Paul Tackles Religion: "Oy to the World..."

Holiday greetings from your pal, Paul

Stop the presses: MITT ROMNEY BELIEVES IN GOD!

Not only that, he respects ALL religions, blowing kisses at:

"[T]he profound ceremony of the Catholic Mass, the approachability of God in the prayers of the evangelicals, the tenderness of spirit among the Pentecostals, the confident independence of the Lutherans, the ancient traditions of the Jews, unchanged through the ages, and the commitment to frequent prayer of the Muslims."

Forgive me my trespasses, but what a mouthful of pandering claptrap.

Do you think Mitt was sitting at the breakfast table with his wife and suddenly blurted out, "Ann, I was just thinking about the confident independence of the Lutherans?"

Or do you think some speechwriter flak said, "How can we smooch the most butts?"
On a personal level, however, thanks for the appreciation of Jewish traditions. What's your favorite, Mitt? The weirdly paganistic circumcision rite known as a bris, or Bar Mitzvahs costing six figures and headlining the Beach Boys?"
ROMNEY CLAIMS MORMONS DON'T EAT CHILDREN

Frankly, I don't care if Romney believes that an angel directed a teenager named Joe Smith in upstate New York to a set of golden tablets containing the true words of God, including the admonition to marry often, Joe himself taking a couple dozen wives, two of whom were apparently fourteen years old on their wedding night.

Oh? He does? Really?

...BUT GOD SUPPORTS MIKE HUCKABEE!

This must be true because it comes from the Liberty University website:

When Liberty University Chancellor Jerry Falwell Jr. introduced Republican presidential candidate Gov. Mike Huckabee at Wednesday’s convocation, he said Huckabee told university leaders during a visit here last year that “if this candidacy really took off it would have to be a God thing.”

It seems God has done his thing.

The junior Falwell was referring to Huckabee's surge in the Iowa polls. Apparently, God was so busy passing out I-Love-Huck buttons in the heartland, He (or She) fouled up and let that 7.9 earthquake hit Peru.

Hold your fire! Is this the same God who voted for George W. Bush -- several times in Ohio in 2004?

The Huck surge is coming from evangelicals, a group not known for its sense of humor. I mean, when's the last time you saw an evanglical wearing a t-shirt that said: "What Would Scooby Do?" Some believe that the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints is a "cult." Excuse me, but aren't all religions?
Thanks to The Los Angeles Times, we just learned that Huckabee believes in freeing rapists and putting AIDS patients in prison. Okay, so I exaggerate. But, here's what's true. As Arkansas Governor, Huckabee twisted the arms of the Parole Board to free a convicted, violent rapist because the man had accepted Jesus and been saved while in prison. The rapist was released, and before you could say "Norman Mailer and Jack Henry Abbott," the man killed two women. Whoops. Back in 1992, as a candidate for the Senate, Huckabee opposed increasing federal funds for an AIDS cure and endorsed a plan to "isolate" AIDS patients.

THIS NAKED SCRIVENER'S FAVORITE RELIGIOUS INJUNCTION

Chapter 24, Verse 2 of the Koran gently admonishes:

"The woman and the man guilty of adultery or fornication, flog each of them with 100 stripes: Let no compassion move you in their case, in a matter prescribed by Allah, if you believe in Allah and the Last Day."

Wait! My wife, Renee, has just interrupted this BLOG. Background info. Renee is a graduate of Archbishop Curley High School in Miami. (Or, as some wags call it, "Archbishop Larry, Moe & Curley High School." Hence, Renee has a religious upbringing. She is also an alum of the University of Florida, where the religion is football.

Actual Renee/Paul dialogue of two minutes ago:

"Don't write about religion. You'll make people angry."

"That's my job."

"When are you going to get over the Spanish Inquisition?"

"When you get over the Crucifixion."

WE RETURN YOU NOW TO THE BLOG, where we will follow Renee's advice and move on.
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PAL PENS THRILLER

My Miami pal, former TV Anchorgal Jennifer Valoppi, has just published her first novel.
It's "Certain Cure," an end-days thriller that bridges the gap between science and religion – where Judeo-Christian prophecies intersect with modern physics and nanotechnology. Yes, religion again!

You can read an excerpt here, and order a signed copy here.
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THIS MAKES ME FEEL OLD...
Caroline Kennedy, daughter of JFK, turned 50 last month. Hitting the Big Five-Oh 50 in 2008: Prince. How can this be? To steal the lyrics from Tevye: I don't remember growing older. When did they?

At the other end of the spectrum, Diablo Cody, screenwriter of the lavishly praised new comedy, “Juno,” is 29, sports tattoos, swears she mutters “cock ring” in her sleep, refers to herself as the “prodigal C_ _ T” (Renee will not let me type the word), and says the first movie she saw in a theater was “E.T.”

Diablo's blog is entitled "The Pussy Ranch" and is worth a visit. [I have it on good authority that Romney and Huckabee surf Pussy Watch daily]. And yes, she's the author of "Candy Girl," an account of the year she spent working as a stripper in Minneapolis.

With joy to all and malice to none, except a few people I'd like to "flog with 100 stripes,"

Paul

Holiday Tips

Patty here…

On Saturday, as I decorated the house for Christmas, my mind turned to thoughts of holiday tipping. I know how much to tip at restaurants, because I worked as a waitress at the Burien Black Angus when the uniform was still a circular brown skirt that barely covered my ass. Beyond that, the etiquette waters turn murky. For example, how much does one tip the maid and the gardener? I'll admit that my tipping education is sorely lacking. My family didn’t have maids or gardeners. When our house got cleaned, my mother did it. When the grass got ankle deep, my father mowed it…or not.

Some people go on a tipping frenzy during the holidays. I know because I see them running into the street at o’dark thirty to slip the garbage man an Andrew Jackson or two. In the past, I wouldn't have considered doing such a thing for many reasons, the first of which is this: I’ve never met my garbage guy. He arrives when I’m still in bed, dreaming up murder plots. So, how would I know if the person accepting my twenty-dollar bills is MY rubbish picker-upper or just somebody filling in for the day? I do give Christmas money to the British lad who cleans my house once a week, but I have never given holiday greenbacks to my hairdresser, because I tip him generously all during the year.

I began to worry that I was just ignorant of social norms, or even worse, a total cheapskate. To assuage my anxiety, I went looking for answers at the Emily Post Institute, where I found a guide to holiday tipping for 2007:

The holiday season is the traditional time to say “thank you” and “I appreciate the work you do” to those who have provided service to you throughout the year. Don’t forget that one of the best ways to express your appreciation is a hand-written note, which should accompany any holiday tip.

Whether and how much to tip varies widely, depending on:

* the quality and frequency of the service
* your relationship with the service provider
* where you live (amounts are usually higher in large cities)
* the frequency of the service or how long you have worked together
* your budget
* regional customs
* the type of establishment: deluxe vs. moderate

If you regularly tip at the time of service, you may forgo or give a more modest holiday tip. Try to include your child in gift decisions for teachers, day care providers, nannies, and babysitters.

Every situation is different, so let common sense, specific circumstances, and holiday spirit be your guides. The tip amounts in this chart are merely guidelines. What to give is always an individual decision.

Au pair: A gift from your family (or one-week’s pay), plus a small gift from your child

Babysitter, regular: One evening’s pay, plus a small gift from your child

Barber: Cost of one haircut or a gift

Beauty salon staff: The cost of one salon visit, split among the staff

Child’s teacher: Check your school’s policy first, as gift giving may be prohibited. If allowed, then give a gift that is a token of appreciation from your child, not cash. Possibilities: a homemade gift made by your child, a book or a picture frame. Or, consider participating in a joint gift from the class as a whole. Possibilities: a gift certificate to a restaurant or bookstore.

Day care providers: $25 to $70 each, plus a small gift from your child for the providers who give direct care to your child(ren)

Dog walker: One week’s pay or a gift

Fitness trainer, personal: Up to the cost of one session

Garage attendants: $10 to $30 each

Home health employees: A gift, but check with the agency first, as most agencies have a no gifts or no tips policy. If this is the case, consider giving a donation to the agency.

Housekeeper/cleaner: Up to one week’s pay or a gift

Letter carriers: U.S. government regulations permit carriers to accept gifts worth up to $20 per occasion, not cash

Live-in help (Nanny, Housekeeper, Cook, Butler): One week’s to one month’s salary based on tenure and customs in your area, plus a personal gift

Massage therapist: Up to one session’s fee or a gift

Newspaper deliverer: $10 to $30

Nurse, private: A gift, not cash

Nursing home employees: A gift, not cash, but check the company policy first. Consider giving a gift that could be enjoyed by or shared among the floor staff: flowers, chocolates or food items.

Package deliverer: A small gift if you receive deliveries regularly; most delivery companies discourage or prohibit cash gifts

Personal caregiver: Up to one week’s salary or a small gift

Pet Groomer: If the same person grooms your pet all year, up to one session’s fee or a gift

Pool cleaner: Cost of one cleaning, to be split among crew

Residential building personnel: Check with your building association first to see if there is a holiday fund that is shared among all the building personnel

Superintendent: $20 to $80

Doorman: $15 to $80; $15 or more each, for multiple doormen

Elevator operator: $15 to $40

Handyman: $15 to $40

Trash/recycling collectors: $10 to $30 each (for private service); for municipal service, check local regulations

Yard and garden worker: $20 to $50

Tipping all those people takes a lot of bread. I needed a flip side, so I consulted Miss Manners. Judith Martin, author of Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, Freshly Updated, maintains that tipping in general is a "silly system." I sort of agree with her. Still, the to-tip-or-not-to-tip question has put me in a state of holiday ennui. Maybe I'll just pour myself some eggnog and check the balance in my savings account.

Happy Holiday Tipping to You and Yours!

When You Hear That Little Voice Inside ...

... don't bully it!

from Jacqueline

I read those words about fifteen years ago, and immediately copied them into a notebook. Really simple stuff, eh? The aphorism was in a little book with other quotes along lines of, “When you bite into a ripe peach, expect the juice to run down your chin." I thought about that first quote again this week, when I stopped to listen to that voice and made a huge decision which I will share with you in my post today.

As you may remember, I went back to school this fall, starting a graduate degree course in Mythology and Depth Psychology that I have wanted to embark upon for a good ten years. Time and lack of money had prevented me from stepping out on this new path, but finally I thought, “The heck with it – just take the leap.” I worked out how I could balance my writing, my studying, the inevitable papers, and the rest of my life. More than anything, I held a belief that this course would be the catalyst in me making some kind of leap in my writing, after all, mythology is at the heart of story, it is story that touches the human condition. I was thrilled to be accepted and was like a dog with two tails in September when I started school. I’ve been immersed in some of the great works of civilization, some of the epic stories, and have taken on Freud and Jung to a greater depth. And I am completely up to date with my work.

Then, starting with a whisper, I began to hear that little voice, and at first I didn’t really want to hear what the voice was saying, because it wasn’t part of the plan. So I pushed it aside, until last week, when the little voice went up a decibel and I heard it loud and clear – mainly because I stopped to listen: Engagement in this work was taking valuable creative and spiritual energy away from my writing, rather than contributing to it. I was pouring all my creativity into the coursework. I may have the physical energy, I may have been able to compartmentalize my day, but something wasn’t working, and as woo-woo as it sounds, I can only describe that something as creative and spiritual energy. So, what did I do?

First, I bawled my eyes out.

But I knew what to come next, because writing is what I love, it is my passion, even on the not-so-good days. It comes first, and has to come first, always. So, this week I withdrew from the course, with a great degree of sadness, yet at the same time, knowing it was the right thing to do.

The events of this week and my emotional response to them reminded me – once again – of a story told to me by a friend some seventeen years ago. I was going through one of those troublesome times in life that we all encounter in one shape or form, what my dear friend Helen calls an AFGO – “another f*****g growth opportunity” – when my friend, John, came around to my house. I was moving at the time, so there was no furniture and we sat on the stairs with a beer each, tucking into sandwiches made with doorstep size slices of crusty white bread and slabs of sharp cheddar cheese, and John told me a story about another friend of his. The friend’s marriage had recently ended, and at the same time, he had been laid off from a high-flying job. He had been put in touch with an executive recruiting and counseling firm, and the person who interviewed him suggested he write an essay outlining the major milestones in his career and how he felt about them – a bit of the corporate touchy-feely stuff. Well, John’s friend went home and sat down to write his essay. Only he became completely immersed in his task and ended up writing through the night, just writing and writing and writing, and didn’t stop writing when the sun came up. And after he wrote the last word, exhausted, and read through his very long essay, he realized that what he had done was write about every single big event in his life, and how he felt about it. And the “ah-ha” for him, was that – right from childhood – any time of grief, of disappointment, or challenge, was the direct result of him ignoring his own best advice, a little voice inside that told of his discomfort.

There are a few people who know that my very serious riding accident in 2001 followed a time of ignoring that voice. I had a day job, and though that day job wasn’t particularly well-paid, it allowed me time to write, and I had just started my first-ever work of fiction – MAISIE DOBBS. But I became worried about not having a 401K, of not having savings, that sort of thing, and moved jobs, into a monumentally demanding role. Great benefits, except the one I most cherished – time to write. The voice kept telling me to give it up, but I ignored it. At the end of one business trip, a friend asked me how the new job was going and I said, “I’d give my right arm not to be doing this job – I don’t have time for my writing.” And the very next day I had an accident which almost cost me my right arm. But I did write that book.

So, as the saying goes, “When you hear that little voice inside, don’t bully it.”

But I rather like the juice on my chin from a big, fat, ripe peach.




Have a lovely weekend!

Life Breaks Out

I’ve always separated different aspects of my life. I’ve tried to keep my police work away from my family. More recently it has been a challenge to keep my life as an author separate from my day job in police work. What I’ve discovered is trying to maintain strictly separate worlds is a losing proposition.

Over the years my family has come into contact with my other world a number of different ways. A story on the TV, a photo in the newspaper and, several times, unplanned contact with someone I’ve arrested. For years we attended the Boynton Beach Christmas parade, a simple, almost hokey display of local holiday spirit. One year, while I held a two-year-old in my arms and my son was six and standing next to me a man walked by and said, “Hey man, how’re you?”
I responded, “Pretty good. When’d you get out?” A simple question I ask people who I know were in prison, in this case for cocaine smuggling. My wife figured out our relationship immediately and it freaked her out. It also taught her just how well I kept her and the kids insulated from my daily life.

About six years later I was coaching my son’s soccer team and had to get a roster together the first day. Each of the boys told me their names, about half of which I knew from coaching or the neighborhood. One kid told me his somewhat unusual last name and I froze. One of the few serious threats I had received as a cop came from a guy with the same last name. I calmly asked what his dad’s first name was.

Whew, no match.

Then I asked if he had any uncles and he nodded, “Oh yeah!” He named four men, none of which was the man I had arrested, then, at the last second threw in one more name.

Bingo!

He was late with the name because he had never met that uncle. He had been in prison most the boy’s life. And I was the reason. This time, even though I was the only one who knew the story on the field I told another coach in case something happened. I waited to tell my wife until the end of the season. A season, I might add, where I was alert every game and really didn’t look forward to practices like I usually did.

Now my problem is my life as an author barging in on police work. On any scene I have to go to there is always a cop asking how the books are going or if I have a book coming out soon. The other thing I get, almost every day, is a cop telling they have a great idea for a story or some case that should be a book. They want me to write it, oh joy, and they’ll split the profits. Great career plan. I have to find tactful ways to politely decline and go back to focus on my own ideas.

If I had a choice, I’d much rather deal with too many cops knowing about my writing than too many criminals knowing about my family. It’s funny how life changes no matter what you do to contain it.

What about you? Do you ever try to keep parts of your life separate? Maybe a boyfriend from your husband or a bank account from your spouse. How has that worked out for you?

The Weepy Stuff

By Cornelia

Like most of the people who parade around pretending to be hardboiled cynics, I have a soft weepy core of pure sentimentality.


I remember my mother's boyfriend Drayton--a major butthead if ever there was one--could be relied upon to start leaking tears the minute he tried to recite the words to a poem about a little baby "with eyes of blue" or something, that had hung on the wall of his nursery as a child.

Now mostly I hate Christmas carols, especially the incessant Muzak kind that gets piped in freaking EVERYWHERE, like you're wandering around the set of Brazil, for God's sake,



but give me a good rendition of "Silent Night" and I'm an instant puddle of lachrymose goo. This is because it immediately puts me back to being four years old, at the night-time Xmas celebration at my first school, Mahala Pua, a tiny Waldorf place near Hawaii Kai and Koko Head on Honolulu.

We had Father Christmas there instead of Santa. He was tall and skinny in long red robes, and gave us all oranges, and walnuts that had been painted gold. I still have my walnut.


The teachers built a spiral of white candles in the middle of the floor, starting with tiny ones at the outside tail and building inwards until the center candle was roughly three feet tall. Each kid in the school walked up to the spiral and lit one candle. The room was dark beforehand, and everyone in it started to sing that song as we solemnly walked along bearing our tapers. Frau Kudar, my teacher, sang "Stille Nacht" in German. I can remember how the plumeria blossoms of our leis smelled on the warm night air. Talk about Verklempt.


I was probably wearing this muumuu at the time,



and we were all barefoot. That's best thing about going to school in Hawaii--we only had to wear shoes on field trips.

Like the time we went hiking here:



When I went to boarding school, I got imprinted with a double-whammy on the whole "Silent Night" thing. Every year before we went home for Winter Break, the whole school gathered in an old house on campus called Estherwood. It had a rather grand double staircase, with a balcony around the second floor of the whole entry hall. Freshman and Sophomores stood on the floor beneath this. Juniors stood on the stairs, and Seniors looked down on everything from the balcony. We all sang carols by candlelight, and even at fifteen "Silent Night" turned me into a veritable ball of snot, thinking back to when I was four. Now I think of both.




Here's me on the staircase, during the annual "trunk show," when we got all dressed up in old school uniforms for the alums. This was a gym costume from the Twenties, complete with knickers and black hose.

They used to do the same holiday ceremony when Mom went to Dobbs in the Fifties, only in her era they'd also play a recording of Loretta Young reading "The Littlest Angel." We had a copy of the album when I was a kid, and listened to it every year on Christmas Eve. Our vinyl version is long gone, but I found a copy of the book several years ago and read it to all the grandkids on Christmas Eve. Or tried to. I got about halfway through and was so weepy I had to hand off to my sister.

This year, I tried to find a copy of it online. There was an MP3 sample I listened to yesterday, which I had to turn off before she even finished saying "he was exactly four years, six months, five days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes of age when he presented himself to the venerable gatekeeper and waited for admittance to the glorious kingdom of God." (click to hear sample).



Just remember that the next time I fictionally whack off somebody's head with a chainsaw, okay? It's embarrassing.

So, what horrifically sentimental stuff gets you all worked up, especially this time of year?

MIAMI SUCKS BUCKS AS DROPOUT BLEEDS OUT

By Paul Levine

Sean Taylor's tragic death at age 24 reminds all of us that there's something more important than football. I speak, of course, of money.

I received an e-mail from the University of Miami Alumni Association with news of a candlelight vigil on campus for Mr. Taylor, shot to death by burglars in his home last week.
The e-mail also said there'd be a moment of silence at the basketball and football awards banquets. Additionally, students were urged to wear orange and green (which they ordinarily do, except on job interviews) and also to sign a banner that will be given to the Taylor family. All standard indicia of a a university community in mourning. But wait, there's more. Sean is dead, and the University wants your dough!

Oh well, you say. What can it hurt to ask for money for the library, or the Marine Science School, or the Medical School's study of sickle cell anemia? Ha! The palm itching to be greased is the Athletic Department. The e-mail begs for bucks for the "Hurricane Club."

"Online gifts can be made through the Student-Athlete Scholarship fund..."

Jeez, haven't you made enough off Sean Taylor while he was alive?

I think the University's money-groveling is a bit tacky and a lot creepy. But it also raises a serious question. How has the U.M. commemorated the lives of its war dead? What did the University do in the case of Dr. Roy A. Wood?

Who's he?

I guess CNN and ESPN missed it.
DR. ROY A. WOOD, SURGEON-TURNED-SERGEANT

A U.M. med school grad, Dr. Wood, 47, worked as an E.R. physician in Fort Myers. A member of the Army National Guard, he served as a Battalion Surgeon. Following the invasion of Afghanistan, Dr. Wood resigned his officer's commission to become a Special Forces medical sergeant and serve with a combat unit. He died in an accident near Kabul in 2004, leaving behind a widow, a six-year-old son, and a three-year-old daughter.

Note to U.M. If you create a fund for Dr. Wood, I will surely contribute.ROY WOOD, JR., 6, AT HIS FATHER'S MILITARY FUNERAL

One final nit-pick regarding the University's e-mail, seeking "alms for the sports." The note referred to Mr. Taylor as an "alumnus." Inasmuch as he never graduated, "drop-out" would be a more appropriate term.

(I don't want to pick on the University of Miami. I have friends who teach there and others who serve in the Administration, plus a couple pals on the Board of Trustees. Many years ago, I worked three jobs to pay tuition at the U.M.'s middling law school. I was treated well, bestowed with honors, and made many dear, life-long friends. But in this case, fellow Canes, tighten your wallets. The University blew it).

By now, you know that Florida police have arrested four young men, ages 17 to 20, for the murder. Apparently, it was a burglary-gone-bad, rather than a hit, or even a pre-planned home invasion robbery.FOUR PRESUMABLY INNOCENT JERKS WITH CRIMINAL RECORDS

The youngest suspect, Eric Rivera, 17, (top right in photo) has his own My Space page. One photo depicts depicts him lying in a bed covered with cash. The caption:
"Dis how i sleep after a good day."

The Intro to Mr. Rivera's My Space profile is this: "FUCK A BITCH!!!!!GET YO MONEY RIGHT!!!!!!SHIT ON YOUR LIFE!!!!!KILL YOURSELF CAUSE U DONT HAVE NOTHIN TO LIVE 4!!!!!!!"

Perhaps, in addition to grieving for Sean Taylor and his family, we ought to say a prayer for the state of American education, too.

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HAPPY CHANUKAH!

I am not a deeply religious person.

I believe in Evolution. I believe it took far longer to construct the universe than six days....longer even than it took to rebuild Trent Lott's Mississippi vacation home.


But, this time of year I get weepy and sentimental at every iconic image of the holidays. Today, this one did it."YO, GOD. SID HERE. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?"

Shalom (and feel free to send this along by clicking the envelope button below),

Paul

Guest Blogger Kate Flora

Patty here...

I’m out of town today, so my friend Kate Flora has agreed to regale you. She looks forward to your comments, so please give her a hearty Naked welcome. Kate is a former Maine Assistant Attorney General who has published seven crime novels featuring Thea Kozak. The eighth, Stalking Death, will be on bookstore shelves in 2008. In addition to Kate's standalone suspense novel, Steal Away, she also collaborated with Portland, Maine Deputy Chief Joseph Loughlin on a true crime book called Finding Amy: A True Story of Murder in Maine, which was nominated for an Edgar award. Kate is a past president of Sisters in Crime, an international organization of crime writers and fans.

Loughlin and Flora at the Edgars

Goodbye. Have a Great Year. Carry Your Cell Phone.

by Kate Flora

My youngest niece has left for college. Kate is bright, beautiful, and enthusiastic about this new adventure. I’ve had a flurry of excited e-mails with pictures of her dorm room. She loves her classes. Her roommates are great. She calls to ask if I can order a book from Amazon and rush it to her when the school bookstore doesn’t have it. She e-mails to say she’s made the cheerleading team.

I’m so happy for her, this strong and agile young woman who wants to help others train to achieve their full athletic potential, and thrilled that she wants to share this with me. Yet my pleasure is tinged with sadness. I wish my sister, the mother who loved her so much, could be the recipient of those messages.

My sister Sara has been gone for ten years. I’m not sure what I believe about the afterlife, but I do know that sometimes I feel her spirit’s restless stirrings. Sara was a ruthless and incisive iconoclast, so usually she’s around to tweak my ego. Right now, though, she’s restless for a very different reason. Sara was hypervigilant about her children’s safety; now her daughter is embarking on an adventure that is full of wonder and promise, and fraught with danger.

Recently, I spent 2.5 years researching and writing a book about a young woman’s murder. Amy St. Laurent was smart and lovely woman who believed in people’s essential goodness. She was also sensible, self-confident, and risk averse. She was forthright about keeping herself safe. She carried mace in her purse. She didn’t hesitate to leave uncomfortable situations or challenge those who made her feel unsafe. Yet one misstep put her in the hands of a charming predator without her cell phone, and within hours, Amy was dead.

We all want our children to believe that the world is a good place. We want them to feel safe, to be able to trust people, and to live their lives without looking over their shoulders. We also want them to be safe. To do that, they have to take responsibility for their own safety.

At every book talk I’ve given for Finding Amy: A True Story of Murder in Maine, mothers, grandmothers, and aunts have thanked me for writing the book and asked for advice to keep their loved ones safe. With the help of Lisa Beecher, police chief at the University of Southern Maine and others, my co-writer, Portland Deputy Chief Joseph Loughlin and I developed a list of safety tips for young women to help them avoid being a victim.

The last thing Amy St. Laurent’s mother heard from her daughter was “I love you, Mom,” at the end of a phone call. Tell your daughters, your granddaughters, your nieces or your friends that you love them and want them to stay safe. Please print out these tips and send them to the ones you love. Please call them and insist that they carry their cell phones and keep them charged.

• Statistics show that most sexual assaults involve alcohol and drugs. Ingestion of even a small amount can alter your perceptions and lower your defenses. Avoid excessive use of these substances.

• Trust your instincts. If a situation makes you feel uneasy, leave.

• If you go to a club or party, go with friends. Have an understanding that you will watch out for each other.

• Never leave your drink unattended. It only takes a few seconds for someone to add a debilitating substance, commonly known as a date rape drug, to your beverage.

• Never accept a drink from someone you don’t know well. Bartenders and waitpersons are the only strangers you should accept a drink from.

• Never drink anything that looks or smells strange.

• Avoid drinking from punch bowls.

• If you feel very drunk after having only a small amount of alcohol, don’t take any chances. Tell your friend, the bartender, or waitperson that you think you may have been drugged.

• Women are often conditioned to be "nice," trusting and to spare other people’s feelings. If someone is interested in you and you don’t feel the same way, be straightforward. Don’t make excuses or try to spare their feelings. Just tell them you are not interested.

• Be cautious about giving out your personal information or that of others. The less information a stranger or casual acquaintance has about you, the better your chances of not becoming a victim.

• If you think you are being stalked, contact local law enforcement immediately.

• People are not always honest about themselves. Always keep this in mind.

• Don’t get into a vehicle with someone you don’t know well, because you become a prisoner if that person has negative intentions.

• If you suspect that you or someone else has ingested a date rape drug or sedative-like substance, get help immediately. Call 911 or have a friend help you get to a hospital. Tell medical staff what you suspect, so the appropriate tests and samples can be taken for evidence purposes and proper treatment. Date rape drugs do not stay in the body for long and delay may mean the loss of valuable evidence.

• If you a partying at a private location, remember that video cameras or tape recorders may be set up and operating even if you can’t see them.

• Don’t hesitate to call the police for help. Don’t feel you would be bothering them, or that your situation is not serious enough. They would much rather prevent a tragedy than respond to one.

• Keep your cell phone charged and keep it with you.

I just learned that my niece does not have a cell phone. We are going to take care of that today.



Note: for tips about internet safety, go to www.findingamy.com and follow the links. To send this post to someone you care about, click on the envelope icon below.