There was an earthquake, richter 8.9, there was a tsunami that shifted landmasses devastating Thailand, India, Indonesia, and Sri Lanka. There is a rising death toll, currently counted as 52,000 and expected to climb.


People are live blogging, and moblogging in support and on location, sometimes in places where the media has yet to be allowed. Boingboing has had extensive coverage.

Unicef, Direct Relief International, World Vision, and American Red Cross are beginning humanitarian efforts in these areas. Unicef and World Vision take cash donations for food, medical and shelter needs. Direct Relief International takes money and product donations. The American Red Cross is currently only accepting financial donations, but you can donate online or by call 1-800-HELP-NOW. Amazon is also making it easy to donate, with a cross-over with the American Red Cross.

it’s all recently relative

we need to throw the right books,
(like right hooks)

by Joey Comeau

Let’s start ourselves a terrorist cell
and every time we feel like our life might be hell
instead of throwing our coins into that Self-Help well
we will write another beautiful book that won’t sell.

I’m writing a book about leaving home,
leaving bodies in ditches
I’m writing a book about making mistakes and
eating jelly sandwiches
books about apple trees
who fall in love with pretty girls
who fall in love with other trees
that have more squirrels

I’m writing a book of love poems based on my studies
half about lovers with disabilities – half about buddies
thematically I ‘spose you’ll find it a little muddy
two parts limping Audrey Hepburn – one part Al Bundy.

books about forgetting childhood
books about getting older
books about finding someone warm
because the nights are colder

Yesterday Alastair and I took on Disneyland. We drove into a compound, a small city all it’s own, blazoned with brand-name and two curved ears. The parking garages were immense maze-like things, plastered with moderne with trashcans proclaiming WASTE PLEASE on a seventies rainbow background. Everywhere there were speakers with pre-recorded helpful people, “please keeps your head, hands, arms, legs and feet inside the vehicle until it has come to a complete stop.” and again in spanish. The live miked drivers sounded incomprehensible and crackly in comparison, a darling thing when you remember that the park is ringed with private soldiers with AK47s.

In an effort to stop any rumors that Hallibrton will be the only company helping out in the rebuilding of Fallujah, the Bush administration has announced that Disney will be involved in that reconstruction as well… “We are very proud to be part of the re-construction effort in Fallujah,” stated Michael Eisner. “We will do everything we can to make Falljuah a ‘happy place’ again. We are looking into having Mickey Mouse visit not only the troops, once the fighting is over, but also visit the Iraqi homes as ell…” “We hate America but we love Mickey mouse,” stated an insurgent in Fallujah. “My kids like that new movie from Disney, what is the name of it? You know, Finding Osama? I just kid you. Finding Nemo. They love it.

I’m trapped inside today, held inside by violent rain, serious rain, rain that would not smile at you on the bus on your way to work. Rain with a mission, rain that gusts with intent for drowning. I, being intelligent, failed to bring a coat.

and I still don’t know who sent me this song

I’ve got Low playing on repeat, as loud as the laptop can sing to me. The rain outside is pounding in heavy sheets of water, occasionally relenting, but not enough to let me out so I’m making cookies. Dancing in black jeans and a pink lace bra, I’m sifting the dry together to top of my voice holiday music, this is so out of place for me that I might like it today. I want to thank whomever it was what sent me this song, it’s been brightening my time stuck inside to a bell peal glow. The train rhythm especially makes me bounce, and the sweetly sung lyrics remind me of back when the holidays meant something, back before my dad lost sanity.

We lived on Grandview Highway one year, over by Boundry. A white stucco house with bright red steps, a plum tree in the back and a two story garage. It’s not there anymore, though the house down the street where the witch lived is still there and the house with the adopted kids. There was a silver flake tank underneath my window which had the most wonderful boom to it, my feet could never move silently on it, (boom-thud-boom), just tall enough to climb. I would sneak out at night and was always amazed when no-one heard me coming home. We had snow that year, heaps, enough that people still talk about it. I think I was six. It was the edge of my fathers insanity, the spring upcoming was the beginning of hell, a foster-home waited, but at the time, we didn’t know that. It was piles of shining white to build tunnels through, to ride my sled down at the park next to the highway. It was the year the elf came to the door.

I was supposed to be in bed, my parents were in the livingroom, maybe with a glass of wine. I was lying in my doorway, wrapped in my blanket, ready to dart into my room the moment they stepped toward the hallway. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them. I was going to fall asleep there, listening to the low murmur of my family, when there was someone outside. A knock on the heavy door and my father opened it. I crept farther out into the hall to see. A man was there in green, with pointy shoes and a fluffy santa hat. It was a bit unbelievable, I was raised to be a rather adult child, and that’s when I fell asleep. I hid in my bed from my parents, who peered in to peek at me, and didn’t open my eyes until morning. Outside he had a pick-up truck full of toys and holiday goodies. If I think about this too much, I’m going to cry. It was my first real christmas, maybe my only one. We had the tree put up and presents underneath. I woke up to paper wrapped boxes and candy canes. I wonder where the pictures are.

I think now that my teacher must have signed us up for a charity. She as a wonderful woman, and I think about her sometimes. She had brown hair and the kindest smile, the only nice adult at school. I consider stopping by Renfrew Elementary and seeing if I could track her down. I don’t even remember her name.

here, have the song