to an old tatt
Gay takes the kids on hayaks ...
I spend some time online ...
Back to Bird in October and in November
Sam's 7th birthday dinner
Cati finally arrives ...
Enzo and Amanda add to the mix
November ends
Christmas is coming and the year is almost over ...

Since I’ve been writing about testicles, it seems as good a time as any to hammer on a bit about impotence. In this case, the notorious … and mega-costly … impotence of the United Nations.

It’s never a hard bang, as the UN provides fodder almost daily, but today is exceptionally easy.

Starting with this article titled, “Copenhagen summit must be global turning point, UN climate chief says”, we are treated to the usual spin cranked out by the giant PR machine funded by countries all over the world motivated by the need to appear to be doing something positive.

Mr de Boer said his Christmas wish was that politicians and officials “keep it simple”. “What I want to see at the end of this conference is a list of rich country targets that are ambitious, clarity on what major developing countries will do to limit the growth of their emissions and a list of financial pledges that will make it possible for the much broader developing nation community both to change the direction of their economic growth and adapt to the inevitable effects of climate change – that’s what I’m asking Father Christmas for,” he said.

Ignore all the “non-binding”s and “not an outright cut, but a slowing of emissions growth”s and go with the Santa thing, and it sounds okay, I guess.

But …

Like everything the UN does, there’s a flip-side reality that spins things a bit differently.

Like …

Copenhagen climate summit: 1,200 limos, 140 private planes and caviar wedges.

Good for business in Copenhagen, for sure, and a fun time for all lucky enough to make a living ostensibly working for the good of the planet.

Given that the bulk of delegates will be testicle-bearing, there is bound to be much posturing, and even that is being addressed …

… even the prostitutes are doing their bit for the planet. Outraged by a council postcard urging delegates to “be sustainable, don’t buy sex,” the local sex workers’ union – they have unions here – has announced that all its 1,400 members will give free intercourse to anyone with a climate conference delegate’s pass. The term “carbon dating” just took on an entirely new meaning.

… so perhaps releasing a bit of the pressure.

After all, this is work, remember …

My dear friend, Gay, touts a simple solution to many of the world’s problems: universal male castration.

Her thinking goes party as follows:

Naturally produced sperm is no longer necessary for the manufacture of new people, and who needs it by the bucket-load anyway?

Ridding the world of the testosterone-ladened can only reduce violence, and have the added advantage of allowing men to do more thinking with their big heads, rather than be ruled by their little ones.

Testicles are hardly the most attractive of male features.

Being a huge fan of male danglies myself, I find her proposal a bit drastic, but must admit to an attraction to the thought, nonetheless.

An article from the BBC today does go far toward illustrating Gay’s point.

One in four South African men questioned in a survey said they had raped someone, and nearly half of them admitted more than one attack.

With a recent report quoted as saying ” … a child was being raped in South Africa every three minutes … “, the suggestion of ball removal does have appeal.

Given that today happens to be the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, the whole testosterone-driven, conquer-the-world-and-kill-a-whole-bunch-of-people-while-you’re-at-it thing resonates more than a bit.

Would the world be a better place, and would men be happier creatures, if the juice that drives so much of the machine lost its compelling oomph? Would male bonding have more positive impact if they didn’t each carry their best friend around in their pants?

Feel free to discuss, and if you’d like to put Gay in charge, I’ll pass along the message.

It’s been six months today since my son, Jaren, died of a massive heart attack. The fact that half a year has passed has done little to alleviate the loss, although I can now write the words, “Jaren is dead” without crumbling.

In the case of the death of one’s child, I don’t think time heals. Much like an amputee, the edges of the missing part of me have scarred enough to tolerate the many times a day I bump up against memory, pick at regret and finger possibilities forever gone, but gone is gone and phantom pain hurts.

Jaren was the smartest and funniest person I have ever known, and the privilege of being his mother for 38 years I will carry for the rest of my life. Only 38 years is an unbearable shame nothing can change. Nothing.

Only recently, I received a copy of the autopsy report, something I had been waiting months for. No parent should ever have to read such a document, but for me it was a necessary part of the process I must go through to come to some understanding of the events that led to such a horrible conclusion.

I didn’t really need to know how much his brain weighed or the contents of his stomach, but that’s the sort of information the coroner’s office provides, so I know all that now. I also know that my son had a 98% blockage in the same place my coronary artery was clogged before an emergency bypass extended my stay on the planet in 1999.

I was told at the time mine was discovered that I had a one-to-30 day probability of a fatal heart attack, and from that moment until the surgery the following day I was not allowed to do as much as raise my head.

Jaren had been suffering from intense angina, and the night before he died worked his usual shift pushing drinks at the Liquid Kitty. On his feet for hours, he mentioned to his buddy behind the bar with him that his left arm and neck were “killing him”.

Perhaps it was too late then. Maybe if he’d had the option of seeing a doctor, the bypass he needed would not have been possible. But …

If he’d had health coverage, medication to control cholesterol and his diabetes would have been provided for years, and the routine operation that reroutes blood through the heart would have happened when needed. Other health issues could have also been addressed, and he wouldn’t have felt so alone, so on his own, so without options.

Jaren never asked for help. Any questions about his welfare were always answered with an “I’m fine”, and although he always went the extra mile for anyone in his life who needed him to do that, he did not do it for himself, nor request it of anyone else.

The list of “should haves” for me is longer than I can look at in one sitting, so I pick and choose and wish I had done different things and had one more chance.

I miss my son. The world … not just my world, but the whole damned thing … is poorer without his smile, his gentleness, his humor and his amazing intelligence.

If there’s one thing I would ask on his behalf now, it would be that universal health care in America becomes a reality.

Adoption ≠ Abduction

One of the poop nuggets often dragged out by those opposed to international adoption is that western families hoping to bring a child into their fold prompt abductions from birth families in poor countries.

That this sometimes substantiated, but often not, allegation misses the point is clear to anyone who spends time in poverty stricken places, as child abandonment and lots of other nasty stuff are facts of life when disease, starvation, war and other realities abound.

As this report from the BBC illustrates, there is a side to this coin, as well, one that is never mentioned while adoption-bashing: bad people stealing children for profit is not an adoption issue, nor is it adoption-driven, but a crime that carried out all the time without international adoption having a thing to do with it.

In China, a country that has made international adoption more and more difficult as it touts its ability to keep its house in order, thousands of children are being kidnapped and sold to Chinese families in need of boys to fill their ancestral obligations.

The demand for children is driven by a deep-seated preference in southern China for sons, boys to keep the family name alive who have a duty to care for aged parents.

And some parents are prepared to buy a stolen child if they can not have a boy of their own.

As happens with all subjects uncomfortable to government officials in Beijing … over-crowding orphanages, abandoned children, HIV infection rates, child abuse, etc …. speaking publicly is not appreciated.

Some parents say local officials often do not want to deal with cases of stolen children. They say they have been warned to keep quiet and not campaign publicly to find their children lest they disturb social order.

Pointing out that children are often considered commodities neglects the fact that human beings are bought and sold every day in this world. Trafficking and slavery exist in our world, and frequently with no fear of negative consequences for those making money out of the trade.

Removing the option of international adoption does not stop this, nor even slow it down. It does, however, deny the option of family for thousands of kids whose birth parents would wish it.

As long as there are horrid people in the world … and that’s guaranteed … bad things will happen to good people. Sometimes good things can happen, and very often international adoption is a good thing for all the good people involved.

Because that’s how we do things here, Sam gets a YouTube vid for a birthday gift.

http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2009-10/24/content_12315301.htm

PHNOM PENH, Oct. 24 (Xinhua) — Cambodia’s National Assembly on Friday approved a new law for foreign adoptions, setting up criteria for children to be adopted, the eligibility of potential adoptive parents and the procedures for legal adoptions by families living overseas, local newspaper the Phnom Penh Post reported on Saturday.

All 72 parliamentarians in attendance voted to pass the two final chapters of the law after about one hour of debate, it said. Debate on the lO-chapter draft law began on Wednesday.

The law is aimed at ensuring that Cambodian children adopted by foreign parents, “grow up in a family environment, a happy environment, with love and understanding in order to develop fully.”

For a child to be adopted by foreigners, he or she must be younger than 8 years old, except in the cases of special needs. The children must be living in an orphanage, under the care of the Social Affairs Ministry, or have poor or disabled parents, the law said.

Moreover, under the law, adoptive parents must be between 30 and 45 years old, and should have, at the most, one other child, who must be younger than 22 years old.

According to statistics presented by Ith Sam Heng, minister of social affairs, more than 20,000 Cambodian children live in state-run orphanages, and about 130,000 live in private facilities. He added that adoptive parents in the U.S. alone took home 1,415 Cambodian children between 1998 and 2003, although the U.S. government officially suspended adoptions in 2001 over fraud concerns.

And Britain cut off Cambodian adoptions in 2004, while France implemented a temporary ban between 2003 and 2006. Australians are also forbidden from adopting, as the two countries have never signed an agreement on adoption.

Ith Sam Heng was quoted by the Post as saying that the law would be “seriously implemented,” adding that he had not heard of any bad things happening to Cambodian children after being adopted abroad.

He said a delegation from the ministry had already visited adoptive families in Canada, France, Italy and the U.S. Some foreign parents had also written annual reports to the government describing the conditions of the children, including photos, about health and education, he added.

Guess what I found in my post office box today. No. Really … guess.

(Take some time … )

Okay. Spilling now …

Today, the 28th of September, 2009, I open my PO Box to find … ta daaaaaa!!!! … my absentee ballot that starts out like this:

Dear Voter,
Your Vote by Mail Ballot for the November 4, 2008 General Election is enclosed.

You are designated as an Overseas Federal Voter. Your voter registration form indicates that you are living out of the country indefinitely. As a federal voter you are only entitled to vote for federal candidates in the following offices:
President, Vice President, US Senator and members of the House of Representatives. (And so on …)

Gee. Thanks.

I’ll assume that “only entitled to vote for” can be interpreted as ENTITLED to vote, which may be a bit tough since my ballot reached me almost one full year late.

Although Seychelles is on the other side of the world, it is actually ON this planet, and … hey! … we have a postal service that connects to other countries. My address on the envelope (no postmark to indicate when it was sent, by the way) is correct, and with “OFFICIAL ABSENTEE BALLOTING MATERIAL – FIRST CLASS MAIL” writ large across the front, it seems that slow-boat-round-the-horn was not to be an option for getting this into my hands.

I was in Sacramento, site of the return address, just a couple of months ago, so know that it has not vanished for one hundred years, a la Brigadoon. and that planes still fly from California toward the rest of the world, many carrying post.

Were I the conspiracy-minded sort, I may suspect that my declaration of Democrat on the application might have slowed down the process a bit, but … well … okay, that did run across the corners of my mind and felt no less far-fetched than the idea that I’m either living in a time warp or on some far-flung planet.

Imagine how pissed off I’d be if Obama hadn’t won …