I knew as I watched the towers smoke, from my rooftop in Brooklyn, that, although this was the most truthful moment of my entire life--everything laid bare about the world, myself--already the spin machine was fitting it into a story to support every false impulse imaginable. The impulse to war. The impulse to look to corrupt authority for guidance. Of the emotions I remember feeling on that day and ever since, I think that is the most painful.

It's not just a feeling that has been affronted, though; it's the actual security of this country. All the actions taken since then, from destroying suspected Al-Qaeda villages in Afghanistan to torture to random checking of bags on the subway, seem more like shooting guns in the air than effective measures. I blame more than this mythological administration. Have we already forgotten the hysteria that caused people to stock up on antibiotics and, later, duct tape?

Duct tape is not a rational response to the nuclear threat. Neither is standing on a pile of rubble with a megaphone, acting like a drunk, belligerent weasel in a barroom brawl. Inspired statesmanship, defusing tensions worldwide rather than heightening them, averting unnecessary wars, and deconstructing the myths and illusions that keep us in this pattern would make more sense.

Similarly, revising the history of 9/11 will never serve us. Like travelers following a false map, one that represents our mythologies more than the realities we must respond to, we are lost.

if kids have to be orphaned by AIDS in particular to qualify for the big-hearted warm-fuzzied guilt-ridden hip-mama Western adoption program. Or can they just be any kids orphaned by the usual stuff going on in Africa -- wars, abandoned land mines, famine, genocide and lack of clean drinking water? If we were to be honest about what is actually causing death in Africa, perhaps there would be fewer deaths, and fewer orphans.

And where the heck does she get 12 million as a number? Melissa Fay Greene happens to be my favorite author, ever since "Praying for Sheetrock." I am deeply disillusioned that she never took the trouble to read the fine print on the figures from Africa, which always, if they are honest, use the word "estimate."

And by the way, what is "AIDS"? It's not very clearly defined, especially in Africa, which is, aside from being "estimated" all over the map, subject to a very different definition than American AIDS. We assume we got it from Africa. Who's to say Africa didn't get it from us? Whatever "it" is.

If you're going to comment on maternal deaths in Africa, why didn't anyone mention AIDS? It's in all the other stories about pregnant women in Africa. Hmm.

And while we're on the topic of maternal deaths and AIDS, it is tragic to note that nevirapine, tested and approved for use on African pregnant women to prevent HIV transmission, actually causes death -- according to Celia Farber's March 2006 article in Harper's, about which, it recently came out, all challenged facts are correct.

So I guess it's not OK to put maternal death and AIDS drugs in the same article, even if they belong together.

While I do understand the concern over this ironic anti-semitic message-making by a Jew, anybody who has been in a honky-tonk bar these days gets that the satire actually starts when you enter the place.

Sacha Baron Cohen is not an anti-semitic Kazakhstani; he is a Jew. Neither are the guys in Stetson hats cowboys; nor are they truck drivers, factory workers and insurance salesmen, in their hearts; they are role-players, and they always get the joke. (And, I might add, neither are these women their wives. . . .)

You just don't ask why in these places. You stomp your feet and yell "yee-ha!" and remember that you are playing a role, dressing in drag, trying it on. You are commenting on what you despise but also refusing to join the self-righteous elect.

And screw 'em if they can't take a joke. Throw 'em down the well!

and I have a master's degree! Long story about how I came to make the decisions I made, but I did. I have some regrets but, surprisingly, many fond memories of my time as a combat-ready legal secretary.

I like all this advice about college, but we need to take notice of something: Depression breeds abuse, even for college grads. The law firms I worked in were tough places. Sure, there are better ones, but I seemed to fit well in the dysfunctional zoos. I had a talent for making them functional. But that isn't everyone's gig. If you're in over your head, leave.

What I noticed was, people with low self-esteem ended up as din-din. They were highly prized by law firms as hires because they would work cheap and not try to reform the manners of the legal divas. And guess what? They lowered the standards for the rest of the profession, and the legal stars weren't happy at the end of the day anyway.

So don't take abuse. Learn to communicate. Make some changes, and rearrange some attitudes, calmly and professionally. If you cannot be a professional, don't complain about others' lack of professionalism or seek a college degree to make you into one. And if you still have a job the next day, you win. Yay!

If depression breeds abuse, resistance to abuse is the first step out of depression. Go for it, honey.

Lastly, find out who you really are, and what you want to do. Without college or without it. Even move somewhere else if you feel like it. People without goals are corpses.