PopRelics

selective memory. day., originally uploaded by The Searcher.

Father was so paranoid, Nadia thought. Cousin Samir was to be married, yet Father would not let the whole family celebrate together. He told us it was a trick he learned from the American Government. They never have the whole government meet at the same place or at the same time. So this was safe, he said. Two celebrations, two different neighborhoods. The family would carry on, if something were to happen.

If something were to happen. Father said that so many times, Nadia didn't even flinch anymore, when he'd say it. With the near-constant gunfire and distant explosions, it was difficult for her to flinch at anything. She just wanted to have a happy day, eat some good food, and laugh with her family. Some of her family, at least.

Her sisters, Ulla and Mina, were setting the picnic tables in the yard. Sahib and Nizam, two first cousins, were kicking a football around, avoiding the chores. Mother chided them, and then turned her wrath to Nadia, who forgot to take the bread from the oven. Nadia went back into the house, but heard a strange whistling sound and turned around to look. Her Father's face went to stone, as he looked up towards the North.

When she awoke, everything was gone. Nadia could not hear, or move her arm. She could only sit up, and see the nothing, the crater, the blood and bits and pieces, that once made up her family. Some of her family.


There is no organized effort to name all victims of the war (there's no upside to collect such a thing, apparently.) The last significant effort to estimate non-combatant deaths, by the Johns Hopkins University's Bloomberg School of Public Health, put the Iraqi war death toll at 650,000. That was in 2006. At that rate (500 deaths per day) it could actually be nearing 800,000. In spite of being impugned by the U.S. Administration as "wildly inaccurate" and using "bad math", the report has since held up to academic scrutiny.

So for every American death in Iraq, 200-250 innocent Iraqis also die. if only there were some way, some sort of Memorial Day, that could be used to remember them, too.

# posted by Derek Chatwood @ 4:41 PM

Faith Based. Lack of Initiative., originally uploaded by The Searcher.

Mommy? Why do you and Mommy have two different last names?
Well, sweety, Right now, we aren't allowed to get married.
Why not?
Well, half of the people in government think who we are is wrong, or unnatural, or against their religion.
What about the other half?
The other half says there's nothing wrong with us, that we're free to do and believe and love anyone we want.
Oh. are those the Demmercrats? like John Edwards?
The Democrats, honey. Yes, like John Edwards.
So, he likes you, and doesn't think you're doing anything wrong. That makes him on your side, right?
Well, no, sweety, not quite. While he says he supports us, he also says he believes that marriage is only supposed to be between a man and a woman.
What? How? How can he say you're equals, you're just like everyone else, and then say you aren't? Isn't that like lying?
Well, no, honey, not exactly. And it isn't just him. Most Democrats feel the same way. So it isn't fair to single him out. They just have, um. Well, they have complicated jobs. Sometimes it means they have to say one thing to one group of people, and another thing to another group of people.

buh. That's retarded!
Hey! What did we say about using terms like.. oh nevermind. Go find Mommy and tell her dinner's almost ready.
'kay Mommy. MOMMY! Dinner's READY!

# posted by Derek Chatwood @ 4:41 PM

bat. man. detail, originally uploaded by The Searcher.

F#$% You, Wolverine guy. Yeah I'm talking to you. Batman would take your healing factor and your adamantium-laced skeleton (that's "unbreakable" for you lucky non-geeks) and your "snikt!" emo-badass 'tude, and you know what he'd do?

he'd drop you in a vat of quick-drying cement up to your neck, then sink you a mile or two under the ocean. A year or two of getting your face eaten off by sharks and brine shrimp, dying and coming back over and over and over again, we'll see if you still call him "Bub".

hokay. Obviously I need to start dating again.

# posted by Derek Chatwood @ 4:50 PM

A night at The George, originally uploaded by The Searcher.

Amberlee, the one in the middle, force of nature that one. Once when I was over talking with her and some friends, I casually noticed some guy and his girl picking up my sketchbook and leafing through it. I think I said something like "that's irritating". Amberlee yelled at them from across the bar, told them to put it the fuck down, then leaped out of her seat, stormed over and ripped it out of their hands.

Little awkward that I had to go sit back down next to them. But still. a joy to watch.

Jen, on the end, had just spotted her ex boyfriend in the bar. "The Australian" she called him. Also "Tiny Penis". Most times, the significant other, when no longer significant, knows that the George belongs to first dibs. So showing up like that, he was looking for drama.

Enter Amberlee. Drama would leave a bruise.

Mike, on the other end. He was just sort of. always there. Every conversation, every picture. Kinda weird. But that's the George on a Saturday night.

# posted by Derek Chatwood @ 11:29 AM

b. sides, originally uploaded by The Searcher.

It's kind of like 3-D. You gotta kind of squint your eyes and let both sides blend together. Or blink one eye at a time back and forth really fast.

yah. it's a poor substitute.

# posted by Derek Chatwood @ 11:29 AM