You are more than welcome — encouraged even — to copy and paste the following to your own Senator. I sent the following to Sen. Kerry earlier today:

Dear Senator Kerry,

I am urging you to put all available energy and resources into the prompt passage of the health care reform bill that was just passed in the House.

With the Democrats in control of the White House, the House and Senate, there is absolutely no reason why this bill should not pass. There are only excuses. And, frankly, we have all had more than enough of those.

No one disputes that our country has many talented doctors and amazing facilities. It’s the access to that system that’s the issue. Our citizenry’s access to our health system compared to what is available in other Western nations, well, that is simply a source of shameful embarrassment. We absolutely can and should correct this. Immediately.

Under the status quo, we are paying far too much for the system’s flaws. As I’m sure you know, people who don’t have insurance or any other means to pay for medical needs simply go to the emergency room for “free” service. Not only does this clog the ER with non-emergency issues, it means higher costs for those of us who do have insurance. The hospitals pass the expense of indigent care onto those of who pay. This process, which is happening right now, is much more costly than an effective public option, such as is outlined in the House bill.

So, again, I urge you to do everything you can to get this bill passed, intact, and in the shortest possible time frame.

Thank you,

Jeff Haynes

Never mind what can happen in six weeks.

Six words is more than enough to change everything: “Meg called. We got our match.”

Jade Yanghui

Those were the words, and this was the first photo — the first sight — I had of our daughter. When Kim and I started the adoption process, we fully expected this day would come. But the call was still a surprise. A big surprise. I’m told that in those first few moments I turned white. I wouldn’t doubt it — I know my head was pounding.

Even though we’ve been working toward this point for a long time, suddenly the work left to be done seemed like a mountain right in our path. But every look at our girl’s photos was more than enough of a motivator to get where we needed to go. And as soon as possible.

Jade Yanghui

This amazing little girl, who turns 2 in January, is waiting for us in China. And I can’t wait for the day when we can go get her. Right now, we don’t know exactly when that will be.

Before that call, before those six words, it had been an October like many others: Kim’s birthday, my birthday, and fall colors. Just days before Jade Yanghui came into our lives, we took a trip to Borderland to appreciate the season.

Borderland

Borderland

Borderland

But I’m betting that next October, however, will be unlike any prior October for us. Yes, we’ll be doing many of the same things, but with a new life and new soul who will certainly be the center of our universe. (And, yes, it will also mean after a decades-long break, I can return to the world of costumes and trick-or-treating.)

Three distinct voices — already familiar to many — will be resonating together in Cambridge soon.

Cambridge’s own published poet Marc Zegans, profiled here, will be performing along with another local artist, musician Arthur Nasson of Arlington, as well as Canadian singer-songwriter Donna Creighton at the Lily Pad on Oct. 2.

Nominated in 2008 for a Canadian Folk Music Award, and the four-time winner of the London Music award, Creighton toured for ten years with Borealis recording artist, Sirens, and has appeared on stage with artists like Lisa Loeb. Nasson has released five albums in the past four years, including his most recent work, False Prophets.

And poet/spoken word artist Zegans will be previewing material from his soon-to-be-released second album, Marker and Parker, recorded with legendary jazz pianist Don Parker. Zegans has previously released the album Night Work in 2007, as well as a book of haikus titled Pillow Talk.

The show starts at 7 p.m.

For those of you who care — and especially those of you claiming not to care — pay attention.

The all-too-frequently mutilated phrase intended to express indifference is, “I couldn’t care less.” Think about it, and suddenly all the other mutations of this expression seem as silly as they are off target in stating true apathy.

Very often, we hear, “I could care less.” Simply put, this means the speaker does in fact care, at least to some measurable degree.

But the butchering of the expression gets even sillier.

Many times, I’ve heard something like, “I could care o’ less.” I have no bloody clue what this means, other than it makes the speaker look stupid.

My guess is that this bizarre phrase is an inbred descendant of the properly structured, “I could not have cared less.” (I’m not sure, but I’d bet over time the “have” became “of,” and the “not” was simply dropped. Eventually, the “of” changed its position in the sentence and became “o,’” and the phrase completed its journey to the swamplands of illiteracy.)

Andy Warhol may have been correct in predicting each of us will have his/her own 15 minutes of fame. Think about the impression you’ll make.

You’ve heard it.

Somewhere, you’ve encountered that fingernails-on-the-chalkboard experience: a little child trailing its parent repeatedly yelling (with increasing loudness), “Mom! … Mom! … Mom! … Mom! … Mom! … Mom! … Mom! … Mom!” It’s the kind of thing that can spur homicidal tendencies in anyone.

Then it dawned on me.

Every day I’m telling God to damn this or damn that; bless this or that schmuck who just sneezed; or thanking God for for one thing or another that, most likely, is pretty damn trivial. Maybe this was precisely what the 3rd Commandment was designed to prevent: using God’s name in vain. If a single child screaming “Mom! Mom! Mom!” can make someone crazy, I just can’t imagine what billions of people doing the same thing on a daily basis would do.

So to provide God with some relief, I’m planning to change my ways. From now on, I’m calling on Bob. TV remote doesn’t work? “Bob damn it!” Someone cuts you off in traffic? “Bob damn you!”

Like any great plan, this one is totally customizable. You can pick anyone you want to do your damning/blessing: Jim, Gary, Sue, Linda, etc. Not to mention that this is designed in such a way that the workload gets shared. Think about it: there must be what, at least two or three Bobs in heaven? I’m sure they can easily divide up all of my daily requests.

Of course, this new approach includes the flexibility to scale my responses based on the situation. If I’m in a dire need of getting my favorite snack fix, and the local CVS actually has peanut butter M&Ms in stock, well, “Thank Bob.” But if I’m a passenger in a plane that has to make an emergency landing, and everyone walks away from the wreckage unharmed, well, on that occasion, I might direct my gratitude over Bob’s head.

What a story.

A nude model poses or a popular women’s magazine.  Nothing new, right?  But wait — she’s not your typical model.  She’s a size 12.  And even though being an American woman and a size 12 is hardly uncommon, it definitely is unusual in the modeling world.  So hats (and clothes) off to the model and photographer and the magazine for the shot.

And it’s also encouraging that the general reaction to the image has been favorable.  And why not?  Is there any more compelling story than the skin narrative?

I admit that as a photographer, I feel that costumes, makeup and props can all be fun to add to a shoot.  I really like mixing in elements from a person’s life to the photo to help tell his/her story.  But I’ve come to realize that there is no story more honest that the one told by a person’s skin.

Think about it: the bumps, the bruises, the scars, the pigmentation, the wrinkles, the grooming/hygiene, the muscle, the fat, the underlying veins and bones — all of it creates a skin narrative of our own individual stories and uniqueness.  And that’s pretty cool.

In an era when “reality” is often heard but rarely seen, this is a pretty welcome change.

Take your time. Really. I’ve got as long as I can hold my breath.

Hysteria is pop, but Pyromania is rock.

Both have their merits. And both can certainly be viewed as successes. But there was definitely a break in style in the time and transition from one to the other.

Personally, I’ll take Pyromania.

The NFL clearly has a bias toward cats.

Think about it: the Bengals, the Lions, the Panthers and the Jaguars — all NFL team names derived from some form of cat.  Where are the dogs? No bulldogs? No boxers?

But the bias runs even deeper. Here’s the part where I confess something awful: a long time ago, while I was driving at night, a cat suddenly jumped in front of my car, causing me to hit and kill it. There was nothing I could have done — it all happened in a flash. I have no idea why the cat decided to bolt in front of my car, but I know I felt awful about it. The experience made me sick to my stomach. It was truly an accident, but there’s no denying I killed the cat.

That was 20 years ago. And to this day, I have yet to get approval from NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell that would allow me the privilege to play in the league. So, once again, the league is taking a preferential stance when it comes to cats.

Poet James Magill is doing exactly that.

He has a 65-page collection of his poetry, “Reflections on the Human Condition,” and he has generously allowed me to reprint one of my favorites.

STREET by James Magill

Weathered and forgotten man
Papered on an open bench.

Moves much of his world
Pushing a rusted shopping cart.

Never complains or talks too much
Counts pieces of his life in the dark.

He sometimes sits and longingly waits
Often looking toward the Eastern Gate. ~

His poetry is worth further exploration, as is the story behind the poet. Fans, fellow writers and prospective publishers of his collection can learn more at his web site.