Daily Archives: February 12, 2012

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. January 10 2011



Pope John XII (deposed by Conclave) was said to have turned the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano into a brothel and was accused of adultery, fornication, and incest (Source: Patrologia Latina). The monk chronicler Benedict of Soracte noted in his volume XXXVII that he “liked to have a collection of women”. According to Liutprand of Cremona in his Antapodosis, “They testified about his adultery, which they did not see with their own eyes, but nonetheless knew with certainty: he had fornicated with the widow of Rainier, with Stephana his father’s concubine, with the widow Anna, and with his own niece, and he made the sacred palace into a whorehouse.” According to The Oxford Dictionary of Popes, John XII was “a Christian Caligula whose crimes were rendered particularly horrific by the office he held”. He was killed by a jealous husband while in the act of committing adultery with the man’s wife. (See also Saeculum obscurum)

(Not only that but he was infallible…At least that’s what he told all the girls. Ah, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, we hardly knew ya.)


I have just returned to Thailand from my trip to California. In San Francisco, after ten days of overcast skies and rain the sun finally appeared and then promptly disappeared two day’s later. I am now sitting in a Starbucks located in a huge shopping center in Bangkok called Siam Paragon (Assume something twice the size of the entire San Francisco Center and Westfield Mall site in San Francisco). It has all the shops recognizable in any American Mall (The lines at the Crispy Creame shop across the way extends down the aisle and all the way out the door to the mall) and more.

Given my short time back I did not believe I would have anything to report in this section. However I have just finished reading my first issue of The Bangkok Post since returning and learned:

1. A Thai Member of Parliament allied with an organization called, Thai Patriot Network (The Thai version of the Tea Party) has been shown on U-Tube to have crossed the disputed border into Cambodia and along with 6 other people has been arrested by the Cambodian authorities. Despite this being an obvious provocation, the Thai government has threatened war if the Cambodian authorities do not return the miscreants immediately. While as a whole the Thai military shies away from anything that could put their expensive equipment at risk, this disputed area is adjacent to the area controlled by the Thai elite forces that put down the Red Shirt protest. There is nothing like a little jingoism and military action to shore up an increasingly weakened administration.

2. The Government announced an interesting economic program to attempt to stem the continuing deterioration of the economic plight of the lower social and economic classes in Thailand. It consists of extending Social Security to the 24 million workers in the so called “informal” sector. That is the street venders and taxi drivers and the like that provide the safety net for the unemployed. Also, $250 maximum low interest loan program for these same people and free electricity for low use households. While these mostly benefit the ruling parties urban base, the program also includes a restructuring of the “egg” marked to increase revenue to poultry raisers and reduce the price of eggs. In addition a Community Courts system is proposed, free education to the disabled and increase funds for vocational education.

3. In speaking with a friend regarding the rumor mill, he told me that the rumor is that should the current king die, the crown prince is slated to be assassinated and replaced by his sister. Apparently the crown prince is not well liked by the populace because he lacks charisma and has not engaged in the kind of do good activities as his sisters. He is also accused of spending too much time with his political and military cronies. In fact, his real disability seems to be his flirtation with Taksin as well as his support and friendship with that faction of the military hierarchy replaced by the current ascendency. Although having a female monarch is unprecedented in Thailand,the belief is that his sister would reign in an apolitical manner like Queen Elizabeth. The assassination of a monarch has precedent in Thailand. The Current king came to power after his older brother was assassinated. In that case, shortly following the end of WW II the then King was considered sympathetic to the civilian government that replaced the pro-japanese military government. The Democrats were blamed for the assassination by their opponents in the military resulting in the previous anti-monarchial, pro japanese administration being returned to power and beginning a period of military rule in the in the country lasting more that a quarter of a century. It is interesting to note that the previously anti-monarchy military government immediately switched to becoming stridently pro monarchist’s and instituted the “Le Majeste” laws and reverence for the monarchy that marks Thailand today.

4. The Pattaya area of Thailand now receives 100,000 Russian tourists per month. Most of them are from Siberia. They rarely smile.


I guess leaving Paradise by the Sea and traveling to the Big Endive by the Bay can be looked at as an adventure that at least began in Thailand and ended back there as well.

Some of my Impressions of America after a one year absence:

Following the adjustment of my system to the shock of the relatively cool and dismal weather, my initial impression was distress at the dark, drab, shapelessness of the clothing that everyone seems to prefer wearing. It was interesting to me that when I commented to others about my perception they readily agreed that the fashion was indeed dark and perhaps drab, but they denied it was shapeless. One person even went so far as to hold up a dark grey T-shirt as evidence that some people (himself in particular) did not wear shapeless clothing. And indeed I could discern that it had the classic shape of a T-shirt.

Although the Bay Area looked mostly the same wherever I go, the latinization of the Mission district in San Francisco continues unabated, extending at least another 5 to 10 blocks in either direction along that thoroughfare and the neighborhoods surrounding it. On the other hand the Sinoization of North Beach appears to have slowed in favor of the Sunset.

The Holidays were as usual a mixed bag and the serious illnesses and suffering several of my friends made almost everything appear listless. Nevertheless, my traditional Christmas Eve dinner with my daughter and seeing my son and his family along with my sisters family and my grand children cheered me up.

During my stay, I connected with many friends, Maurice Trad and his daughter Molly, Bill Gates, his daughter and his friend Tiffany, Peter and Barry Grenell, Sheldon Siegel, Terry Goggin et.al. and Bob and Charlotte Uram. Unfortunately I was only able to contact others by phone.

In Sacramento, I spent three lovely days with Bill Geyer and Naida West on their ranch and a day with Stevie and Norbert Dall. Surprisingly, I was asked to take Hayden with me during this time so that his mother could go off to the coast (Pismo Beach) with “friends”. He had just returned the prior evening from spending 5 weeks with a family he hardly knew in Seattle while his mother travelled to Thailand to have what appeared to me to be a face lift. Nevertheless, I enjoyed his company and was quite sad when I had to leave him and return to San Francisco.

I will have more about my trip and my impressions in later emails.

Since I have returned, I mostly have spent the time shaking off the effect of jet lag by massages and sleep.


Attached is chapter three in which the plot begins to unfold. The hook is planted and therefore, instead of ending things here, the story goes on. (Alas chapter three has gone missing)

It is one of the chapters that I am toying with changing the point of view in a later revision. Would it help the reader to get Kitchen’s view of Vinnie (or Vince, I have to settle on one I think) rather than Vinnie’s self indulgent view of things? For example beginning the chapter with something like, “David Kitchen watched Vince, shambling slightly, head down as though in a fog cross the street and climb the steps to the cathedral avoiding as much as possible acknowledging anyone with little more that a nod of his head. A slight smile creased his face as he though how much Vinnie always appeared to him to be…”

My friend Naida West, an excellent novelist in her own right who I visited with during my stay in California, has reviewed the first two chapters and has given me a number of excellent suggestions. I look forward to revising those chapters soon.


a. From the Princess Bride:

Grandpa: She doesn’t get eaten by the eels at this time
The Grandson: What?
Grandpa: The eel doesn’t get her. I’m explaining to you because you look nervous.
The Grandson: I wasn’t nervous. Maybe I was a little bit “concerned” but that’s not the same thing.

b. The Wisdom of Baba Giufa:

Seeker: Baba Giufa tell me about racism in the United States of America.

Baba Giufa:There are only three black men in America. The holy trinity is Morgan Freeman, Samuel Jackson and Denzell Washington. All black sports stars and politicians are emanations from Samuel Jackson and all black singers and actors, people in the arts and all others are emanations of Denzel Washington. Morgan Freeman is God, but only in a supporting role and he is pissed.

There are a lot of black women, however. They are all descended from Ethel Waters. Butterfly McQueen did not exist.

Seeker: But,,but Baba doesn’t what you just said seem…er… seem maybe a little racist? Maybe not… oh, I do not know.

Baba Giufa: There are no races, my lad, only racists and we are all racists otherwise why would we invent the concept of race.

c. Today’s Cognitive Bias:

Endowment effect — “the fact that people often demand much more to give up an object than they would be willing to pay to acquire it”.


The world is a ball of dung and we are the worms that live in it and eat each other. The one who eats all the others wins — but he is still the last living worm in a lump of shit.
Tad Williams, Shadowrise.

Categories: January 2011 through March 2011 | Tags: , , , , , | 3 Comments

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. (24 Mopey 0001) February 9, 2012



During the train ride from Sacramento to San Francisco, I continued to work on my comments to the draft Seismic Safety Commission report. Once I realized that the consultants failed to review existing California disaster recovery programs to determine if the state already offered post event recovery assistance to business, I began to do the research myself.

I spent the night at my son Jason’s apartment. It had been my granddaughter Amanda’s birthday a few days ago and I had brought her some presents and was rewarded with a big hug.

The next day, I had lunch with Peter in a deep dish Chicago style pizza place that had just opened in Noe Valley. Later we watched the first half of the Superbowl, at first in the bar in which years ago I was a partner (perhaps my only investment that ever made money) and later a few doors away where we watched the game and listened to the Sunday Live Jazz performance featuring Pete Voukavich. For some reason at about half time, I began feeling exhausted so I returned to Jason’s apartment to rest and watch the rest of the game. The NY Giants won in the last few minutes as they seem to have done in each of their previous six games.

In the evenings, I spend much of my time being introduced to the puzzling wonders of reality television, including scenes of crazed cooks attempting to make the bizarre tasty; tattooed men and skinny girls in what appears to be moderately insane and dangerous activities including the gastronomic pleasure of swallowing things like live cockroaches and; moronic bearded men usually from the Southeast portion of the US (including Texas) killing anything that moves usually, but not necessarily, with a shotgun and then cooking (or not) and eating it. There appears to be a direct connection in the American psyche between violence and food with at best a brief side-trip into sex and wealth.

In between these bouts of visual lunacy and mayhem, Jason and I talk. For the first time in our lives we tried to avoid the father-son communication barriers. We told each other things we had never shared before. He mentioned how devastated, as an eight year old, he was when we learned of Jeanne’s death. “I wanted her to be my mother,” he said and began to cry. He recalled how brave and kind she was. He told about how difficult it was to be sent to an all black school and having to fight and defeat the schools biggest bullies to survive. And much much more I never knew. He recounted some of the things he had done as a child that enraged me at the time and admitted they were intentional. For what reason? To get my attention? A cry of loneliness and desperation perhaps?

At night lying in bed, I thought about how much I have missed out on; how much the tensions between fathers and sons drain out of both lives.

Today, it rained slightly. Perhaps this means that winter is finally beginning. In the Bay area, winter is usually marked by almost daily drizzles beginning in about October and ending at the end of March or so. This year like much of the rest of the world we are experiencing a year without winter.


On the Edge: Stories about the Creation and Early Years of California’s Monumental Coastal Protection Program.

In the Beginning: an oft told story.

Off to join the crusade.

I rarely ever apply for anything. I assume that I will be turned down and am unwilling to endure the self loathing that follows. I did not apply for either college or law school but rather showed up in the dean’s office the day before registration and talked my way into one of unfilled slots.

So I went directly to some State office that managed the civil service exam process and asked them what I had to do to get hired by the Coastal Commission. They told me that I did not qualify even for an interview since the application criteria limited employment to experienced “planners” only. They explained that they were looking for landscape architects or urban planners.

Now at that time I knew very little about planners of any kind. I guess they must have existed in NY but I could not recall ever meeting one and assumed it was something California-ish. Now, a landscape planner or architect I surmised had something to do with flowers and trees in parks, sort of what “the Olmsted” did. An urban planner, that was something else again. I, of course, was aware of those who had the authority and political power to tear down large areas of major cities in order to impose their esthetic, military or dynastic objectives on the community. People like Pope Sixtus insisting he and the other worthy Romans of the Baroque Age have unobstructed views of monuments of their choosing up and down the central city’s thoroughfares; or, Baron Haussmann executing Napoleon III’s obsession with grandeur; or even L’enfant’s proposal for the development of the vacant land designated to become the nations capital. All had the power, will and national wealth behind them to do what they will, but what did that have to do about stopping some motel developer from peeing on John’s garden of stunted trees and flesh eating plants?

I was pretty annoyed, not only at being rejected, something I had learned to expect, but also because I could not even get an interview to talk my way in. It appeared to me to be quite silly to so restrict who gets hired. It seemed destined to have little to do about preserving the coast or the environment and more to do about producing a coffee table book about it. And, certainly almost nothing to do with protecting the “Jughandle Creek Ecological Staircase” from ruin.

So the day the Commission was slated to commence operations, (I think they were to begin on March 1, 1973, or February, I do not remember which) I found myself standing in front of the building in which their new offices were located preparing myself to make my pitch.

At that time San Francisco’s main thoroughfare, Market Street, was torn up to construct the tunnels that would carry the new regional transit rail line (BART) through the City as well as several of the City’s trolley lines in hope that, by removing most public transportation from the main thoroughfare servicing the commercial hub of the City and adding some landscaping along the sidewalk, the street would somehow evolve into the Champs Elysees of California; a dream that was destined to fail, lacking the will, power, unlimited funding or imagination necessary.

The area in front of the California Coastal Commission (as the new governmental entity created by the initiative to carry out its objectives was called) had been torn up as part of the beautification portion of the Market Street renovation. Sickly looking Sycamores, not all that much larger than John’s pygmies and certainly no more attractive, stood forlornly in their burlap root sacks every 30 feet or so waiting to be buried in the unforgiving soil beneath the holes in the sidewalk opened to receive them.

This area of the City at that time could best be described as downtrodden commercial. The building itself was a small nondescript two story office building whose previous tenant had fallen on the dreaded hard times. The Commission’s offices were located on the second floor.

As I pushed through the door and entered the office, I observed that the tenant improvements were far from complete. The walls of the future individual offices were just metal stripping still awaiting sheet-rock. The occupants were clearly visible through the spaces.

There were just three people working there at that time. In one office sat an older gentleman whose name I no longer remember and who I eventually learned had been a naval officer and also had worked in state government and supposedly knew a lot about the ins and outs of the movement of paper and forms among the various governmental entities upon which, whatever governmental effectiveness one expected of an agency, stands or falls. A tall, rather imposing and efficient looking middle aged woman (I have forgotten her name also), who told me she was the private secretary to the Executive Director. She had relocated with him from his previous position with an agency that earlier had been created to do in the Bay of San Francisco things similar to what the initiative proposed along California’s coast.

Through the walls I could see the third person, the Executive Director himself, Joe Bodovitz, a man I, at that time, knew nothing about other than his name as revealed in a name plate sitting in its holder on the secretary’s desk. His office was tiny and irregular. He had black framed glasses, was slender, wore a striped white shirt and a yellow tie.

I walked into his office and decided to get right to it and I said something like:

“The personnel people tell me that it will take about a month or so to get any of your permanent employees hired. You have to begin meetings and promulgating regulations before they show up. You and your secretary alone will have a hard time doing that. I used to be a practicing attorney in New York, perhaps I can help until then.”

Then he did something that surprised me, but which I learned later was a common habit of his, he grabbed the bottom of his tie and began running it through his fingers. After a moment or so he inquired, “Can you write?”
(to be continued)


1. Chronicles:

To those working in the tunnels nearby it was no more than a slight lightening of the comforting gloom followed by the tremors of the earth giving way and something living falling and heavily striking the tunnel floor soon followed by the stifling wisps of oxygen rich air and the stench of an alien presence. As the tremors reverberated through the burrow, all work ceased as each citizen stopped what they were doing and turned towards the source of the tremors that they each felt climb out of the burrow walls, through the hairs of the sensitive down covering their bodies. All chatter ceased.

Like the Polynesian navigators of another time lying silently at the bottom of their dugout canoes, eyes closed, feeling the subtle shifts of the oceans swells until a picture emerged in their minds of islands and reefs far beyond the horizon, each resident of the burrow sensed the scene playing out in the far off tunnel. Then the chatter began again, now centered on the event and the burrow’s reaction. This was followed by the shuffling of hundreds of feet; the age old signal of danger.

The Queen, looked up from the lessons she was giving to her latest brood, then heaved her great bulk out of the royal chamber and began shouting to her soldiers, pushing them with her great head until phalanxes of soldiers from throughout the burrow began to move toward the breech.

She stopped, felt with every sense she had. Above the chatter and shuffling she could feel that the creature whose heavy breathing and weak heart beat was not a Rufus dragon or another terror out to ravage the community, but seemed like one of the people, alien but recognizable nonetheless. She butted one of the soldiers rushing by to a standstill and instructed him to tell the others that if it is not a predator to let her know what it is before doing anything.

2. H. Glaber fellow travelers:

E.B. Kim and others who unravelled the Naked Mole Rat’s gene sequencing.

According to Nature Magazine, the gene sequences revealed:

“…unique genome features and molecular adaptations consistent with cancer resistance, poikilothermy, hairlessness and insensitivity to low oxygen, and altered visual function, circadian rhythms and taste sensing. This information provides insights into the naked mole rat’s exceptional longevity and ability to live in hostile conditions, in the dark and at low oxygen. The extreme traits of the naked mole rat, together with the reported genome and transcriptome information, offer opportunities for understanding aging and advancing other areas of biological and biomedical research.”


RED STAR: Chapter, Vince gets a surprise (continued).

The cooling water in the bath woke him up. He looked around, a bit dazed and stared a moment puzzled at the mug balanced at the edge of the bathtub. Somehow he had finished drinking the liquid in it. Although deep down the chill from the water made his body ache, he felt somewhat more relaxed and calm than when he got into the tub however long ago.

He walked to the shower stall, rinsed himself off lingering in the hot water until it restored the warmth to his bones. Then he moved to the sink, searched around, found mouthwash and a deodorant stick, but no shaving paraphernalia. He gargled and applied the deodorant, put on his robe, walked out of the bathroom through the bedroom and down the short hall into the main room. There he found Isabella sitting on one of the sofa’s in front of the faux gas fireplace reading what looked like a report of some kind.

Her hair was hidden beneath a turban like thing and she had changed into satin beige pajamas and a matching thigh length robe. She looked stunning to him and he sensed movement in his groin as he stood there and silently watched her.

As though she sensed his presence, she suddenly looked up, smiled and said, “Oh there you are, finally. I was afraid you had drowned. I was about to go in and check on you.”

She smiled warmly.

“No, I guess I fell asleep. Sorry it took so long.”

Her smile widened and her normally cold placid eyes he believed showed a little warmth and sympathy. He remained standing where he was.

“I hope Lina’s drink did you some good. It is supposed to calm one down. She and I concocted it after an assignment.”

“She…” he got out.

“Yes, she and her husband were partners with me in some operations in the Philippines.”

“Oh,… yes it seemed to work,” he said deflating slightly as he was reminded about his performance earlier in the evening. “Look I am really sorry for…” He only got that far before she broke in.

“Don’t bother even thinking about it. My sphincter lets go almost every time things get hairy,” she laughed. “It is what they do. It’s a pretty weak muscle. Hard to strengthen.”

“Yeah, but I panicked, you didn’t.”

She got up asked, “Do you want a drink?”

“Mineral water, if you have it.”

As she moved to the low cabinet that contained a wet bar, she continued, “Everyone panics, we are trained to hide it to gain time. We were lucky tonight.”

She opened the cabinet poured two glasses of Pellegrino sparkling mineral water into glasses added some ice then turned and walked towards him. “Strange though, they seemed inept, almost amateurish.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said dryly.

She chuckled and held out a glass to him.

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly moved toward her, put his arms around her waist, pulled her against him and kissed her. Her hands being otherwise occupied, she pushed against him with her forearms, stopped, kissed him back hungrily, then shoved him away.

“Stop,” she said, “you have no idea about how things are.”


See: http://papajoesfables.wordpress.com/


2012: Racism, conservatism and intelligence?

A study, published in Psychological Science, showed that people who score low on IQ tests in childhood are more likely to develop prejudiced beliefs and socially conservative politics in adulthood.

2012: Global warming is a socialist plot.


1. What “Occupy” is all about and what it really wants:

Give us back our money you welfare cheats.

2. Department of abasement, apology and correction:

Ruth pointed out that Bloom’s Day occurs on June 16 and not in September (see my previous post). I do not know where September came from. I arrived in Europe on that trip sometime between late June or July. I stand before you repentant.


Please see the blog: http://papajoestales.wordpress.com/

We’ve seen this before department:

“Jewish activity collectively, throughout history, is best understood as an elaborate and highly successful group competitive strategy directed against neighboring peoples and host societies. The objective has been control of economic resources and political power. One example: overwhelming Jewish support for non-traditional immigration, which has the effect of weakening America’s historic white majority.”
Kevin MacDonald, VDARE.com, Nov. 14, 2006

(VDARE is a White Nationalist website, run by Peter Brimelow, which frequently publishes the works of anti-Semitic and racist writers and is named after Virginia Dare, who is believed to be the first child of English parents born in the Americas. Brimelow, an immigrant from Great Britain, expresses his fear of the loss of America’s white majority, blames non-white immigrants for social and economic problems and urges the Republican Party to give up on minority voters and focus on winning the white vote. He also said that a New York City subway is the same as an Immigration and Naturalization Service waiting room, “an underworld that is not just teeming but also almost entirely colored.”

Brimelow is a featured panelist at this years American Conservative Union’s Political Action Conference at which Romney, Santorum, Gingrich, McConnell and Bachman are scheduled to address the delegates. Will any of them denounce the anti-semitism and racism? Will any of them refuse to appear at an event that features a racist anti-semite? Don’t bet on it.)


1. “People know what the news is. You’re not coming to cable news for news anymore. You’re coming for either validation of your opinion or you’re looking to find out what the other side is saying. It is analogous to the debates that break out on peoples’ Facebook walls. It’s almost like we’re social media, live. They’re just talking to each other. They’re just posting.”
Mr. Domal, [the vice president for eastern ad sales at Fox News].

Read more: http://www.businessinsider.com/fox-news-people-dont-watch-cable-news-to-get-news-2011-12#ixzz1hmmP4DcW

2. “Political figures who talk a lot about liberty and freedom invariably turn out to mean the freedom to not pay taxes and discriminate based on race; freedom to hold different ideas and express them, not so much.”
—Paul Krugman




Categories: January 2012 through March 2012 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. 22 Mopey 0001 February 6, 2012



With SWAC, Joey and Dick’s departure, Hayden and I gratefully have been left to our own devices which basically means getting him up for school, dropping him off at his Taekwando lessons, doing homework after school, preparing and eating dinner, and various bed time rituals including my ongoing recitation of the never ending tales of Danny and his pony Acorn. While Hayden is attending school, I breakfast at a coffee shop named Bella Bru, located across the freeway from the French village shopping center in a smaller center designed to look like an Italian hill town.

Recently, I learned something new. Doing some background research about the Marshall Islands prompted by the energy development proposal there that I am participating in, I discovered something called “stick maps.” It seems that in order to navigate the vast trackless ocean and find their way home again the Marshall Islanders and other Polynesian peoples developed a system of navigation based upon the interference of ocean swell patterns caused by islands or other land forms. The stick maps themselves were not like this maps we are used to today but instead they simply identified the different swell interference patterns so that when the navigator senses them he knows in what direction and how far land will be.

To some extent their ability to traverse the incredible distances on their voyages of discovery and unerringly find these remote island specks, was neither trial and error nor some form of celestial navigation (which was no help in locating tiny islands). Instead they relied on recognizing the subtle variations in ocean swells caused by the islands and then heading for the cause of the disruption; all and all, a stunning example of scientific observation, deduction and application.

Towards the end of the week, Dick asked me to look at a report he has preparing on behalf of the Seismic Safety Commission to present to the governor regarding business recovery following a major disaster of some kind. It seems that although there are many emergency preparedness and governmental programs for restoring critical services following an event, there is evidence that they do not address problems of business retention. For example, following a disaster it has been observed that 25% or more of small businesses in the affected area never reopen and difficulties in retaining larger business entities of regional impact are both exceedingly complex and often catastrophic for community recovery should they fail.

I reviewed the draft report and found it wanting and have now spent the past few days attempting to revise it.

As with all good things, my Sacramento idyll came to an end on Saturday. Following a morning Taekwando session and a stop at McDonalds for a “Happy Meal” including the latest metal toy car, I dropped Hayden off at Joey’s and set off for SF with a brief stop in Sacramento for lunch with Stevie and Norbert.


On the Edge: Stories about the Creation and Early Years of California’s Monumental Coastal Protection Program.

1. In the Beginning: an oft told story (continued).

European interlude:

While John remained at Jughandle Creek guarding the Staircase, Jason, Jeanne and I arrived in Europe at Ireland’s Shannon Airport and soon found ourselves, at night, wandering lost on the top of the island’s tallest mountain and subsequently splashing through the bogs on foot until we stumbled into a remote pub where after we enjoyed a warm dinner and downed several glasses of black and tan’s, we were directed to a farm house where we spent the night. After about a week of roaming about the west of Ireland, attending late night ceilis and visiting Blasket and other remote islands we arrived in Dublin where I, on my own, followed Lenard Bloom’s legendary one day journey (we arrived in September around Bloom’s Day), beginning at the empty lot that once had been Bloom’s home to the butcher shop where Bloom slipped the recently purchased glans into his pocket and stared at the clock tower rising up a few blocks away. Then across the city stopping for a pint or two in every pub Bloom visited that was still standing; past the Strand to the Martel Tower, where Bloom met with Steven Daedalus, back again into the city, off to the cemetery and more pubs until I returned to the vacant lot where late at night Bloom returned home again into the bed he shared with the unfaithful Molly and the day ending with her ecstatic cry, “Yes”.

The Bloom tour took me two days to accomplish. Either I was a much less efficient wanderer than old Lenny or I spent considerably more time in each pub or perhaps I daydreamed a bit about Molly.

We took a side trip to New Grange the mysterious and massive megalithic tomb, older than the oldest Pyramid. One enters the tomb and traverses it through a low irregular tunnel into its very center. No light penetrates to this dark surprisingly large room except at that moment of the winter solstice when a thin beam of light finds its way into the chamber and for a few moments bathes it in the light of the worlds rebirth.

Leaving Ireland we crossed Europe, stopping for a few days in London and Paris (In London we had a difficult time locating lodging because several of the bed and breakfasts we tried refused us because of a fear that Jason would wet the bed although he was six years old at the time).

Eventually we arrived in Rome and my great Aunt’s home just outside the Lateran Gates. Since my Aunt had raised Jason for several years, I felt comfortable leaving him with her while, with Jeanne, I explored Italy and Sicily. I spent a bit of our wanderings on the trail of St. Francis of Assisi during his long residence in and near the Valley of Rieti where he created the creche, went blind, received the stigmata and generally comported himself as one would expect a half crazed holy hermit to do.

Jason and my Aunt spent most of their time outside of Rome at her home in a little village in the Sabine Mountains about 30 miles away where he was considered somewhat of a celebrity.

Completing our circuit of Italy, Jeanne and I left Jason and my aunt in the little town of Casperia, traveled to Brindisi and boarded a boat to Greece. Spent a night on the Plaka, drinking retsina, dancing in the street to the sound of smashing pottery (Doesn’t everyone?). Then off to the islands and Crete. In Crete we avoided the hippy haunts of the south of the Island preferring to explore the ruins of Knossos and to commune with the spirit of Katzanzakis at his tomb on the outskirts of Heraklion. After a side trip up the mountains of Lesithi to spend a night in a small guest house overlooking the thousands of windmills dotting the high plain prior to visiting the then remote undeveloped birthplace of Zeus the following morning, we departed Crete and again traversed the islands until we ended at Rhodes.

The medieval city was still undeveloped for tourism at that time. The Crusader castle and the town was dark and brooding. Nevertheless, we found a magnificent rustic restaurant down some narrow twisted alley where mounds of fish, sea urchins and mollusks were piled on a wooden plank trestle table and where the wine and music flowed freely.

On our last night we lounged at port-side near the supposed location of the fallen Colossus. Because we were off to Turkey the next day and had been suitably frightened by the, “Midnight Express” stories, we decided to smoke our last joint. It was a special one, given to Jeanne by a supposed friend. We had just come from the little museum of oddities a short distance away (you know, two headed dogs and six legged calfs preserved in formaldehyde and the like). I do not know what was in the joint but I heavy metaled right there and was unable to move until morning. Jeanne was so affected she never again touched dope of any kind.

Anyway, off to Turkey and the bus ride along the coast to Ephesus the white city of ruins that was just being uncovered at that time. Then through Izmir to Istanbul, one of my favorite cities; Topkapi, Hagia Sophia, the giant cisterns, the spice market and the bazaar and on and on. Then to the black market to change some money, a bus drive to a nearby city and knife fight at midnight in the freezing cold, followed the next morning by a confrontation with one of the lords of the Turkish underworld, a blond haired blue eyed giant, to plead for our lives. Then a mad dash through, Bulgaria and Yugoslavia back to Italy to pick up Jason and return to the US.

Back in the US I began working with Gutting to spearhead the Sierra Club task force negotiating with the legislature over amendments to the environmental impact law engendered by the panic among the development community as a result of our victory in the courts.

Eventually I found myself back at Jughandle with John. He was ecstatic. “We won Joe! We Won!” he kept saying over and over. “We won the law suit and the Coastal Initiative passed, now the motel would never be built.”

Although I hated to diminish his euphoria, nevertheless eventually I pointed out that the court victory was only temporary and as far as I could tell, the initiative allowed the Coastal Commission to approve permits for developments such as the motel.

John seemed, if not crushed, at least somewhat concerned.

“Oh,” he said, “what can we do about that?”

I pointed out that someone had to either be appointed to the Commission or hired on as staff in order to be there when the application for the development of the motel is filed and then work to see that it is not approved.

“Oh,” he said again, “I am really too busy with all I have to do at Jughandle and I am very much occupied with developing the cross-California heritage corridor.”

“Well,” I responded, “I haven’t worked for a while and could use some money. Maybe I’ll look into it.”


1. Chronicles:

The End of the Dark Days as told by Old George:

To a mole rat referring to something as “dark” does not necessarily mean what one usually thinks of when one uses that word to describe an emotion; after all Mole Rats live most of their lives in the dark. To them, the sudden appearance of light represents danger, chaos and even forbidding times since it most often means that a breach in the security of the burrows that define their community occurred and that in turn often means predators or the rush of unhealthy air from the frightening world above into the warm, musty, carbon dioxide enriched air in which the community thrives. If it is a breech, the familiar smells that enhance the communities well being, become polluted with alien odors, often signifying trouble and danger. (to be continued)

2.Heterocephalus G awards: Awarded to those who most contribute to paving the way for the rise of The Naked Mole Rat.

The award goes to: State Sen. Shadrack McGill (R Fla.) who defended a pay raise for legislators, including him, his predecessors in the Legislature passed, but said doubling teacher pay could lead to less-qualified educators.
McGill claimed that by paying legislators more, “they’re less susceptible to taking bribes.” However, he added, “It’s a Biblical principle. If you double a teacher’s pay scale, you’ll attract people who aren’t called to teach…. He (the Legislator like him) needs to make enough that he can say no, in regards to temptation. … Teachers need to make the money that they need to make. There needs to be a balance there.”

(Indeed there does need to be a balance there. Way to go, Shadrack!)

3. H. Glaber fellow travelers:

“Nature” Magazine editorial writers:

Who in an editorial in the October 2011 issue of the magazine observed:

“[T]he mouse-sized creature is one of only two mammals known to live in ant- and termite-style eusocial colonies (the other being the Damaraland mole rat). A naked mole rat queen suppresses the sexual maturity of her subordinates, and on a royal death, the female who wins the fight to take the queen’s place must stretch herself to pup-bearing size. At length, she is joined by a select few breeding males, while the other members of the colony — sterile workers — dedicate their days to the search for food and to digging and defending tunnels. Should it need to, a naked mole rat soldier can shuffle backwards as fast as its little feet normally carry it forwards.”


RED STAR: Chapter, Vince gets a surprise.

Vince went into the guest bedroom to remove his soiled clothes while Isabella trundled off to the master bedroom at the other end of the suite. Lina had laid out a terrycloth robe on the bed, then busied herself in the bathroom running the water for his bath.

He removed everything from his pockets laid them on the nightstand along with his belt and watch. Then he carefully took off his soiled clothing and threw them into a wicker hamper in the corner.

He stood there naked for a moment, robe in hand contemplating whether he should put it on and risk soiling the white fabric or risk embarrassing Lina and prance naked into the bathroom.

Lina’s knock on the door from the bathroom interrupted his reverie. He bunched the robe in front of his privates as she entered and crossed the room and picked up the hamper without the slightest glance at Vince.

This deflated him slightly since Lina was quite attractive. She then quietly left the room.

Vince stood still for a moment, then walked into the bathroom.

The steam from the hot bath water had already begun fogging the large wall length mirror over the sink. He walked over to the large tub. The water was still running from the tap. It spelled a bid pungent and he guessed Lina had added some relaxing herbs along with the foamy sob. On the edge of the bath stood a mug. He lifted it and sipped. It had a slight lemony taste with mustily overtones. He then slipped into the bath turned off the water, leaned back, took another sip from the drink, set it back down leaned back, slowed his eyes and after a few moments fell asleep.


See: http://papajoesfables.wordpress.com/


2012: Guns provide protection from violence.

In 2007, there were nearly 89 guns for every 100 Americans. The highest rate of gun ownership in the E.U. was in Finland where they had 32 per 100 residents. But the homicide rate in the U.S. is 5.2 per 100,000, while the comparable number in Britain is 1.5, 1.3 in France, and 0.8 in Germany. According to the latest statistics available, there are between 9,000 and 10,000 murders per year using firearms in the U.S. In Germany, the E.U. country with the next highest figures, it’s 200 to 300.

(But we are much safer here from those that have guns since we also have guns to defend ourselves with. I bet those 200 or 300 did not have guns to defend themselves with. Did you know that military studies have shown that neither guns, knives or martial arts training is of any use in a surprise assault even if the initial assault fails? A gun however is very useful if your attacker announces himself first and then gives you about 10 minutes to get ready. Even so, in that case, the attacker probably has a machine gun or a cannon hidden somewhere. On the other hand, he could just be incredibly stupid, in which case, in order to protect the gene pool, he deserves to die.)

2012: More about protection.

Approximately one-third of US military aircraft are unmanned drones.

$4.5 million – Cost of producing a Predator drone. $94 million – Cost of producing a fully manned, twin-engine F/A-18 Hornet fighter jet. $2.4 billion – Cost of producing a fully manned, stealth B-2 bomber

Read more: http://theweek.com/article/index/223121/the-militarys-growing-reliance-on-robot-airplanes-by-the-numbersnbsp#ixzz1kTs6Binn

(There is some evidence that women are somewhat better than men in the remote piloting of drones. It is probably a good thing to turn war over to women, leaving men to bash each other silly playing football or something similar.)

2012: Olive Oil.

Extra virgin olive oil Sabina is, chronologically speaking, the first Italian Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) oil to gain the certification from the European Community, the production of olives and oil is a millennial tradition in Sabine.


A. : What “Occupy” is all about and what it really wants:

Why doesn’t daddy pay his fair share?

B. : You might be a conservative if (according to Bruce Lindner) [continued]:

16: You strongly defend individual freedom, but that freedom doesn’t include a woman’s right to decide her own healthcare needs.

17: You believe corporations are people too, and are deserving of the same rights as the rest of us. Just not the same obligations to pay personal income tax free of corporate loopholes, or penalties for massive criminal behavior and tax evasion. In these matters, corporations are deserving of special rights.

18: And since corporations are now people too, you must believe in their right to a driver’s license, the right to marry, to adopt children, etc. These rights shall not be denied to Exxon, Halliburton and BP (but still immune from the right of the People to try, convict and sentence to death any corporation that conspires to commit a felony… because at that point, they’re suddenly not people again).

19: You still believe Climate Change is a myth, and the recent record highs, lows, floods and droughts around the world coinciding with climate scientist’s predictions are all an amazing coincidence. Oh, and Al Gore is FAT!

20: You believe when George W. Bush took the national debt from $5 trillion to $11 trillion, it was necessary for him to do so to keep America safe. But when Barack Obama added to it by trying to rescue the country from a second Great Depression, he was deliberately trying to destroy America!

21: You believe America is a God fearing country, and that the Almighty protects those who believe just as you do. But it’s never crossed your mind that the majority of tornados, hurricanes and floods all occur in the Bible Belt.

22: You believe that no matter who’s in the White House, the office, if not the man himself is deserving of your respect. The only exceptions to this rule, are if his middle name sounds Muslim, and if he’s not at least as white as that black guy who works down in the mailroom at the office.


Please see the blog: http://papajoestales.wordpress.com/

My brother in law George forwarded to me the following from a blogger who still finds parody possible. Check him out.

From the Borowitz report:

LA JOLLA, CA (The Borowitz Report) – Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney today released the following letter to the American people:

Dear American People:

Yesterday, comments I made about poor people made me look terrible. This always seems to happen when I say what I really believe.

The fact is, I do care about poor people. That’s because I’m poor myself, when you compare me to Mark Zuckerberg.

According to most projections, Facebook’s IPO should net Mr. Zuckerberg a personal fortune of $28 billion. I couldn’t make a pile of dough-re-mi like that even if I fired people twenty-four hours a day.

Now, let’s take a look at Mitt Romney’s net worth: a measly $200 million. Now do you see why I consider myself poor? Compared to Mark Zuckerberg, Mitt Romney is practically a crack whore.

Now, I’m not going to sit here and envy a rich person like Mark Zuckerberg. That’s exactly what President Obama wants poor people like me to do. Mark Zuckerberg made his money fair and square, by creating useful products like imaginary sheep and angry birds. Say what you will about Facebook, it has totally revolutionized the way we waste our lives.

The fact is, if you’re poor in America, you should do what Mark Zuckerberg did: create a social network. I’ve just started my own, called TwoFaceBook. With TwoFaceBook, your profile doesn’t stay the same for more than two seconds.

In closing, there’s one more reason I don’t worry about poor people. They have Groupons.

Vote for me,

Mitt Romney


“Anyone who makes decisions that affect significant numbers of other people, concerning issues of corporate social responsibility or toxic waste, for example, or concerning mass financial markets or mass employment, should be screened to make sure that they are, at the very least, not psychopaths and at most are actually people who care about others,”
Clive R. Boddy,“Corporate Psychopaths Theory of the Global Financial Crisis,”




This image could be considered the American patriot’s view of the world. The US riding high front and center and the rest drifting off into the clouds or bathed in darkness.

Pretty none the less; although the US appears a bit pregnant and green around the edges to me, don’t you think?

Categories: January 2012 through March 2012 | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. (17 Mopey 0001) February 1. 2012



Thanks to the generosity and quick thinking of Stevie and Norbert Dall (may they live long and prosper), I found a place to stay the night after arriving in Sacramento at about midnight. The next morning they picked me up and we drove to El Dorado Hills where we had lunch in a lakeside restaurant located in a vast shopping center designed to look like a traditional french village with parking.

After lunch they dropped me off at the house that I would be staying at to await Hayden’s return from school. SWAC arrived before he did and explained that instead of coming home, Hayden was spending the weekend at the apartment of SWAC’s friend Joey who the last time I was here she was furious with for calling her, in effect, a tart. He would return on Sunday morning at about the same time she leaves for the airport in San Francisco on her way to Thailand to remain there for about a month. Joey will drive her to the airport and then go on to Fresno to visit his family for a week leaving Hayden with me until he returned. Hayden then would resume living with him until SWAC’s reemergence. Although Dick, SWAC’s husband in whose house she lives (Dick lives at his mother’s home in Roseville), could have minded the boy for the week, he unfortunately had to go out of town for business and so the job fell to the default nanny, me.

Anyway, on Saturday we went to Joey’s house. Both Joey and Natalie were going off on separate errands and I was importuned to watch over Hayden and Joey’s two adopted boys for a few hours. The boys had constructed a rough treehouse in a gnarled chestnut tree located behind the apartments. I spent my time enjoyably watching the boys running back and forth from the tree to the apartment’s refuse bin, rooting out treasures to carry back and boost into the treehouse to enhance that mysterious ambience coveted by small boys.

Hayden decided he did not want to spend the night at Joey’s and returned with SWAC and me to Dick’s house where both Dick and SWAC spent an inordinate amount of time instructing me on my duties even though I had done them all innumerable times during my previous visits.

Hayden, himself, seemed to have advanced from the wounded neediness of the insecure child to the dreamy independence of the seven year old to whom the vagaries his life had become normal reality.

That night while trying to get to sleep, my mind drifted here and there as I tried to gain, if not understanding of things, the comfort of post hoc rationalization. I realized that since stopping my psychopharmacological drugs (happy pills), my tolerance for accepting circumstances that I find objectionable has diminished to at least what it was prior to beginning the medication regime. It is time for me to get on with things.

The following day, after SWAC left for the airport, Hayden, Dick and I visited with Bill and Naida at their ranch. Hayden rode one of the horses for a while. We then all went for a wonderful walk along the Cosumnes River to a rocky area downstream containing 19 or more grinding holes that Naida believes were made by the ancient predecessors to the indians featured in Naida’s novels that settled about a mile up river. Bill, who is still recovering from open heart surgery, heroically accompanied us. We stopped at the golf course club house for lunch and to give Bill the opportunity to rest and recover from the exertions of the hike.


On the Edge: Stories about the Creation and Early Years of California’s Monumental Coastal Protection Program.

In the Beginning: an oft told story (continued).

The litigation:

Before coming to California, I had practiced law in both New York and Italy. In New York I amassed one of the longest streaks of consecutive victories in jury trials in the history of the state until that time. In Italy, I practiced International tax law, a subject I knew nothing about.

I had given up the practice of the law in favor of hippiedom when I migrated to California and, therefore, at that time was not a member of the bar. For that reason, with regard to any litigation affecting Jughandle Creek, I could only operate, more or less, as a volunteer clerk or unofficial paralegal. I worked with two distinguished and very good attorneys; an older man named, if I remember correctly, Ferguson and a young attorney, Dick Gutting (or Cutting, I no longer remember which). Ferguson was a well known volunteer of his time and efforts on behalf of environmental causes, while Gutting, although at that time an associate in a distinguished law firm, had set his sights on a career in the emerging field of environmental law.

Like I said they were very good attorney’s while I, even with my enviable record that might mark me as a successful advocate, was at best a mediocre attorney. Almost immediately disagreements arose as I prepared the first draft of the briefs to challenge the Environmental Impact Report on the proposed motel development at Jughandle Creek.

Before addressing the disagreements, a little background on the issues. A few years previously the California legislature passed a law requiring that prior to taking an action governmental entities prepare a study of environmental impacts that may flow from that action. The law was more or less modeled on a similar Federal law enacted at the urging of then President Nixon. At the time it was assumed that the requirement applied, like the Federal law, only to governmental projects. In California however a court subsequently had held that it applied to private projects requiring governmental authorization also. The Jughandle Creek litigation would be one of the first that addressed the issue as to what if anything was demanded of the governmental entity should the report indicate that substantial adverse environmental impacts could be caused by the project.

The law suit was dismissed at the trial court and was now on appeal.

The disagreement between those working on the brief was over, not only my ability to frame the legal agreement itself (which for this discussion we will skip over), but also the nature of advocacy itself.

You see during my career as a trial lawyer, I discovered that no matter how polished and convincing my presentation or how devastating my cross examination of opposing witnesses, whenever I questioned the jury following a verdict as to what it was I said or did that convinced them, they would say, “nothing” and insist that the facts themselves were overwhelmingly in my clients favor.

Confused, I demanded that my firm give me only those cases the other lawyers did not wish to try because they believed them to be losers. I still won and the juries still gave the same explanation for their decision.

I deduced from this many things, most of which are quite obvious. The most significant insight was that no-one likes to admit his or her actions were based upon the urging of others. I had stumbled on to this truism inadvertently and had conducted my advocacy accordingly. For example, I rarely cross-examined my opponents witness in an effort to damage his credibility since it risked juror dissatisfaction with the domineering lawyer putting words into the witnesses mouth. Rather, I would try to lead him into expanding his story so as to stretch the bounds of credulity.

The legal argument we were, in part, trying to make was over the technical and often arcane issue of divining legislative intent. You see, without some prior legislative authorization to do so, a governmental body is never obligated to act, even in the face of obvious substantial adverse impacts (with the exception of gross human rights violation). To do so whenever an adverse impact is perceived invites chaos. This is one of the fundamental tenants of the rule of law. Even the human rights exception relies upon the fiction that somehow these rights are fundamental and exist even if not written down and adopted by a legislature.

In the EIR statute no specific language existed that in anyway directed the local government to do anything once they had accepted the document.

I argued that the brief had to strongly highlight the significance of the damage (not really an issue in the litigation other than it was so) and that the legislature specifically provided a mechanism for uncovering that impact and failure to act on the information would render the legislative action futile (not really a legal argument) and then lay out the various legal arguments by which the appellate court could find a legislative intent to justify what I hoped appealed to the judges sense of equity.

Ultimately we agreed on some form of the above approach, the briefs submitted, the case argued and the judgement rendered in our favor. Alas, I was not there to savor the victory, my six year old son Jason, Jeanne and I had departed on a several month tour of Europe when the decision was announced. (To be continued.)



The more I struggle with my attempts to fashion stories and tales fitting an imagined evolution of NMR’s unique society, the more frustrated I become. It is not simply some “Watership Down,” imagining a recognizable human culture reduced to fit little furry creatures that live in burrows. Nor is it like some fantasy author postulating some spacefaring Panthera Leo community. NMR society is alien to almost all recognizable mammalian cultures. I searched through hundreds of tales and stories hoping I could find one or more to adapt. None that I found was adaptable to NMR society. How does one write a tale if the sex and survival instincts are unrecognizable? Only the NMR queen seems to fit our archetypes. Yet, the other individuals in the NMR community lacking either sex drive, or competitive urgings, nevertheless seem to live relatively self directed social lives lacking among insectoid species.

Any suggestions??


RED STAR: Chapter, Rachel (continued).

Without thought, Rachel threw herself into the car diving across the transmission hump separating the front seats seeking whatever protection from impending doom the automobile offered and hoping the hulking stranger’s self preservation instincts were somewhat higher then hers at this moment. He slid in behind her, miraculously inserted the key into the ignition without fumbling, started the motor and plunged directly ahead as two more bullets bit into her car and shattering the front window.

The automobiles tires struck the curb and the car lurched across the sidewalk, traversed the plaza, careened off a parking meter and sped off down the Embarcadero. He squealed around the first corner he could heading west throwing her body against the dashboard. He did not seem to notice. Then he zigzagged back and forth from street to street apparently believing it would somehow put off pursuit or make him difficult to find. They continued like this until arriving near the intersection of Van Ness and Mission Streets by the hulking Goodwill Industries store where he pulled over by an unoccupied meter. He placed his head on the steering wheel, breathing deeply, hands shaking.

Rachel silent until now said, her voice deep and cracking slightly, “City Hall’s a few blocks away. The police are there.”

He turned toward her as though just noticing her. His round face shiny with sweat. Blue eyes wide with fright. He dug into his pocket pulled out a business card and handed it to her. Said, “Here call me I will pay any damage.”

She almost screamed, “Are you nuts? We have been shot at, almost killed. You highjack my car kidnap me and you give me your business card and offer to pay for damage to my car. I want the fucking cops.” She realized she was beginning to lose it. Whatever hormonal cocktail her body had mixed to carry her this far was evaporating.

Her outburst, on the other hand, seemed to shake him from wherever he was at. His eyes cleared and what appeared to be the beginnings of smile played with his lips.

“You’re right. I am sorry. You saved my life. I cannot ever pay you enough.”

“I did not save your life. You attacked and kidnapped me and you are right you can never pay me enough.”

“Listen before we bring in the cops, let me try to explain what happened,” he pleaded.

Although clearly the large hulking man sitting across from her seemed at the end of his rope, she nevertheless was unsure, whether from fear or curiosity, to open the door and run to the police or to stay and listen. Curiosity got the better of her and she said, “Ok go ahead, but make it quick.”
(to be continued)


See: http://papajoesfables.wordpress.com/


2012: Child poverty in the US:

Child poverty is absolutely exploding all over America. According to the National Center for Children in Poverty, 36.4% of all children that live in Philadelphia are living in poverty, 40.1% of all children that live in Atlanta are living in poverty, 52.6% of all children that live in Cleveland are living in poverty and 53.6% of all children that live in Detroit are living in poverty.

2012: Net worth:

According to an analysis of Census Bureau data done by the Pew Research Center, the median net worth for households led by someone 65 years of age or older is 47 times greater than the median net worth for households led by someone under the age of 35.

If you can believe it, 37 percent of all US households that are led by someone under the age of 35 have a net worth of zero or less than zero.

2012: National Efficiency.

The US uses about 221 tons of oil equivalent to produce every million dollars of GDP, while the comparable number for Britain is 141, for France 170 and for Germany 164.


B. : You might be a conservative if (by Bruce Lindner) [continued]:

8: You believe in putting American jobs first, except when president Obama rescued 1.5 million GM and Chrysler autoworkers, because that was socialism.

9: It angers you that you can’t communicate with the Mexican busboy at your local Olive Garden, but when you took a vacation to San Francisco’s Chinatown, you thought it’s quaint that so many Chinese-Americans are holding fast to their traditional language. Because that’s America!

10: You deny that the lunatic who tried to murder Gaby Giffords was a conservative, even though he targeted a Jewish, pro-choice, pro gay rights, Democratic Congresswoman.

11: You thought it was perfectly normal that every president in history had an untethered right to raise the debt ceiling when warranted, but when Obama asked the GOP held congress to do it, you thought it only natural that it be tied to cutting Social Security and Medicare.

12: When the new 112th Congress was sworn in, you swooned as they promised to focus on “Jobs, jobs, jobs.” But when they pivoted, and went after NPR, Planned Parenthood and gay rights, you cheered.

13: You accuse president Obama of raising your taxes to the highest point ever, even though they’re lower today than at any time since 1950.

14: You believe the wealthiest Americans are “job creators,” and they are — but it doesn’t bother you that all the workers in those positions are in India, China and Malaysia, and they’re doing the jobs that our fathers once did.

15: You believe gays are anti-American, because their lifestyle is a threat to the children… unless they’re married to Tea Party-backed presidential candidates from Minnesota.

2. : What “Occupy” is all about and what it really wants:


Please see the blog: http://papajoestales.wordpress.com/

The insufferable ignorance of the right:

My right wing correspondents are at it again. If you recall these are the same persons who among other things floods me with emails containing what no rational person one could possibly deny are racist images of the First Lady or the President and then when challenged deny, in high dudgeon, any racist intent insisting they were forwarding them because of its substantive and humorous intent.

A few days ago, I received a video of the very right wing Congressman King, calling for President Obama and Nancy Pelosi to leave the United States. Now not only would my correspondents probably shake with indignation (and probably did) at calls for W’s impeachment or for war crimes trials of members of his administration, but they go on to maintain that those who object to King’s statement are left wing racists because King is black. They forget that only 3 years ago, they nag their cohorts were apoplectic regarding the then candidate’s black pastor’s sermon that Blacks have had little benefit from the Constitution. They claimed their outrage was not racist in nature but indignation at the insult to America.

I mention it here, not because I am surprised or shocked, but to further indicate the level to which any sensible political discourse has fallen due to the pervasive nature of Faux Think and ditto-heads.

To again quote David Frum who remains a life-long committed Republican and thoughtful consultant to conservative causes:

“The business model of the conservative media is built on two elements: provoking the audience into a fever of indignation (to keep them watching) and fomenting mistrust of all other information sources (so that they never change the channel). As a commercial proposition, this model has worked brilliantly in the Obama era. As journalism, not so much.”

“But the thought leaders on talk radio and Fox do more than shape opinion. Backed by their own wing of the book-publishing industry and supported by think tanks that increasingly function as public-relations agencies, conservatives have built a whole alternative knowledge system, with its own facts, its own history, its own laws of economics.”

King subsequently recanted his outburst. I guess that proves he must be a racist also.


“We have now, it seems a National Bible Society, to propagate King James Bible, through all Nations. Would it not be better, to apply these pious Subscriptions, to purify Christendom from the corruptions of Christianity; than to propagate those Corruptions in Europe, Asia, Africa and America! “

John Adams letter to Thomas Jefferson.

Thomas Jefferson’s response:

“These Incendiaries, finding that the days of fire and faggot are over in the Atlantic hemispheres, are now preparing to put the torch to the Asiatic regions. What would they say were the Pope to send annually to this country, colonies of Jesuit priests with cargoes of their Missal and translations of their Vulgate, to be put gratis into the hands of every one who would accept them? and to act thus nationally on us as a nation?”




Categories: January 2012 through March 2012 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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