Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Slab City
For about 20 years now, I have wanted to visit Slab City and Salvation Mountain, located east of the Salton Sea in the southern California desert. (I'll write about Salvation Mtn. in another post.) A week and a half ago, I finally went. So very glad I did. Both are the kind of place you're going to see less and less of as the world becomes more controlled and more uniform. These are places that are certainly not for the conventional and the rule-oriented. These are the last of the free spirits. Perhaps the last free places left in the US.
Slab City occupies a tiny portion of the 631,345 acres on which Camp Dunlap was housed during World War II through the mid-'50s. Opened in 1942, the military installation was dismantled in 1956 and returned to the State of California in 1961. Somewhere around that time, the first civilians started moving in, in their recreational vehicles, trailers, and camper trucks. Slab City gets its name from the slabs of concrete that once served as the foundations for military buildings or driveways of one sort or another. Few are left, and most residents have their rigs on the desert floor, not on concrete. Some of today's residents are snowbirds, people from northern regions who want to escape the cold winters. Some are long-term residents who put up with the harsh summers. There's no electricity, no running water, no local government.
The people who live in Slab City are resourceful, friendly free spirits. They've got at least one trailer converted into a library, three clubs where residents can pay $20 for a year membership and get free coffee every morning. Internet service is $10/month, though it was a bit unclear how that system works. Residents bathe in a natural hot springs and either pay to have water delivered to their private water tanks or go into town (Niland's about three miles away) to get water from the store or gas station.
I had read that Slab City was deep in trash, but Aaron, who went with me, and I sure didn't see that. We saw the usual rusted metal and abandoned vehicles that you see in any remote enclave. Nothing more, nothing less. I didn't see any human or dog waste and no garbage. I wonder how order is maintained out there, seemingly without any police protection. I wonder how the retirees and others on fixed incomes who live there keep the druggies out.
I'm sorry that my photos of Crow, his mules, and his dog don't do them justice. When I first spied him and his crew walking down the road, I felt as if I had entered a time warp. He looked like someone who might have strayed from Pancho Villa's band in the late 1800s. He told me his camp was nearby and that he's been living with his mules for "12, maybe 15 years." He makes extra money by walking the 40-some miles to the Walmart in El Centro, where, for a fee, he poses for photos.
Two of the most remarkable things about Slab City are the abandoned water towers, one painted with corporate logos and dinosaurs, the other with animals in kama sutra poses. The former has a panel composed of colored shot gun shells with the message "Killing for God," a tribute to religious fanatacism. Both works of art give you the idea of the anti-establishment feel to the place.
The pet cemetary was touching. I can only imagine how much these dogs, cats, and rabbits meant to their human friends, many of whom, I'm sure were living out here alone.
I must admit that this life really appeals to me. Living off the grid, removed from government and corporate intrusion. A genuine sense of community and shared vision. If only I didn't need so much healthcare, I believe I'd be heading for Slab City right now.
Slab City occupies a tiny portion of the 631,345 acres on which Camp Dunlap was housed during World War II through the mid-'50s. Opened in 1942, the military installation was dismantled in 1956 and returned to the State of California in 1961. Somewhere around that time, the first civilians started moving in, in their recreational vehicles, trailers, and camper trucks. Slab City gets its name from the slabs of concrete that once served as the foundations for military buildings or driveways of one sort or another. Few are left, and most residents have their rigs on the desert floor, not on concrete. Some of today's residents are snowbirds, people from northern regions who want to escape the cold winters. Some are long-term residents who put up with the harsh summers. There's no electricity, no running water, no local government.
The people who live in Slab City are resourceful, friendly free spirits. They've got at least one trailer converted into a library, three clubs where residents can pay $20 for a year membership and get free coffee every morning. Internet service is $10/month, though it was a bit unclear how that system works. Residents bathe in a natural hot springs and either pay to have water delivered to their private water tanks or go into town (Niland's about three miles away) to get water from the store or gas station.
I had read that Slab City was deep in trash, but Aaron, who went with me, and I sure didn't see that. We saw the usual rusted metal and abandoned vehicles that you see in any remote enclave. Nothing more, nothing less. I didn't see any human or dog waste and no garbage. I wonder how order is maintained out there, seemingly without any police protection. I wonder how the retirees and others on fixed incomes who live there keep the druggies out.
I'm sorry that my photos of Crow, his mules, and his dog don't do them justice. When I first spied him and his crew walking down the road, I felt as if I had entered a time warp. He looked like someone who might have strayed from Pancho Villa's band in the late 1800s. He told me his camp was nearby and that he's been living with his mules for "12, maybe 15 years." He makes extra money by walking the 40-some miles to the Walmart in El Centro, where, for a fee, he poses for photos.
Two of the most remarkable things about Slab City are the abandoned water towers, one painted with corporate logos and dinosaurs, the other with animals in kama sutra poses. The former has a panel composed of colored shot gun shells with the message "Killing for God," a tribute to religious fanatacism. Both works of art give you the idea of the anti-establishment feel to the place.
The pet cemetary was touching. I can only imagine how much these dogs, cats, and rabbits meant to their human friends, many of whom, I'm sure were living out here alone.
I must admit that this life really appeals to me. Living off the grid, removed from government and corporate intrusion. A genuine sense of community and shared vision. If only I didn't need so much healthcare, I believe I'd be heading for Slab City right now.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Caroling for Brandy, 2011
In general my fellow humans are a puzzlement to me, and caroling brings to the fore one of the many things I just don't understand about most Americans--why they buy into the Madison Avenue (advertising) BS about commercialism and unbridled spending. So many Americans say they hate Christmas because they HAVE to buy so many gifts and because it's so materialistic. Well, it's never been that way for me, and I live in the same country as they do. Caroling to strangers costs nothing, and it spreads far more Christmas cheer than an iPod or store gift card can ever hope to do.
Last year caroling for brandy was put on hiatus because of my kidney transplant surgery. But this year the tradition resumed on Friday, December 23, 7 p.m. We had seven carolers and three passersby who joined us--a first.
Othman had just finished his catering job, so he didn't take the time to go home and change but came in his tuxedo. Handsome as usual but a bit chilly, so I lent him a coat. I told him he was the Lebanese Oscar Wilde. He chuckled and said, "Oh, thanks, Heidi, now people have two reasons to hate me--Arab and gay." I reminded him that Wilde was an engaging personality as he is, and very intelligent too. Gay was certainly not his sole attribute.
Every year the energy is different because we've had as few as three carolers and as many as 10. Also, we go to different houses every year. Always the houses of strangers, unlike every other caroling group I've ever been in that just wants to carol on the doorsteps of people they know. What fun is that? One of the interesting things about our caroling for brandy is that we never know what lurks behind these strangers' doors. Perhaps wonder and awe. Perhaps anger. Perhaps indifference. One never knows.
Though we did receive beer at one house and spiced rum at another, drinking was not the main event. Three of us asked for water instead. Except for one guy who told us to go away and a woman who asked us to leave because she was putting her kids to bed, everyone else was positively thrilled to see us. It was downright magical for many of our listeners. That's such a wonderful feeling, going about and spreading Christmas cheer to unsuspecting strangers.
One groovy redhead in a metallic Egyptian princess mini-skirt invited us upstairs to her apartment. A small gathering was underway, complete with a life-sized manager against one wall. We attempted to place Rasputin in Baby Jesus' crib with the woman's cute, elfin daughter, but he wanted none of that.
I had two "Stille Nacht" solos. "Silent Night" in German. I am forever asking Othman to learn "Silent Night" in Arabic, but so far no luck. And Aaron and some of his buddies could surely do it in Spanish, but they don't.
Next year, folks, listen to your inner voice. Don't follow the herd. Ask everyone you know not to buy you gifts and let them know they're not getting gifts from you. Instead ask them to go caroling at the doors of strangers. Or come up with a loving, giving idea of your own. You might just begin to really enjoy the season.
Last year caroling for brandy was put on hiatus because of my kidney transplant surgery. But this year the tradition resumed on Friday, December 23, 7 p.m. We had seven carolers and three passersby who joined us--a first.
Othman had just finished his catering job, so he didn't take the time to go home and change but came in his tuxedo. Handsome as usual but a bit chilly, so I lent him a coat. I told him he was the Lebanese Oscar Wilde. He chuckled and said, "Oh, thanks, Heidi, now people have two reasons to hate me--Arab and gay." I reminded him that Wilde was an engaging personality as he is, and very intelligent too. Gay was certainly not his sole attribute.
Every year the energy is different because we've had as few as three carolers and as many as 10. Also, we go to different houses every year. Always the houses of strangers, unlike every other caroling group I've ever been in that just wants to carol on the doorsteps of people they know. What fun is that? One of the interesting things about our caroling for brandy is that we never know what lurks behind these strangers' doors. Perhaps wonder and awe. Perhaps anger. Perhaps indifference. One never knows.
Though we did receive beer at one house and spiced rum at another, drinking was not the main event. Three of us asked for water instead. Except for one guy who told us to go away and a woman who asked us to leave because she was putting her kids to bed, everyone else was positively thrilled to see us. It was downright magical for many of our listeners. That's such a wonderful feeling, going about and spreading Christmas cheer to unsuspecting strangers.
One groovy redhead in a metallic Egyptian princess mini-skirt invited us upstairs to her apartment. A small gathering was underway, complete with a life-sized manager against one wall. We attempted to place Rasputin in Baby Jesus' crib with the woman's cute, elfin daughter, but he wanted none of that.
I had two "Stille Nacht" solos. "Silent Night" in German. I am forever asking Othman to learn "Silent Night" in Arabic, but so far no luck. And Aaron and some of his buddies could surely do it in Spanish, but they don't.
Next year, folks, listen to your inner voice. Don't follow the herd. Ask everyone you know not to buy you gifts and let them know they're not getting gifts from you. Instead ask them to go caroling at the doors of strangers. Or come up with a loving, giving idea of your own. You might just begin to really enjoy the season.
Friday, December 09, 2011
My Kidney's First Birthday!
Yesterday was one year since my kidney transplant. Hooray! Life without nightly dialysis and a foot or so of tubing sticking out of my mid-section is so wonderful.
My neighbors, Janet and Dana, and their dog, Arrow, greeted me at my doorstep early yesterday morning with a present for Pinky, the name I gave my new kidney because the surgeon said that when he placed it in my body it "pinked up." Janet was part of the donor chain that involved four patients and four donor, none of whom were matched to their friend or family member but who were matched to a stranger. So, Janet donated her kidney on my behalf to someone in Virginia, and I received a kidney from a woman who was not matched to her husband but she was to me. Her husband received a kidney from a man in Pennsylvania who simply wanted to donate to the next person on the list. The person in Virgina's friend or family member (we never heard from him/her) donated to a man in San Francisco. Thereby four lives were saved, whereas just a short time ago, we would have died for lack of a compatible donor. What a beautiful chain of life.
So, Dana and Janet gave me this beautiful, pink glass and glitter seahorse. It is so me! I have it hanging from a lamp next to a window so it can catch the sunlight.
I also happened to have an appointment with my dear nephrologist, Dr. Butman, yesterday. I brought wine glasses and a small bottle of Martinelli's sparkling apple juice to the appointment. Unfortunately, in my excitement, I dropped the Martinelli's bottle and it shattered over his office floor. Aw, oh, well, the spirit of celebration was in the room nonetheless.
So, Pinky, congratulations on making it through your first year. Many, many more to come.
My neighbors, Janet and Dana, and their dog, Arrow, greeted me at my doorstep early yesterday morning with a present for Pinky, the name I gave my new kidney because the surgeon said that when he placed it in my body it "pinked up." Janet was part of the donor chain that involved four patients and four donor, none of whom were matched to their friend or family member but who were matched to a stranger. So, Janet donated her kidney on my behalf to someone in Virginia, and I received a kidney from a woman who was not matched to her husband but she was to me. Her husband received a kidney from a man in Pennsylvania who simply wanted to donate to the next person on the list. The person in Virgina's friend or family member (we never heard from him/her) donated to a man in San Francisco. Thereby four lives were saved, whereas just a short time ago, we would have died for lack of a compatible donor. What a beautiful chain of life.
So, Dana and Janet gave me this beautiful, pink glass and glitter seahorse. It is so me! I have it hanging from a lamp next to a window so it can catch the sunlight.
I also happened to have an appointment with my dear nephrologist, Dr. Butman, yesterday. I brought wine glasses and a small bottle of Martinelli's sparkling apple juice to the appointment. Unfortunately, in my excitement, I dropped the Martinelli's bottle and it shattered over his office floor. Aw, oh, well, the spirit of celebration was in the room nonetheless.
So, Pinky, congratulations on making it through your first year. Many, many more to come.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
I Didn't "Pull a Paterno"
In case you've been away from all media for the past couple weeks, Joe Paterno was the legendary Penn State football coach who failed to report a friend and former assistant coach's child molestation to police. I have been outraged about this entire incident, especially with a former collegue who claims he's been a good journalist by "seeing both sides of the story" by defending Paterno.
UGH! I could go on and on about this.
1) The man has not worked as a journalist for more than three decades.
2) His supposed objectivity seems more to me like upholding the status quo and the position of safety, of fitting in. In this case he thinks he's seeing both sides, but when it comes to controversial ideas like 9/11 or the real reasons for our wars in the Middle East, he refuses to even entertain the evidence and the troubling questions. Finally, after years of pestering him about 9/11, he finally admitted that the USG could have planned it all, but that's "nothing new, government's are doing that all the time." But my God, that doesn't make it right! If that's not something a journalist should take a stand about, what is?
3) Like the greatest American journalist of all time, Edward R. Murrow, knew, there are times when a journalist must take a stand, as he did against Sen. Joe McCarthy and his anti-democratic, unconstitutional Committee on un-American Activities, which saw Communists everywhere. If journalists had taken a stand against all the illegal, immoral things the US government has done in the last decade or so, the country and the entire world would be a lot better off. (Think: torture, illegal wars, the murder of foreign civilians, the recent murder of three American citizens without trial, the so-called Patriot Act, illegal wiretapping and other surveillance, the police state tactics of the Dept. of Homeland Security and most visibly the TSA, on and on and on...).
Not just journalists but citizens in general need to take a stand, especially when children are involved. This ex-colleague of mine said that he could see why Paterno would not want to make a fuss about the molestation. He wanted to protect his reputation, his job, the football program's prestige, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I said, Sure I can see all that, but none of that makes what he did or didn't do a moral decision. If every time someone doing the upright and moral thing knew he was going to be rewarded and honored, everyone would do the right thing. A moral decision is when you know there might be negative repercussions for yourself and yet you do what is right, not necessarily for yourself, but for another. This ex-collegue seemed not to understand what I was talking about.
There have been plenty of times I put my safety in danger to help a child or a battered woman, calling the police or social services on negligent parents who let their diapered girl roam barefoot down and across the street, on a mother who yelled mercilessly at her toddler, on a former husband who was ripping down the door of his ex-wife's apt. while screaming he was going to kill her and her boyfriend, and on a neighborhood jerk who was in the process of killing his wife. The last guy drove his car full speed ahead at me when I was crossing the street. I yelled at him, "Good one, you asshole. Run me down in the middle of the street in broad daylight with a bunch of witnesses." He never bothered me again. I also called the father of four brothers who ran to my apt. when their mother was being beaten by her boyfriend. I also stood up to a nextdoor neighbor who let his kids play in my yard and bang their ball against my windows on a daily basis. He took a swing at me. I dodged it. These and other incidents didn't get me any rewards or kudos. On the contrary, they put me in danger. But I never thought not to take action.
That's why, when driving down a narrow, congested street on Saturday, I took action to save a young child. A girl not more than one was standing in the road. Other drivers were carefully going around her as if she were a stray dog. I immediately parked my car where it was, as there were no close parking spots. I stopped traffic and took the girl by the hand, leading her to the sidewalk. I motioned to a man pulling out of his driveway, and he motioned to the house next door. The gate to the yard was wide open. There were a few steps to the front door, so I lifted the girl and carried her. She was so calm with me, so willing to have me take her anywhere I wanted to go. In short, the kind of kid you could walk off with and you'd never see her again. I had to bang on the door to get someone's attention. Finally, a teenager came to the door. "Your daughter was out in traffic," I said. He said his brother was supposed to be watching her. "Well, he wasn't, and the gate was wide open." That poor, little girl. She's probably ignored all the time.
So the next time you see a child in danger or being abused, don't pull a Paterno and do nothing. I wish that everyone would just act instinctually when they see a child who needs help. Act without thinking. Act solely to protect the child.
UGH! I could go on and on about this.
1) The man has not worked as a journalist for more than three decades.
2) His supposed objectivity seems more to me like upholding the status quo and the position of safety, of fitting in. In this case he thinks he's seeing both sides, but when it comes to controversial ideas like 9/11 or the real reasons for our wars in the Middle East, he refuses to even entertain the evidence and the troubling questions. Finally, after years of pestering him about 9/11, he finally admitted that the USG could have planned it all, but that's "nothing new, government's are doing that all the time." But my God, that doesn't make it right! If that's not something a journalist should take a stand about, what is?
3) Like the greatest American journalist of all time, Edward R. Murrow, knew, there are times when a journalist must take a stand, as he did against Sen. Joe McCarthy and his anti-democratic, unconstitutional Committee on un-American Activities, which saw Communists everywhere. If journalists had taken a stand against all the illegal, immoral things the US government has done in the last decade or so, the country and the entire world would be a lot better off. (Think: torture, illegal wars, the murder of foreign civilians, the recent murder of three American citizens without trial, the so-called Patriot Act, illegal wiretapping and other surveillance, the police state tactics of the Dept. of Homeland Security and most visibly the TSA, on and on and on...).
Not just journalists but citizens in general need to take a stand, especially when children are involved. This ex-colleague of mine said that he could see why Paterno would not want to make a fuss about the molestation. He wanted to protect his reputation, his job, the football program's prestige, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I said, Sure I can see all that, but none of that makes what he did or didn't do a moral decision. If every time someone doing the upright and moral thing knew he was going to be rewarded and honored, everyone would do the right thing. A moral decision is when you know there might be negative repercussions for yourself and yet you do what is right, not necessarily for yourself, but for another. This ex-collegue seemed not to understand what I was talking about.
There have been plenty of times I put my safety in danger to help a child or a battered woman, calling the police or social services on negligent parents who let their diapered girl roam barefoot down and across the street, on a mother who yelled mercilessly at her toddler, on a former husband who was ripping down the door of his ex-wife's apt. while screaming he was going to kill her and her boyfriend, and on a neighborhood jerk who was in the process of killing his wife. The last guy drove his car full speed ahead at me when I was crossing the street. I yelled at him, "Good one, you asshole. Run me down in the middle of the street in broad daylight with a bunch of witnesses." He never bothered me again. I also called the father of four brothers who ran to my apt. when their mother was being beaten by her boyfriend. I also stood up to a nextdoor neighbor who let his kids play in my yard and bang their ball against my windows on a daily basis. He took a swing at me. I dodged it. These and other incidents didn't get me any rewards or kudos. On the contrary, they put me in danger. But I never thought not to take action.
That's why, when driving down a narrow, congested street on Saturday, I took action to save a young child. A girl not more than one was standing in the road. Other drivers were carefully going around her as if she were a stray dog. I immediately parked my car where it was, as there were no close parking spots. I stopped traffic and took the girl by the hand, leading her to the sidewalk. I motioned to a man pulling out of his driveway, and he motioned to the house next door. The gate to the yard was wide open. There were a few steps to the front door, so I lifted the girl and carried her. She was so calm with me, so willing to have me take her anywhere I wanted to go. In short, the kind of kid you could walk off with and you'd never see her again. I had to bang on the door to get someone's attention. Finally, a teenager came to the door. "Your daughter was out in traffic," I said. He said his brother was supposed to be watching her. "Well, he wasn't, and the gate was wide open." That poor, little girl. She's probably ignored all the time.
So the next time you see a child in danger or being abused, don't pull a Paterno and do nothing. I wish that everyone would just act instinctually when they see a child who needs help. Act without thinking. Act solely to protect the child.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
A Few Thoughts on Recent News Events
To offset the sad truth of the following news events, I will pepper my comments with beautiful photos from Nova Scotia.
* Doesn't anyone else but me think it's hypocritical that the US government finally backed the protesters in Egypt, Tunisia, Syria, and Libya as democracy-seeking movements, yet the Occupy protesters in this country are being forced to disperse through police violence and no one demands that Obama step down because of the anti-democratic tactics of police forces within his nation? How's this for our new national slogan:
DEMOCRACY, JUST NOT IN MY BACKYARD
* I got a major insight into the Arab Spring when I heard that Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was talking about how the US has to "help" Egypt and other countries in the region with their "burgeoning democracies" by opening them up to the glories of so-called "free trade." Oh, so that's what this was all about! Opening the Middle East to more of the tentacles of the multi-national companies and their bankster friends. Evil shrouded in goodwill, once again. I advised my Egyptian friends from the get-go that they needed to stay as far away from the US as possible. No doubt the US government is supporting the current military dictatorship in Egypt just as it supported Mubarak for 30 years.
* The stationing of 2,500 elite troops (US Marines) in Australia--this is a travesty on so many levels.
1) We have no money for the poor, the sick, the elderly; we have no money for education or infrastructure; but damn it, we always have money for weapons and for killing, don't we!
2) This is a clearly provocative act against the Chinese. How do you think the Pentagon would feel if China established a military base in Brazil? It makes me ill how the USG is always doing things that it would never let anyone else get away with--anyone else except Israel, that is.
3) We've farmed out the electronics of our weapons systems to China, leaving us wide open to sabotage. Why any country would farm out its weapons manufacturing to another country is beyond me. Unless, of course, the US wants an incident that it can blame on someone else. That is always a very real possibility.
4) Why not bring these troops home and have them build bridges or pave roads, something useful for once!
5) Is the US attempting to start World War III? Sure seems like the way to go about it.
6) All this from the president who received the Nobel Peace Prize. What a cruel, cynical joke that is.
* The media have been reporting Obama's "free trade" talks with Asia, a move, they say, that will create American jobs and increase our exports. Oh, my gawd! I called my senators, Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein, and told their aides, "Doesn't anyone remember NAFTA? That's exactly the B.S. we were told then." And what did NAFTA do? Kill good-paying American jobs, destroy cities like Detroit, move factories to Mexico, and decrease the American standard of living without making an improvement in the lives of those who took our jobs. Free trade is just a give-away to the huge corporations and the greedy banksters. It has not helped the average Joe.
* Doesn't anyone else but me think it's hypocritical that the US government finally backed the protesters in Egypt, Tunisia, Syria, and Libya as democracy-seeking movements, yet the Occupy protesters in this country are being forced to disperse through police violence and no one demands that Obama step down because of the anti-democratic tactics of police forces within his nation? How's this for our new national slogan:
DEMOCRACY, JUST NOT IN MY BACKYARD
* I got a major insight into the Arab Spring when I heard that Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was talking about how the US has to "help" Egypt and other countries in the region with their "burgeoning democracies" by opening them up to the glories of so-called "free trade." Oh, so that's what this was all about! Opening the Middle East to more of the tentacles of the multi-national companies and their bankster friends. Evil shrouded in goodwill, once again. I advised my Egyptian friends from the get-go that they needed to stay as far away from the US as possible. No doubt the US government is supporting the current military dictatorship in Egypt just as it supported Mubarak for 30 years.
* The stationing of 2,500 elite troops (US Marines) in Australia--this is a travesty on so many levels.
1) We have no money for the poor, the sick, the elderly; we have no money for education or infrastructure; but damn it, we always have money for weapons and for killing, don't we!
2) This is a clearly provocative act against the Chinese. How do you think the Pentagon would feel if China established a military base in Brazil? It makes me ill how the USG is always doing things that it would never let anyone else get away with--anyone else except Israel, that is.
3) We've farmed out the electronics of our weapons systems to China, leaving us wide open to sabotage. Why any country would farm out its weapons manufacturing to another country is beyond me. Unless, of course, the US wants an incident that it can blame on someone else. That is always a very real possibility.
4) Why not bring these troops home and have them build bridges or pave roads, something useful for once!
5) Is the US attempting to start World War III? Sure seems like the way to go about it.
6) All this from the president who received the Nobel Peace Prize. What a cruel, cynical joke that is.
* The media have been reporting Obama's "free trade" talks with Asia, a move, they say, that will create American jobs and increase our exports. Oh, my gawd! I called my senators, Barbara Boxer and Dianne Feinstein, and told their aides, "Doesn't anyone remember NAFTA? That's exactly the B.S. we were told then." And what did NAFTA do? Kill good-paying American jobs, destroy cities like Detroit, move factories to Mexico, and decrease the American standard of living without making an improvement in the lives of those who took our jobs. Free trade is just a give-away to the huge corporations and the greedy banksters. It has not helped the average Joe.
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Nova Scotian Beauty
I write about police brutality in Oakland or how human rights have not improved in Egypt since Mubarak's ouster or the US government's plans to use drones to spy on everyday Americans and read their "hostile intentions." But I sometimes get so weary of all the evil in the world that I just need to take a break.
Instead here are a few beauty shots from Nova Scotia, Canada. I was in the province most of October.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Hooray for Canadian Bus Drivers!
Today I witnessed something that no longer occurs in the United States. A bus passenger who was saying hateful things on his cell phone was reprimanded by the driver and told to keep it down. In the US, rude and obnoxious people unfortunately get away with creating noise pollution wherever they go because no one has the guts to tell them to be quiet. Hooray for Canadians and their standards of decency.
This particular passenger was talking loudly on his cell, telling his friend that he tried to start a fight at the bus stop, I guess with the black man who was waiting there with his wife/girlfriend and young child. The passenger said the man wouldn't fight, but that he'd "blow his brains out." The "tough guy" wasn't so tough after all. He complied with the driver's request, without fuss.
In the US, people avoid getting involved, plus they don't want to "hurt anyone's feelings." This is so crazy. When I have encountered people who are polluting my space with their language, I've told them, without waiting for an authority figure to intervene.
One time was on a city bus in LA. A young man was cursing every second word--and loudly. I politely said that he needs to keep his foul language to himself. No one else is enjoying it. He gave me some attitude, but he did quiet down.
The other time I can remember, I was attempting to enjoy a cup of coffee at my favorite coffeehouse. Two men in their late 20s were saying "f--k" this and "f--k" that, and "I f--ked her" and I want to "f--k" this other one. On and on. I first gave them a cold stare, but when that didn't work, I told them that if they want to talk like that, go somewhere where they can be alone, so they don't disturb other people, but don't do it here because I'm trying to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace. The two guys gave me more attitude than the kid had. When they wouldn't stop, I said I'd ask the owner to intervene, as I was sure he didn't want their kind of patron keeping others away. They left, thank goodness.
I really wish that more people would get involved. I know some are scared, and friends have told me that I could get into trouble calling these social pariahs out. We are all in this together. If people need some instruction in how to behave, whether they are 14 or 64, why not educate them? They obviously didn't learn how to act from their parents. Somebody's got to do it.
This particular passenger was talking loudly on his cell, telling his friend that he tried to start a fight at the bus stop, I guess with the black man who was waiting there with his wife/girlfriend and young child. The passenger said the man wouldn't fight, but that he'd "blow his brains out." The "tough guy" wasn't so tough after all. He complied with the driver's request, without fuss.
In the US, people avoid getting involved, plus they don't want to "hurt anyone's feelings." This is so crazy. When I have encountered people who are polluting my space with their language, I've told them, without waiting for an authority figure to intervene.
One time was on a city bus in LA. A young man was cursing every second word--and loudly. I politely said that he needs to keep his foul language to himself. No one else is enjoying it. He gave me some attitude, but he did quiet down.
The other time I can remember, I was attempting to enjoy a cup of coffee at my favorite coffeehouse. Two men in their late 20s were saying "f--k" this and "f--k" that, and "I f--ked her" and I want to "f--k" this other one. On and on. I first gave them a cold stare, but when that didn't work, I told them that if they want to talk like that, go somewhere where they can be alone, so they don't disturb other people, but don't do it here because I'm trying to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace. The two guys gave me more attitude than the kid had. When they wouldn't stop, I said I'd ask the owner to intervene, as I was sure he didn't want their kind of patron keeping others away. They left, thank goodness.
I really wish that more people would get involved. I know some are scared, and friends have told me that I could get into trouble calling these social pariahs out. We are all in this together. If people need some instruction in how to behave, whether they are 14 or 64, why not educate them? They obviously didn't learn how to act from their parents. Somebody's got to do it.
Monday, October 17, 2011
I'm in the Woods
For the past two weeks and for the next two weeks, I'm staying in my cabin in the Nova Scotian woods, near the Bay of Fundy. My cabin has electricity but no phone, cell phone or internet connections. The only reason I'm posting this is that I drove into town this morning and am using my friend Helene's internet access.
I have been taking some wonderful photos of the fall leaves, but, silly me, I forgot the cable that links my digital camera to my laptop at home, so I cannot transfer photos. I'll have to post these upon my return to So Cal. For now, you'll have to let this summer-time photo of my cabin suffice.
I have been taking some wonderful photos of the fall leaves, but, silly me, I forgot the cable that links my digital camera to my laptop at home, so I cannot transfer photos. I'll have to post these upon my return to So Cal. For now, you'll have to let this summer-time photo of my cabin suffice.
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Now OK for Government to Murder US Citizens Without Trial
Two American citizens were killed yesterday in Yemen by US drones. Why? Because the government said they were terrorists. They did not stand trial. They were not convicted of terrorism. They were labeled terrorists and "taken out." Yes, "taken out" was the phrase used by the news media, even by NPR. You know who else takes out people? The Mafia--by all accounts a terrorist organization.
Now I'm not saying that Anwar al-Awlaki and Samir Khan were as pure as the newfallen snow. It's that the US Constitution requires due process. On NPR, a "legal expert" was quoted as saying that the government labeling these men terrorists is in itself due process.
What! My God, what kind of circular logic is that! So if the government says you're a terrorist or I'm a terrorist, well, hell, that's good enough reason for us to be taken out. That is actually what is known as summary execution, as was famously captured in 1966 by Vietnam War photographer Eddie Adams (see below). In the photo, police chief General Nguyễn Ngọc Loan executes Vietcong prisoner Nguyễn Văn Lém.
Let me interject a little civics lesson: In a trial, the government (known as "the people"--what a joke, huh!) presents its evidence, and the defense (the accused) presents his/her case. The evidence is aired before a jury. The jury then decides if the person is innocent or guilty. It seems as if the Obama administration has cut out this inconvenient, time-consuming step. Now the government merely has to say someone's guilty, skip the trial, not hear the accused's side of the story, and murder him. History buffs, does this make you think of Stalinist Russia or Maoist China? I'm sure plenty of other regimes also come to mind.
And you realize, I hope, that one of the Patriot Act's definitions of a terrorist is someone who disrupts commerce. What a vague, broad definition. Under those terms, basically anyone who protests in front of a store, or the Occupy Wall Street protesters, could be labeled a terrorist. So, too, I suppose, could someone who encourages people to refrain from buying anything from corporations and to instead buy used, pick up freebies in the alley, make or grow your own, or barter. In short, pretty much anyone could be labeled a terrorist.
The other thing I have to say about the CIA's drone murders of Americans is that isn't it so convenient! To me, it seems as if the CIA is simply cleaning house, bumping off anyone who might tell all kinds of secrets about US government spooky business, if he were put on trial in an open courtroom. Boy, we sure couldn't have that now, could we! All these "terrorists" spilling the beans about the real story behind 9/11, the Afghanistan and Iraq invasions and occupations, the so-called terrorist threats to the US since 9/11, on and on and on. That's why Osama bin Laden never stood trial, and why Saddham Hussein's trial was a sham.
Yet, sad to say, most of my countrymen do not see it this way. When asked by MSNBC, Do you think the U.S. should kill citizens overseas without affording them due process? of 38,877 votes so far, 79.8% said, "Yes, if they are plotting terrorist attacks against the U.S." Only 18.5% said, "No, U.S. citizens have the right to be tried in a court of law regardless of what they are accused of doing."
To the Yes people, I would ask, So, in other words, you're simply taking the government's word that they are plotting terrorist attacks? And this is the same government that's lied to you about everything from the reasons for invading Iraq and Afghanistan to 9/11 to helping Main Street not Wall Street to getting rid of lobbyists in Washington to closing Gitmo? My goodness, if you are that gullible, how do you go through life? Do you still believe in fairy tales too? Actually, I'd be more willing to believe a fairy tale than I would anything coming out of Washington or the mainstream media.
Now I'm not saying that Anwar al-Awlaki and Samir Khan were as pure as the newfallen snow. It's that the US Constitution requires due process. On NPR, a "legal expert" was quoted as saying that the government labeling these men terrorists is in itself due process.
What! My God, what kind of circular logic is that! So if the government says you're a terrorist or I'm a terrorist, well, hell, that's good enough reason for us to be taken out. That is actually what is known as summary execution, as was famously captured in 1966 by Vietnam War photographer Eddie Adams (see below). In the photo, police chief General Nguyễn Ngọc Loan executes Vietcong prisoner Nguyễn Văn Lém.
Let me interject a little civics lesson: In a trial, the government (known as "the people"--what a joke, huh!) presents its evidence, and the defense (the accused) presents his/her case. The evidence is aired before a jury. The jury then decides if the person is innocent or guilty. It seems as if the Obama administration has cut out this inconvenient, time-consuming step. Now the government merely has to say someone's guilty, skip the trial, not hear the accused's side of the story, and murder him. History buffs, does this make you think of Stalinist Russia or Maoist China? I'm sure plenty of other regimes also come to mind.
And you realize, I hope, that one of the Patriot Act's definitions of a terrorist is someone who disrupts commerce. What a vague, broad definition. Under those terms, basically anyone who protests in front of a store, or the Occupy Wall Street protesters, could be labeled a terrorist. So, too, I suppose, could someone who encourages people to refrain from buying anything from corporations and to instead buy used, pick up freebies in the alley, make or grow your own, or barter. In short, pretty much anyone could be labeled a terrorist.
The other thing I have to say about the CIA's drone murders of Americans is that isn't it so convenient! To me, it seems as if the CIA is simply cleaning house, bumping off anyone who might tell all kinds of secrets about US government spooky business, if he were put on trial in an open courtroom. Boy, we sure couldn't have that now, could we! All these "terrorists" spilling the beans about the real story behind 9/11, the Afghanistan and Iraq invasions and occupations, the so-called terrorist threats to the US since 9/11, on and on and on. That's why Osama bin Laden never stood trial, and why Saddham Hussein's trial was a sham.
Yet, sad to say, most of my countrymen do not see it this way. When asked by MSNBC, Do you think the U.S. should kill citizens overseas without affording them due process? of 38,877 votes so far, 79.8% said, "Yes, if they are plotting terrorist attacks against the U.S." Only 18.5% said, "No, U.S. citizens have the right to be tried in a court of law regardless of what they are accused of doing."
To the Yes people, I would ask, So, in other words, you're simply taking the government's word that they are plotting terrorist attacks? And this is the same government that's lied to you about everything from the reasons for invading Iraq and Afghanistan to 9/11 to helping Main Street not Wall Street to getting rid of lobbyists in Washington to closing Gitmo? My goodness, if you are that gullible, how do you go through life? Do you still believe in fairy tales too? Actually, I'd be more willing to believe a fairy tale than I would anything coming out of Washington or the mainstream media.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The 10th Anniversary of the US Government's 9/11 Conspiracy Theory
Only the last residues of the 10th anniversary of 9/11 remain. A few more commentaries, a bit more flag-waving. For the past three weeks, I could not listen to anything but the classical station on my radio dial. The retelling of 9/11 lies was just too much for me to take.
More and more Americans are coming to their senses and realizing that, yes, indeed our government was and still is capable of such a deed. Yet the mainstream media continue to give the standard conspiracy theory of 19 men armed only with box cutters incapacitating the entire US military, strategic air command, intelligence community, law enforcement agencies, and air traffic control system. Wow, if that isn't the most outrageous, unbelievable, preposterous conspiracy theory I've ever heard, I don't know what is.
Prior to waking on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I had the following dream: I was walking alone through a war-torn landscape. I could hear gunfire and artillery fire. Fires were burning, and smoke filled the air. Destitute civilians and nearly robotic soldiers were heading toward the fighting, as a voice from above instructed them. I knew this was foolishness; I was intent on going in the other direction, away from the fighting. A soldier angrily stopped me and asked me what I was doing. I lied, saying I was returning home to get my bicycle so that I could make better time than I could walking. As soon as I got my bike, I told him, I'd race toward the fighting. He let me proceed. I walked away, amazed that everyone else was listening to the disembodied voice that urged them on toward the war.
Well, that's what happened, wasn't it! Americans very willingly listened to Bush and Company, skipping happily into Afghanistan to "get" Osama bin Laden! I was one of very few people who spoke out during this time, attending a peace protest even before we entered the fray.
When I first heard about the plane crashing into the first WTC Tower on Sept. 11, 2001, I was dropping my son off at his high school. A shudder went through my body, and the words "They've gone and done it" went through my mind. The "they," however, was not Arab terrorists, though I'm open to the possibility that Arabs conspired with Cheney-Rice and Company to pull it off.
That evening, my son and I went to Circuit City to watch the destruction on their TVs. (I don't own a TV and didn't then either.) This was before Circuit City's TVs were controlled by some central command system that doesn't allow the sales staff to switch stations!
Aaron and I watched the planes and the towers for maybe a half hour on Circuit City's TVs. The first time I saw it, I said to him, "That's a controlled demolition!" I even asked if he saw the puffs of smoke coming out the sides of the buildings. I sure didn't have to be told that by some alternative news agency months later. I could see it for myself. I am convinced that the clarity I brought to watching that scene was due in great part to the fact that I haven't owned a TV since 1990 when I was still living with my now ex-husband. I looked at the images carefully, rather than passively.
But because almost every other American watched the planes and the towers over and over again until they were hypnotized and listened to the mainstream media's lies over and over again until they were brainwashed, very little critical thinking went on. Very little is still going on, but a little more than there once was.
More and more Americans are coming to their senses and realizing that, yes, indeed our government was and still is capable of such a deed. Yet the mainstream media continue to give the standard conspiracy theory of 19 men armed only with box cutters incapacitating the entire US military, strategic air command, intelligence community, law enforcement agencies, and air traffic control system. Wow, if that isn't the most outrageous, unbelievable, preposterous conspiracy theory I've ever heard, I don't know what is.
Prior to waking on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I had the following dream: I was walking alone through a war-torn landscape. I could hear gunfire and artillery fire. Fires were burning, and smoke filled the air. Destitute civilians and nearly robotic soldiers were heading toward the fighting, as a voice from above instructed them. I knew this was foolishness; I was intent on going in the other direction, away from the fighting. A soldier angrily stopped me and asked me what I was doing. I lied, saying I was returning home to get my bicycle so that I could make better time than I could walking. As soon as I got my bike, I told him, I'd race toward the fighting. He let me proceed. I walked away, amazed that everyone else was listening to the disembodied voice that urged them on toward the war.
Well, that's what happened, wasn't it! Americans very willingly listened to Bush and Company, skipping happily into Afghanistan to "get" Osama bin Laden! I was one of very few people who spoke out during this time, attending a peace protest even before we entered the fray.
When I first heard about the plane crashing into the first WTC Tower on Sept. 11, 2001, I was dropping my son off at his high school. A shudder went through my body, and the words "They've gone and done it" went through my mind. The "they," however, was not Arab terrorists, though I'm open to the possibility that Arabs conspired with Cheney-Rice and Company to pull it off.
That evening, my son and I went to Circuit City to watch the destruction on their TVs. (I don't own a TV and didn't then either.) This was before Circuit City's TVs were controlled by some central command system that doesn't allow the sales staff to switch stations!
Aaron and I watched the planes and the towers for maybe a half hour on Circuit City's TVs. The first time I saw it, I said to him, "That's a controlled demolition!" I even asked if he saw the puffs of smoke coming out the sides of the buildings. I sure didn't have to be told that by some alternative news agency months later. I could see it for myself. I am convinced that the clarity I brought to watching that scene was due in great part to the fact that I haven't owned a TV since 1990 when I was still living with my now ex-husband. I looked at the images carefully, rather than passively.
But because almost every other American watched the planes and the towers over and over again until they were hypnotized and listened to the mainstream media's lies over and over again until they were brainwashed, very little critical thinking went on. Very little is still going on, but a little more than there once was.
Saturday, September 03, 2011
Rare Experiences for Me--a Family Dinner and Clothes Shopping with a Friend!
Yesterday I had two unusual-for-me experiences--a family dinner and clothes shopping with a girlfriend. I know, most of you must be thinking, "What planet is she from that those are rare experiences for her?"
Now that my son moved to Pennsylvania to pursue a master's degree in art history at Penn State, I have no family in California. My nearest (in distance) and only other nuclear family member is my brother in Wisconsin, but every time I call to talk with him, he is angry. It's very difficult to be close to someone who is always angry at the world, the government, his coworkers, his neighbors, California, me. a million things. It seems as if he hates me or at least is disgusted by me.
My mother and father are dead, though my role in those relationships was that of dutiful daughter, not someone who felt welcome. Besides that, I have a bunch of cousins in Minnesota, one cousin near Seattle, and one in Northern California. These people are closer in distance, that's true, than is my brother, but they're not nuclear family members like my son and brother. I see my cousins rarely, maybe two or three times in a decade, some of them once since I was a child. Once in a while, we send emails. That's it for family.
My son was always my family. Now he's on the other side of the country.
That's why being invited to other people's family gatherings is such a novelty for me. Like last night when my friend L'Oreal asked me to her brother's BBQ. They're Italian and so they have a gathering at least every Friday night. How much fun is that!
After dinner, laughter, stories, and really bad jokes, L'Oreal, her sister-in-law-to-be, and the latter's young daughter slipped out to visit one of L'Oreal's favorite clothing boutiques. I am forever complimenting L'Oreal on her outfits. Even when she says she just "threw something on," she looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
When we got to the boutique, L'Oreal snapped into action, handing me blouses and sweaters, showing me how to layer, telling me what colors would go best with my complexion and hair. She was truly amazing! She didn't look at anything for herself. She was concentrated on finding an outfit for me.
I rarely buy clothes--or anything--new. Jeans, underwear, and hosiery--yes. But everything else is from thrift stores or yard sales. When I thought about it, I could only remember going clothes shopping with a female friend once before in my entire life. That was about 30 years ago with my friend Sharon. I bought a gray flannel suit, which I still have and still wear!
Since then, I've either shopped alone or, after I separated from my husband, with my son. We'd go thrift store shopping together. But this was a very different experience than shopping with L'Oreal was. With Aaron, he'd go off and look at the boy's or men's clothes, and I'd head for the women's section. Once in a while, we'd comment on each other's selections, but rarely would we suggest clothes for each other or model the possible purchases to each other. I can really see how it would be a lot of fun to shop with a friend--the comraderie of it, getting someone's opinion before the sale, chatting while we looked around.
I hope it won't be another 30 years before I go clothes shopping with a friend again. And anyone who wants to adopt me for an evening so that I can attend a family gathering, I am eager to accept. After all, I am an orphan! Now taking Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's invitations.
Now that my son moved to Pennsylvania to pursue a master's degree in art history at Penn State, I have no family in California. My nearest (in distance) and only other nuclear family member is my brother in Wisconsin, but every time I call to talk with him, he is angry. It's very difficult to be close to someone who is always angry at the world, the government, his coworkers, his neighbors, California, me. a million things. It seems as if he hates me or at least is disgusted by me.
My mother and father are dead, though my role in those relationships was that of dutiful daughter, not someone who felt welcome. Besides that, I have a bunch of cousins in Minnesota, one cousin near Seattle, and one in Northern California. These people are closer in distance, that's true, than is my brother, but they're not nuclear family members like my son and brother. I see my cousins rarely, maybe two or three times in a decade, some of them once since I was a child. Once in a while, we send emails. That's it for family.
My son was always my family. Now he's on the other side of the country.
That's why being invited to other people's family gatherings is such a novelty for me. Like last night when my friend L'Oreal asked me to her brother's BBQ. They're Italian and so they have a gathering at least every Friday night. How much fun is that!
After dinner, laughter, stories, and really bad jokes, L'Oreal, her sister-in-law-to-be, and the latter's young daughter slipped out to visit one of L'Oreal's favorite clothing boutiques. I am forever complimenting L'Oreal on her outfits. Even when she says she just "threw something on," she looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
When we got to the boutique, L'Oreal snapped into action, handing me blouses and sweaters, showing me how to layer, telling me what colors would go best with my complexion and hair. She was truly amazing! She didn't look at anything for herself. She was concentrated on finding an outfit for me.
I rarely buy clothes--or anything--new. Jeans, underwear, and hosiery--yes. But everything else is from thrift stores or yard sales. When I thought about it, I could only remember going clothes shopping with a female friend once before in my entire life. That was about 30 years ago with my friend Sharon. I bought a gray flannel suit, which I still have and still wear!
Since then, I've either shopped alone or, after I separated from my husband, with my son. We'd go thrift store shopping together. But this was a very different experience than shopping with L'Oreal was. With Aaron, he'd go off and look at the boy's or men's clothes, and I'd head for the women's section. Once in a while, we'd comment on each other's selections, but rarely would we suggest clothes for each other or model the possible purchases to each other. I can really see how it would be a lot of fun to shop with a friend--the comraderie of it, getting someone's opinion before the sale, chatting while we looked around.
I hope it won't be another 30 years before I go clothes shopping with a friend again. And anyone who wants to adopt me for an evening so that I can attend a family gathering, I am eager to accept. After all, I am an orphan! Now taking Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's invitations.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Libya Our Next Iraq?
Following the "fall" of Tripoli on Tuesday, I heard an NPR reporter say that Libyan oil revenues would provide the funds for rebuilding the country. I shook my head when I heard that one and immediately called a like-minded friend. I said to him, "Hmmmm....Sound familiar?" He chuckled, then said, "And I bet Halliburton will get the rebuilding contract." (Halliburton, the mega-company that was given a no-bid contract to rebuild Iraq, but which simply absconded with a lot of money. The same company in which VP Dick Cheney was heavily invested and had been at the helm before becoming vice president.)
On the same news program, I heard an interview with the current Libyan ambassador to the U.S., the same guy who had been the Kadafi/Gaddafi/Qaddafi's ambassador to the U.S. until he jumped ship a few months ago. He reported that $160-170 billion in Libyan assets are in banks around the world. Just like Iraq, a whole heck of a lot of unaccounted-for money.
The third disturbing thing is the raid on the Kadafi's arsenals, which no one is guarding. So, just like Iraq, we'll end up with a plethora of young, restless, unemployed men with guns. Whatever you want to say about Kadafi, he united the country and kept ethnic tensions in check, just as every strongman from the former Soviet Union to the former Yugoslavia to Iraq once did. But once they were gone, all hell broke loose.
So now what? What's your guess? Mine? It sure ain't over yet.
On the same news program, I heard an interview with the current Libyan ambassador to the U.S., the same guy who had been the Kadafi/Gaddafi/Qaddafi's ambassador to the U.S. until he jumped ship a few months ago. He reported that $160-170 billion in Libyan assets are in banks around the world. Just like Iraq, a whole heck of a lot of unaccounted-for money.
The third disturbing thing is the raid on the Kadafi's arsenals, which no one is guarding. So, just like Iraq, we'll end up with a plethora of young, restless, unemployed men with guns. Whatever you want to say about Kadafi, he united the country and kept ethnic tensions in check, just as every strongman from the former Soviet Union to the former Yugoslavia to Iraq once did. But once they were gone, all hell broke loose.
So now what? What's your guess? Mine? It sure ain't over yet.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Obama Supporters: Obama's Better. We Just Can't Tell You How.
While at the farmers' market this morning, I stopped by the Obama-for-president table and asked the two people who were staffing it: "Could you tell me what Obama has done for the country?" They couldn't come up with a single thing, though they apologized that they didn't have their crib sheets with them.
They did, however, challenge me to write down the things he had said he'd do and hasn't done. With no preparation and no access to the Internet, I listed a dozen, with "rescind the Patriot Act" at the top of my list.
I spoke with them for about 10 minutes, and the only reason they had for supporting Obama is that he's better than Michele Bachmann. I said, "So in other words, you're saying that he's the lesser of two evils?" They agreed. I told them that if you always vote for the lesser of two evils, you'll continue to vote in evil. They agreed, saying that's what American politics are. I said, "But that's not democracy."
The subject of Ron Paul came up. They liked his anti-interventionist, bring-the-troops-home, don't-militarily-mess-with-the-affairs-of-other-coutries, anti-Federal Reserve platform, but were afraid he'd get rid of Medicare and Social Security. I said, "Just wait. Obama will get rid of them too."
They did, however, challenge me to write down the things he had said he'd do and hasn't done. With no preparation and no access to the Internet, I listed a dozen, with "rescind the Patriot Act" at the top of my list.
I spoke with them for about 10 minutes, and the only reason they had for supporting Obama is that he's better than Michele Bachmann. I said, "So in other words, you're saying that he's the lesser of two evils?" They agreed. I told them that if you always vote for the lesser of two evils, you'll continue to vote in evil. They agreed, saying that's what American politics are. I said, "But that's not democracy."
The subject of Ron Paul came up. They liked his anti-interventionist, bring-the-troops-home, don't-militarily-mess-with-the-affairs-of-other-coutries, anti-Federal Reserve platform, but were afraid he'd get rid of Medicare and Social Security. I said, "Just wait. Obama will get rid of them too."
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Crime on the Rise
Up until just recently, I've lived in a decent area. Single-family homes interspersed with ugly block apartment buildings. People walking their dogs, talking to each other, riding bicycles, tending their yards, if they have yards. Very friendly. None of that has changed. But now we've got an overlay of crime.
As with most urban areas in this country, of course, there have been homeless guys in the alley, looking for cans, sometimes drinking, sometimes smoking cigs or pot. But now there have been guys smoking crack, which adds a whole 'nuther layer of seediness. Also, a few cars have been riffled through for cash or cell phones, bicycles have been cut from their locks and stolen off people's porches, and someone was robbed at gunpoint.
The overall feeling of the neighborhood has not changed. People are still friendly. I still walk my dog alone at night. The flowers and plants are just as pretty. The craftsman-style houses are still cute. It's just that the crime from the alley or from outside the area makes me think of the film "Blue Velvet." Starring Dennis Hopper, the film is unsettling. It takes place in picture-perfect suburbia during the 1960s. A land of beautiful stay-at-home moms; handsome, strong dads; cute dogs; healthy, obedient kids; and white picket fences. Then the camera angle focuses on the ground level, where ants are crawling about. Next we're in a seedy part of town, ruled over by psychopath Dennis Hopper. Like the movie, my neighborhood is just fine until it's not.
As with most urban areas in this country, of course, there have been homeless guys in the alley, looking for cans, sometimes drinking, sometimes smoking cigs or pot. But now there have been guys smoking crack, which adds a whole 'nuther layer of seediness. Also, a few cars have been riffled through for cash or cell phones, bicycles have been cut from their locks and stolen off people's porches, and someone was robbed at gunpoint.
The overall feeling of the neighborhood has not changed. People are still friendly. I still walk my dog alone at night. The flowers and plants are just as pretty. The craftsman-style houses are still cute. It's just that the crime from the alley or from outside the area makes me think of the film "Blue Velvet." Starring Dennis Hopper, the film is unsettling. It takes place in picture-perfect suburbia during the 1960s. A land of beautiful stay-at-home moms; handsome, strong dads; cute dogs; healthy, obedient kids; and white picket fences. Then the camera angle focuses on the ground level, where ants are crawling about. Next we're in a seedy part of town, ruled over by psychopath Dennis Hopper. Like the movie, my neighborhood is just fine until it's not.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Another Activist Pulls Back
In 2005 and 2006, my mail arrived opened or previously opened and taped shut. Also, letters I left for the letter carrier never arrived at their destination. I complained to the post office by phone and by letter. Eventually, after four or five months, this tampering stopped. Since the landlord and I were the only ones who had my mail key, and since I could see no reason why he would want to read my mail--he was pretty hands-off--the post office or agencies of the USG working with the p.o. were the culprits.
During this time and continuing for years after that, I would hear clicks on my phone during conversations. My brother said that he had been hearing those clicks for years too. Realizing that current technology must allow for silent wire taps--how else could an effective program against drug dealers or other suspected criminals be carried out--I knew that the USG must want me to know they were listening.
Though I have continued to speak out, call and write my representatives, write of injustices and government lies, and attend peace marches, I know that I am on some list. Even before the mail tampering and eavesdropping, I was aware of being watched. When I crossed the border four times during the summer of 2005, for example, I was detained for questioning and my van was thoroughly searched at each crossing.
Lately, however, with the militarization of local police forces and their funding and direction from the Department of Homeland Security, with the rapid erosion of constitutional protections, with the legalization of torture, imprisonment without charge and without trial, with hundreds of incidents of the federal government's boot on the face of anyone who steps just slightly out of line, I have begun to rethink my activism.
Do I really want to risk being jailed without charge, food, water, or access to my meds for days, as has happened to some activists? This would be a death sentence for a Type 1 diabetic-heart patient-kidney transplant recipient. And so when I have been asked to participate in recent protests at FBI headquarters, I have declined. Unlike in the past, I am now concerned for my personal safety.
Such is the case of an acquaintance, Leonard, who has been very vocal and active in the Long Beach peace group. His mail is now being opened prior to delivery, and he hears clicks on his phone line.
As my friend Helma, who lived through Nazi Germany, said after Bush II was "elected," "This is how it starts," with thumbing your nose at the law here and there and then more and more. I recently asked her what she thought of Obama, she scoffed, "He is no different than the Bush." Exactly what I've always said.
So for those of you in other countries or in this country too who still believe that Obama is the savior of the free world, think again. He is continuing the work of his predecessor, only with nicer words, a calmer demeanor, and a more polished look. But fascism is fascism whether it's delivered up by Hitler, Bush, or a biracial man.
During this time and continuing for years after that, I would hear clicks on my phone during conversations. My brother said that he had been hearing those clicks for years too. Realizing that current technology must allow for silent wire taps--how else could an effective program against drug dealers or other suspected criminals be carried out--I knew that the USG must want me to know they were listening.
Though I have continued to speak out, call and write my representatives, write of injustices and government lies, and attend peace marches, I know that I am on some list. Even before the mail tampering and eavesdropping, I was aware of being watched. When I crossed the border four times during the summer of 2005, for example, I was detained for questioning and my van was thoroughly searched at each crossing.
Lately, however, with the militarization of local police forces and their funding and direction from the Department of Homeland Security, with the rapid erosion of constitutional protections, with the legalization of torture, imprisonment without charge and without trial, with hundreds of incidents of the federal government's boot on the face of anyone who steps just slightly out of line, I have begun to rethink my activism.
Do I really want to risk being jailed without charge, food, water, or access to my meds for days, as has happened to some activists? This would be a death sentence for a Type 1 diabetic-heart patient-kidney transplant recipient. And so when I have been asked to participate in recent protests at FBI headquarters, I have declined. Unlike in the past, I am now concerned for my personal safety.
Such is the case of an acquaintance, Leonard, who has been very vocal and active in the Long Beach peace group. His mail is now being opened prior to delivery, and he hears clicks on his phone line.
As my friend Helma, who lived through Nazi Germany, said after Bush II was "elected," "This is how it starts," with thumbing your nose at the law here and there and then more and more. I recently asked her what she thought of Obama, she scoffed, "He is no different than the Bush." Exactly what I've always said.
So for those of you in other countries or in this country too who still believe that Obama is the savior of the free world, think again. He is continuing the work of his predecessor, only with nicer words, a calmer demeanor, and a more polished look. But fascism is fascism whether it's delivered up by Hitler, Bush, or a biracial man.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Censorship on the Local Level
Censorship happens at every level--federal, state, local. It is carried out by government agencies, corporations, political officials, and the media. Sometimes it's subtle, sometimes blatant.
My most recent experience was with the Grunion Gazette, a weekly community newspaper that claims it "encourages letters to the editor, and will try to print all letters received." Except those that take issue with the opinions of the editor, that is.
In the June 16 edition, the editor proposed that surveillance cameras be installed in public places and on residential streets throughout the city in order to cut down on rowdy behavior outside bars. Boy, did I take issue with that suggestion, sending the following email to the paper the same day the paper was published:
Dear Editor:
It was with horror that I read the June 16 editorial "High-Tech Solution May Help Bar Issue" in which the writer advocated the installation of surveillance cameras in public places and on residential streets. It is a continual source of amazement to me how easily Americans give up their constitutional rights.
The writer even "supported" his case with the argument "If you aren't doing anything wrong, you don't have anything to worry about." The airline passengers who are groped and porno-scanned aren't doing anything wrong either, and yet their Fourth Amendment right to be free of warrantless searches without probable cause is violated countless times each day. And the so-called Patriot Act allows for the collection and storage of some 1.7 billion cell phone calls and emails (no doubt this one) every day, as well as the indefinite detention of persons who have not even been charged with a crime.
If this kind of anti-democratic, police state thinking goes on much longer and people fail to wake up to government intrusions into their lives, I suspect that next year the Gazette will be making a case for the microchipping of all citizens. That way, the authorities will know exactly where everyone is at any time. But of course if you're not doing anything wrong, what's the big deal!
My letter was never published, though another writer's letter was published this week--two weeks after the original editorial. A letter that felt that the editor had not gone far enough and which suggested further intrusion by the police.
I wonder how many times each day the media are preventing citizens from airing their concerns about the erosion of constitutional rights and other issues that question the status quo. A friend of mine who lives in Tucson was barred from online discussions at the local paper's web site because he voiced his pacifist concerns and made note of a major employer in the area, Raytheon, one of the key players in the killing--oops, defense--industry.
My most recent experience was with the Grunion Gazette, a weekly community newspaper that claims it "encourages letters to the editor, and will try to print all letters received." Except those that take issue with the opinions of the editor, that is.
In the June 16 edition, the editor proposed that surveillance cameras be installed in public places and on residential streets throughout the city in order to cut down on rowdy behavior outside bars. Boy, did I take issue with that suggestion, sending the following email to the paper the same day the paper was published:
Dear Editor:
It was with horror that I read the June 16 editorial "High-Tech Solution May Help Bar Issue" in which the writer advocated the installation of surveillance cameras in public places and on residential streets. It is a continual source of amazement to me how easily Americans give up their constitutional rights.
The writer even "supported" his case with the argument "If you aren't doing anything wrong, you don't have anything to worry about." The airline passengers who are groped and porno-scanned aren't doing anything wrong either, and yet their Fourth Amendment right to be free of warrantless searches without probable cause is violated countless times each day. And the so-called Patriot Act allows for the collection and storage of some 1.7 billion cell phone calls and emails (no doubt this one) every day, as well as the indefinite detention of persons who have not even been charged with a crime.
If this kind of anti-democratic, police state thinking goes on much longer and people fail to wake up to government intrusions into their lives, I suspect that next year the Gazette will be making a case for the microchipping of all citizens. That way, the authorities will know exactly where everyone is at any time. But of course if you're not doing anything wrong, what's the big deal!
My letter was never published, though another writer's letter was published this week--two weeks after the original editorial. A letter that felt that the editor had not gone far enough and which suggested further intrusion by the police.
I wonder how many times each day the media are preventing citizens from airing their concerns about the erosion of constitutional rights and other issues that question the status quo. A friend of mine who lives in Tucson was barred from online discussions at the local paper's web site because he voiced his pacifist concerns and made note of a major employer in the area, Raytheon, one of the key players in the killing--oops, defense--industry.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Why Don't I Have Female Intellectual Buddies?
About a month ago, I had a revelation: I have never had female friends who were my intellectual buddies. It's not that the women I hang around with are mental lightweights. Far from it. It's just that talk seems to focus on emotions of all sorts and relationships of all sorts--family, friends, lovers, spouses, coworkers--rather than on ideas. 
Even when I bring up the subjects of politics, religion, the nature of the universe, insights into human nature, science, the death of democracy, the corruption of the press, etc., I've found that women either let me talk, even when I ask for their input; seem uncomfortable and change the subject; parrot things they've heard on the radio or TV stations they listen to; or argue by personal example. There is not the give and take I have so thoroughly enjoyed with male friends over the years.
With Christan, Ken, Ed, Mark, Tony, Y, Truc, Tuyen, Rod, Jose, Othman, and son Aaron, among others, one person has presented an idea, the other has listened and added something about what he's read or what his take on the situation is, back and forth like this. He says something I hadn't considered, and I acknowledge and appreciate his insight. And the reverse is true: I say something, and he says, "Boy, I never thought of it that way!" These conversations have often gone on for hours. Give and take. By the time we finally call it quits, we both feel as if we have gained new insights and are much richer for the experience.
It's not that all my relationships with men have been purely intellectual. Of course, with several there has been sexual tension or sexual give and take. And with a few men, there has been no intellectual relationship at all to speak of, only sex.
I wonder why I have never had more than a few minutes of intellectual exchange with women. Little more than a book recommendation. Perhaps women are too sensitive. They feel that an intellectual exchange may offend others or disturb the emotional balance of the relationship. I have not found this to be the case with men. Disagreements have been easily handled with a laugh or my classic, "Ahhhhh...I don't know about that one, ___________." Of course, I can think of one man who would not answer crucial questions I had about his position, which did leave me frustrated.
This is not to say I don't like the company of women. It's as interesting to see how they negotiate the world as it is to see how men do so, or how dogs or plants do too. All these ways seem to work, so there's no reason to tinker with them.
Even when I bring up the subjects of politics, religion, the nature of the universe, insights into human nature, science, the death of democracy, the corruption of the press, etc., I've found that women either let me talk, even when I ask for their input; seem uncomfortable and change the subject; parrot things they've heard on the radio or TV stations they listen to; or argue by personal example. There is not the give and take I have so thoroughly enjoyed with male friends over the years.
With Christan, Ken, Ed, Mark, Tony, Y, Truc, Tuyen, Rod, Jose, Othman, and son Aaron, among others, one person has presented an idea, the other has listened and added something about what he's read or what his take on the situation is, back and forth like this. He says something I hadn't considered, and I acknowledge and appreciate his insight. And the reverse is true: I say something, and he says, "Boy, I never thought of it that way!" These conversations have often gone on for hours. Give and take. By the time we finally call it quits, we both feel as if we have gained new insights and are much richer for the experience.
It's not that all my relationships with men have been purely intellectual. Of course, with several there has been sexual tension or sexual give and take. And with a few men, there has been no intellectual relationship at all to speak of, only sex.
I wonder why I have never had more than a few minutes of intellectual exchange with women. Little more than a book recommendation. Perhaps women are too sensitive. They feel that an intellectual exchange may offend others or disturb the emotional balance of the relationship. I have not found this to be the case with men. Disagreements have been easily handled with a laugh or my classic, "Ahhhhh...I don't know about that one, ___________." Of course, I can think of one man who would not answer crucial questions I had about his position, which did leave me frustrated.
This is not to say I don't like the company of women. It's as interesting to see how they negotiate the world as it is to see how men do so, or how dogs or plants do too. All these ways seem to work, so there's no reason to tinker with them.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Obama's "Troop Withdrawal" is Like a Gambler's "Win"
Obama announced last night that he's bringing troops home from Afghanistan. He and his handlers are hoping that's all the information that will register with most Americans. He's banking on the fact that we're not much good at math.
If we were more gifted at addition and subtraction, we might note that there were roughly 70,000 troops in Afghanistan when Obama took office. He implemented a "surge" of 30,000 troops, bringing the total to about 100,000. Now he's bring 10,000 home. That leaves some 90,000, plus untold numbers of "contractors" (you remember Blackwater, don't you).
This makes me think of all the people I've spoken to after they've returned from gambling in Vegas. I have never heard a single one tell me that he or she lost money. Everyone always seems to win. Of course, upon further questioning, it becomes clear that they all experienced a net loss. They may have won $300 one day, but lost $300 each day for the next two days, for a net loss of $300.
This kind of magical thinking is what Obama is engaged in. He hopes that the general feeling Americans will come away with is "By God, the man is doing what he said he was going to do--pull troops out of Afghanistan. We've got to give him another four years so that he can finish the job." GROAN!
Perhaps a better analogy than the gambler is that of the dieter: Sally weighs 200 pounds and tells you she is going to lose weight, but first she wants to go on a binge, have one last hurrah before she buckles down and loses those extra pounds. So she pigs out and gains 30 pounds, then loses 10. At this point, she calls all her friends and tells them she's lost 10 pounds, isn't that fantastic!
Magical thinking. That's what runs Washington, D.C.
If we were more gifted at addition and subtraction, we might note that there were roughly 70,000 troops in Afghanistan when Obama took office. He implemented a "surge" of 30,000 troops, bringing the total to about 100,000. Now he's bring 10,000 home. That leaves some 90,000, plus untold numbers of "contractors" (you remember Blackwater, don't you).
This makes me think of all the people I've spoken to after they've returned from gambling in Vegas. I have never heard a single one tell me that he or she lost money. Everyone always seems to win. Of course, upon further questioning, it becomes clear that they all experienced a net loss. They may have won $300 one day, but lost $300 each day for the next two days, for a net loss of $300.
This kind of magical thinking is what Obama is engaged in. He hopes that the general feeling Americans will come away with is "By God, the man is doing what he said he was going to do--pull troops out of Afghanistan. We've got to give him another four years so that he can finish the job." GROAN!
Perhaps a better analogy than the gambler is that of the dieter: Sally weighs 200 pounds and tells you she is going to lose weight, but first she wants to go on a binge, have one last hurrah before she buckles down and loses those extra pounds. So she pigs out and gains 30 pounds, then loses 10. At this point, she calls all her friends and tells them she's lost 10 pounds, isn't that fantastic!
Magical thinking. That's what runs Washington, D.C.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
A Little Less Stressed
I had to take a break for a few days. I was getting so stressed I was not sleeping well. I would stay awake thinking, "Where am I to live? Where is the right place for me to face the crash?" 
You see, I feel a bit left out. It seems as if everyone I know is already in his or her right place.
* That right place is a chunk of farmable land for my friend Rachel and her husband, Matt. They also have all the skills they need, everything from baking bread and growing crops in a sustainable way to building a cabin and making baskets out of tree bark. They've been at this sort of thing for a long time, having spent five years or so learning everything they could on a permaculture farm in Bolinas.
* Daphne has her daughter, son, and granddaughter within a 15-mile radius.
* Tom is living with the love of his life, and they have friends in Arkansas who keep telling them about three-bedroom houses for $40K, complete with an acre of land.
* Chris's youngest son just started living with him, and Chris has a secure job.
* Tim lives with his wife and three kids. They have a large house as well as a cabin in the mountains.
* Helene in Nova Scotia lives in a sweet, little town with a healthy sense of community, surrounded by organic farmers and lots of water.
* Araia has lived for many years in northern Washington state on a beautiful chunk of land next to a river.
* Diana's family is all nearby. My nextdoor neighbors, Janet and Dana, have a lovely craftsman-style house, a dog that could protect them, and a thriving community through their Buddhist temple.
* Sharon is happily married with a young daughter in Santa Cruz.
* Ken's land and house in Tucson is almost paid off, and he has the skills to do just about anything.
* Rick's daughter and grandson are living with him, and, like Ken, he can do anything that needs fixing or building.
* Jose has his house, his family and extended family, a secure job, and money.
* Bev believes that the transition may cause untold suffering and death to millions or even billions but that she will still live to be 100.
* Heather's living in Denver in a cooperative community with her boyfriend.
Everyone seems to be set in their own way for what is to come, whether they realize it or not. I, however, am not. Ideally, I would like an acre in a moderate climate with water and a man who loves me and is loved by me and who is strong and skilled enough to fix things, build things, and know how to do things. Health, too, would be fantastic. It would also be great if my son were living somewhere nearby, but he will soon be on the other side of the country, attending grad school at Penn State.
Most people are in the state of not knowing what's coming their way or, if they have gotten a whiff of what's coming, they've escaped into denial. Then there are a few people who have resources, friends and family who are with them, and the means to carry out their plans. They're the ones who have been creating a sustainable life off the land for years or who have relocated to Nicaragua or Venezuela or some other place as far as possible from American influence. But I'm in neither of those boats. I'm in the unfortunate place of knowing a freight train is barrelling down the tracks right at me and being unable to move off the tracks.
Though my kidney function is fantastic--creatinine 0.7 at the last reading, with normal being 0.6-1.1--my heart is giving me trouble. My chest is always tight. Exercise frequently produces pain and constriction. Going uphill is exceedingly difficult. I just had an echocardiogram. My EF rate, which tells how well my heart is pumping, has declined from 50, the bottom end of normal, last June to 35. Basically, even if I had an acre of land, I wouldn't be up to growing anything on it.
So this is why I've been stressed--I'm not in right place (cities are rarely the right place, but certainly not during a time of crisis), I'm without a partner, my son is leaving the area, friends are forever busy with their own concerns, and my heart is taking a dive.
So my m.o. is what it has been since I moved to Southern California in 1981. You see, ever since moving here I have been keen on leaving and have gone on road/camping trips to explore and look for right place. So, as has been the case all these years, I am open to right place and right situations. In the meantime, I am here, in Southern California, for good or for not so good.
I'm taking a Red Cross first aid class that recommends having two to three weeks of food and water in your abode. Since the debaucle of Hurricane Katrina, the Red Cross has upped this from three days to three weeks. See, even the Red Cross does not have much faith in the U.S. government. So if the Red Cross is saying three weeks, perhaps it's better to have three months' supplies. Whew! Well, it's something to aim for.
You see, I feel a bit left out. It seems as if everyone I know is already in his or her right place.
* That right place is a chunk of farmable land for my friend Rachel and her husband, Matt. They also have all the skills they need, everything from baking bread and growing crops in a sustainable way to building a cabin and making baskets out of tree bark. They've been at this sort of thing for a long time, having spent five years or so learning everything they could on a permaculture farm in Bolinas.
* Daphne has her daughter, son, and granddaughter within a 15-mile radius.
* Tom is living with the love of his life, and they have friends in Arkansas who keep telling them about three-bedroom houses for $40K, complete with an acre of land.
* Chris's youngest son just started living with him, and Chris has a secure job.
* Tim lives with his wife and three kids. They have a large house as well as a cabin in the mountains.
* Helene in Nova Scotia lives in a sweet, little town with a healthy sense of community, surrounded by organic farmers and lots of water.
* Araia has lived for many years in northern Washington state on a beautiful chunk of land next to a river.
* Diana's family is all nearby. My nextdoor neighbors, Janet and Dana, have a lovely craftsman-style house, a dog that could protect them, and a thriving community through their Buddhist temple.
* Sharon is happily married with a young daughter in Santa Cruz.
* Ken's land and house in Tucson is almost paid off, and he has the skills to do just about anything.
* Rick's daughter and grandson are living with him, and, like Ken, he can do anything that needs fixing or building.
* Jose has his house, his family and extended family, a secure job, and money.
* Bev believes that the transition may cause untold suffering and death to millions or even billions but that she will still live to be 100.
* Heather's living in Denver in a cooperative community with her boyfriend.
Everyone seems to be set in their own way for what is to come, whether they realize it or not. I, however, am not. Ideally, I would like an acre in a moderate climate with water and a man who loves me and is loved by me and who is strong and skilled enough to fix things, build things, and know how to do things. Health, too, would be fantastic. It would also be great if my son were living somewhere nearby, but he will soon be on the other side of the country, attending grad school at Penn State.
Most people are in the state of not knowing what's coming their way or, if they have gotten a whiff of what's coming, they've escaped into denial. Then there are a few people who have resources, friends and family who are with them, and the means to carry out their plans. They're the ones who have been creating a sustainable life off the land for years or who have relocated to Nicaragua or Venezuela or some other place as far as possible from American influence. But I'm in neither of those boats. I'm in the unfortunate place of knowing a freight train is barrelling down the tracks right at me and being unable to move off the tracks.
Though my kidney function is fantastic--creatinine 0.7 at the last reading, with normal being 0.6-1.1--my heart is giving me trouble. My chest is always tight. Exercise frequently produces pain and constriction. Going uphill is exceedingly difficult. I just had an echocardiogram. My EF rate, which tells how well my heart is pumping, has declined from 50, the bottom end of normal, last June to 35. Basically, even if I had an acre of land, I wouldn't be up to growing anything on it.
So this is why I've been stressed--I'm not in right place (cities are rarely the right place, but certainly not during a time of crisis), I'm without a partner, my son is leaving the area, friends are forever busy with their own concerns, and my heart is taking a dive.
So my m.o. is what it has been since I moved to Southern California in 1981. You see, ever since moving here I have been keen on leaving and have gone on road/camping trips to explore and look for right place. So, as has been the case all these years, I am open to right place and right situations. In the meantime, I am here, in Southern California, for good or for not so good.
I'm taking a Red Cross first aid class that recommends having two to three weeks of food and water in your abode. Since the debaucle of Hurricane Katrina, the Red Cross has upped this from three days to three weeks. See, even the Red Cross does not have much faith in the U.S. government. So if the Red Cross is saying three weeks, perhaps it's better to have three months' supplies. Whew! Well, it's something to aim for.
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
A Dream Within a Dream
Early Monday morning I had a number of fascinating dream experiences. Dreams within a dream. Memories within the mind of my dream self. My dream self observing me sleeping. Orchestrating my dreaming. Some of this I've experienced on previous nights, but never a dream within a dream, not that I can recall at least. Following is my account. 
Outer-frame dream: A young boy, sometimes Latino or Lebanese, 3 or 4 years old, and sometimes blond and white, 8 or 9 years old, who talked quite a bit. Was he my dream guide? He and I were in an alcove of a waiting area in a large institution, like a hospital or government building. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was writing down a dream. I could see my handwriting in a stenobook, like the one I use in waking life to write down my dreams. I returned to the boy several times, each time after going off to another dream within the outer-frame dream.
In one inner-frame dream, I stood in a large, dusty, neglected yard. I had a memory of the yard as lush and green, but now it was almost devoid of plant life. I looked at the few plants that were still alive in the flower beds. I remembered them when they had flourished. I figured I needed to water them and so got a hose.
Then I heard Rasputin’s excited yip, which he does when he’s happy to see me. The yip came from inside the house, but when I climbed the four or so stairs and opened the door to step inside, he wasn’t there. Instead, I encountered my mother, looking the way she had perhaps a year before her death. She was clearly senile and was talking nonsense. I had to keep shifting position because she continued to shift her gaze, as if she were speaking to someone I couldn’t see.
I left her and explored the rest of the building, which didn’t seem like a house at all but an abandoned office or warehouse. I sensed a male presence, always out of sight.
In another inner-frame dream, I was acutely aware that I was dreaming. In fact, I was either thinking with determination or saying instructions aloud. The instructions offered by Carlos Castaneda in his book “The Art of Dreaming.” He suggests that the dreamer focus on one object upon entering a dream and allow this object to be one’s anchor. If you feel as if you are leaving the dream space and you want to stay rather than shift to another dream space, you look again at the anchor object. Also, do not stare at objects, but rather keep your gaze moving. If you stare at an object, you will be pulled into another dream space. So, as I was dreaming, I was thinking or saying these instructions to myself.
But I encountered a bougainvillea that was so lovely, its color so intense and which took up so much of my view that I was drawn to it and could not stop looking. Very soon, I felt myself lifting from the dream space, floating for a short time, then being transported back to the outer frame, almost sucked back to that frame.
At one point, the dream self was observing the dreamer. I, whoever I was at that point, could see me lying in bed. Moreover, the dream self could hear some noises in the courtyard next to my bedroom. This sure smacks of astral travel.
Last night I slept fitfully, but tonight I hope to do some more exploring. I especially want to work on controlling my dreams and traveling beyond my bedroom. We'll see...
Outer-frame dream: A young boy, sometimes Latino or Lebanese, 3 or 4 years old, and sometimes blond and white, 8 or 9 years old, who talked quite a bit. Was he my dream guide? He and I were in an alcove of a waiting area in a large institution, like a hospital or government building. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was writing down a dream. I could see my handwriting in a stenobook, like the one I use in waking life to write down my dreams. I returned to the boy several times, each time after going off to another dream within the outer-frame dream.
In one inner-frame dream, I stood in a large, dusty, neglected yard. I had a memory of the yard as lush and green, but now it was almost devoid of plant life. I looked at the few plants that were still alive in the flower beds. I remembered them when they had flourished. I figured I needed to water them and so got a hose.
Then I heard Rasputin’s excited yip, which he does when he’s happy to see me. The yip came from inside the house, but when I climbed the four or so stairs and opened the door to step inside, he wasn’t there. Instead, I encountered my mother, looking the way she had perhaps a year before her death. She was clearly senile and was talking nonsense. I had to keep shifting position because she continued to shift her gaze, as if she were speaking to someone I couldn’t see.
I left her and explored the rest of the building, which didn’t seem like a house at all but an abandoned office or warehouse. I sensed a male presence, always out of sight.
But I encountered a bougainvillea that was so lovely, its color so intense and which took up so much of my view that I was drawn to it and could not stop looking. Very soon, I felt myself lifting from the dream space, floating for a short time, then being transported back to the outer frame, almost sucked back to that frame.
At one point, the dream self was observing the dreamer. I, whoever I was at that point, could see me lying in bed. Moreover, the dream self could hear some noises in the courtyard next to my bedroom. This sure smacks of astral travel.
Last night I slept fitfully, but tonight I hope to do some more exploring. I especially want to work on controlling my dreams and traveling beyond my bedroom. We'll see...
Saturday, June 04, 2011
Adbusters
If you're not familiar with Adbusters, I suggest you check out this publication. Calling it social commentary is an understatement. Canadian-based, it was founded by advertising people who became critics of the system they once extolled.
A typical Adbusters spread is a still photo from the security camera video of the Columbine gunmen with the tag line INSANITY on one page, and on the facing page, an Army recruiting poster with the tag line SANITY. Adbusters are the folks who sponsor Turn Off Your TV Week and Buy Nothing Day, the day after Thanksgiving, which is notoriously the pinnacle of American consumption.
Adbusters has taken on the collusion between the pharmaceutical industry and the "researchers" who are paid by the pharmaceutical industry to test the drugs. They've tackled psychotropic drugs and the American duty to be happy, or at least act that you are. They've looked at military recruiting and always at consumerism.
Adbusters is as critical of Obama as they were of Bush--and well they should be. Really, what's the difference except that Obama delivers evil in a more intelligent, nicer-sounding package. The current issue has an article on the U.S.'s weaponized drones in the air over more than a dozen countries. In Pakistan alone, American drones have killed 14 supposed terrorists and another 700-1,000 civilians. A cartoon in the latest issue shows Obama at a podium, taking a question from a reporter, who asks, "Mr. President, your administration acknowledges it has carried out extrajudicial assassinations, an illegal practice. Would you therefore consider yourself to be a legitimate target of assassination?"
Lately, Adbusters has been spending a lot of time musing about the end of the world as we know it. The total collapse of the economy and resulting food and medicine shortages, civil unrest, that sort of thing.
I have been thinking a lot about the same recently. I've known this was coming for decades, but I've never known what I in particular am supposed to do about it. When I consider moving some place where I could have a vegetable garden, I take stock of my physical condition and reconsider. Walking around the block sometimes gives me chest pain. Preparing soil for planting, hoeing, weeding, watering, and harvesting are much more strenuous tasks.
I've also considered moving to Berkshire County, Massachusetts, where the small communities there have an alternate currency, Berkshares. Currently, you can trade your U.S. dollars for Berkshares, which are accepted by local merchants and banks. Some employers even pay in Berkshares. That way, when the dollar collapses, those communities can continue functioning. Other communities throughout the country have currencies, but none are as sophisticated as Berkshares. Many other towns, including Long Beach, have time exchanges in which one hour of your work is equal to one hour's of anyone else's work. These are basically service barters. I'm all for those, and as a massage therapist, I've traded for hair services, massages, and facials for years, but they are services only, not the things you need for life like shelter and food. The only thing about Massachusetts is that I don't know anyone there, and what is most important during difficult times is knowing your neighbors and having people you can count on. To be a newcomer when the shit hits the fan won't be the best thing.
With my son moving to Pennsylvania in August, I certainly am free to move. But where?
A typical Adbusters spread is a still photo from the security camera video of the Columbine gunmen with the tag line INSANITY on one page, and on the facing page, an Army recruiting poster with the tag line SANITY. Adbusters are the folks who sponsor Turn Off Your TV Week and Buy Nothing Day, the day after Thanksgiving, which is notoriously the pinnacle of American consumption.
Adbusters has taken on the collusion between the pharmaceutical industry and the "researchers" who are paid by the pharmaceutical industry to test the drugs. They've tackled psychotropic drugs and the American duty to be happy, or at least act that you are. They've looked at military recruiting and always at consumerism.
Adbusters is as critical of Obama as they were of Bush--and well they should be. Really, what's the difference except that Obama delivers evil in a more intelligent, nicer-sounding package. The current issue has an article on the U.S.'s weaponized drones in the air over more than a dozen countries. In Pakistan alone, American drones have killed 14 supposed terrorists and another 700-1,000 civilians. A cartoon in the latest issue shows Obama at a podium, taking a question from a reporter, who asks, "Mr. President, your administration acknowledges it has carried out extrajudicial assassinations, an illegal practice. Would you therefore consider yourself to be a legitimate target of assassination?"
Lately, Adbusters has been spending a lot of time musing about the end of the world as we know it. The total collapse of the economy and resulting food and medicine shortages, civil unrest, that sort of thing.
I have been thinking a lot about the same recently. I've known this was coming for decades, but I've never known what I in particular am supposed to do about it. When I consider moving some place where I could have a vegetable garden, I take stock of my physical condition and reconsider. Walking around the block sometimes gives me chest pain. Preparing soil for planting, hoeing, weeding, watering, and harvesting are much more strenuous tasks.
I've also considered moving to Berkshire County, Massachusetts, where the small communities there have an alternate currency, Berkshares. Currently, you can trade your U.S. dollars for Berkshares, which are accepted by local merchants and banks. Some employers even pay in Berkshares. That way, when the dollar collapses, those communities can continue functioning. Other communities throughout the country have currencies, but none are as sophisticated as Berkshares. Many other towns, including Long Beach, have time exchanges in which one hour of your work is equal to one hour's of anyone else's work. These are basically service barters. I'm all for those, and as a massage therapist, I've traded for hair services, massages, and facials for years, but they are services only, not the things you need for life like shelter and food. The only thing about Massachusetts is that I don't know anyone there, and what is most important during difficult times is knowing your neighbors and having people you can count on. To be a newcomer when the shit hits the fan won't be the best thing.
With my son moving to Pennsylvania in August, I certainly am free to move. But where?
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
$188 in New Dehli, $1,020 Here
Harken back to my recent post Third World Wages, First World Prices in which I wrote:
My competitors for writing jobs are in places where the cost of living is a whole lot cheaper than it is here. I can't imagine, for example, that a small, poorly maintained one-bedroom apartment in a town in Bangladesh or a village in Mali rents for $1,020/month. For someone in these circumstances, writing 20 articles for less than $500 is no doubt a boondoggle.
My suspicions were confirmed when the next day, I spoke with a Dell technical rep when my laptop's desktop was upside down and right side left. The icons were turned on their heads, and those that had been on the lower right were now on the upper left and vice versa. In addition, the cursor went up when I moved it down and right when I moved it left and vice versa. What a mess! The ever-polite, young man from New Dehli and I chitchatted during down times when diagnostics were running on my slow PC. He told me about his sweetheart and his studies to improve his lot in life, and I told him about my dog (which he could see, through screen sharing, on my desktop), my line of work, and the cost of living here.
I asked him what would a one-bedroom apartment in New Dehli go for in a decent, working person's neighborhood. Not a fancy neigborhood, but not one where you could expect to have a gun pointed at your head either. He said 8,000-9,000 rupees. I looked that up on a currency converter. On that day, it meant that my $1,020 apartment would rent for $188 in New Dehli. I pay 5 1/2 times what he pays for a place to lie his head. How is an American writer supposed to compete with Indian writers who are paying so much less for their necessities?
This makes me believe what I've so often heard and read: The main reason behind globalization is not to improve the lot of poor countries but to bring developed countries' standards of living down to those of developing countries. In other words, to make everyone poor and only a tiny, tiny few exceedingly wealthy.
America, long seen as the land of opportunity and of freedom, had to be brought to its knees by the globalists. That has been their aim for the last 30 years, duing which time there has been
* a major redistribution of wealth from the already poor and the middle class to the super-rich;
* the offshoring of good-paying manufacturing and service jobs;
* an at-first slowly encroaching and now rapidly expanding police state with all its surveillance apparatus and unconstitutional manuevers;
* the government- and corporate-engineered decline of the dollar against other currencies;
* the orchestrated boons and busts of the dot com, stocks, housing, and commodities markets;
* the uncontrolled federal, state, and personal credit debts;
* the destruction of unions that once helped to keep tariffs intact and wages high;
* the wholesale sellout of the corporate mainstream media, as well as much of public media, to their corporate and government masters;
* the robbing of Social Security, which was designed to be self-supporting and separate from the federal budget;
* the ungodly amount of money American taxpayers have been saddled with because of savings and loans, bank, and other bailouts, and corporation-serving, otherwise-meaningless wars; and
* the destruction of personal wealth at one time held in home equity, savings, pension contributions, 401(k)s, and stock holdings.
In the New World Order of all countries under the overarching iron fist of corporatism, America was seen as a threat, and so the global elite have done all in their power to make the American public stupid, lazy, disenfranchised, disheartened, fearful, confused, and misinformed. The final blow has not yet been delivered.
There still is time, and people are finally beginning to wake up to things I saw 44 years ago, when, as an 8-year-old girl, I had a vision that someday, America would become a dictatorship. There is still a little bit of time left before the final death knell is sounded to the Constitution. Wake up, folks, and start looking for the truth yourself and not listening to the government or its corporate sponsors.
My suspicions were confirmed when the next day, I spoke with a Dell technical rep when my laptop's desktop was upside down and right side left. The icons were turned on their heads, and those that had been on the lower right were now on the upper left and vice versa. In addition, the cursor went up when I moved it down and right when I moved it left and vice versa. What a mess! The ever-polite, young man from New Dehli and I chitchatted during down times when diagnostics were running on my slow PC. He told me about his sweetheart and his studies to improve his lot in life, and I told him about my dog (which he could see, through screen sharing, on my desktop), my line of work, and the cost of living here.
I asked him what would a one-bedroom apartment in New Dehli go for in a decent, working person's neighborhood. Not a fancy neigborhood, but not one where you could expect to have a gun pointed at your head either. He said 8,000-9,000 rupees. I looked that up on a currency converter. On that day, it meant that my $1,020 apartment would rent for $188 in New Dehli. I pay 5 1/2 times what he pays for a place to lie his head. How is an American writer supposed to compete with Indian writers who are paying so much less for their necessities?
America, long seen as the land of opportunity and of freedom, had to be brought to its knees by the globalists. That has been their aim for the last 30 years, duing which time there has been
* a major redistribution of wealth from the already poor and the middle class to the super-rich;
* the offshoring of good-paying manufacturing and service jobs;
* an at-first slowly encroaching and now rapidly expanding police state with all its surveillance apparatus and unconstitutional manuevers;
* the government- and corporate-engineered decline of the dollar against other currencies;
* the orchestrated boons and busts of the dot com, stocks, housing, and commodities markets;
* the uncontrolled federal, state, and personal credit debts;
* the destruction of unions that once helped to keep tariffs intact and wages high;
* the wholesale sellout of the corporate mainstream media, as well as much of public media, to their corporate and government masters;
* the robbing of Social Security, which was designed to be self-supporting and separate from the federal budget;
* the ungodly amount of money American taxpayers have been saddled with because of savings and loans, bank, and other bailouts, and corporation-serving, otherwise-meaningless wars; and
In the New World Order of all countries under the overarching iron fist of corporatism, America was seen as a threat, and so the global elite have done all in their power to make the American public stupid, lazy, disenfranchised, disheartened, fearful, confused, and misinformed. The final blow has not yet been delivered.
There still is time, and people are finally beginning to wake up to things I saw 44 years ago, when, as an 8-year-old girl, I had a vision that someday, America would become a dictatorship. There is still a little bit of time left before the final death knell is sounded to the Constitution. Wake up, folks, and start looking for the truth yourself and not listening to the government or its corporate sponsors.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
What am I to do About "The Crash"?
Everywhere I look, I see portends of the impending crash of civilization. I'm not talking about a biblical end of the world but a very human-engineered end. I just don't see how we can avoid total economic collapse, total environmental collapse, total oil collapse or all three.The system cannot hold. Need I count the ways for you?
* creeping fascism, surveillance, and the erosion of freedom in the U.S. and other developed countries
* unending, meaningless wars that the populace opposes but which cater to the greed of banksters and defense contractors
* globalization and so-called free trade that benefits no one but the multi-national corporations and the elites that control them
* an exploding population and diminishing resources
* governments and media that lie to the people over and over again (9/11, the "death" of Osama bin Laden, the "safety" of nuclear power, vaccinations, genetically modified food, radiation, pharmaceuticals, fish from the Gulf oil spill, on and on)
* skyrocketing government and personal debt
* widening gap between super-rich and the rest of us
* declining wages
* rising prices
* increased demand for oil, diminishing reserves
* governments that are beholden to business interests not to the people
* the stealing of elections
* the declining dollar
OK, that's enough. You can fill in the other hundred or so reasons for concerns.
So, the post-crash world will be fine for the young, the strong, the healthy, the landed, and the partnered (spouse or friend), but not so great for the aging, the weak, the ill, the renters, and the single.
For the rest of us, we'll just have to:
* Live fully in the here and now.
* Be good to our neighbors, our family, and our friends.
* Work at building community and relationships with the people who live in our surroundings.
* As much as possible, prepare for the crash as we would prepare for an earthquake. Store water, non-perishables, books, meds, matches, a camp stove, fuel (safely, of course), comfortable clothes, blankets, a deck of cards, paper and pens, and toilet paper. There are more things too, but you can check with any emergency preparedness site for more info.
* Prepare for the big changes that are coming, but don't give into fear. Fear never does any good.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Osama bin Laden, the Dialysis Patient
Here, for example, is an article by the respected British newspaper the Guardian about Osama getting a portable dialysis machine in late 2001. This same article states what has already been reported elsewhere: that Osama was visited by the CIA while hospitalized in July 2001 in Dubai. The New York Times reported that Osama died in December 2001. For extensive links to credible reports of bin Laden's death in 2001, see this site.
Now the American spin doctors--aka American mainstream media--are attempting to cover their tracks, stating that Osama's dialysis is one of the "myths" about him. I love this report from ABC News, which states that there was no evidence of dialysis treatments at the Pakistan compound where Osama was "killed." Well, OK, that could mean one of two things: 1) Osama was not on dialysis, and he was killed a few weeks ago, or 2) Osama may have been on dialysis, but the man who was killed a few weeks ago was not Osama. Guess which one I'm banking on?
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