31 August 2007
Pardon me while I laugh until I cry at the sight of another sexually repressed Republican pricked on his own petard. Larry Craig’s finished in politics because the far-right nutballs are repressed, too.
The crux of the crisis is that people whose emotional development stopped somewhere around the age of 12 run this country. (Bushies are their sock puppets.)
Sex is the only thing all humans have in common, and, as religionists noted millennia ago, if you can control his sex life, you’ve got the man by the short hairs.
The Middle East would be less of a rat hole if the women-haters of the Prophet’s time had been fed to the wolves. If Osama's boy-men with the bombs and the guns got laid on a regular basis (with women who volunteered), they’d not need to kill, kill, kill. The riot-stagers in Pakistan wouldn’t be able to raise a mob in an instant. They’d all have a more balanced view of life.
Back to the Senator: Why does the tough-on-crime crowd, when one of them gets caught, accuse the cops of entrapment or lying or being out to get them? What ... they support our men in blue only if people they hate get arrested?
Larry-boy pleaded guilty, so nobody has to worry about the "innocent until proven" ideal.
Should a Liberal criticize the Bushies’ Gestapo, Craig and his ilk scream "traitor, commie," etc.
But when he’s the deer caught in the headlights … suck hard on that petard, Larry.
Short trip from idealism to cynicism
Nevadan Ryan Costella, co-founder of the nonprofit organization Youth Voice, recently wrote in the Reno Gazette-Journal, "... I'm living in the political epicenter of the world ... Working in the U.S. Senate has illustrated to me the realities of public life, and more importantly, the many challenges facing our country. Yes, it requires tremendous personal sacrifice, but if more of us pick up the torch, the sacrifice won't be so heavy. ... Every American must pitch in to preserve our country's position as the beacon of hope for the world and the shining symbol of excellence and achievement, regardless of the challenge. I believe we're up to it. Do you?"
Political epicenter? Ah, American arrogance. Beacon of hope for the world? Grow the hell up, kid.
31 August 2007
28 August 2007
All about the money
28 August 2007
Should Mitt Romney be the GOP nominee for president, I just might vote for him. Christianists foam at the mouth at the thought of a Mormon president, but he could be good for the country. Joseph P. Smith Jr. founded his church on a quest for money, aka buried treasure (he didn't lead parties of gold-seekers into the New England wilderness for his health). His extra wives were widows (in the 1830s, a widow needed a replacement husband to handle her inheritance; women were owned, not owners), a tradition that the other early Mormon polygamists followed religiously.
When Brigham Young and his troupe settled Deseret, later-arriving immigrants were required to turn all their money over to the church leadership, which used it to build a worldwide billion-dollar empire.
If Mitt can prove he's added to the Romney family fortune, he might be OK as president. GWB is throwing U.S. money into bonfires by the Hummvee-ful, but a Mormon won't burn wealth. He'll hoard it.
Can't be worse than GWB.
Should Mitt Romney be the GOP nominee for president, I just might vote for him. Christianists foam at the mouth at the thought of a Mormon president, but he could be good for the country. Joseph P. Smith Jr. founded his church on a quest for money, aka buried treasure (he didn't lead parties of gold-seekers into the New England wilderness for his health). His extra wives were widows (in the 1830s, a widow needed a replacement husband to handle her inheritance; women were owned, not owners), a tradition that the other early Mormon polygamists followed religiously.
When Brigham Young and his troupe settled Deseret, later-arriving immigrants were required to turn all their money over to the church leadership, which used it to build a worldwide billion-dollar empire.
If Mitt can prove he's added to the Romney family fortune, he might be OK as president. GWB is throwing U.S. money into bonfires by the Hummvee-ful, but a Mormon won't burn wealth. He'll hoard it.
Can't be worse than GWB.
25 August 2007
Religion: Include me out
Heaven and Hell: In trying to understand suicide bombers, I've concluded that while the final moments of the final act take courage, the bomber actually commits an act of cowardice.
If you accept the premise of Islam, a faithful Muslim who kills in the name of Allah, who volunteers to be a martyr, goes to Paradise. Good for him. And the occasional her.
However, his family and friends are left on Earth, to face endless war and hate and terror.
Mr. Martyr is off to eat dates with virgins, while his mother, whether she grieves or blesses his sacrifice, still has to find food, fresh water with which hubbie can cleanse himself before praying, and otherwise cope with life in a war zone. And bury more of her children.
Not the boss of me: I don’t take orders from dead people. The Chinese say that their ancestors sit around in the afterlife, watching their grown children and punishing misbehavior. The Bible, the Quran and other holy books are full of “don’t” and “do” and ... all written by people now dead. They had their shot. It’s my turn.
Claims for an afterlife: Unimaginative, mundane, describing Heaven as like here, only better. The Greeks had their dreams of the Elysian Fields, where dead heroes sit around, bragging and eating grapes.
Boring. The next life should be exciting: Mardi Gras 24-7, 4th of July fireworks six times a night. I want to fly like an eagle and swim like a shark. Float on the winds of Venus, probe the depths of Jupiter.
Heaven should be so different that Fundamentalists, who have no imagination anyway, won't comprehend it.
If you accept the premise of Islam, a faithful Muslim who kills in the name of Allah, who volunteers to be a martyr, goes to Paradise. Good for him. And the occasional her.
However, his family and friends are left on Earth, to face endless war and hate and terror.
Mr. Martyr is off to eat dates with virgins, while his mother, whether she grieves or blesses his sacrifice, still has to find food, fresh water with which hubbie can cleanse himself before praying, and otherwise cope with life in a war zone. And bury more of her children.
Not the boss of me: I don’t take orders from dead people. The Chinese say that their ancestors sit around in the afterlife, watching their grown children and punishing misbehavior. The Bible, the Quran and other holy books are full of “don’t” and “do” and ... all written by people now dead. They had their shot. It’s my turn.
Claims for an afterlife: Unimaginative, mundane, describing Heaven as like here, only better. The Greeks had their dreams of the Elysian Fields, where dead heroes sit around, bragging and eating grapes.
Boring. The next life should be exciting: Mardi Gras 24-7, 4th of July fireworks six times a night. I want to fly like an eagle and swim like a shark. Float on the winds of Venus, probe the depths of Jupiter.
Heaven should be so different that Fundamentalists, who have no imagination anyway, won't comprehend it.
23 August 2007
In the beginning ...
23 August 2007
SPARKS, Nev.
I can resist no longer; I must join the millions in the Blog-O-Sphere, shaking bits and pieces of memory, opinion and random fact out of my brain and into bytes.
Don’t expect deep thoughts; I grew up on daily-paper deadlines and to-the-point writing. We'll see if I've lost the touch.
Rambling wreck: Despite the eon-ages of work on Interstate 80 around Reno's Spaghetti Bowl, the construction artists missed the wondrous puddle that forms in rain or snow on eastbound I-80 in a low spot at Rock Boulevard.
My 1970 Fireduck loved that puddle: Splash through it and the power steering cut out. Which was OK if I didn’t need to change lanes before Mustang.
For the love of Smokey: A news report about Bear Crossing signs being installed on Lake Tahoe highways led me to ponder TV funnyman Stephen Colbert’s bear fixation. Bears consistently make the Top 5 on the Threatdown list of “The Colbert Report.” (Comedy Central.) Tell the Tahoe Chamber of Commerce to forget inviting him to do a show from the Lake; too many bears.
Colbert refers to TV not-funnyman Bill O’Reilly as “Papa Bear.” If Bear equals Threat and Bill equals Bear, does Threat equal Bill?
Or is Colbert trying to coyly signal something, by pronouncing his name French style: col-bear?
RR Xing: I wish my parents had lived to see the train trench in downtown Reno. When they trekked downtown from the homestead in Sparks, Mom insisted on driving. Dad worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad (30 years) and company rules made all employees stop at all rail crossings, on the job or off. Mom, on the other hand, believed in stopping for nothing, including tornadoes, bears and train tracks. Unicorns, maybe.
Settle down, already: Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert are in danger of catching the late-night TV disease that already infects Jay Leno and David Letterman: applause-itis. Main symptom: The in-studio audience hoots, hollers, stamps, swoons and claps, claps, claps. Then there’s the phony standing ovation for Bill Maher.
The audience has been there for hours, with warm-up comedians and other entertainment, getting jazzed. I, however, have had a long day, a headache and heartburn. Start the show … gimme the opiate of the masses.
I miss Ted Koppel. Heck, I miss Linda Ellerbee and her 1970s late-night philosophy: Your body never outgrows its need for another animal story.
Immigration integration: A 2005 book by Russell Shorto, “The Island at the Center of the World — The Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and the Forgotten Colony That Shaped America,” contrasts the boisterous live-and-let-live — drinking, whoring, fighting, suing over the fighting — attitude (of the residents, not the governors) with the intolerant zealotry of the Puritans of New England. Whether in New England or New Netherlands, everybody massacred Indians now and again.
I started reading it because my mother’s father’s ancestors arrived from the Dutch Republic in the 1620s courtesy of Peter Minuit. The Van Huycks aren’t in the book, but it’s a good read anyway.
Turns out, people in North America have complained about newcomers since around 1610, when Henry Hudson said howdy to the Delaware Indians. The Dutch built a wall on Manhattan to keep the English out. Didn’t work then; won’t work now, against anyone, anywhere on the continent.
When England took control (at cannon-point) of New Amsterdam in 1664, the townsfolk were from homelands as far afield as Morocco and Poland, and included freed African slaves, Danes, Bavarians, Italians and English. And pirates. And a kosher-deli owner.
Dutch legacies include cabbage salad called koolsla, aka cole slaw; Sinterklaas, aka Saint Nicholas, aka Sanity Klaus; and koeckjes (pronounced cook-yehs), which is why Americans don’t eat biscuits.
Pass the chocolate-chip koeckjes, please.
SPARKS, Nev.
I can resist no longer; I must join the millions in the Blog-O-Sphere, shaking bits and pieces of memory, opinion and random fact out of my brain and into bytes.
Don’t expect deep thoughts; I grew up on daily-paper deadlines and to-the-point writing. We'll see if I've lost the touch.
Rambling wreck: Despite the eon-ages of work on Interstate 80 around Reno's Spaghetti Bowl, the construction artists missed the wondrous puddle that forms in rain or snow on eastbound I-80 in a low spot at Rock Boulevard.
My 1970 Fireduck loved that puddle: Splash through it and the power steering cut out. Which was OK if I didn’t need to change lanes before Mustang.
For the love of Smokey: A news report about Bear Crossing signs being installed on Lake Tahoe highways led me to ponder TV funnyman Stephen Colbert’s bear fixation. Bears consistently make the Top 5 on the Threatdown list of “The Colbert Report.” (Comedy Central.) Tell the Tahoe Chamber of Commerce to forget inviting him to do a show from the Lake; too many bears.
Colbert refers to TV not-funnyman Bill O’Reilly as “Papa Bear.” If Bear equals Threat and Bill equals Bear, does Threat equal Bill?
Or is Colbert trying to coyly signal something, by pronouncing his name French style: col-bear?
RR Xing: I wish my parents had lived to see the train trench in downtown Reno. When they trekked downtown from the homestead in Sparks, Mom insisted on driving. Dad worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad (30 years) and company rules made all employees stop at all rail crossings, on the job or off. Mom, on the other hand, believed in stopping for nothing, including tornadoes, bears and train tracks. Unicorns, maybe.
Settle down, already: Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert are in danger of catching the late-night TV disease that already infects Jay Leno and David Letterman: applause-itis. Main symptom: The in-studio audience hoots, hollers, stamps, swoons and claps, claps, claps. Then there’s the phony standing ovation for Bill Maher.
The audience has been there for hours, with warm-up comedians and other entertainment, getting jazzed. I, however, have had a long day, a headache and heartburn. Start the show … gimme the opiate of the masses.
I miss Ted Koppel. Heck, I miss Linda Ellerbee and her 1970s late-night philosophy: Your body never outgrows its need for another animal story.
Immigration integration: A 2005 book by Russell Shorto, “The Island at the Center of the World — The Epic Story of Dutch Manhattan and the Forgotten Colony That Shaped America,” contrasts the boisterous live-and-let-live — drinking, whoring, fighting, suing over the fighting — attitude (of the residents, not the governors) with the intolerant zealotry of the Puritans of New England. Whether in New England or New Netherlands, everybody massacred Indians now and again.
I started reading it because my mother’s father’s ancestors arrived from the Dutch Republic in the 1620s courtesy of Peter Minuit. The Van Huycks aren’t in the book, but it’s a good read anyway.
Turns out, people in North America have complained about newcomers since around 1610, when Henry Hudson said howdy to the Delaware Indians. The Dutch built a wall on Manhattan to keep the English out. Didn’t work then; won’t work now, against anyone, anywhere on the continent.
When England took control (at cannon-point) of New Amsterdam in 1664, the townsfolk were from homelands as far afield as Morocco and Poland, and included freed African slaves, Danes, Bavarians, Italians and English. And pirates. And a kosher-deli owner.
Dutch legacies include cabbage salad called koolsla, aka cole slaw; Sinterklaas, aka Saint Nicholas, aka Sanity Klaus; and koeckjes (pronounced cook-yehs), which is why Americans don’t eat biscuits.
Pass the chocolate-chip koeckjes, please.
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