Friday, September 26, 2003


Raven is starting to crawl out from behind beakfuls of Kleenex to look like his old, feathered self. He also looks angry.

“Can you believe this!”

He spins away from the computer screen to get my attention.

What’s going on now?

“Immeasurable nerve, that’s what. Remember all the fur and feathers that were flying a couple of days ago because Chavez accused the US of harboring and training terrorists who were plotting his assassination?”

But of course, Rave. That was at the International Women’s Forum. He said he had given a full color photo of the terrorists in training someplace in Florida that had been published in a Florida newspaper to the US Ambassador, and was still waiting for an explanation.

“Ah, yes. Charley Sha-perro I think he’s being called these days. Anyway, there was a photo on the news services of Chavez holding a rose and…”

You mean THAT photo, Rave?

I am pointing to a print out of a color photo taped onto the bulletin board. An Associated Press photo.

“Precisely that photo. A newspaper in Caracas doctored the photo and ran it with Chavez holding a revolver instead of a rose!”

I hope heads will roll as a result of that!

“It says here they are going to make a complaint to the Organization of American States. And sue the paper, too, apparently.”

Good. And meanwhile, under all the hoo-hah, Chavez is quietly nationalizing the diamond mines.

“It’s the least he can do, don’t you think?”

Raven turns a baleful eye in my direction, cackles. He’s back to normal.

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