It's been eons, I know ...

Mery Christmas to all youse guys out there, who haven't seen or heard from me in many a moon.

Sonja standing with Bwana Jr

Bwana Jr experiences the shock and awe of having a contemporary relative give birth to a baby.

Huzzah! An Editorial COMPLETELY Out of Left Field

Who's bendin' down to give me a Rainbow...?

Who'd a-thunk it? The Wall Street Journal today actually published an editorial that was in support of wind power? 'Od's Botkins!

The Bahston Globule took perverse dee-lite in covering the WSJ OP-ED piece today:




"In what has become the consummate example of beau monde environmental phoniness, residents around Cape Cod and the islands of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket are facing off with Greenpeace activists again over a proposed wind farm in the middle of their handsome vistas. The environmental group considers wind power a key source of renewable energy, while some of the locals consider it an offense against the scenery. The Cape Wind project for its part would plunk 130 wind turbines on Horseshoe ..."



Well, that's all you kin git, 'cause the Darth Vadir of the Newsworld caught us all linking the editorial itself, and it went bye-bye, unless you want to cough up the doe-ray-mee.


But ... ain't it just amazing? The Journal just put a harpoon into the throbbing hearts of all the richest assholes in the Nantucket Sound region (or thereabouts) who absolutely insist that it is only ecological worries that cause them to prevent millions of citizens getting relatively cheap, very much needed electricity from wind power.

Because its unsafe. And untested.

Ever been to Denmark, Richie-Rich?

I bitched before that the CommonWealth of Masterchusetts has to lay out a few million to 'test' wind power because of these assholes who don't want to spoil the view. And I have posted on how poor folks down below the Cape were willing to have a few put up practically in their back yards just to get things going.

Now the WALL STREET JOURNAL is outing these bags. You can't look much skankier, can ya?

Young Lust in Beantown

Bet that title gets me on Google.

I've been searching for something to ... stimulate me into blogging again, and just when I was sure I would never post again, along comes a great, big, juicy ....SCANDAL. And right here in Ye Olde Beanpotte!

Since sex sells papers and Internet ads these-a-days, some may have noted a minor league teen sex scandal that occurred in the hallowed halls of Milton Academy during the past year. Well, probably you have no clue about this at all. And with films like "Notes on A Scandal" coming out of Blighty recently, and various Cable TV movies on Oxygen hardly worth note, we are seeing a tremblingly titillating new type of crusading journalism approaching the horizon: Teen Angst from Sex Abuse in Posh Places.

Now in this particular case, the sex was strictly among underage students and it happened at a very well respected private academy that serves the hoity-toity of Bahston and its environs. I won't go into the lurid details, but suffice to say that there was some multi-party hankie-pankie happening in locker rooms, dorms and various vehicular transports.

These 'cautionary tales' often trot themselves out to provide 'worldly knowledge' to kids on the errors of sexual activity at an early age, though nominally they are targeted for progressive, concerned parents. But frankly, they're just soft-core kiddie porn for the freakizoids out there that the FBI SHOULD be watching, but finds itself way to busy making sure American Septuagenarians are getting strip searched in US Airports because a 'Bob Smith' once emailed Saddam Insane.

But THIS one gots a double-edged blade! Some high society juene filles decided to 'tell all' to Abigail Jones and Marissa Miley, authors of "Restless Virgins," a new book. But said finking fillies got much more than they bargained for; a tell all about them, replete with multiple positions and partners, and thinly guised aliases. So now everyone in their sororities know they were school pump bags. Quelle horreur! ---Duh!

One statement by the authors, I suppose offered in support of the graphic nature of their writing, does interest me:

"The authors agree that casual sex among teenagers is a national phenomenon that
can be blamed in part on the hyper-sexualized culture.

"You've had Abercrombie [& Fitch] selling thongs to 10-year-olds, and TV sex scenes doubled from 1998 to 2002," says Miley, who majored in English and economics at the University of Pennsylvania and now lives in New York. That, coupled with websites such as Facebook and MySpace, have created a universe where little is considered out-of-bounds.

Jones calls it "generational exhibitionism."

"These kids are putting their lives on display," she says. "People didn't
used to have sex in front of others. This is the first generation of kids coming
of age in the Internet, and there's a breaking down of privacy."

I suppose that this statement is truly significant from a viewpoint of generational shift; this next generation (of which Bwana Jr be a member) is viewing intimacy completely differently than the parents, especially in regards to public expression of sexuality.

I mean, the Boomers who post their sex lives with movie files and digital photos are considered freaks by most of their contemporaries. And moreover, viewed as pathetically obsessed with the cult of perpetual youth, i.e., if I am 50-ish and still humping the planet, I am VITAL AND ALIVE AND WANTED.

Yippee.

And though they may in fact be less Victorian and prudish then their contemporaries, they don't appear to be that happy. Rather they appear a bit desperate. They want attention, more than anything else. And they don't want anyone to say they are OLD --- this being death word amongst Boomers.

Perhaps the contrast of an entire generation really thinking that sex is simply no big deal, just another fun physical activity like break dancing to be share with your peeps; perhaps THIS is the news flash. Because we know that the pervs will buy the book to whack off, and the self-styled "Cool Parents" will read it for tips on how to better serve their kinders (you know, the ones who always serve booze to under aged kids at parties in their homes because, "they'll just do it elsewhere, this way we can watch them) {aka SUPER pervs}. I sure as hell won't read it.

My daughter would just DIE from embarrassment.

Sometimes a Great Surrealist

I don't gots alot to say and whatnot ...

I suppose that when you fall out of the habit of doing something every day, it becomes increasingly difficult to return to your former repertoire. I looked up the word "habit" in Websters On-Line Dictionary, and here's are some definitions of usage that might apply:

5 : the prevailing disposition or character of a person's thoughts and feelings : mental makeup

6 : a settled tendency or usual manner of behavior

7 a : a behavior pattern acquired by frequent repetition or physiologic exposure that shows itself in regularity or increased facility of performance
b : an acquired mode of behavior that has become nearly or completely involuntary
c : ADDICTION

Following that were some nifty synonyms:

HABIT, PRACTICE, USAGE, CUSTOM, WONT .

So, when I say that I have fallen out of the HABIT of blogging, it implies I do this unconsciously ... which is wrong, since I am usually conscious when on the Bloggosphere.

OR, if I where to say I fell out of the PRACTICE of blogging, it infers I do it often and by choice. There ARE some things I do often by choice. But blogging apparently is not one of them.

To steal directly from M_W, USAGE ... "suggests a customary action so generally followed that it has become a social norm . " Whilst blogging has become a norm in some neighborhoods in the Bahston Beanpot, and the Bahston Globule apparently has declared Bahston to be one of the top blogging cities in the USA, that statement was slightly qualified by their original source The Bostonist, in that sports blogging is the main rage in Ye Olde Bahston Towne.

I do not think it is my CUSTOM to blog, in that it (M_W)" ... applies to a practice or usage so steadily associated with an individual or group as to have almost the force of unwritten law . " Ain't no-body gonna tell me I have to blog. No forking way.

Which leaves us with ... (M-W) "WONT ... usually applies to an habitual manner, method, or practice of an individual or group . "

It is my wont to get up before 5:30AM. But I would like to sleep later.

SO, since none of the above apply, it would seem that my original premise for not blogging lately is the correct one:

I am a lazy shit.

Except for stealing from other sources. Then I am very ENTERPRISING.

So ... wtf?

So, wtf, you ask?

I am realizing I've become extremely lazy. I haven't spent any time reading other blogs, let alone posting on my own. I admit I have been kept very busy by my wife, who has seen fit to redecorate the entire manse since our return from Spain.

Now, we ain't rich folk, and we do the work ourselves. I have a family history in the paint and decorating business --- we owned a paint, wallpaper and art supply business that closed after 100 years of service to the Greater New York area --- and I still have 'hand', in that I can paint, refinish wood, hang wallpaper, and to some extent do 'faux finishes'. I even know how to do gold leaf application, but NOBODY has the money for that anymore. The fake stuff looks just as good

But I DIGRESS...

Since I have been home, after working on the house when I get home from work, I then expend all my other energy on complaining about doing the above, which leaves very little time for blogging (especially if you have Video on Demand). Add to that the valuable and precious time I need to spend with my teenager daughter (she STILL lurves me), I'm just plain too pooped to pop.

So I have decided to start my campaign in earnest next week. I will come up with an outline of the Spain trip, with diagrams, detailed notes and groovy web links.

I think.

Cat of Death

Yes, yes, I know. I should have posted some of my FAAAAHbulous Spain stories by now, but I'm busy AND I'm lazy; and one of my mad scientists has to go to DC today and get the National Science Medal from Dumbo Dubya, so he's freakin'.

But I could NOT let this story go without bringing it to your attention, dear reader. Oscar, The Certified Cat-O-Death, and practically a hospice consultant for Warren Alpert Medical School at Brown University.

This cute little feline has sat death watch at the side of many advanced dementia cases in extremis. In fact, this cat has accurately predicted and witnessed the deaths of over 25 patients in this unit. It simply knows when the patient is going to kick, mostly by sniffing at them while perched up on their beds. If they ain't ready to go, he leaves. If they are, he curls up and snuggles them. Until they do die, and then he just leaves.

Read the article in The New England Journal of Medicine: it is way freaky.

¡Danza del torero!

It's got a back beat!

The bull was not invited ...

I'm the Barber of ... Pedraza?

Here's an interesting place. A castle. No. A real one.

Castille Padraza

¡Ruego, Si, Hola!

I be back in USA. Wahoo.

See the Flickr site for nifty pics from Spain.

Away from Bahston

I be in Spain, dudes and dudettes. Will enter info as needed.
Prado was good. Food has been great. We stay out all night and drink like fish.
Excellent.

Next Stop, Barcelona!

Bwana Jr is here.

He hath returned. But for a short while. Next week it's back to West Chilly. (That be Philly)

NO MORE EFFING HOBBITS, PLEASE.

Somebody effing save me from this shit.

The Whitey Bulger Effect

Even though Whitey Bulger has been on the lam for more than a decade, his effect can still be felt here in Beantown. Witness the "Ever-Haunted-Bucket-'O-Blood" that was the Triple O Bar in Southie ...





recently reopened under 'new' management and renamed The 6 House.



Some think it should be renamed once more The 666 House.


There have been repeated stabbings, shots fired, and at least two dead in incidents occuring within a few months of each other.

Bahston Hairuld Columnist Peter Gelzinis thinks so, too. See his recent column.

And, if you are curious about Where in the World is Whitey Bulger, you can follow recent sitings on this cool map that the Hairuld gleefully provides.

I intend to call in a few sightings in Spain and France this summer, just for shits and giggles.

Editor's Note: Recently, I have experienced lots of pain trying to use the Bahston Globule's web sight to get JUST BASIC NEWS. It seems their designers are too precious to operate a useable site. Therefore, I have pulled their RSS feed from the site, and have replaced it with the Bahston Hairauld's, which is shite-load more agreeable to use.

Just don't take their editorial opinion as mine own.

And Even Newton was Figs in the Attic ....

The recently revealed 'document' (which appears to be a scratch paper at best) purported to be Sir Isaac Newton's prediction of the Apocalypse taking the world in the year 2060 (give or take a fortnight?)

See wacko article.

Pound a Nail

What I should be doing, but have not for some time ...

God Hates A Sinner Lost

Last night I screened this documentary at Media Lab for the artsy crowd.


A "Hell House" is the exact opposite of a Haunted House at Halloween. It invites local teens, church families and church tour groups to come walk through the various ways one can enter Hell for eternity: having an abortion, having sex with a relative or out of wedlock, murder ... all these will land you in Hell if you don't repent in time. Suicide in particular is a favorite 'scene'. In each of the rooms you pass through, there is a ghoulish "Death Monitor" who narrates the evil import of the protagonists unthinking actions, and who is also interacting with the 'sinner', who hears their demon quite clearly though no one else in the scene can.

At the very end of the Hell House Tour, each group is led into a room where a stern preacher talks about the dangers of falling pray to Satan, and offers them 10 seconds to decide whether they will enter a further door, and pray for their souls with a team of Pentecostals. It's either Heaven, or the Highway to Hell. No in betweens.


There was much snickering in the audience at first, but as the expostulations of the Hell House participants became more intense, a sort of awed hush filled the room. I think most of those there didn't know any Fundamentalists personally or had ever interacted with them. But the filmmaker did a great job of really allowing each Pentecostal Player really explain their motivations, and I think the jaded Cambridge audience was finally taking them seriously by the end of the film.

George Ratliff made this film, and he takes no position whatsoever on the subject matter. He also does not employ "Voice of God" narration, since he feels even that becomes a commentary. He shows us these congregants of the Trinity Pentecostal Church in Texas as both decent and caring people, and as ... well ... folks who speak in tongues.

From what I heard, the screening for the church folks before release went very well, and they liked how it came out. They even laughed at themselves occasionally, which is encouraging. I'd recommend it to any Comparative Media Studies program.

And you wonder how these words are smithied?

Ever wonder how the word "Gerrymander" came about? Here's how.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Origins of Gerrymander, at Summer and Arch

By Michael LevensonGlobe Staff

"Even in a city that loves history, this marker stands out. It does not honor the home of a fiery colonial preacher, ancient burial ground, or beloved 19th century brewery.

It commemorates a less exalted -- and often vilified -- milestone: In 1812, on the corner of Summer and Arch streets, Governor Elbridge Gerry and State Senator Israel Thorndike drew legislative districts -- one shaped like a salamander -- designed to keep their Republican friends in power.

Gerrymandering was born...."

And you thought the Karl Rove was naughty!

Eurotrashy Shite

Here's something I put together from old video files I took with my malenky digital camera from The Bwanasphere Euro Tour 2005. I only did it to annoy Bwana Jr and to remember how to do this shite so I could put up all my shitty files I'll be making in Spain this summer.

THAT will be TRULY EXCRUCIATING.

No sooner had I posted this, then I was shared this from the UK to shut me the feck up.





Not to feel too pleased with myself, my very first posts to YouTube yielded this response in Dundee...

THIS JUST IN -----

Police: Man stole 1,500 pairs of shoes

May 29, 2007

WAUKESHA, Wis. --Police seized more than 1,500 pairs of girls' shoes from the home and storage unit of a man arrested for breaking into a high school, police said Tuesday. "He liked to smell them," said Lt. William H. Graham.

Hugo Chavez Reinvents National Kinda Socialism

Hugo Chavez, who many of us found to be a whole lot of fun when it came to his crazed Bush Bashing, has ceased to be funny anymore. After trying to force out every foreign oil company from Venezuela, now he's decided that these matters and others should no longer be discussed outside government monitored media.

In other words, free speech is gonzo.

I guess this just indicates what a loon the man has become. Showing up randomly in other Latin American countries to lead demo-extravaganzas funded by Citgo is another worry for the region.

We Bahstonians all kinda liked the guy because he put some money into the old Citgo sign in Kenmore Square, sold heating oil dirt-cheap to Joe Kennedy's not-for-profit home heating oil company strictly for the poor and aged of the region ... and 'cause he just pissed off Bush so well.

Now, he's getting kinda spikey. And Bush just doesn't need to be presented with yet another "Evil-Doer" to fack with. Next thing you know, Chaney will order the invasion of Caracas with airborne postal workers.

2800 Sausages To GO, Please!

An 11-year-old kid from Alabama with a target pistol, a full clip and 3 hours to kill, chased a wild boar through the brush firing 8 times (apparently 9 is the charm with a .22 pistol, I guess) until the hog finally dropped.

It weighed in at an incredible 1049 lbs. It measured 9' 4" from the tip of it's snout to the end of its...whatever.

I would hate to see what this kid does in a fair fight.

A Guy Who Carried Lincoln

This guy is Bwana Jr.'s Great-Great-Grandfather.

His name was Johnson.

He was in the Civil War, in the Union Army.

He was in Ford's Theater the night Lincoln was shot.

He helped carry Lincoln to the hotel across the street.

He got blood all over him, and the handbill from that night's performance.

This is it.

Babylon Sister ... Shake it.

The Babylonians were the first to record philosophy in writing. There is a 5,000 + year old clay table that reads:

“We are doomed to die; let us spend”

Which Means:

“We are doomed to die; let us spend”

Strangely, this school of thought still obtains...my wife is a disciple.

BA-doom.

Boston Pops One in Yer Eye

Looks like there's beanpots full o' fun going on at Boston's Symphony Hall. Apparently, a couple of liquored-up fans got into it in the balcony of the venerable music hall during last nights performance by the Boston Pops with Musical Guest performer Ben Folds.

Seems shirts were torn off, chairs were flying and ladies were screaming ... more like the cheap seats at Fenway during a Sox-Yanks series.

Groovy conductor Keith Lockhart stopped the music while the melee ensued. Both gentlemen were ejected from the game, though no charges were brought.

(Surprise! I poked an attorney in the face once, and the COPS pressed the charges!)

Sounds like it was a middle-aged hissy fit against a younger fella.

I'll give you the BAHSTON GLOBULE'S la-dee-da, pukka version,
and then the grittier BAHSTON HERALDO's in-yer-face-ya-rich-bastid line.
They definitely have the better headline.

Countdown to Ecstasy

What will Tony-Baloney Blair be doing in his office for the next few weeks, now that he'll be resigning as Labor Party Leader?










Will he:

1. Put his feet up on the desk?


2. Wait for George Dubya Bush to call, take it, and tell him to feck off?


3. Drunk dial Alan Cameron and call him a Nancy-Boy?


4. Become a Catholic?


5. Become a flagellant? Is this the same thing as above?


6. Tell his wifey to shut plug her pie-hole until he's clear of 10 Downing?

There are SO many things to choose from. Let's hope Tony enjoys his retirement.

Me Hero

Quote of the Day:

"Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But being paid,- what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition! "

Wampanoag Whoopie!

Looks like some dreams will be coming through for the Wampanoag Tribe here in Massachusetts. On traditional Mashpee land, a new card casino may soon rise. That will mean all us pale faces can gleefully lose our doe to the folks who originally lived here, and who have put up with us for so long.

I plan to get there when it opens, find my pal Tracy (he be a Wampanoag, lives in Mashpee, and I KNOW will be at the door), and plunk down some dumb money.

And yeah, I want to LOSE the first hand. Just for principle's sake.

The Mountain Meadow Massacre

So, yesterday during dead air time I watched Frontline's "The Mormons" Part I on-line. Interesting way to watch a documentary ... pausing whenever you feel like it. It takes some of the drum roll out of the mood .... or that one LOOOOOOONG minor chord they play for 'drama' so that you hold your breath.

Anyhoo (who dies when you use that word?), I was impressed with the gentleness the filmmaker displayed detailing the Mormons' spiritual birth and migration West, and how even handed they were with that history, allowing Mormon scholars to outline the why and wherefore of events from the Mormon perspective. And explaining how they were hounded out of every state until they left the US and entered Mexican territory.

Et cetera, ad nauseum. Then suddenly, something that I had never heard about before! The Mountain Meadow Massacre. I thought myself fairly knowledgeable on the Mormons, but this one came as an utter surprise. It suddenly made sense to me why Zane Grey's Rider of the Purple Sage western adventure stories depicted evil old Mormon men holding women hostage in Utah Badlands, in cahoots with the Mexican Imperial factions.

SO why did the Mormons go nuts and kill 160+ men, women and children from Arkansas? Payback? There were some bad days in Missouri and Arkansas for the Mormons as they moved West. Self defense? No, the Arkansans were unarmed at the time --- they were tricked into thinking that the local Indians were going to attack, and the Mormons told them that if they left all their things and guns behind, and just walked out of their encampment, they would be safe. That's when the Mormons shot them all, except for kids under the age of 8, who according to the Mormon dogma, did not have fully formed souls yet, so were "untainted". They were adopted by Mormon families.

No, it was pure terrorism. The US Army was on the way to 'enforce law and order' in the Utah territory after Washington obtained the Mexican Territories. They wanted to send a message to Washington that they were not to be effed with anymore.

Unfortunately, the Arkansans were in the wrong place at the right time.

Well, to add more juice the mix, there's a feature film coming out this year about The Massacre called "September Dawn".

How ironic it happened on September 11, 1857.

Melville Moment of the Day

There is a move afoot among a group of 10-year-old Massachusetts kids to make "Moby Dick, or, The Whale" by Herman Melville THE OFFICIAL BOOK OF MASSACHUSETTS. I voted for it, by GAWD!

There were, of course, a few nancy-boys and Clintonistas who insisted that this offical tome be "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott; and while I also laud this book as very important to the psychology of Massachusetts women (big AND little) in my own home, and an important work, I STILL VOTES FOR MOBY DICK.

Louisa May did try to be balanced; remember, she also penned "Little Men", but they were all gay anyway. Also on the list:

• The House of Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne (Nope. It's already a tourist trap in Salem)
• On the Road, Jack Kerouac (a Lowell boy and a bit of a stoner)
• Make Way for Ducklings, Robert McKloskey (Also a Boston Tourist Trap, and an urban myth)

When I suggested that perhaps there was room for an official BOYS book and an official GIRLS book, the shit hit the fan, and I shut my mouth. But Moby Dick still gets my vote, because it is the most ripping Yankee tale told short of The Last of the Mohicans.

You can see I found the e-book version and started reading it again. I, like Melville, was a kid from the New York area that longed to see open water, meet serpent-like monsters of the deep and generally feck-off and run away to the sea.

One other reason it has such importance to me personally: one hot summer when I was a wee lad of 6 or 7 years, I ran with the neighborhood pack of kids, looking for something to do and causing mayhem for the older neighbors. One of these old guys lived next door and decided that "someone should try and occupy these little savages instead of abandoning them to the street." He said this while giving my hard pressed Mom the evil eye. His answer? He would READ to us every morning from 10AM to 12PM, directly after which we were to report to our homes for lunch and a verified hour of PEACE AND QUIET so he could nap. He promised that if we didn't observe this to the letter, he would not read to us AND he would get his gun out.

Seeing as we liked breathing (of COURSE we believed the old fart), and our parents of both native- and newly-immigrated stock saw this as "enriching", we were delivered to the old man's living room promptly one Monday morning, 10AM.

Now the man's name was Mr. Bogey. And yes he was scary as the name implies, being old and cranky but mostly because he talked so funny. That was because he was, " ... a native born MAIN-AH. From DOWN 'EAST." He had the misfortune of having been an attorney in NYC for his business career, and stuck for most of this initial portion of retirement in the Jersey suburbs, at least until his new manse somewhere around Tenant's Harbor was completed. But he was going to drive some 'Cul-chah' into the stoney brains of these neighborhood urchins, by GAWD.

And of course, he had me at "Call me Ishmael ...."

Happy May Day, You Commie Bastids!

This here fella was Illinois Governor John Peter Altgeld, and in 1896 was the guy who pardoned all the Haymarket Square "Bombers" that were still breathing (4 were hanged), saying their imprisonment and was unconstitutional. Born in Germany, he came to the US at the age of 2, and served in the Civil War on the Union side. Altgeld was a Judge in Chicago, a business leader and Democratic Party dude.

He had also refused to call out the state militia against the Pullman Strikers. The then Attorney General Richard Olney wrote an injunction against the strikers, and demanded that President Cleveland call in the US Army.

As Governor, though he was often accused of using the state militia too often in most labor disputes, Altgeld decided the Pullman Strike was a legitimate action, and stood up to these fat-cats, he ended up being labelled an anarchist and a socialist.

What interests me about this guy was that he started out pretty mainstream and anti labor. But because the White House was determined to get rid of ALL labor organizers, along with any new foreign immigrants (especially Jews ---see the political cartoon below), he became a progressive.

SO ... let's go rock Cheney's limo, and set fire to it. Just for shits and giggles.

You Think He Doth Protest Too Much?

George Tenet's book is out this week, and he's hopping mad. Mad at the White House for dissing his CIA team. Mad at Cheney, Rice and the other Neo-Con/Pentagon apparatchiks that blundered and lied their way into an Iraq invasion ... and supposedly mad at himself for allowing the CIA to 'guess wrong' about WMDs.

And from his viewpoint and what has been said about he CIA over the past few years, I'd be pissed too. It would appear that the CIA --- and he in particular --- became the fatted calf to be sacrificed for White House/DOD/DIA and State eff-ups of CATASTROPHIC proportions.

But is George Tenet being just a weeeeee bit disingenuous? I should not judge him before reading his book (which I hate paying for, but can't see a way out of), it would appear that he and the CIA are responsible not for where we are in Iraq today, but where we would be had we NOT destroyed the infrastructure and bureaucracy of the Ba'athists; in other words, reexamining a more Allende-like situation, where we would need to defend bumping off a foreign dictator, and justifying it with words like "imposing Democracy".

I am not so dumb as to think that bad political organizations like the Ba'athists can be cured by sweet talk over tea, but Iraq STILL would have been a lose-lose situation. In other words, hindsight ain't so golden in Tenet's case, since the CIA would still have been playing the King-Killing game anyway. Which is supposed to be ILLEGAL, according to Congress.

All this book and others like it point to is a big, circular argument trying to justify the COSMICALLY STUPID action of invading Iraq. And letting all those America, British and other Western military forces die there for no good reason. They are no less noble in death because of it; it just makes their lost lives that much more tragic.

Oh, yes ... and the million or so Iraqis who died without any say in the matter.

City of Brotherly Love Not So Fraternal with Psychics

Interesting link to the Philadelphia Inquirer story today about the Quaker City's crackdown on store front fortune tellers!

One fellow quoted in the article made a very good point:

The owner of Psychic, a fortune-telling shop at 2041 Walnut St., sat on his steps yesterday and complained bitterly about the police action. He would not give his name or his lawyer's name.

"First of all," he said, "they've got to stop the 129 murders in this city. What we do is entertainment."

He also said the police Major Crimes Unit had shut him down even though he had bought a business license from the city and paid taxes.

"Shouldn't they be cracking down on rapes and murders, not palm readers?" he asked.

Excellent point, Mandrake! Considering that Philly has the highest murder rate on the East Coast, perhaps they should be more focused on that issue. Or ....

Could this be a clever plan by their City Hall to hire all those out of work soothsayers to sort out the mysteries behind all those murders??? INQUIRING MINDS WANNA KNOW!

AP-WIRE: Phila, PA; 4/27/2007:

ENGLISH MEDIUM CRIES "MURDER MOST FOUL"

Liverpool born, Derek Acorah, lately shit-canned by the producers of the UK TV hit, "Most Haunted" (See your local TRAVEL CHANNEL guide for times) has had scarier experiences in his storied life as a medium and spirit hunter, but not many compare with his huge reversal of fortune today just moments after opening his first "Spooks-Be-Us" US franchise in Center City. No sooner had Derek opened the doors this morning, then the boys in blue charged in wearing full SWAT attire and hustled him outside into an unmarked black armored van.

"They're takin' me out to their Black Mariah! Halp! Halp! SOOOMbody HAAAALLLP!", he cried out as the doors swallowed the former footballer and occasionally competent psychic. A blind old woman on the sidewalk at the time asked, "Was that Ringo Star? I had his baby, the bastid!"

A potential customer, who staggered out into the sunlight after this stupendous event, muttered to himself, "He's gone from Most Haunted to Most Fucked."

Derek's attorney had no comment. However, SAM, Derek's spiritual guide and a 2000-plus year old spirit entity, declared that Derek had misrepresented the situation in Philadelphia to him, and that he would be filing a suit of Discorporation in the near future.

Atlas Ralphed

I am not a big fan of Ayn Rand's novels, though I believe I have read them all. It's not that she wasn't a good writer, she was. The problem is her philosophy, Objectivism, which can be loosely translated to mean that the proper moral purpose of one's life is the pursuit of one's own happiness or "rational self-interest;" i.e., feck everybody else's problems, if you can't deal then crawl off and die. I am too noble to waste my time with your paltry short-comings.

Now, why am I not surprised that somebody has a film version of "Atlas Shrugged" in production already, and then why am I doubly not surprised that Rand's heroine, cold little Dagny Taggart, is being penned for portrayal by Angelina Jolie? I am not sure that anyone has really explained Rand's F-O-A-D belief system to the entity that is BrAngelina, as they are all up themselves to do the movie. Apparently Ms. Jolie is a big fan of Rand, and Mr. Pitt hopes they will rewrite the story line so that Rand's other leading character from "The Fountain Head", Howard Rourke can be played by Pitt in this clusterfeck. I think he wants it so bad 'cause Howard was an architect, the closet dream of Mr. Pitt for many years.

How's this for an interesting viewpoint?

Has no one explained to these people that shite like Rand's has brought us Libertarianism, Reaganisim and Neo-Conservativism? Well, actually you can blame the Neo-Con movement on Former American Trostskyites at Columbia University.

But once again, Hollywood attempts to feck about with something it doesn't really understand, and expose millions of impressionable young minds to this horseshit all over. The important thing on this planet is TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN YOURSELF.

Are they trying to regurgitate the Me-Generation? I am afraid the BrAngelina have fallen victim to the Cult of Personality.

Ecstasy, With A Lower-Case E

I have stumbled across a couple of interesting pieces recently on the massive depressing atmosphere floating around most of Western Civilization --- as opposed to the massive clouds of dust and smoke floating around Mideastern Civilization, and fuck-all knows of the way Eastern folks are handling it. They keep damming up rivers and drowning people ... that should be pretty fucking depressing.

But I digress. What am it that doth makes us so blue and sad, makes us feel so unconnected to the Great Big Universe, that in general causes people to become NeoCons and Republicans?

It is the BIG DISCONNECT from JOY, RAPTURE and ECSTASY. Yes, some might get an instant reconnect using E, but then your kidneys will fail earlier than age 92, and then where are you?

One writer, Barbara Ehrenreich, who in her new book, Dancing in the Streets explores the experience of collective joy, ponders the questions, “if ecstatic rituals and festivities were once so widespread, why is so little left of them today? If the 'techniques' of ecstasy represent an important part of the human cultural heritage, why have we forgotten them, if indeed we have?”

AMEN, SISTER! That is probably a major sticking point for modern humanity. Have we forgotten how to do this? We don't get down with ourselves anymore in big spectacles of fervor and passionate expression. It is very uncool to want to experience the transport of religion, or great art. The closest we get to it is sporting events, and even those have become big money, anemic affairs where we pay others to cheer and jump about for us (especially hotties). The sports experience has become the Corporation's bitch, and we won't see her set free very soon. Not when sky boxes dominate the price of every event.

What's that leave us with? NASCAR and Snake Handling? Both can be deadly between flying tires and venom.

I remember somebody asking me at church once what I felt was missing from the experience. Remember, it's a Unitarian Universalist church, and I'm a Catholic/Protestant half breed.

What was missing? "Incense, drama and Saints that die gooey deaths." I mean, it was a great place for the peace and inner calm, and for a life-long comparative religion course. But it wasn't RELIGION. It wasn't MIDNIGHT MASS. And it certainly wasn't GOSPEL, or SPEAKING IN TONGUES.

It was kind of dull. I know the kids had a blast, more than adults, because they got to learn every freaky Bible story from the Old Testament, along with its matching Babylonian versions (yes, they are all the same). But for the adults? It was more of a book club.

OK, I'll get off that rag, but you see my point. What have we to compare with the rites of the Bacchae, the Dionysian orgies, etc. Didn't those Slavs used to chase each others' asses around the woods and boogie for days on end? Even the Brits did that way back in Ye Olde Daye. Well, maybe they were Celts, but you know what I mean.

Compared to that, we got nada.

But to experience great passion also means to have strong and sometimes violent feelings on a glandular level, which is pretty much what one sees in those places that hate us Godless Infidels. How could we return to the real experiences of transport and vision, without losing contact with our inner adult? And creating a false temple of passion with drugs like E and acid is a false solution (and idol for that matter).

I guess I'll have to take up fly fishing.

Hot Fuzz and Hot Speakers with EYES...

Saw the much-anticipated "Hot Fuzz" flick this weekend, and enjoyed it immensely. The boys have done themselves proud.

Here are the lads being playful. Vaguely homo-erotic, isn't it?

One scene that comes to mind is the command center for Sanford's Neighbourhood Watch Association (cleverly labelled NWA), which maintains a bank of digital cameras covering every conceivable inch of "England's prettiest village".




While these cams are ubiquitous in London and other parts of Europe, there are just beginning to be utilized here in the States. I noticed this piece in The Independent today on how the Labour Party has changed everyone's way of life through creeping big-brother-watching solutions to policing the streets: And one very interesting addition to the thousands of cameras. Adding a speaker to it to screech at the 'yob' who is doing the offending in the camera lens! Quoth the Independent:


"Could Foucault be talking about his future vision of Middlesbrough, the town which has adopted talking CCTV cameras in its town centre, presided over by council apparatchiks who bellow to citizens from their screen-filled observation posts that they are to pick up the fag end they just dropped, or risk arrest? Or is he talking about the whole of Britain, a nation so in love with the CCTV camera that it boasts one for every 14 citizens, and has spent, in the last 10 years, more than three-quarters of its Home Office crime prevention budget on this technology of record?"


I am sad to say that, considering recent events, perhaps these cameras are needed to keep an eye on our gun toting loons. Not that it would have stopped what happened on the Virginia Tech campus last week, but a system like this set well in place could have helped to reduce the body count (as if that mitigates the horror).

Do I think I am losing my liberty if a city camera can see me when I commit a civil transgression? Like running a stop sign (GUILTY in the PAST) or flipping the bird to a fellow motorist (DITTO- PLUS UNCIVIL AGGRESSION)?

Frankly, that train has already left the station. We are always being observed at least as a flock, by our financial transactions, our web clicks/choices, even where we are driving (do you use a transponder to pay your road tolls? --or parking?) While we do have the right not to incriminate ourselves in a public hearing or a court of law (key concept here), the right of the individual to privacy does not include a secluded glade wherein one can commit capital crimes. That's like saying, "If a tree is raped in the woods, and no one sees it, does it matter?"

(Believe me, in New England it could happen.)

What constitutes my right to privacy is no one invading my home to observe me using the john at 3AM, or to record my public utterances without my permission (I have had to get those disclaimer releases signed about a billion times, an utter pain in the ass, but I wouldn't give it up for anything). OR have anyone listen in while I worship with my family in church (STOP THAT LAUGHING, RIGHT NOW). OR watch me vote for that matter, though I guess they will find out the result eventually (except in Florida - snort!)

That's the same illusion as the guarantee of private communications on the Web. PLEASE! The only guarantee of secrecy on the Internet is hiding in plain site. Too many places to look, so who's going to find you?

Those are the keys to maintaining a free citizenry, unshackled by Big Cheney's plan to listen to each registered Democrat's individual farts at night. THAT kind of guy is dangerous. You know, the kind of fellow that reads spy novels by Robert Ludlum, or maybe Scooter Libby.

Or hires him to do dirty deeds done dirt cheap.

Vermont Senate Acts as the US Senate Should ...

... out of shame?

This just in .... Vermont's State Senate has become the first state legislature in the Union to actually put to a vote whether President Bush and VP Cheney should be impeached for their participation in IRAQ-GAK (the Iraq War Bamboozle).

The vote tally? Yea - 16; Nay - 9.

Mr. President, you haven't landed support in Vermont Marble ...

... the Vermont Marble has landed on you!

=

Selling War: How US Media Guilded the Lilly

Today in Editor & Publisher appears a review of the upcoming Bill Moyers documentary, "Buying the War." Weirdly, I found out about it through Drudge... go figure.

Moyers lets everybody have it for helping the Bushies hard sell the Invasion of Iraq as a necessary part of the 'War on Terror' (or, as Borat says, 'Your Terror War'). He also may come the closest I have seen to accusing Colin Powell of being party to this Great Big Lie.

I can recall some news sources at the time indicating that everyone in the know at the Pentagon and the CIA thought most of the salacious 'facts' presented by Bush, et al, were at best murky ... and some outright bullshit. As we all found out.

I guess the saddest part of all this, 5 years and thousands of US, British, and other countries' lives lost, not to mention the 600,000+ Iraqi Dead; the saddest part is watching public figures like John McCain who, though I don't generally agree with him, still respected, debase themselves by supporting digging a DEEPER hole for us there.

Isn't this the ultimate reactionary political scenario? We doggedly continue to support a mission created by fools that endangers the very standard of who we are as a nation, simply because we're "stuck"?

Eff that shit! I have had it with trying to fix Iraq, even if we did break it. Enough is enough. Leave today, go home, and let the crazed freaks duke it out among themselves.

We Ain't Sinking in Beantown, the Water Line Be Movin On Up

Observe the difference in these two images of Boston Harbor and the Charle River area. Yoy might think that the one on the left is a current image, and the one on the right is Boston before we the "Back Bay" was drained and filled in. But you would be wrong!

Why? Mostly because the right hand image is a forecast of the Boston area about 50 years from now, after Global Warming has melted most of the ice caps. It is oddly similar to the original Boston landscape. Ironic, ain't it? Here 's some of the science chatter locally via the Bahston Globule.

The above graphic comes from THIS SEQUENCE (check it out!)

Oh, and that does mean that my office would be under about .... uh. lemmee see ... 25 feet of water! Cool! I could come to work in an aqualung!

Trying to Fit in? ... Maundy Thursday Gang Bangers

These wild fellas are hoping to improve community relations by taking their Morris Dancing troop into West Philadelphia, celebrating Maundy Thursday in their own, special way.


Do you think they will come out alive? Inquiring minds wanna know!

Those Darn Christians!

Since Easter is upon us, and the day of celebration of the resurrection of the Christ is of the utmost in many evangelical and fundamentalist minds, I thought I would address what was of utmost importance in the forming of Christianity as a religion in the West. Namely, the persecution of the martyrs (as I believe it is referred to).

I went trolling through my web archives of ancient texts to get the down-low at the time, from a worms' eye view so to speak. I rummaged through my link into The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Gibbon (the man, not the ape); and in particular,

(Volume 1) Chapter XVI
Conduct of the Roman government towards the Christians, from the reign of Nero to that of Constantine.

In it, Gibbon tries to explain why Christianity, the mildest of religions, was so downtrodden by the Roman Emperors, practisers of Polytheism which is perhaps the most liberal of all religious beliefs. For instance, the Jews were a major pain in the glutus-maximus on numerous occasions, and were sorted out right quick often. Yet, even after all this malarkey, they were even allowed NOT to pay tribute to the Pantheon of Gods like every other Roman citizen or subject, mostly because they were such noisy complainers, but great producers (no steak knifes for them!).

Why O Why didst they prosecute and persecute the kindly Christians so voraciously? Because they committed the UNFORGIVABLE sin in Roman Society... INTOLERANCE of the beliefs of others.

Herein I quote Gibbons; this subsection of Chapter XVI is titled:

The Jews were a people which followed, the Christians, a sect which deserted, the religion of their fathers.

"By their lofty claim of superior sanctity the Jews might provoke the Polytheists to consider them as an odious and impure race. By disdaining the intercourse of other nations they might deserve their contempt. The laws of Moses might be for the most part frivolous or absurd yet, since they had been received during many ages by a large society, his followers were justified by the example of mankind, and it was universally acknowledged that they had a right to practise what it would have been criminal in them to neglect. But this principle, which protected the Jewish synagogue, afforded not any favour or security to the primitive church. By embracing the faith of the Gospel the Christians incurred the supposed guilt of an unnatural and unpardonable offence. They dissolved the sacred ties of custom and education, violated the religious institutions of their country, and presumptuously despised whatever their fathers had believed as true or had reverenced as sacred. Nor was this apostasy (if we may use the expression) merely of a partial or local kind; since the pious deserter who withdrew himself from the temples of Egypt or Syria would equally disdain to seek an asylum in those of Athens or Carthage. Every Christian rejected with contempt the superstitions of his family, his city, and his province. The whole body of Christians unanimously refused to hold any communion with the gods of Rome, of the empire, and of mankind. It was in vain that the oppressed believer asserted the inalienable rights of conscience and private judgment. Though his situation might excite the pity, his arguments could never reach the understanding, either of the philosophic or of the believing part of the Pagan world. To their apprehensions it was no less a matter of surprise that any individuals should entertain scruples against complying with the established mode of worship than if they had conceived a sudden abhorrence to the manners, the dress, or the language of their native country."

SO this will help explain why all that nasty shit happened to them. It might also explain how other groups perceive overbearing Christian organizations, authorities or nations.

I guess they never got The Robe on DVD.

Obama Be Jesus?

Not to leave any Saint unstuck... this is a puppet sculpture by David Cordero, a Chicago Sculptor who apparently likes poking sacred cows.

See the article on him from the Globule:

'Sculpture of Obama as Jesus causes stir'

Mitt in The Funny Papers

(This image brought to you by The Heretik!)

It seems Doonesbury is having fun with Mitt Romney's flippity-jippity thang, having reversed his position on gay rights, abortion and gun control. I'm thinking that, if Garry Trudeau is focusing on him --- and we all know Garry gets his info intravenously from the Democratic Party Gods --- then we should all be thinking on just how saleable the Mitt is to those people who have had their brains Reaganized for the past 8-10 years.

Now, the Demo Party Organ that is the Bahston Globule, did alert me to said Doonesbury Strip in this article, which also tells us in very serious tones that, if you make jokes about Mitt, they will come ... meaning, the voters. It would seem to the Globule, and to the BU PoliSci Prof they do quote, that ANY publicity for Mitt is BAD publicity, simply because it will make middle-aged women voters google his image and swoon at his movie star visage.

As if. I don't think a middle aged guy with Grecian Formula touch ups is really going to turn on Ms Middle American Mom ... not when

• (a) their boys and even their girls who joined up to help America after 9/11 are being sacrificed at the altar of Smirking Neo Cons.
• (b) See above.
• (c) See above again.

Sorry about the bullets, but things always come in threes, don't they?

Mitt does seems a regular fellow on first glance, and did have the capacity for actual rational thought (at lease, at one time), as opposed to the rest of the vitriolic right. But Mr. Olympics is a sneaky customer, as all us Massholes found out.

And since he seems to have found the Mother-Lode Vein O' Gold for running his campaign, there are some big movers behind him.

Be prepared.

My, MY, Look Who Has All The Marbles!

And you all thought I was obsessing about nothing! Drudge and most other news outlets are reporting that the Mitt-ster is second only unto Hillary Clinton in fund raising, ranking number one in the GOP ranks for dollars raised ($23ml to date).

He is therefore the official Dark Horse of the Apocalypse. Watch him and his minions carefully. THis guy sweet talked his way into Massachusetts politics, and managed to alienate everybody (including Mass Republicans) by the time he was out of office. He even treated the Lt. Gov like his bitch, and offered not a sliver of support to her guvernatorial campaign, though she faithful approved every blunder he committed, and refused to speak ill of him even when he dissed her.

I guess he was always a hack hiding in sheeps clothing. I still have a hard time imagining him as a hard-line conservative (I'm hoping its an act to get the Jesus vote). But he's sticking to the super conservative party line, and that makes me VERY uncomfortable.

While I still have serious doubts ANY Republican can get elected to the Oval Office in 2008, I think he still bears watching.

The Animal Story ... Unearthed from the Bowels of History

I found some old files of posts, so I thought I would republish this one... it were my one and only Animal Story. I only add it to the new site now because I don't want to lose it again.


Only out of shear guilt do I finally attempt to post that which I so strangely requested from all (3 or so) of my readers, a story of an encounter with a wild animal within city limits. SlyBootess has come up with multiple accounts, all excellent; though her personal position on animal killing by hoo-mans seems to have gone from "it's a definite no-no" to "I like stomping things to death" to "I would like to kill something". I have no ethical or moral comment on these posts, other than to say, 'Right On, Sister~~!" I have wished to kill things many times, both animal and mineral.

Our story begins in a very special landscape in the Boston area, the Brookline Hills. What makes this area so spectacular --other than the big mansions and such --- is that it did not truly exist in its current topography since the dawn of time. Well, hills were there, but they were modified. And many big rocks were added. No, this was not a deleted scene from "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe". Bill Nighy was not making changes to God's punch list.

No, the interesting tid bit about this particular patch of Earth is that on it sits the home residence of it creator, Frederick Law Olmstead, the man who practically invented landscape architecture. On a small scale, landscape architecture can help make a visually-and logistically-challenged piece of property more usable, more arable, and easier on the eye. On a large scale, such as the vision of Mr Olmstead, it can be a bit presumptuous; Olmstead created the landscapes he wanted by literally building hilltops, dragging thousands of tons of stone into where he thought there should be a mini mountain, planted fauna in places they had never existed before, etc. A nightmare to the Green Peace crowd. But his stuff is pretty, and it lasts like all get out. So many new residents in Boston think this is the natural way the land looked forever. SPECIAL NOTE: Olmstead designed the man made island on Lake Michigan in Chicago that was to become the World's Fair or the Columbia Exposition. There was a great historic novel written recently about it called "The Devil in The White City"; which chronicles the development of the project by 5 incredibly egotistical White Guys who thought they owned the world, and of the story of someone who may have been America's first official serial killer.

But I digress.

SO back to the landmass that is the Brookline Hills. It is situated in what is called "The Green Necklace" of Boston, a series of interconnected parklands that reach from outside of the Boston, all the way into the Back Bay area. This allows you to pass through the most of the city entirely through park lands, rather than city streets. The Brookline Hills are particularly pastoral, in that the area is also bordered by THE Country Club of US Open fame. What this does is create loads of green space for animals to use as well.


Anyhoo, one Early fall morning (5:45AM, EST, appx.) I was driving through this select sylvan 'hood on my way to the 'Tute in Cambridge. As I rounded the curve that lead down over the man-made mountain by the aforementioned Olmstead, I noted his original residence and studio to my left, and pondered the kind of ego that could create landscapes just because he thought them up. Glancing to my right, a large mansion of quasi New England style rose on the artificial hillside. Its sweeping drive arced down the hill to a large wrought iron gate of a simple, Shaker-inspired design. The gate was open, I noted. And something seemed to have come out of it, at least as a flutter in the corner of my eye, which is why I looked at it. When my eyes returned to the road directly in front of me, I saw that which drew my attention.

A buck. A big mother buck. I think in England they would call it a Stag. And this buck was a least 8 points, or had been before he had broken on antler on some unknown obstacle, as it drooped precariously from the rest of its stem.

It was at least as tall as my shoulder, and the antlers would have cleared my head. And it was puffing steam out of its nose like a cartoon bull. And it was now stopped dead in the road in front of my (relatively) new(ish) car. And I was driving towards it.

Since I had been daydreaming a bit on this part of my commute, and since it is very hilly and leaf strewn, I was driving slower than usual. While you would think that my reaction would have been one of shock and dismay, somehow it was neither. I recall laughing, and doing some maneuver with the wheel that allowed me to drift languidly past Sir Buck. Who was plenty pissed at me for some reason.

My window was open at the time, it being a balmy early morning, and this put me at eye level with Sir Buck. I could see he was checking himself, clearly eager to slam into my side at the least provocation. Apropos of nothing, I called quietly but clearly over to him through the open window, "Dude. Chill. You're already all effed up."

As these last words left my lips, Sir Buck seemed to take in my words, and started to walk slowly alongside my car down the hill.

Lights appeared in my windshield from a car coming in the other direction, towards Sir Buck. I gently admonished him to get off the road. He declined. The other car turned out to be a Brookline Police Patrol Unit, driven by a gap-mouthed newbee officer. He turned on the blue lights and slowed to a stop, as I slowed coming nearer to him. Sir Buck stopped at this point, looked at me, then the cop, and turned gracefully up the drive to Olmstead's Estate House and its broad lawns.

Now I was parallel with the cop's window, which came down. He looked at me and said, "Wow. I've never seen one up close."

"They should put in a deer crossing sign," a voice said. Both the cop and I looked around to see an older gentlemen in a business suit standing beside a Mercedes 500 SEL at the mouth of the Shaker-simple gateway of the big manse on the right. "Once one comes through, there will be plenty more after that."

"Do you think I should put out some flares?" asked Officer Newbee.

"No," I said. "I think the morning rush is over. See ya." I nodded to Mr Richee-Rich and Officer Newbee, and puttered down the road. I still needed to get to Cambridge.