Posts Tagged With: Terrorist.

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. 25 Joseph 0008. (January 14, 2019)

 

“A princess is the larval reproductive host in the life cycle of a parasitic hereditary dictatorship.”

Stross, Charles. Dark State: A Novel of the Merchant Princes Multiverse (Empire Games) (p. 195). Tom Doherty Associates.

 

 

 

TODAY FROM AMERICA:

 

 

 

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES: A BRIEF TRIP TO SAN FRANCISCO.

 
It has been well over a week since I posted my previous T&T and I am just now getting around to write up this post. I have forgotten much of what occurred during that time. The perils of old age include memory loss. After all, memory is what makes you who you are. Its loss diminishes you. On the other hand, the loss of certain memories can make you happier — Another quandary. Anyway, I usually try to write something in the journal section of T&T every day or two in order to try to avoid the problem.

What happened? We traveled to SF where we stayed at Peter and Barrie’s home while I received my second infusion. It is wonderful to have friends like Peter and Barrie who take you into their home when you need it. We had two most pleasant evenings. The dogs, Ramsey and Boo-boo, put on amusing wrestling matches for most of the evening. Anthony, my grandson, dropped by bringing me a Christmas present of his latest, now legal product. He looks much better now that he is a player in an up and coming industry.

At the hospital, they told me that I had had an allergic reaction to my last infusion, so they changed the medicine and relieved me of having to carry around a pump for five days.

On Friday, just before we left Peter’s house, my granddaughter Amanda and her mom Hiromi visited us, bringing Christmas presents. It pleased me greatly to see them especially Amanda my lovely sweet granddaughter who for many reasons, some of my own makings, I do not see enough of.
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B. BACK IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST: SEVERAL MYSTERIES BLOOM.

 

Today is Saturday in the Enchanted Forest, rain has driven us indoors to sit in Naida’s studio and play on our computers and watch old movies.

During the weekend while the weather was dark and drear, a mystery bloomed. At the hospital last week as I finished up my infusion and still sleepy from the Benadryl, the nurse came up to me and attached to my upper arm a little machine with blinking lights.

“What’s this?” I inquired.

“In a few seconds, you will feel a pinch as a needle enters your arm,” she said. And I did.

“Keep this on until you feel another pinch in a day or so,” she added. And so, I left.

By the weekend, I still had not felt a pinch but the machine kept blinking away. I decided to contact the hospital through their internet communications system. The following exchange took place:

Me: “On Thursday they attached something to my arm to insert medicine. I do not remember how long it was to remain nor whether there were any techniques to be used to remove it. Please advise.”

Response: “Hello, You have to return in 5 days after the pump was placed to have it removed. The nurses should have scheduled you for a return appointment in the infusion center. Do you have a pump that attached to your belt?”

Me again: “It is not a pump. The pump has been discontinued. It is something that injects the medicine in my arm and the nurse said I should remove it in a day or two. Unfortunately, I do not recall the specifics.”

Response: “Are you referring to a PICC line — a semi-permanent IV that goes in the bicep? If that’s what you’re referring to do not remove it on your own. That must be removed only be a nurse or doctor as it can introduce air into your bloodstream if done incorrectly. You can take a photo of what you’re referring to and upload the photo on MyChart?”

 

So, I sent him a photograph of the machine, suitably dark and blurry for mysteries such as this.
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Suddenly my overactive sense of fantasy and melodrama overwhelmed me. So what’s going on here? Was the nurse up to something nefarious? Am I now a Russian bot? Will I become a member of he who is Not My President’s cabinet? Does the infernal machine have mind control power?

STAY TUNED!

(Eight-year-old-boy noises here) FADE!

Recently, I have grown wary of my dreams. After reading what I just wrote above, maybe I should be more wary of my waking life.

A fierce storm blew in over the weekend. The lights failed in our house. So, Naida and I drove through the storm to her daughter Sarah’s house where her husband warmed us up with the best carrot soup I have ever tasted. Later we wound our way back home through fallen trees (one very large tree had completely blocked the road forcing us to backtrack and find an alternative route) and intersections with malfunctioning stop lights.

On Sunday, the mystery began to resolve itself. The nurse wrote:

I spoke with the infusion center pharmacist and he said you can remove the device and dispose of it. It just has strong adhesive tape on it. The needle that was on the skin-facing side retracts after the injection the day after chemo. If it’s flashing a red light that means the injection was not administered.

Alas, mystery solved. I have to return to my memories of those nights long ago listening to “The Shadow,” “The Fat Man,” “The Green Hornet,” and others on the radio in order to get my melodrama fix.

On Tuesday Nikki arrived and visited us in the Enchanted Forest. He found his way here by noticing the Mysterious Orb which has emerged from its hiding place behind the bushes and now stands fully exposed at the end of the driveway to our garage.

As much as I’d like to manufacture some sort of mystery regarding the behavior of that odd orb, obviously some sort of supernatural explanation is ridiculous despite my adolescent tendency to amuse myself with them. It cannot be denied that someone or several someones have been moving it about this past month — back and forth in front of the houses, in various places along the common alleyway, into the bushes by Howe Avenue and now fully exposed at the end of the alley at exactly the right moment to lead Nikki to our house. Why are they doing this? Coincidence, mystery, take your best guess.

 
C. IT IS THURSDAY SO I MUST BE IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM AGAIN.

 

About a week after my first chemo infusion I found myself in the local emergency room suffering an allergic reaction to the treatment

At about 2:30 AM on Thursday morning, a week after my second infusion my temperature hit 102. Naida insisted I go to the emergency room at the local hospital. There I explained that I had recent chemotherapy treatment and my oncologist recommended I go to ER if my temperature exceeds 100 degrees. They admitted me and prescribed a number of antibacterials. As the antibacterials were being administered to me by the nurse, I suddenly turned towards her and screamed, “My mouth is on fire” then “My body is burning.” The last thing I heard before everything went black was the nurse shouting into the communication device they have pinned to their neck like the police, “Code Blue.”

The next thing I recall was a room full of people and the hospital doctor, a young Asian man, his voice tight with stress barking out orders and directions. The blackness beginning at the edges closed in again.

I then remember, the room now mostly empty, two orderlies lifting me onto a gurney and moving me through the hospital corridors. I remember the view of the ceilings passes by like that in innumerable movies. They deposited me in intensive care and hooked me up to a number of drip bags. The nurse assured me that they identified the antibacterial that caused the reaction and eliminated it. But that was not the most interesting thing that happened that morning.

A few hours later, needing to urinate, I was assisted to the bathroom. What came out was blood, a huge stream of deep dark red blood. Well, to say this startled me would be an understatement and prompted another flurry of medical consultations and the burdening me with rather uncomfortable devices. This is proving to be a very interesting experience.

Thank God for immigrants and so-called minorities. Without them, we would have no health system

Following a night in ICU, I was deemed improved enough to be moved to the Oncology unit. There I began to feel better, much better. In fact, as good as I have felt in months. The unit doctor on duty told me that he would discharge me the next day. Great news but I had one more trial to face.

 
D. POOKIE AND THE URINE NAZIS:

 

On the last day of my hospital stay the nurse told me that before I would be discharged I needed to prove I could vacate my bladder or I would be forced to have a catheter inserted. I refuse to wear a catheter, so I assiduously set to work to prove I was not a urine retainer. Each time after I finished, the urine nazis would sonogram me. Each time it showed little or no reduction, so I redoubled my efforts. It was some of hardest effort I have put into anything for years. Finally, after many hours, I showed enough progress that I was released. I fled into the night and back into the Enchanted Forest.

 
E. BACK IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST:

 

It has been two or three days since I returned to my sylvan retreat. Naida has a bad cold which my doctor advises I should treat as if Typhoid Mary returned from the grave and is now camped out in my living room. We have taken to walking around the house with masks, turning our heads whenever we speak to each other and trying various procedures guaranteed to work as well as they did on some now extinct stone age tribe.

Now some may think I find this all difficult and dreadful. Difficult certainly, dreadful perhaps, but life is an adventure. On an adventure sometimes you find yourself on a mountain overlooking a beautiful fjord somewhere and at other times you are slogging through some dreary malaria-infected swamp. It doesn’t matter if you chose the path or not, the adventure is yours.

 

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PETRILLO’S COMMENTARY:

 

 
I was wondering about the tremendous Imbalance in the Senate between Senators and the populations they represent. While I fully sympathize with the Founding Fathers wishes to protect smaller states from rapacious behavior by the larger and defense of the State from irrational behavior of the vox-populi, I believe a modest change will preserve the founders intent while reducing many of its current irrational and undemocratic aspects.

This would entail amending the appropriate sections of the constitution to provide for a Senate composed of Senators equal to two times the number of states, Each State would receive one Senator as of right. The remainder will be decided among the states according to population with the House of Representatives setting appropriate equal multistate districts based on census data for a Senator that may represent several states.

This approach would leave California with about four Senators and Texas with about three, both substantially less than they would have based on population alone, This would leave as many as 50 million citizens in low population states under-represented. This would be handled by the creation of about eight super districts, The decision of the House of Representatives would be reviewable by the Supreme Court to determine if the House applied the Constitutional Standards for drawing up the districts.

As for the US territories and the District of Columbia, they include almost five million unrepresented US citizens (primarily in the district of Columbia and Puerto Rico). These would be included by the House in the super district nearest to them.

Or, as an alternative, changing the role and authority of the Senate. They would still retain their role of “advise and consent” on executive and judicial appointments, treaties and the like. They would retain their current oversight role of the executive. They would review and approve the budget adopted by the House but have no role in its drafting. Perhaps the review of specific tax increases or reductions approved by the House. But, they would have no role in the drafting, review, and approval of general legislation. That would be exclusively a function of the House.

For many reasons, this could never happen and may not even be advisable but at a certain age speculation on what will not be is an amusing way to spend your time.

 

 

 

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:

 

 

In the late 1940s, my father owned a bar in the Fleetwood section of Mount Vernon. The City of Mount Vernon along with Yonkers formed the northern boundary of New York’s Borough of the Bronx. During that period in my life both my parents would disappear for a while. I never knew where my father went. My mother was hospitalized for a year or so at a time in various mental and medical hospitals having unspeakable procedures administered to her as was usual at the time.

Anyway, during the period my father owned the bar, I would spend many of my days there sitting on the floor, my chin propped up on my fists listing to the music and staring at the changing colors of the lights emanating from the Wurlitzer.

Now for those who do not know what a Wurlitzer is, it was one of the last great analog machines for producing music before the advent of the digital age. Through the clear plastic window at the top, I could see the bright chrome handle move up and down the stack of records, stop with a jerk and pluck a record out of the stack, swing the report over to the turntable and drop it. Then the music would play — silky jazz, bright pop tunes, magnificently melodious show tunes. Surrounding the window, a roll of back-lit variegated colored plastic would bath me sitting there before it with its ever-changing colors.

One day, in the bar, while I sat there before the Wurlitzer dreamily wandering through the bliss of the colors and the music (Lady Day’s cover of Night and Day?) I, for some reason, I overheard my father and the other men at the bar talking. One of them, probably my father, said, “You know those guys on Tin Pan Alley*, who write those songs all wear bow ties and horn-rim glasses.”

This startled me. “What do bow ties and horn-rim glasses have to do with writing music,” I thought? “Was it some sort of uniform that one must wear to get into the alley?” “Odd, why would they say that?”

I would continue to ponder that question as I sat there in that dream-like state, bathed in the slowly shifting colors listening to Sarah Vaughn, Mildred Bailey, Jack Teagarden or some other the wonderful sounds of that golden age of music wondering about bow ties and horn-rim glasses.

Of my childhood, this was one of the only two experiences which I remember fondly.

Later, there was a time that I wore bow ties and still later horn rim glasses. Never wrote a note of music though.

wurlitzerblack
A Wurlitzer Juke Box
* Tin Pan Alley — the name given to the collection of New York City music publishers and songwriters who dominated the popular music of the United States in the late 19th century and early 20th century. The name originally referred to a specific place: West 28th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues in the Flower District of Manhattan.

The start of Tin Pan Alley is usually dated to about 1885 when a number of music publishers set up shop in the same district of Manhattan. The end of Tin Pan Alley is less clear cut. Some date it to have continued into the 1950s when earlier styles of American popular music were upstaged by the rise of rock & roll, which was centered on the Brill Building.

 

 

 

 

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

 

 

 

Today’s Poem:

The Beasts’ Confess

BY JONATHAN SWIFT
To the Priest, on Observing how most Men mistake their own Talents

When beasts could speak (the learned say,
They still can do so ev’ry day),
It seems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
It happen’d, when a plague broke out
(Which therefore made them more devout),
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean)
By proclamation gave command,
That ev’ry subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious wolf begins:

“Good father, I must own with shame,
That often I have been to blame:
I must confess, on Friday last,
Wretch that I was! I broke my fast:
But I defy the basest tongue
To prove I did my neighbour wrong;
Or ever went to seek my food
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood.”

The ass, approaching next, confess’d
That in his heart he lov’d a jest:
A wag he was, he needs must own,
And could not let a dunce alone:
Sometimes his friend he would not spare,
And might perhaps be too severe:
But yet, the worst that could be said,
He was a wit both born and bred;
And, if it be a sin or shame,
Nature alone must bear the blame:
One fault he hath, is sorry for’t,
His ears are half a foot too short;
Which could he to the standard bring,
He’d show his face before the King:
Then for his voice, there’s none disputes
That he’s the nightingale of brutes.

Alas, the poem is a bit too long to be included here in its entirety. So if you want to read more please go to https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45265/the-beasts-confession

 

 

TODAY’S QUOTE:

 

“America is the place where you cannot kill your Government by killing the men who conduct it. The only way you can kill government in America is by making the men and women of America forget how to govern.”
—Woodrow Wilson, 1919

 

Categories: January through March 2019, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. June 23, 2011

POOKIE FOR PRESIDENT:

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

TODAY’S FACTOID:

I have no idea what this chart is supposed to tell us. If you do please let me know.

TODAY’S NEWS FROM (THAILAND) AMERICA:


POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN (THAILAND) CALIFORNIA AND ITALY:

The following morning we left for LAX and our flight to Italy.

The depressing state of the American airline industry is additional evidence that the terrorists won. It was not the taking down of buildings, the killing of Americans or airplanes falling from the sky that was the goal of their attacks, but the subtle certainty of their understanding of the American psyche was their actual weapon. Their focus was to destroy the American economy by knowing precisely the reaction of America’s conservative elite’s thirst for power and profit. And we fell into the trap. Instead of making ourselves even stronger economically at home we wasted American treasure and dollars in unnecessary wars in the deserts of the middle east until we rewarded our attackers their victory, destruction of our economy. I consider the architects of our response nothing less than cynical traitors who wrapped themselves in the flag for personal benefit and power.

The American sad state of Airline travel is small but significant evidence of the extent of the terrorists success.

Anyway, following an especially uncomfortable flight, I arrived at Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci Airport with swollen legs, aching back and a foul temper. We were met by Nikki, who had arrived from Chicago a few hours earlier.

After about two hours of trying to secure a rent-a-car for our trip to Milan during which we experienced the full fury of Italian efficiency, we set off.

Within minutes it became obvious that we were not going to make the 4 or so hour drive to Milan that evening as both SWAC and I began to complain to Nikki of our various discomforts. At my suggestion we agreed to spend the night in Orvieto a small hilltop city not far off the Autostrada.

As we entered the town, SWAC became quite excited as she thought she recognized the town as the site of George Clooney’s escapades in the movie “The American” or some such.

We located a pleasant B&B called “Las Palmas,” dropped off out luggage and set off in search of dinner which we found at an attractive restaurant a few doors away. Following a very enjoyable meal and the downing of two liters of local red and white wines among the three of us, we stumbled back to our respective rooms and to sleep.

The next morning we checked out of the B & B and set off in search of the Duomo and locations of scenes in the film that SWAC thought that she remembered.

Orvieto’s Duomo is an interesting church with a large romanesque interior and Italian gothic façade striped with green and white marble. Attached to the façade in a band about 30 feet wide and stretching across the entire front of the church is a series of Bas-reliefs that along with the view from the city walls are the towns glory.

Orvieto like many of the hill towns in this part of Italy specialize in a type of pottery called Faience. Each town promotes in a slightly different design on the pottery and ever since Faience pottery became beloved of collectors, each town has developed its own pottery “artist”. In Orvieto the renowned artist is the daughter of the owner of a pottery shop on the Plaza del Duomo called Giacomini.

For those with knowledge and experience with the California Coastal Commission, yes they are the relatives of the beloved suspender wearing, rotund, ex-Marin County Supervisor and Coastal Commissioner, Gary Giacomini sometimes also referred to as “Farmer Brown”.

Gary was an ardent environmentalist as long as it did not interfere with his and his family’s economic and political ambitions.

I spent about a half an hour swapping “Gary” stories with the family before we departed to search for the supposed locations of scenes from the movie, take photographs and return to the Autostrada to complete our journey to Milan. (To be continued…)
PAPA JOES TALES AND FABLES:

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

JOEY’S MYSTERY NOVEL:

Chapter whatever:

Vince took into the office washroom the overnight suitcase he always kept available in his office in case he had to make sudden short business trips or pulled and all-nighter like this one. He washed as best he could, shaved, changed his clothing and returned to his office just as Ray arrived to accompany him to the San Mateo County office. Ray had obviously been called by Ike and was dressed in what for him passed for business attire, pearl button earrings, a military style camouflage jacket, matching camouflage pants and neon green Crocs on his feet.

When they arrived at the San Mateo and were immediately ushered into the office of Sheriff Megan (Megs) Polan, former beauty queen, body building champion and rising star in local Republican politics. Vince and Ray sat in chairs across the hygienically clean desk behind which Megs sat enthroned like a medieval duchess. Her still super toned body filled out her tan uniform so that it looked painted on. She had curly auburn hair that hung down to her shoulders and the steely blue eyes of either a stone cold killer or paranoid schizophrenic. She did not rise to greet them or speak but leaned across her desk and pushed a transparent evidence bag containing a small piece of paper towards them. As she bent forward Vince caught a glimpse of cleavage struggling to escape the casually unbuttoned shirt. He also noticed the large black pistol riding high on her hip. Vince disconcerted that he found himself turned on, in order to cover his embarrassment he dropped his eyes to the proffered evidence bag and studied its contents.

Inside the bag was a piece of paper torn from a small spiral bound notebook and written on it in a shaky hand was written the message, “If anything should happen to me, call Vincent Biondi” along with his personal mobile phone number.

“So Mr. Biondi,” Megs intoned in her surprisingly whiskey edged voice, “what can you tell me about this note and what may have happened to Mrs. Stephanie Coign last night?”

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

a. Eponymous laws:

Bradford’s law — a pattern described by Samuel C. Bradford in 1934 that estimates the exponentially diminishing returns of extending a library search.

(Everyone knows that. Ask any student.)

b. Trenz Pruca’s Aphorisms, Apothegms, Epigrams and Maxims ( http:/trenzpruca.wordpress.com/):

“All fortunes are based on Ponzi schemes.”

c. From God’s Mouth to your ears:

“…be content with your wages.” (Luke 3:13-14)

Ask for a raise and go to Hell.

d. You must be a Republican ( http:/trenzpruca.wordpress.com/) if you believe that:

“Torture is necessary for the defense of American freedom but the freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures is not.”

e. Testosterone Chronicles:

Wayne State University recently published the results of a study that concluded men with more testosterone are more likely to engage in competition with men with less testosterone when being presented with an attractive woman.
Source: Wayne State University

In other words Testosterone poisoned men haven’t the slightest idea of how ridiculous they are.

TODAY’S QUOTE:

“Like all parents, my husband and I just do the best we can, and hold our breath, and hope we’ve set aside enough money to pay for our kids’ therapy.”
—Michelle Pfeiffer

TODAY’S PHOTOGRAPHS:

ORVIETO DUOMO


FRONT OF GIACOMINI POTTERY SHOP.

Categories: April 2011 through June 2011 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. (17 Joey 0001) April 7, 2012

TODAY FROM THAILAND:

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN THAILAND:

Following the usual interminable and uncomfortable plane ride, I arrived back in Bangkok. The sky was overcast, but the temperature was a welcome change from the weeks of cold and rain I had experienced in California. When I got to my apartment, I discovered that the Little Masseuse had also been ill. She was suffering from some form of sciatica that radiated down one of her legs leaving painful blisters. I keep hoping that somewhere I can find a place where I can revel in my own misery without discovering someone close to me who has it worse.

The next day, after sleeping off the jet lag, I went to the gym and tried to drive the crud from my lungs with a roasting in the sauna.

When not coughing and lying baking in the sauna, I continue to work on the business plan I am helping my sister prepare.

With the clearing of the skies, the “Mad Dog” days are upon us making it unfit to spend much time too far away from air conditioning. I sat by the pool today and did not go in for a swim. I reasoned I was already too wet from sweat so I took a cold shower instead.

I spoke by telephone with Hayden, he is with SWAC and they plan to drive to San Francisco for the weekend. Given her recent emotional breakdown and medication regime, I am somewhat troubled by it all.

B. NEWS STRAIGHT OR SLIGHTLY BENT:

1. The Land of Smiles:  I do not know if anyone has noticed this, but I have the impression that since the Thais have gotten into remedial orthodonture procedures in a big way they smile a lot less.

2. There is something about a man in uniform: In the study of Semiotics (Umberto Eco et al.) the worthy dons waxed eloquent over the language of fashion. Recently, as I walked back to my apartment from the gym and I passed several of BKK’s finest standing on the corner, I got to thinking about the message in the way cops wear their uniforms.

In the US, the policeman’s generally slovenly outfit and arbitrary arrangement of paraphernalia about their body always signified to me the image of an overweight enraged redneck on the verge of violence. On the other hand the Thai cop is rather elegantly turned out in his starched and tailored uniform, shiny helmet without scratch or dent, shoes or boots polished to perfection while his accessories shined and arranged just so hang in a well-organized arrangement from the unblemished belt tightly binding his slim waist (as opposed to the layers of adipose that decorate their American counterpart’s mid-section). I tried to understand the semiotic message I was receiving from their particular way of wearing their uniform. As I walked on by Nana Plaza I noticed other individuals in different but also equally well turned out attire; hair shiny and perfectly laid out, de collage arranged to provide their precise message to the passers-by. Could it be these ladies and ladyboys of the day and night and our guardians of law and order were sending somewhat the same message?

On the other hand (thanks to the ever observant Gary), in Thailand female cops look like this:

Now don’t you all feel like driving safer?

3. There are no terrorists here: When I left BKK a few months ago, the Thai military, after indignantly denying terrorists could be at work in peaceful Thailand, were embarrassed by police discoveries of caches of explosives. This was followed by a series of bomb explosions over the next few months. In the south of Thailand where this sort of thing has been going on for twenty years or more, there was a succession of explosions last week that rocked the southern Thai city of Hat Yai. This city interestingly enough lies about 100 miles north of those provinces where the muslim majority has spawned a violent resistance movement. It is also a tourist center servicing primarily muslim tourists from Malaysia and residents of Singapore fleeing those more staid locales for the fleshy entrepots of Thailand.

In typical Thai style, the military announced the almost immediate arrest of the supposed miscreants. You see, in Thailand no crime goes unsolved. If a crime makes the news, within a day or two someone will be dragged before the cameras confessing his guilt and demonstrating exactly how he did the deed. In Hat Yai one of the accused terrorists was identified from a video cam showing him driving a car in traffic somewhat behind the van carrying the terrorists. In addition, a mysterious pair of pants that the accused denied were his were discovered in his house. They looked suspiciously like the pair worn by one of the terrorists (not the accused) caught on another video tape.

The General in charge announced that it is inconceivable to him that there could be additional terrorist activity in the city and that the tourists should feel comfortable and safe in returning to enjoy the sordid pleasures of that rather run down but always fascinating metropolis.

The restaurants in Hat Yai feature the regions best birds nest soup made from the nests of tiny birds who roost in the caves on some of the islands in the nearby Andaman Sea. Maybe the tourists come for the soup.

If someone enquires, I will be happy to describe the process of obtaining the nests in my next post,

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES, THE NAKED MOLE RAT CHRONICLES and JOEY’S MYSTERY NOVEL:

Returning soon.

PAPA JOES TALES AND FABLES:

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

TODAY’S FACTOID:

I am not sure what this chart means, but don’t you think that is an awful lot of money spent on electing people most of us would not want deciding things on our behalf (or for that matter invite into our homes) had we really a choice? I am sure most of these people would not be spending this much money unless they hope to get something in return. What would that be? I do not think the answer is good government.

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

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

Both parties are at fault.

2. Imagine, today Reagan would be considered a liberal to his party.

3. Department of abasement, apology and correction:

a. Fashion accessories: Before leaving for the US a few months ago with my suitcase filled with wool scarves knitted by the Little Masseuse, I commented that I questioned that Thai’s would even know what to do with a wool scarf given the Thai tropical climate. Imagine my surprise when after my return when turning on the television I was presented with the image of almost every television personality sporting, you guessed it, a wool scarf. So I apologize to the fashion industry for underestimating their ability turn discomfort into a fashion statement.

b. Economists: In my last post I posted a chart and commented to the effect that economists seem to consistently get their predictions wrong or at least as often wrong as right. Alas, I was reminded that David Frum and other pundits have pointed out that Nobel Laureate in economics Paul Krugman consistently gets things right, but like Cassandra no one ever believes him. So to Professor Krugman, even though I am sure he couldn’t care less, I apologize.

POOKIE FOR PRESIDENT:

Please see the blog: http://papajoestales.wordpress.com/
TODAY’S QUOTE:

Not only is evil banal but it is often frighteningly realistic and practical.

TODAY’S CHART:


TODAY’S CARTOON:

TODAY’S PHOTOGRAPH:

Categories: April 2012 through June 2012 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. (21Joseph 0001) January 10, 2012

THE NAKED MOLE RAT CHRONICLES:

“And so it begins, a historic departure, the Voyage of the HMS Bagel, in search of further documentation of this next evolutionary tour de force.”
Peter G

1. Chronicles: A soldiers life:

I am called Glabix XI or Eleven for short. Being a soldier is not too bad a life. Once the Old Horror, The Queen, may she long live and reign in peace and prosperity, chose her consorts (one of whom was my father) the rest of us were free to go about our business without all that hustling about, preening and fighting for poon-tang so to speak. It takes a lot of pressure off guys. The ladies still have to hang around the nursery and the old Queen waiting for her to sicken so that they can beat each other up to see which one gets laid and takes over running things. Not us guys though, we just keep doing what were doing until one of the ladies wins the fight and in her sex-crazed madness jumps our bones. Then, for the lucky two or three guys it’s an even softer job than being a cop like me. In return for giving it up, so to speak, to the Queen whenever she is in the mood, the consort gets to boss everyone else around just like the Queen.

Most of my days are spent wandering the tunnels searching for things that do not smell right, usually that means there is an intruder to deal with. It is pretty easy stuff really, except when the Old Horror, The Queen, my beloved mother, may her reign be long and glorious, is up and about pushing everyone around for whatever it is that itches her tooth at that moment. If truth be known most of us soldiers are a big and lazy lot, but when the time comes we do our job. Our job…? Well primarily, it is to push out from the tunnels those things that do not smell right. Sometimes when it is something too big and too dangerous to push out, it is the job of one of us soldiers to, well, give ourselves up to be eaten so that the intruder busys itself dining long enough for the rest of us to wall off the tunnel the intruder used to get in. I know it is a thankless job, but someone has to do it.

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

Today’s award goes to Kevin DuJan a gay man from Chicago’s Boystown who it is reported claimed in his blog that, because of his opposition to Gay Marriage and support of right-wing politicians such as Sarah Palin, leftist gays are secretly conspiring to deny him dates with “hot twinks” and are poisoning his cocktails at his favorite bar.

(Keep on fighting the good fight Kevin.)

3. H. Glaber fellow travelers:

Rufus (voiced by Nancy Cartwright) is a naked mole-rat, the pet friend, and soul brother of Ron Stoppable in the Wiki (Disney) cartoon Kim Possible (http://kimpossible.wikia.com/wiki/Rufus). Rufus lives almost full-time in Ron’s pocket, and accompanies him everywhere. He is exceptionally intelligent for an animal, but average by human standards, and is capable of limited speech.
In the episode Oh No Yono!, he was the first one to be turned into a statue by Yono the Destroyer.

H. Glaber says, check it out.

TODAY’S FACTOIDS:

1. 2012: Five statistics about today’s America:

1. A staggering 48 percent of all Americans are either considered to be “low-income” or are living in poverty.
2. Back in 1980, less than 30% of all jobs in the United States were low-income jobs. Today, more than 40% of all jobs in the United States are low-income jobs.
3. Electricity bills in the United States have risen faster than the overall rate of inflation for five years in a row.
4. A higher percentage of Americans are living in extreme poverty (6.7%) than has ever been measured before.
5. According to a study that was just released, CEO pay at America’s biggest companies rose by 36.5% in just one recent 12 month period.

2. 1789: The American Constitution was Drafted. What do you think our Founding Fathers were smoking while they wrote it?

“Some of my finest hours have been spent sitting on my back veranda, smoking hemp and observing as far as my eye can see.”
~Thomas Jefferson

“Make the most of the Indian hemp seed, and sow it everywhere !”

~George Washington

“Hemp is of first necessity to the wealth & protection of the country.”
~Thomas Jefferson

“We shall, by and by, want a world of hemp more for our own consumption.”
~John Adams

Was it possible that the patriotic boys of the Continental Army, marched off to battle the British Red Coats while stoned on weed? No wonder they won.

I can picture General Georgie the Washman, just before stepping on that boat prior the surprise attack on the British troops in Trenton, knowing he was going to freeze his ass off during the crossing, taking a toke or two to help him weather the voyage. How do you think the Continental Army was able to survive that bone-chilling winter at Valley Forge?

And what about TJ living large and enjoying it on that back veranda at Monticello watching his sweating slaves work his fields through the haze of smoke curling up from the joint he is holding in one hand while his other hand snakes under Sally Hemming’s skirt to stroke her rump. Now that’s what patriotism is all about.

The Real Birth of a Nation.

3. 2011: It’s against the law to lie on television in Canada.

Canadian conservatives tried to change that law so FOX could broadcast in Canada. They were unable to get the law changed, so FOX does not operate in Canada!

(eh!)

TODAY’S NEWS FROM THAILAND:

The Nation:

Of the two national English language newspapers in Thailand, “The Nation” is considered the tabloid, and until recently I have always assumed was the more conservative of the two and the one most strongly supportive of the party opposed to Thaksin the Terrible, the exiled fugitive elder brother of the current Prime Minister Princess Lucky Girl. My perception may have been wrong. I recently noticed a decided shift in its editorial and headline policy to be more sympathetic to the current government.

POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN THAILAND:

Not much to report. I have begun preparation for my return to the US on January 24. Other than that I have continued to swim every day and have gone to see,”The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” and “Tinker, Tailor…” at the movies. I enjoyed both very much although how one could comprehend “Tinker, Tailor…” without reading the book or having seen the Alec Guinness version, I will never understand.

I thought “Dragon Tattoo,” was worth seeing for Rooney Mara’s retaliatory rape alone. When she looked down at her now cowering tormentor with the black rings around her eyes and explained to him that he should fear her because her social service investigators opinion was true, she was insane, it brought tears to my eyes.

PETRILLO’S COMMENTARY:

In prior posts and in my blogs, I have repeatedly warned of the inevitable crises and economic and political turmoil resulting from impending mass migrations of populations displaced by war, revolution, climate, political or economic disruption. It is already being felt in many parts of the world today. According to Michael Wertz and Laura Conley:

“The United Nations’ recent Human Development Report stated that, worldwide, there are already an estimated 700 million internal migrants—those leaving their homes within their own countries—a number that includes people whose migration is related to climate change and environmental factors. Overall migration across national borders is already at approximately 214 million people worldwide, with estimates of up to 20 million displaced in 2008 alone because of a rising sea level, desertification, and flooding.
One expert, Oli Brown of the International Institute for Sustainable Development, predicts a tenfold increase in the current number of internally displaced persons and international refugees by 2050.”

(The US is not immune. Historically once migration begins, resistance, no mater how violent has rarely, if ever, proven effective for long. The only options are, either accept it and do the best one can to assimilate the migrants into the host culture with minimal turmoil or to affirmatively relieve the causes for the migration in an effort to slow or stop it. Jingoistic and nationalist policies only causes the receiving culture greater short-term and long-term damage. The greatest disruption is from the creation of an increasingly isolated and resentful minority population that reacts by refusing to assimilate while by the sheer force of its numbers demands a share of political and economic control over the host society.)

PAPA JOES TALES AND FABLES:

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

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:

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

In the Beginning: an oft told story.

In the autumn of 1972, I was a card-carrying, pot smoking, alternative life style living, unemployed, hirsute Hippy San Franciscanus. It was about noon on a glorious fall day. I was wandering about in downtown San Francisco wondering about what I was going to do about lunch. I was just passing the newly built Transamerica Building on my way to North Beach, hippy central during those times. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of a very tall, very skinny bearded man emerging from the forest of columns supporting the somewhat pyramid-shaped building who was rapidly approaching me.

He was dressed more or less in the style of my cultural sub-group. That is, he was not wearing a business suit or clothing purchased from any retail store not dealing in second-hand garments. His outfit was accessorized with a red bandanna around his neck and an aluminum Sierra Club drinking cup dangling from a rope belt tied around his waist. He grabbed my arm with his long skinny fingers and Moses like, but in a surprisingly squeaky voice, said:

“You must help save the Pygmy Forest.”

Now the societal fringe movement to which I belonged at that time was very sensitive to anything that could be considered a portent of an emerging transcendental experience. Here, the sun was at its zenith and I was standing at the base of an almost pyramid like the wedding guest detained by the ancient mariner, clearly a portent portended. So in the polite manner of the denizens of New York where I was born, raised and had so recently left, I answered:

“What the fuck is a Pygmy Forest?”
(To be continued)

JOEY’S MYSTERY NOVEL:

RED STAR

Chapter: Don’t Piss off Meg:

It was late, Meg had spent a few hours a Fat Al’s offices reviewing with him the chaotic and seemingly unconnected information he had assembled. She was sure there was something in that mess of documents could help her to clear up the cause of Stephanie’s death. Later they had dinner together at a little restaurant near the office where they swapped cop stories. They were interrupted by a call from Ray. Vince Biondi and someone else were involved is a shootout at a posh hotel in downtown.

They drove down to see for themselves. Fat Al’s retired cop badge and her uniform got them past the police lines. Fat Al spoke with a few of his old colleagues in homicide. It seems the police believed that it was a gangland shooting of some sort. Three people were dead. The hotel’s restaurant staff and four diners had been herded into the large freezer in the kitchen by five armed men. The three dead bodies had been identified as some of the intruders. Apparently their target had been some other diner or diners at least one of whom was a middle-aged man seated by the maitre’d before he was hustled off into the freezer by the gunman. He had recognized the man because he had eaten there a few weeks ago. Unfortunately the reservation book page had been torn out. Al was sure they would go through the prior reservation to try to identify the diner who they both agreed was probably Vince. It would take them a few days Al guessed.

As she approached the incline that rose to pass along the edge of the cliff referred to as Devil’s Slide, where Stephanie’s automobile, like so many others, had slid off the road and crashed into the rocks and surf below, she was convinced Stephanie’s death was not an accident and somehow connected to tonight’s events at the restaurant. Stephanie had begged Vince to meet with her so that she could share some information about her husband’s death. But, she died the night before they could meet. Now someone had tried to kill Vince, or was it the woman he was with and why?

Preoccupied with her thoughts, her car climbed the hill and entered the narrow winding and often impassable road that traversed Devil’s Slide itself. The fog had begun to creep across the road making it slick and the looming curves hard to see. But she had driven this road many times before and knew it like the back of her hand. She chuckled and wondered where that expression came from. Did anyone really know the back or their hand all that well. She raised her hand to look at it and glanced into her rear view mirror. She saw a car following her closely, too closely. Stupid for someone to follow a police patrol car that closely; just looking for a ticket she thought. Then she noticed the car speed up and felt the impact as it plowed into her rear bumper. Her vehicle skidded and went out of control.
(To be continued)

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

1. From “Not the Nation”(Thailand’s version of “The Onion”) :

Fortune Tellers Predict Record-Breaking Stupidity, Profits In 2012

BANGKOK – As the year draws to a close, Thailand’s professional soothsayers and astrologers have issued their annual predictions. Their unanimous verdict is that 2012 will be a great year for their industry, concurrent with it being a poor year for human intelligence, rational thought, and deductive reasoning.

2. You may be smarter than you think you are:

According to Psychology Today, people who use more drugs are more intelligent. “Intelligent people don’t always do the right thing,” they write, “only the evolutionarily novel thing.”

According to a study conducted by National Child Development, “more intelligent children in the United Kingdom are more likely to grow up to consume psychoactive drugs than less intelligent children.” These drugs include marijuana, cocaine, heroin, alcohol and tobacco.

“Very bright individuals (with ID above 125) are roughly three-tenths of a standard deviation more likely to consume psychoactive drugs than very dull individuals,” says Psychology Today. They ran the same study in the U.S. and found similar results.

(I always suspected my grandsons were geniuses.)

“POOKIE FOR PRESIDENT”

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

This is what we have become:

Gordon “Chaps” Klingenschmitt is joining other right-wing activists in defending the Florida Family Association and Lowe’s, which bowed to the extremist group’s pressure to stop advertising on TLC’s All-American Muslim. Klingenschmitt prayed for God to “grant Lowe’s their greatest financial profits” and asked God to bless the FFA for “exposing the deeds of darkness.” He also labeled All-American Muslim “Islamic propaganda” and said people who oppose FFA’s pressure campaign against the reality show’s advertisers are “terrorist sympathizers.”

And yet, I still receive email correspondence from those who claim that posting this is merely “liberal” propaganda. I just have to sigh and assume they perhaps also believe “Kristallnacht” never happened. We need to remember that not all terrorists are Muslim. Some terrorists (alas much too many) claim to be God-fearing American Christians. Also, not all Muslims are terrorists or even sympathize with them although, I am sorry to say, when it comes to sympathy for terrorists the same cannot be said of conservative punditry, Faux News and the right-wing religious hierarchy all of whom at one time or another have been known to, if not urge, than at least condone terrorism and killing of those with whom they disagree. Again, I suggest we recall the words of “Mr. Conservative,” Barry Goldwater:

“I’m frankly sick and tired of the political preachers across this country telling me as a citizen that if I want to be a moral person, I must believe in “A,” “B,” “C” and “D.” Just who do they think they are? And from where do they presume to claim the right to dictate their moral beliefs to me?

And I am even more angry as a legislator who must endure the threats of every religious group who thinks it has some God-granted right to control my vote on every roll call in the Senate. I am warning them today: I will fight them every step of the way if they try to dictate their moral convictions to all Americans in the name of “conservatism.”
~Barry Goldwater

Isn’t it about time we ask some of our elected officials to show the same courage is opposing these thugs as Barry Goldwater did?

TODAY’S QUOTE:

“Natives who beat drums to drive off evil spirits are objects of scorn to smart Americans who blow horns to break up traffic jams.”-
Mary Ellen Kelly (anthropologist) (found in Whatever It Is, I’m Against It, Nat Hentoff, ed.)

TODAY’S CHART:

From Robert Frank, author of The Darwin Economy: Liberty, Competition, and the Common Good, who argues that unfettered competition may be good for individuals but can be hell for the common good.

TODAY’S CARTOON”

TODAY’S PHOTOGRAPH:

Southern California at night.

See if you can find the bright lights of Disneyland.

Categories: January 2012 through March 2012, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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