REFUGEE CAMP . . .

Camp Capio is the place we go to unwind, relax, gorge on food and drink, play with babies, mill around, shoot the breeze, kick our feet up, put our feet up, be ourselves. In the winter, we warm ourselves by the gas fireplace. In the summer, we shiver in the glory of its central air-conditioning. Every season in between, we utilize open windows or huddle in a mass of fleece blankets. We are fed, nourished, overstuffed. Camp Capio IS camp, but without counselors, whistles, mosquitoes and enforced swimming lessons.

But today, Camp Capio failed.
It was felled by no water, no air conditioning and barely any electricity.

Accordingly, Camp Capio has relocated temporarily to the Refugee Camp. That is, my condo. Without furniture, my place certainly is spacious enough to house some refugees, so I was happy to offer it up as I hied myself back to my parents' place to keep Appa company overnight and to rustle up another nutritious meal for him.

The irony slays me -- the most generous and perfect and selfless hosts now need to be hosted, be it ever-so-gladly. But I kid you not, C and M needed to bathe big time, and the Noodles needed to be kept cool while the fire inside their increasingly toothy mouths blazed on.

So here I sit in my parents' office -- formerly the room where I used to "study" for the SAT while holding a novel under the desk in case my mother came in with another cup of tea to help me stay awake -- in air-conditioned comfort, wondering how the refugees are doing tonight. I hope the Noodles sleep alright in unfamiliar surroundings. I hope C and M don't feel weird about sleeping in my bed. I hope that if they do, they shower first. I hope they feel welcome to grab a drink or a yogurt, or even a slice of Spam. I hope that car that was in my parking space earlier realizes s/he is in a RESERVED ASSIGNED spot and gets out of there. And finally, I hope spending a night at my parents' place doesn't make me feel homesick again when I return to MY place tomorrow ...

***

PUKEY . . .

I really was going to puke earlier.

The act of beheading doesn't sicken me. I saw "Braveheart." I didn't have to turn away at any point of it. I can take it, alright?

But for the first time in my life, I was physically sickened at the reality that people can be evil. I suppose that's the idea of The Fall: God created two people to be His perfect creations, and they turned away from Him, and thus humanity ceased to be godly and with God. But knowing the idea and seeing it played out before my very eyes are two different experiences.

To take my new knowledge to the extreme, I wonder if I am surrounded by people who would kill their neighbors for whatever reason. The Nazis did it, and neo-Nazis do it now. White supremacists in this country did it and continue to do it. Religious zealots of all faiths did and do it. Al Qaeda does it. Basque separatists in northern Spain do it. Mercenaries in South Africa do it. Sickos with AIDS who want to infect others so they don't have to suffer alone do it. Drug dealers and rapists and people who took an anti-depressant for too long and went off it cold-turkey, not realizing their minds are all messed up, do it.

People go crazy. People take an all-knowing, all-loving, all-powerful God or Allah and distort Him into madness and mayhem and bloodshed. It is crazy to me that people are willing to serve a god soooo great and soooo worth serving, but believe that this same god tells them to KILL other humans. What the hell kind of god is that? How small and how weak and how insecure and how idiotic is YOUR god that he would not be able to tolerate someone who is a different color than you, a different faith than you, a different nationality than you? Is your god that shallow? Mine isn't. My God condemns and hates -- yes, HATES -- what you are doing, all of you.

And as long as I believe in my God, I will allow the bile to rise in my throat and be horrified and have my heart ripped to shreds and have my faith in humanity questioned. Because once those things stop happening to me, my God forbid, I might turn into YOU.

***

PUKIER . . .

Of course, all the media outlets have latched onto the beheading of Paul Johnson. For crying out loud, leave it alone.