I'd been thinking a lot about moving forward today, even before I heard the news about the Columbia Space Shuttle. I know the two items aren't linked, but like so much about the human endeavor, lines of thought and existence merge and converge. Whatever you call it, be it irony or happenstance, it always seems to me to be a punctuation mark, one upon the other.

Last night I had dinner with L, a delightful new friend. One of the most interesting things we talked about is how we, as human beings, are in the world. We talked about how our perception of everything around us is colored, textured and interpreted by our experiences. How we interpret everything we experience through a prism of our own construction. How someone looks at us and we interpret it through, all at once, our own anxieties, our past experiences and our own preconceived notion about ourselves and our surroundings.

That's how innocent remarks manifest into personal attacks in our minds – no matter how innocuous their beginnings. ``You look nice today'' grows into an indictment of our management style in a matter of seconds as we roll it around like a pinball between the way our parents treated us, the way a second-grade teacher made fun of our shoes and the parting shot our spouse made as we went out the door three weeks ago next Sunday.

L's point was quite profound to me: our expectations for the future, too, are bound by our expectations. In essence, our past acts like a mold into which we inject our future. It's a pre-shaped shell that we hope to someday fill. They are boundaries outside of which we may not grow.

That made sense to me on such an organic level that I really was struck by its simplicity, and by how profound it was. And just how true that is in my life.

I know how true that has been today as news coverage of this tragedy and the loss of seven courageous astronauts. Everything was filtered through past events. Was it a terrorist attack? Was it like what happened to Challenger? Was this an attack on the first Israeli astronaut?

That's not to say it's a bad thing to remember our history. Through history comes context and comprehension.

It's important to remember our past. As the sage said – those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.

Perhaps it's also true that those who refuse to let go of history can never escape it.

Just some food for thought.

More soon.

So, now Miguel Estrada is a floor-vote away from Senate confirmation to the Federal bench – the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia. The Judiciary Committee rammed him through on a 10-9 vote.

Without being forced to answer questions about his personal views of the law – while in fact having his views shielded by an Administration that now routinely denies all requests for information under the Freedom of Information Act.

Have you heard about this? Have you heard ANYONE in the media discussing this development? Isn't ANYONE pissed off about this?

The Federal bench to which the Bush Administration nominated Estrada – who routinely pals with right-wing nut Ann Coulter (including helping her with her insanely inaccurate book, Slander) – already has upheld an unconstitutional refusal to release information about his Energy Policy advisors by Vice-President Dick Cheney. A bench that bends as far to the Right as the San Francisco Federal Appeals court bench bends to the left.

Not only do we now have a slate of extreme Right-wing judges ready to move onto the Federal Bench, we have the FCC ready to relax ownership rules for radio and television stations – clearing the way for our airwaves, already owned by an ever-shrinking number of media conglomerates, to grow ever smaller. The FCC is considering lifting a ban on one television network buying out another. We are a step closer to the day when NBC will buy out CBS as AOL/Time Warner tries to preserve its profit margin.

We are perilously close to the time when one political party will control government, while gigantic corporations, which helped elect that party through massive political contributions, act in concert to control the flow of information ABOUT that government to the general public.

Whether we invade Iraq or not, the smokescreen of Saddam Hussein has done its job – it's allowed REAL concerns about what the Bush Administration is doing to slip, unseen, under the radar. Stealth government.

But don't worry. Just so long as Friends will be back for another season. No reason to do anything drastic. Like, maybe, voting. All those political parties are the same, you know. No differences between them. No sir.

More soon.

You can't work at a major newspaper without knowing what it means when someone has a `fo-ya.' It's newspaper-speak for a request for information filed under the Freedom of Information Act – FOIA.

The Freedom of Information Act works as one of the checks and balances that keeps our government under control, along with sunshine laws and open-meeting laws. It keeps our government from enacting laws and regulations in the dark – and it helps to hold those who make laws and regulations accountable to the people they serve.

One of the most distressing and dangerous steps the Bush Administration made when it took office was to scoff any attempt to find out just exactly what went on behind those closed administration doors. Dubya made certain any papers left from his time as Governor of Texas were under lock and key at his father's Presidential Library, they refused FOIA requests for information about such important tasks as drafting the administration's Energy Policy – going so far as to force the Government Accounting Office to sue.

The Federal District court that governs the District of Columbia, a panel that is remarkably conservative – the same panel that gave Kenneth Starr carte blanche to investigate federal sexual activity – upheld the administration's opinion. Sadly, with another conservative judge added to the Supreme Court, a decision such as that could conceivably be upheld.

How the Bush Administration is taking another step in controlling the flow of information for its own ends.

The latest is in the confirmation process for Miguel Estrada for a spot on the D.C. Federal Bench.

Estrada has very little to qualify him for the federal bench to begin with – his paper trail is scant. He has refused to put his judicial views on the record, and he has stonewalled the Senate Judiciary committee during his confirmation process.

Here's where the Administration has stonewalled: it has refused to release any memorandums of law written by Estrada during his time at the Solicitor General's office.

In essence, they are saying that, since Estrada is Hispanic, he should be rubber stamped to the federal bench – where there are a number of insiders who suspect he will fill one of the inevitable openings on the Supreme Court as the first Hispanic Justice.

But it doesn't work that way. And the Administration can't have it both ways.

Dubya has come out against Affirmative Action by backing an attack on an admission policy at the University of Michigan. It called the policy a `quota system' and trotted out Condi Rice to say so – which worked about as well as a Rush Limbaugh ad for Slim Fast.

Here is a case of Dubya trying to have his cake and eat it too. He's expecting the Senate Judiciary Committee confirm a judge simply on the basis of his ethnicity – since they, and he, refuse to release any justification regarding his suitability to sit on a Federal Bench.

That's hypocritical on its face.

The New York Times listed more than enough reasons to reject Estrada, although Orrin Hatch will try to muscle him through, along with a resurrected Charles Pickering and Priscilla Owen – three arch-conservative ideologues.

``Mr. Estrada, a native of Honduras and graduate of Harvard Law School, has a strong legal résumé,'' The Times points out. ``But people who have worked with him over the years, at the solicitor general's office and elsewhere, report that his interpretation of the law is driven by an unusually conservative agenda. Paul Bender, a law professor and former deputy solicitor general, has called Mr. Estrada an ideologue, and said he "could not rely on his written work as a neutral statement of the law." In private practice, Mr. Estrada defended anti-loitering laws that civil rights and groups have attacked as racist.''

The editorial went on:

``Senators have a constitutional duty to weigh the qualifications of nominees for the federal judiciary. But they cannot perform this duty when the White House sends them candidates whose record is a black hole. Mr. Estrada's case is particularly troubling because the administration has more information about his views, in the form of his solicitor general memos, but is refusing to share it with the Senate.
``If Mr. Estrada is confirmed, he is likely to be high on the administration's list for the next Supreme Court vacancy. The D.C. circuit is a traditional feeder to the Supreme Court, and it is widely thought that for political reasons the administration would like to name a Hispanic.
``The very absence of a paper trail on matters like abortion and civil liberties may be one reason the administration chose him. It is also a compelling — indeed necessary — reason to reject him.''

So, the billion-dollar question is this: Is the United States Senate part of the system of checks and balances? Or is it just another rubber stamp?

More soon.

Consider this my attempt to avoid watching the State of the Union Address. My system can be spoon-fed just so much before the old B.S. Detector goes off – which usually happens as soon as that guy walks down the aisle and says ``Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.''

Besides. I'm feeling much too good today. And no, I'm not going to explain why.

However, I have been in a wistful mood today, in between writing three different feature stories. And I'm waiting for Gilmore Girls to start. That ought to just about explain to you what kind of mood I'm in. Some days you need a Col. MacKenzie fix; some days you just need Lorelai Gilmore.

When I get in a wistful mood, I bring out a story that I haven't been able to put together without the need of insulin. It's a short story that had its genesis in an actual event that had an Aww factor of about 999.9, and it was one of those events that make that sign of Ahhhhhhh come out of your throat because it just says something better than words could possibly express.

The original moment took place at a writer's conference I had attended, and where I had gotten to know the people who ran the event. A very nice couple who had built a little writer's conference that drew a few locals into a Writer's Conference that drew headliners. This particular year, it was Dave Barry, Mitch Albom, Ridley Pearson, Terry McMillan, Carrie Fisher, Dan Millman, John Saul . . . You get the picture.

J had this dream to create a community for writers that could nurture and support the creative people around him. He envisioned a workshop where writers could meet with other writers – and meet with editors – to improve their craft. This particular year seem to be a watershed year for him. J and his wife S worked year-around on this one particular event, which took place the week leading up to, and including, the Labor Day Weekend.

So it was Sunday, the last full day of the conference, and I had been sitting next to S in the corner of the grand ballroom of this gorgeous resort hotel that was the home of this Cadillac of conferences. J took a moment to say a few thank-yous – something he does every year.

He started talking about what he had done before this dream took over his life. He talked about what a gamble it had been to give up a 9-to-5 career, a successful career at that, to pursue a dream. He talked about what it had been like to get that first conference off the ground.

And then he began talking about S. He talked about what she, too, had sacrificed to his dream, and how she had taken the dream into her heart. That's when he began to tear up. He told an anecdote about what a great partner S had been. Then, for the first time, he looked at S. And he started to say thank you.

He began by thanking her for believing in him when there were lots of reasons not to, and for believing in a dream that could easily have been too big. And then he couldn't speak.

He paused for a minute.

But the words wouldn't come. And he began to sob.

You could hear a pin drop through a ballroom crowded wall-to-wall with people from a dozen countries and maybe three dozen of the 50 states.

No one moved for what seemed like forever – it always seems like forever when you watch someone cry.

And then S stood up and walked to the portable stage, climbed the stairs and crossed to the podium to her husband's side. She put her hands on each side of his face and held it for a moment, looking into his eyes. Then she put her arms around him and held him. And then she walked him off the stage.

At the time I watched this moment unfold, I was divorced six months and feeling not-at-all in tune with the whole man-woman thing. But in that moment, I knew what it was that I wanted in my life. I wanted to be so incredibly thankful to someone for being in my life that I couldn't express it. Someone that would reach with me for the stars – both mine and hers – a couple that steadied each other when they wobbled.

Never accuse me of setting my sights low.

More soon.

Contrary to what some of my friends might think, I do date. Occasionally. Well, occasionally might be stretching it. Once in a blue moon might be more accurate. And you know how often blue moons roll around.

For starters, I totally despise the dating process – I hate bars. I cannot abide meet markets – partly because I get passed over more often than last week's ground chuck. And lately I've turned grayer than last week's ground chuck. My days of being young and hip are over. Now I remember when I was young and hope I don't need a hip replacement

But being an old dog does have some advantages. I now know that there are some critical questions that must be asked. And it embarrasses me – because the information I need comes from a question I never believed I would ask.

``What's your sign?'

How leisure suit can you get?

To my credit, when I ask that question, I don't ask with that '70's, inquisitive air. It's not like I give a rat's you-now-what anyone's sign is. With one possible exception.

I've just learned there's only one way for me to get along with an Aries woman – turn tail and run like hell!

Okay, okay, okay – I know. It's not nice to make generalities like that. Nothing against Aries women – they're fine people. I wish them all the best. Maybe it's just that I'm allergic to them.

I was married to an Aries. Not learning from that experience, I dated two other Aries women after my divorce. Next time, I'll just opt for a baseball bat upside my head instead.

I am a Geminii. Not that I'm all that sure what that means, in its entirety. I know that's the sign of the twins. And BOTH of us are allergic to Aries.

From my experience with this particular Fire sign, I have noted that there are three favorite topics of conversation with an Aries:

`Me.'

`Me.'

And `What do YOU think about me?'

In hindsight, I have noticed the pattern. There is a powerful, initial attraction. And by the time the sizzle dies down, I end up with a ring in my nose and the world revolves around her. Maybe it's just that I'm too laid back and easy-going to get along with a Type A personality – I'm convince that the term Type A refers to Aries.

But I'm not bitter. No. Not me.

I know there are exceptions out there. Not that I'm all that anxious to find out.

So I am now looking for a single woman, who's sign is ABA. Anything But Aries.

But I am open to suggestions. Please. Anything. Any idea at all. I'm not proud.

More soon.