BP says they so far have spent 1.25 billion dollars on this mess. Wow. That’s a very large number.

This is a BP press release from February 2010:

The company announced that underlying replacement cost profit for the fourth quarter of 2009, before non-operating items and fair value accounting effects, was $4.4 billion – an increase of 70 per cent on the same period in 2008. Full year replacement cost profit for 2009 was $14 billion, down 45 per cent on the record full year profit of 2008, mainly reflecting the weaker market environment of lower average oil and gas prices and depressed refining margins.

This was them bragging about profits and surpluses at a time when you were struggling to fill your gas tanks and the economy was in a free fall, and still is. This was to let investors and potential investors know that BP is rock solid.  That doesn’t make them evil. They’re a corporation.  They’re in business to make money.  But as the world tumbles, should they be flourishing, especially considering the position they’re in to drastically alleviate worldwide financial pressure? Or should they be breaking profit records.

Today, their press release begins:

BP notes the fall in its share price in US trading last night. The company is not aware of any reason which justifies this share price movement.

BP continues to keep the market updated on the Gulf of Mexico oil spill through regular announcements. The response to this incident is our top priority.

Huh? Allow me to rephrase this: “We see our stock falling. What’s up? Is something going on? We don’t get it. Ohhh, the 100 million gallons of oil destroying the Gulf. Listen, we’re updating you on the situation, and we have more than enough money to deal with this and we’ll pay all ‘legitimate’ claims (wink-wink, nod-nod). You people need to relax and stop being such babies. And the name of the press release?

BP Is Not Aware Of Any Reason For Price Share Movement

This is the equivalent of spit-balling someone in the back of the head, then whistling and looking around when they turn around and eyeball you. Assholes.

As of a couple of days ago, 37% of the Gulf of Mexico is closed for fishing. 37%.  One marine biologist suggested that it would be better to kill the oiled birds then clean them, noting a 1% survival rate whether they are cleaned or not.  When I hear things like this, I want to beat up everyone.

BP: I don’t give a fuck how much this is going to cost you.  You rode us as we struggled to keep our head above water, patting yourself on the back for innovation while taking advantage of price volatility and global instability, even though, as you so eloquently stated,  supply was never an issue. I don’t care if you have to spend every dime you’ve ever made cleaning up this mess. I really, really don’t.

What I do care about, first and foremost, are the innocent animals who will die.  That my family and friends will lose their homes as the economy crumbles around them, and they won’t have “legitimate” claims. That BP is more concerned about the bottom line than they are about either of the two things I just mentioned, as their bean counters tally the mounting costs of this and they look to cut corners to cap costs. And as Roger Ebert said on twitter, “BP lies because they are fined for the amount of oil that leaks into the ocean.” He would later link to this article, which, of course, is shocking, sad, horrible and all the rest.

If you didn’t read it, there’s a marsh in New Orleans that’s responsible for 50% of our nation’s seafood. The man charged with the job of keeping the oil off of the Louisiana coast (Pj Hahn) had a plan to stop the oil from invading Plaquemines Parish, pointing out that when oil hits a beach, you can easily remove it. Not so much when it hits a marsh.

“It’s the life for the whole coast. Everything starts in the marsh, the micro-organisms, the small fish, the shrimp, the oysters, all are born or created in the marsh, then they move out to sea, and that’s the first source for what you have out in the ocean. Fifty per cent of all the nation’s seafood comes from Plaquemines parish and 75 per cent of the nation’s migratory wildfowl pass through here. These are some of the most productive marshes in the country. But the problem we have is that you can go and clean the beaches very easily in Mississippi, in Alabama and Florida, but you can’t clean the marshes.”

Because of bureaucracy, it would take a month to get this plan approved. Unfortunately, a month too late.

The protective booms used to keep the oil at bay aren’t working, so Hahn’s plan is to build sand barriers and simply collect the oil. The cost of the project is $240 million dollars and BP is fitting the bill. Yay for action! It could be there today and could have stopped the oil from spilling ashore.

So what do we do? What can we do?

We can volunteer to clean animals while we hate BP.

We can donate to my new favorite charity , The Colbert Nation Gulf Of America Fund.

You can watch for regular updates and see exactly what is being done here.

And lastly, we can lobby to plug the well with the BP board of directors. I say we should at least give it a shot.

Spread the word #ba, we need as many eyes on this thing is possible, and we have to make them answer for every animal and person affected by this catastrophe.

It’s important to remember that the Bloggess Army is about all of us.  It’s about anyone who needs a hand. This is your army. If you have a post in mind or need some help or want to help, let me know and we’ll get it out there for you. In the meantime, do your best to help the others who come to us for help.

-MayoPie

you don’t forget the guys who run from the cops with you

by fathermuskrat

I just got an email from a friend of mine with whom I worked my first job after undergrad; his name is Jesse. We had a 1 to 2 inch conglomerate of foam, expanded metal, and beige cloth between our cubicles as “inside sales” reps at IBM in the late 1990s. Or was it “territory relationship” reps by that point? It doesn’t matter.

Every afternoon at 4pm, Jesse would stand up in his cubicle and declare it cookie break time. It chapped our asses that smokers got breaks to fill their bodies with poison, so we invented a break for filling our bodies with partially hydrogenated oils. A few of our friends from other teams would come to our cubes for a 5-minute refuge from a job none of us particularly liked.

One day, our manager decided to walk out of her fishbowl (her cube was encased in glass; our cubes’ openings faced hers, so that she could stare at us all day) and approach the group of 4 twenty-somethings to, presumably, try to get a cookie or tell us to get the hell back to work. I saw her approach, extended my right hand, and said, “Sorry, Jill–teams are locked.” I didn’t smile. I’m not sure why I brought sixth grade backyard football lingo into the workplace that day; I just did it.

She was stunned. So were the other guys. She forced a half smile, turned around, and walked away. A few weeks later, I was encouraged to leave IBM. I applied to law school.

Jesse had a good friend and roommate back then named Frankie. Frankie was from Bolivia and was in Atlanta to get his education. The three of us once drained a few bottles of Pepe Lopez tequila during a Cinco do Mayo party, climbed the fence surrounding the diving platforms used during the ‘96 Olympics, and jumped off in our underbritches. We moved on to kicking field goals on the Georgia Tech football field when security kicked us out and called the cops. They were good people (Jesse and Frankie–not the fuzz). I miss them now that they’ve moved to Chicago and Bolivia, grown up, and become responsible parents and stuff.

Jesse wrote today to say that Frankie was in a horrible accident at work. He helped arrange for Frankie to be flown to Miami after receiving emergency care in Bolivia, and then he flew from Chicago to visit Frankie in the hospital. I want to be Jesse in the “how one treats his friends” category.

Frankie has multiple fractures, crushes, and lacerations but should pull through okay…eventually. But his life is going to be filled with surgeries and suckdom for the foreseeable future. Jesse asked a few of us to send him encouraging cards or letters while he’s in the hospital and included the address. But you know what? I don’t want him to get a few letters and cards. If I’d nearly died in an accident and was going to be laid up in a foreign country for several months, I’d want piles of cards and letters, and I’d want them to be amusing. I’d want my hospital room to look like the courtroom near the end of “Miracle on 34th Street.”

So, since the blogosphere is full of witty folks with lots of free time (judging by all the Twitter streams with TV show hashtags), I’m asking y’all to spend a few minutes and the price of a stamp to cheer my friend up. Maybe print a blog post you find funny or have your kids make a funny card with their shitty art skills–it doesn’t matter that you don’t know him; you can say “I’m a friend of the Muskrat” or “I love Pepe Lopez, too!” or “Functional right arms are fucking overrated!” or something. I’m not asking for money…just a couple minutes to improve a shitty situation. Here’s the contact information:

Franklin Perez Herrera

C/O BUPA International Patient Hospitality Center

DTC Building,Ground Floor

1080 N.W. 19th Street

Miami, FL 33136-9998

Thanks, y’all.

The good news is, SHE IS HOME!!!

The bad?

$100 a day is what her co-pay is for outpatient therapy. Ughhh. That adds up quickly and, obviously, she needs it so there’s really no choice.  Please, please, please.  Do whatever you can to help her.  You already know how awesome and deserving she is, so I don’t have to tell you that.

Please go here to donate and as always keep praying!!

P.S. I’m currently adding some phenomenal writers to the staff here in hopes of keeping up and having more regular posts here. The last few weeks have been beyond busy, so thanks for being patient!!

-mayopie

By Kristine Brite McCormick

My daughter died in my arms while breastfeeding. She was five days old. We didn’t know she was sick until she was dead.

I’ve typed those words so many times. I’ve worked so hard to spread her story that I’m almost immune to them.

But, when I tell her story to someone face to face or on the phone, the true horror of what I experienced the early morning of December 6, 2009 reads in their faces and their voices. My pain reflects back to me when they gasp and cover their mouths, or when they start shaking their heads.

I’ve learned people have a routine when they ask about the death of a child, and they expect me to say that my daughter, Cora, spent months in the NICU or we knew she was sick in utero and she was born to a roomful of doctors who whisked her away to surgery.

So when my story takes a turn from the unexpected, everyone reacts with such strong horror. I start to feel bad for them. I can read the pain on their faces. Especially the parents, they seem to experience my shock almost as deeply as I do.

They can’t believe Cora was never sick. I had a completely healthy pregnancy and delivery. She passed all exams by so many nurses and doctors in the hospital.

One minute, she happily fed with the sleepy drunk baby look on her face from my breast seemingly healthy and happy.  The next, I looked down and she was limp, face covered with blood, and I started screaming like never before. She was dead.

For two days I sat curled up in the recliner and muttered to a stream of visiting relatives that I done something wrong by accident. Her blood covered my mouth and hand until my husband washed it off of me two days later. With all of the tests performed in utero and after she was born, and with her seemingly perfectly happy appearance, I knew that I must have done something wrong. Maybe she smothered to death on my breast?

I found out from the coroner that Cora had a congenital heart disease, sometimes abbreviated CHD. I felt slightly relieved. At least I knew I didn’t kill my baby.

I rushed over to tell my husband. “Congenital heart disease,” I fumbled over the new phrase. He asked me for details. What did that mean? How common was it? Could we have done anything?

That’s when I realized I’d never heard of congenital heart disease. I had no clue what any of it meant. I hadn’t even pushed the coroner for details when she told me Cora died of a CHD and that her little heart was “a mess” because I had been relieved to know I hadn’t killed her.

I took to social media and was soon connected to hundreds and then thousands of people who either had a congenital heart disease, or knew someone who did. Turns out congenital heart disease is the number one birth defect, kills more children than all forms of childhood cancer combined, and a simple test might have detected Cora’s CHD, a pulse oximetry test conducted between 24 to 48 hours of age on a newborn.

This was only two months ago. I’m still new on my road to saving lives.

Today marks the start of Congenital Heart Disease Awareness Week, Feb. 7 to 14, 2010. I’m working night and day this week spreading Cora’s Story. Because, I wish I would have been aware of CHD. I don’t want any other mother to learn about CHD from the coroner.

 Help me spread her story.

Kristine Brite McCormick writes about Cora (almost) daily on her blog http://www.corasstory.org. If not on her blog, she can be found on Twitter, @kristinebrite or Cora’s Facebook Fan page, http://www.facebook.com/pages/Coras-Story/224020688142?ref=nf telling Cora’s Story. Follow Kristine for more information about congenital heart disease or to learn more about the acts of compassion and kindness Cora has inspired.

How would you react if your roof suddenly fell in on your living room, with you and your entire family inside? Or if a flood destroyed most of your belongings beyond saving and took the rest of them with it on its unforgiving path? If something took your children from you in a single moment and there was nothing you could do to save them or reverse what caused it. If you lost everything in an irreversible  catastrophic or personally tragic event, how would you feel? What would you do? How would you react? Who would you turn to?

A catastrophic earthquake all but leveled Port-au-Prince, Haiti’s capital. Schools tumbled, hospitals fell like leaves, at least one prison collapsed. This is the worst seismic event to hit the region in more than two centuries. The unconfirmed casualty estimates range from fifty thousand people to two hundred thousand. There are tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people dead in a country with almost no resources at all, and little hope of any foreign aid.

I know it isn’t pretty. I know it’s hard to think about. I know it’s easier to simply move on with one’s own life than to think of thousands of dead and millions of injured, homeless, helpless, poor people in a country so far from home. I know all of these things. But just take a few minutes. Just a few moments of your time to read and let me paint you a picture of exactly what this means to those people, what it could mean to you and your friends and family and loved ones if it were to happen in your home.

Imagine living in one of the least developed and poorest nations in the western world. Imagine working until you can’t feel anything but exhaustion anymore. Imagine barely being able to keep food in your family’s mouths and clothes on their backs and a roof over their heads, or even any one of those things, despite having worked yourself to the bone. Imagine watching your family, your children, your spouse suffer in unthinkable hell every day before you finally manage to fall asleep.

It isn’t a pretty picture is it? You don’t want to think about it, do you? But what can you do, right? What can you possibly do to help people so far away, whom you don’t know and may never even lay eyes on? It isn’t hard. None of us like opening up our wallets right now, I know. None of us like to think about any of the tragedy because we may begin to feel guilty.

But if you can find it in your heart to give money to strangers, then I’m providing one more way that you can do so.

The HP Alliance is currently holding an event called Helping Haiti Heal. The way this works is this: You go to the following URL: http://thehpalliance.org/haiti/prizes/ and choose the paypal donate button next to the prize(s) you would most like to win. I would like to establish that this IS a raffle, you are not purchasing the items outright. You may multiply your donation in order to make it more likely that you win the prize(s) you would like. This event ENDS on February 6th. Please, go help those in Haiti before it’s too late for you to also benefit from it.

Again that is http://thehpalliance.org/haiti/prizes/ and the event is called “Helping Haiti Heal”.

- Persephone OUT! (@patientes or Amanda)

UPDATE: As of this moment if we raise another $20K for Helping Haiti Heal, the cargo planes that are being sent full of supplies for the relief fund will be named Harry, Ron, and Hermione. So if you happen to be a heavy HP nerd (Like I am) Please go and donate any amount to Helping Haiti Heal.

In an unrelated turn of events, I was referred to him 2 days later as someone who might help him attract the love of one Neil Diamond. I agreed to help, because as you may know, I like bugging celebrities on twitter.

In another unrelated turn of events and another 2 days later,  he became my colleague when I signed on at MamaPop.  Even more coincidentally, Jason was assigned to show me the ropes.

Well, despite his insane schedule, he held my hand and walked me through everything. Twice. Because that’s pretty much what you have to do with me.

First, Jason is hilarious. His blog is here and I promise you’ll love it. He’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. He’s also one of the nicest.

Jason is currently fundraising for Garden of Dreams and is very close to his goal. Please help. If you can’t donate money, spread the word on twitter, facebook, whatever. It’s for a great cause.

-MayoPie

Hockey Heals…

by Jason Mayo

I’ve been going to New York Rangers games with the same buddies for the past 13 years. This year is different. Sometimes life throws you a curve ball. One of those buddies moved away. The other one has Cancer. This year, Opening Night at Madison Square Garden was a date marked on my calendar for all the wrong reasons. Hockey has always been a distraction for us. Through the good times and the bad. This year it was hard to predict who would even be at the game with me. Year after year, we would meet at the seats. The start of each new season brought a sense of hope. That’s the beauty of sports. With each new year, comes a fresh start. With one of my friends hundreds of miles away and the other one battling for his life, Hockey season hardly seemed a priority.

Then I realized that Opening Night was actually more important this year than it has ever been. I spoke to my friend who is sick, during the week leading up to the game. I told him that I’d keep the ticket available for him until the last minute. I knew he’d been feeling awful as of late and it would be tough for him to commit.

“Dude. If you feel up to it, just call me that day. I’d love to see you there on Opening Night.”

He said he can’t make any promises but he’d try his best to make it.

“I want to be there bro. I just don’t know how I’m gonna feel.”

The night before the game, I thought to myself that if my buddy was gonna make it out, then I needed to let him know how important it was to me to have him there. I wanted him to know that it was more than a game.

Adam Graves is a former New York Ranger. He happens to be one of the greatest Blueshirts to ever don the sweater. Adam is still a prominent figure in the organization and is known for his selfless commitment to local philanthropies, as well as, being a stellar human being. I took a chance and sent him an email in the hope that my buddy would indeed make it to the game.

This is what I wrote:

Adam,

I’ve been a Rangers fan my whole life and a season subscriber for 13 years. I’ll be at opening night tomorrow and for many reasons, it will be an emotional night for me. For the past 13 years, myself and two of my best friends have been going to the games together. Lot’s of great times. This year one moved away with his family, so he won’t be going to the games with us. Then a few months ago, the other one found out that he has Cancer. He’s been pretty sick. He had to stop working and he’s lost about 30 lbs. It’s in his stomach, liver and lungs. We’ve known each other since we were 12 and reconnected after years apart in 1994 at MSG of all places during the cup run. We’ve been going to the games together ever since. Obviously because of his health, it’s impossible for him to commit to the games this year. This leaves me with an empty seat on most nights. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of my buddy and the battle he’s having right now. We both have little kids and stuff like this really hits you in the heart. His health is obviously bigger than any game but The Blueshirts have always bonded us through the years. I spoke to him yesterday and he said he’s going to do whatever he can to get to opening night tomorrow. I’m hoping he feels up to it. I know it’s last minute but I was hoping that if he made it to the game with me, there might be some way you could arrange to have some sort of meet and greet or special experience, no matter how simple, for him before or after the game. I’m not sure how many of these he’ll get to see in the coming months and something tells me that if I can, I should try and make it a special night for him. I understand if you’re too busy. I know you probably get 100′s of these a week. I just thought I’d give it a shot.  

Respect,

Jason

The morning of the game, I received a call on my cell phone. It was Adam Graves. He asked how my friend was feeling and if I thought he’d make it to Opening Night. I told him that as of yesterday, he planned on coming. Adam said he would send someone to our seats to get us during the game. He said that he reserved a private sky box for us to watch a period with him. Just the three of us. I was blown away by his kindness. I had goosebumps.

My buddy made it out that night and we saw our beloved Rangers beat the Ottawa Senators 5-2. We also spent about 40 minutes shooting the shit with one of our heroes. My buddy cried when he realized that Adam and I arranged the whole night for him. I cried too. Everyone always asks me why Hockey is so important to me. Everyone always wants to know why I get so crazy over a Rangers win or a loss.

The answer couldn’t be clearer. Hockey heals. Sometimes heroes really make a difference.

On Opening Night 2009, I was not Out-Numbered. I was overwhelmed…

If you or anyone you know or love has a child that has been affected by Cancer or any other crisis, please consider supporting The Garden of Dreams Foundation. Garden of Dreams is a non-profit charity that works closely with all areas of Madison Square Garden, “to make dreams come true for kids in crisis”. In the two years since its inception, Garden of Dreams has worked tirelessly to fulfill its mission by creating unique and unforgettable events and activities -often involving unprecedented access to Madison Square Garden celebrities, events and venues -that have brightened the lives of thousands and thousands of special children and their families.

I have started a page via Out-Numbered to raise money for this amazing organization. Please help me reach my goal. You can donate by clicking the link here or by clicking on the First Giving widget below this post or on the right side of this page.

Spread the word and the love…

Shortly after I offered a featured post here, JD was in a serious accident. Like, “broken back and neck” accident. Despite that, his mission for Jesse James rolls on. Here you have a guy who just broke his back and neck, and still, he’s undeterred from his mission to help others. That’s inspiring.

I want to help JD. I want to help the people JD wants to help. Please read his story and help any way you can.

-Mayo Pie

Attention Jesse James, I Need Your Help!

So this all started with the greatest idea ever. I decided that I could get Jesse James of West Coast Choppers to make an appearance at the Drug Rehab where I am currently employed. These Guys have very little going for them at times and it seemed like the shot in the arm that would help them see that life without drugs and alcohol is not only doable but can also be very bad ass. I am also just cocky enough to believe that I can do anything. Also, truth be known, I think Jesse James is the epitome of cool and has been an inspiration to me on several occasions. I never admit that to anyone, about anyone, so I hope you enjoyed my moment of vulnerability. I know I did.

So the question is what got me to this point. Let’s Tarantino it and go back. I grew up until the age of nine in southern Alabama, destined for very little. At the age of nine my mother and Father decided to become Missionaries and save the world. Not just Missionaries, but Southern Baptist Missionaries to Japan. Even at the age of nine I was totally okay with the World never getting saved and screw my Parents for thinking that was a good idea. In retrospect it was the coolest experience of my life. I went from back woods Alabama to one of the most progressive cities in the world, Tokyo, Japan. I grew up free of racism and the ability to see other cultures as real people with real things that happen to them. I also understand and have some insight into why other countries are not our biggest fans, but I digress.

I graduated from high school and went to a Baptist College in a little town Called Arakadelphia, Arkansas. No culture shock there. I quickly became the lovable slacker and worked overtime on my image. College was the greatest 6 and a half years of my life. Now most people who go to school that long are called Doctors but not me, not the Kid! I was an English/Sociology Major because I like to read and that the Sociology building was between my Dorm and the Cafeteria. If there had of been a Med School between my Dorm and the liquor store then I really might have been a Doctor. It was also in College that I discovered that I had the ability to drink large quantities of alcohol with little to no repercussions. For the first time ever I felt totally okay with being me. I no longer felt alone and abandoned. I no longer felt the need to compare my insides to every one else’s outsides. I was the life of the party and could not be touched by anyone or anything. What I did not realize is that I had crossed a line that was now impossible to back track over.

Most arm chair quarterbacks thoroughly believe that Alcoholism is about making poor choices, but there comes a time in every alcoholics life where the choice factor goes away. No one chooses to destroy everyone that they have ever loved, no one says, hey when I grow up I want to be an alcoholic! How insane is that? Sometimes alcohol is the only thing that would shut up the voices in my head and deadened the empty space in my soul. Alcoholism is the only disease that tells you that you are okay right up to the point where it kills you. And for the record, when you are in the middle of it, sometimes it is just easier to say so be it!

I graduated from College, got married to someone who needed saving, and proceeded to try and make alcohol and real life work together. I was a functional alcoholic. A functional alcoholic is someone that you have never seen sober so you have no idea how they actually function, if you catch my drift. From 1995-2001, I wrecked cars, lost jobs, broke hearts and spread destruction in all directions. The only thing I had going for me was that I was likable, funny, and most people could see the real me begging to get out of the hell I had created. I remember being in a Motorcycle accident and not only destroying my face, but also getting arrested for a DWI. My pregnant Wife and my Grandparents had to bail my broken face and reputation out of jail. Shame and embarrassment ruled the day, but do you know what my number one thought was, “Theres a bottle hidden in the laundry room. If you can just get to it then this will all be okay.” I had become the pathetic mess that I had so often criticized in people that I considered weaker than I.

I went to rehab four times before I even considered taking a shot at Recovery. It was at that time that a Counselor of mine had a serious impact on me and I decided that the Universe wanted me to work with other Alcoholics and Drug Addicts. My motivation was all wrong because I was driven by my ego and an overwhelming desire for people to see what a perfect humanitarian I could be, and quite frankly it totally impressed Woman. Sad, huh? I got very good at my job very quickly and built a reputation for myself. If you wanted to know what J.D. was doing all you had to do was look outside and watch me walk on water. I took credit for the success of scores of Men who had taken the appropriate action to change their lives. This went along well for me until they started playing little tricks on me. All of a sudden they started to die. Game over, role credits no next season, and no do overs. I was not prepared. All of a sudden I had Mothers who had once hugged me and thanked me for giving them back their loved ones all of a sudden were now calling to tell me the funeral arraignments for their child. I snapped like a twig. I could not turn to God, because I had become God. I was pissed at God and the Universe for not following my plan. So I did what every good alcoholic/addict will do, I started getting loaded again. I no longer found purpose in my work so filling the empty hole was back to being the obsession and needless to say it was the sure fire option that always quieted the pain.

I showed up to the Rehab one day and passed out in my office. Needless to say, that job was over and I left the field as damaged goods, head hung in disgust, carried away in an ambulance. I could have given up at this point, but I didn’t. God wasn’t done with me yet. I poured myself back into my Recovery and took a Customer Service job that taught me humility that I had never experienced before. I got divorced and then married a Woman that to this day has been my best friend and partner in crime. She taught me unconditional love and I was able to rediscover my faith while I watched her build the foundation of her own. Life was simple, sober and satisfying.

Then the day came when the phone rang and the question was asked, “You wanna get back into the field again?” The call came from a man who had walked my stretcher to the ambulance on the day of my last relapse and greatest moment of disgrace. A man who had no reason to believe in me but understood that I had been given abilities that were being wasted and that my potential had still not fully been reached. Miracles really do happen. My first response was no and that was simply out of fear. Slowly I came around to the idea and with a great deal of trepidation I stepped back into the shark infested waters and have never looked back. People are still successful, and yes people still die. The difference is that I fully understand that I have nothing to do with any of it. I believe in what I do and work overtime so that the disease of addiction does not have the option to win.

Two weeks ago I was in a car wreck where I tried to drive my car under a bus. I broke my neck and back, but am fortunate enough not to have done permanent damage. To anyone else this may have been devastating, but for me I see it as mandatory time off with the people I love. I found out a long time ago that when God needs to get my attention, He never speaks softly! I love my life, broken neck and all and would trade nothing for my experience.

Now back to Jesse James. I have always been a fan, but a year ago he was on Donald Trump’s Celebrity Apprentice and he had a moment when he called Dennis Rodman out about his apparent problem with Alcohol. As far as I was concerned, it was pure balls. I was also aware of the work he has done with people in the Community to give back for the blessings of his success. My rehab is just outside of Austin, Texas and he and his wife have a house here. He is also part owner in The Austin Speed Shop so it made sense that this would not be the most inconvenient of circumstances. Mostly, I just care very deeply for the Men I have the privilege with which I get to work. Most people have no idea what it means to have to fully face yourself and then decide that its gonna take something bigger than you to change and then taking the action to do that. Someone believed in me years ago and I desperately believe in them. I love phone calls from Guys telling me that their lives are good. That their marriages are in tacked and that their Children love having their Dad’s back. That they are successful in their Recovery and that they would trade nothing for it. This seems pretty simple in the grand scheme of things, but can truly be an impossible dream for most alcoholic and addicts. This is why I want Jesse James to come to my rehab and spend a short amount of time making long term changes in the lives of Men who deserve to live.

I still believe I can pull this off. Compared to the rest of my life experience, this goal is a walk in the park. Somebody out there can make this happen, and I thank you in advance for reading this. If anyone out there is struggling with addiction please let me know and I will do whatever I can to help. It’s what I do and the surest way to insure that I get to continue to enjoy this wonderful life of productive Recovery.

Thank you,

J.D. Darley

- MayoPie

The following is by By Jody M Schoger

Today those of us grateful to be firmly planted on solid ground are talking about the catastrophic earthquake that has devastated portions of Haiti and killed, injured and misplaced millions in a country with a long history of hardship.

“After 9/11, the French newspaper Le Monde declared: We Are All Americans. And after yesterday’s earthquake, we are all Haitians,” Nicholas Kristof wrote in this morning’s New York Times. “Today, we are all Haitians. No country seems to have had worse luck with misrule, environmental mismanagement, natural disasters and poor governance than Haiti. And now the earthquake.”

The natural urge to help – Americans are some of the world’s most generous people – is to be commended and encouraged. A few steps to make sure your donation helps the organizations that can most effectively distribute aid.

In situations of like this, bigger IS better. The American Red Cross, and U.N.I.C.E.F., for example, have proven track records in assisting victims of natural disaster. Doctors Without Borders is another that comes to mind. Helping the Haitians get essential supplies probably won’t be happen through an organization you’ve never heard about. Go with the organizations that already have people on the ground.

But I’m no expert here. Below I’ve consolidated some lists of charities you can choose from, gathered from wire reports and Twitter.

“The best way for corporations to support relief efforts at the moment is to make cash donations,” said Caryl Stern, president and CEO of the U.S. Fund for UNICEF, the United Nations Children’s Fund. (Reuters report) “What we need in the first few days is to enable the humanitarian workers to do their jobs, to go in and do rescue and recovery… and that takes cash,” she said.

Chris Sacca, technology investor and guru, posted a number of great suggestions on his Twitter account . He encouraged his followers to donate to charity:water. “If you know me, you know how passionate I am about charity:water (@charitywater) and it’s work to bring clean water to the 1 billion people on the planet who don’t have it.”

- InterAction , a coalition of U.S.-based international non-governmental organizations, has a list of agencies responding and how to donate to them. Find it here

- Text Haiti to 90999 To donate $10 to the American Red Cross,. The amount will be added to your next phone bill. The organization is also accepting donations through its International Response Fund, http://www.redcross.org

- Text 501501 to donate $5 to Wyclef Jean’s Haitian Yele charity. The money will be added to your next phone bill.

- To find out how to help the International Rescue Committee, visit http://www.theIRC.org or call toll free, 1-877-REFUGEE.

What we do have now is 3 writers (if you include me as one. I think “writer” is a strong word. I prefer “doofus.”) The wonderful Jody Schroger and the eternally awesome Shauna Glenn are here to stay (at least until they get completely annoyed with my complete lack of organizational skills.) In fact, I’ve asked Shauna to HELP ME, because as I’ve stated, I’m not a functional human. So yes, Shauna and I are now co-editors or whatever you might call it. We’re going to come up with cooler titles, though. “The Dragons” or something. We haven’t talked about it, but every organization should have a position called “The Dragon.” I’m sure she’ll agree. Who wouldn’t? Exactly.

What we’re going to try and accomplish here is help people while making others laugh. We may walk a fine line from time to time, but our intentions will always be 100% positive. If we offend you, we are sorry and can assure you it wasn’t itentional and before you cast judgment, we would like you to at least consider the possibility that you’re a jerk. How do you know? Well, if you’ve been called a jerk more than twice in the last year, you probably are one. You see, most people won’t take the time to tell you that you’re a jerk. So if 2 people actually do tell you, multiply that number by pi and add 47. That’s how many people are thinking it. I didn’t write the formula, so don’t get all jerky, jerk. Numbers don’t lie.

So, somewhere exists a list of people that originally signed up for the Bloggess Army. I don’t know where that list is… the person responsible for organizing it… left or something? I don’t know. I may have it somewhere. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed any mixers or events, but in the near future, we will be kicking ass and taking names. Also, a lot of the people that signed up were all “woo hoo! let’s make fun of people” and then when we started actually helping people the appeal wore off pretty much immediately. So here’s the deal: We’re just going to start over and it you want to be a part of something good, join us. If not, we’ll destroy you. Probably. I don’t know, we’ll see. We’ll start with sneers, mocking and giggled whispers just loud enough to hear, but just quiet enough not to be understood. Do not fuck with us.

If you want to be a part of the most awesome army ever, e-mail mayopie.ba@gmail.com. I’m also going to put up a link or something. Or Shauna will. I don’t know. Someone will probably do something at some point. We’ll see how it goes.

If you were in the original army and already have your codename, just re-email it to me. What will be expected of you is very little. RT some messages on twitter, click some stuff, maybe fill out a form or two, and of course, harass celebrities. There’s no way we can take that out of the mix. It’s fun and you can dance to it.

One thing is for sure, the new year is going to be something remember for the Bloggess Army. Ahhh yeahhhh…. Happy New Year! Vagina.

-Mayo Pie (Clay)

P.S. Please visit hope4peyton.org for updates on Anissa and keep praying. This woman can do anything. I wish I had half of her will and determination.

UPDATE: I am so not intelligent, but you knew this. I totally forgot we have the list of original bloggess army members and their codenames here. I’m so stupid. You can also press the button on the top of the page that says “Soldiers.” See? I so wasn’t kidding. So here’s the deal: If you’re on the list and would like to be removed, let me know. I’ll add the new additions. You can also see which codenames are already spoken for. If you see one you really want, let me know and I’ll contact the person that owns it and question their commitment to the cause. If I find them to be anything less than willing to die for us, I’ll strip their title and it’s yours.

Also, I find twitter to not be a great form for communication, so if I don’t have your e-mail address, I’d like it. Don’t worry, I’ll almost never send you porn.

Undomestic Diva

#prayersforanissa