Last night I attended the launch party for the second issue of the St Petersburg Review on Macdougal. It was a big night. I think I'm still processing it and will have to write more later, but in the meantime, get your own: highly recommended.
Long story short: it was really great to spend time with friends and meet other like-minded people, to be able to talk about writing and literature and academia in a constructive way. It was a little like being in Russia only not - surly bartender and all. Vodka. Smoked salmon tartlets. Techno music. It was lovely.
We do these things without the promise of financial gain, barely allowing ourselves the distant hope of compensation, but we do it because we love it, because we have to, because our souls will accept no other sustenance. And thank heavens for that. Labors of love, indeed.
Speaking of: A quick reminder: the war in Iraq is costing American taxpayers $720 million each and every day, or a total of $1.4 trillion to date, according to the American Friends Service Committee. That's like saying (figuratively) that I spent $2.50 on the war today, or that each of us has paid $4600 (not including interest and future expenditures and repercussions and other war efforts - in Afghanistan, for example - and not taking into account proportions or actual mathematics, of course) over the last five years. That's a lot of money. The daily cost of the war is enough to pay for my rent for the next ... 80,000 years. I love my neighborhood and all, but that's a big commitment.
For actual researched, informed, and properly calculated statistics, you might try National Priorities.org or zFacts.com or any news organization, but you should definitely try. Peace is cheaper. (Two weeks to election day.)
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