Saturday, February 28, 2015
“I urgently request to speak to the president because I’m tired of living with this illness,” said the teenager, whose older brother died at age 6 from the same disease. “I want her approval so I can get a shot that will make me sleep forever.”
The speculation is that it's worst than people realize.
Meanwhile in China...
Some of China's largest Internet companies deleted more than 60,000 online accounts because their names did not conform to regulations due to take effect on Sunday, the top Internet regulator said.It was good while it lasted.
Julia sat in the diner sipping her tea and looking at the plate of eggs that the harried waitress had set before her. They looked greasy and hurried. Much like the rest of the patrons of the diner.
Why had she agreed to come to his horrible place to research an article for “The Huffington Post?” She had to leave her comfortable studio apartment that she paid five thousand a month for in Williamsburg Brooklyn to come to this cold winter landscape of North Dakota. She had to leave behind so much. Her books. Her supportive friends. Her organic food market. Her cat. Oh God her cat. She missed her so much.
The little bell at the top of the door jingled and a man walked into the diner. He was tall and lean. Wearing jeans and a down parka with a yellow hard hat. He must be an oil worker. The type of person she was supposed to talk to in order to get a good article. He walked up to the counter and sat down. He put his hat and gloves on the counter and opened his coat.
“Hi Jack” said the waitress as she set a cup in front of him and filled it with steaming hot coffee from a battered glass pot. “Any luck last night?”
“Yeah Flo I was pretty lucky. But you know me. When I drill I always strike a gusher. I push and push and push my tool down the shaft until I make something happen. That’s what I do.” “Ha you’re a kidder” laughed Flo as she flushed red. “The usual?” “Sure.”
Julia’s ears perked up. This is something she should investigate. Drilling. Gushing. Somehow she felt strange. Ezra never talked about things like that. He just wanted to sit on her couch in his flannel pajamas and drink cocoa and talk about how great Obama was and how lucky we are to have him as President. Maybe she would learn something.
Jack sipped his coffee and looked at the mirror above the cut out of the kitchen. He noticed a young woman all dressed in black pushing some eggs around her plate. She had mousy brown hair and no makeup. But at least she had a vagina. Or at least he hoped she did. Vaginas were in short supply these days.
Flo brought over his plate. A bloody, rare breakfast steak. A couple of eggs over easy. Mounds of greasy home fries. Breakfast fit for a man. A working man. Someone who had to go out into the freezing cold and get the raw materials that let the weenies sit in their soft offices sending emails to each other about how benighted Jesusland was.
It looked like the girl was trying to get her gumption up. That is if she had any gumption. Jack’s experience with these types was that they lacked in the gumption department. They made up for it with loads and loads of bitchiness. Who needed that? But there still was the vagina thing. It was at least worth a look. You never knew if a hole was good unless you drilled it. So to speak.
“Excuse me waitress but could I have some more tea” the woman said in a typical New York snotty accent. She sounded just like that ugly girl with all the tats on that HBO show. He hated to admit he watched it but hey a naked woman was a naked woman. Beaters can’t be choosers.
“Her name is Flo ma’am” said Jack. “Sometimes it helps if you know people’s names. Or say please. That’s how we do it here in North Dakota missy.” He said it with a smile that took the sting out of it. Jack had a smile that had got him in plenty of panties back in Texas. Maybe it would work the same with this New York girl.
Julia felt a little crestfallen. She was a polite girl. She had learned that back in Connecticut before she had her consciousness raised and her expectations lowered. Plus most of all she had to fit with the natives. She could be polite. But she wasn’t going to go to shoot a gun. Or go to church. You had to draw the line somewhere.
“I’m sorry Flo, what was I thinking? Can I please have another cup of tea? Thank you.” She turned to the oil line cowboy. “I was a little preoccupied. I have a lot on my mind. My name is Julia by the way.”
“Hi Julia my name is Jack. But most folks call me Rod. Hot Rod to be exact. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Julia smiled in a demure way that devastated the geeks at the wine bar. “I wonder if I can interview you for my article. I am a journalist and I want to learn about the boom times you are having here in North Dakota.”
“Well I am originally from Texas ma’am and we think the only thing worse than a journalist is a lawyer. So I am not interested in talking to a journalist. But I will be happy to talk to you as a man talking to a woman.”
“I could work with that” Julia said. How hard would it be to outwit this bumpkin. He is from Texas after all. She just hoped he didn't have a black man dragging from the back of his pickup truck. But she could work with that. After all she had interviewed a Republican. Once. It took a long time to feel clean afterward. Anything for the truth.
A short balding man came into the diner. He was dressed like an oil worker but he carried a dented, dirty guitar case. He didn’t wear a hat which was unusual in this cold climate. He resembled nothing so much as a demented Walter Brennan with a list to the right as he limped up to the counter.
“Let’s go Hot Rod. We have to practice before work. We got us a couple of minutes before the starting whistle. Our gig is down at the Long Branch tonight and I want to practice our licks before then.” “Sure Stubby.” Hot Rod got up and started buttoning his jacket. “This here’s my compadre Stubby. He plays in my band. The Stray Dawg’s. Stubby, this is Julia. She's visiting. She is one of those jo-no-lists, so watch what you say. She might report you to the government or something.”
“Nice to meet you Miss.” “Yes nice to meet you as well. Please call me Julia. So what is this Long Branch you are talking about?” “Why it’s the bar where the band has a standing gig every Friday night. They named it after the one in “Gunsmoke” Stubby replied. “We go on tonight at eight o’clock” said the balding gnome with an animated delivery that belied his corpse-like pallor. “That sounds like fun. What do you play Jack?” she enquired with a smile. “I’m a drummer as a matter of fact.” “Yes he is” laughed Stubby. “Like the song goes he likes to bang on the drum all night. Ha, ha, ha” he chortled. Jack shook his head. There was no controlling Stubby when he went off on tirade. He hoped he didn’t start in on white women. They could be here all day. Who had time for that?
“Well it’s still a free country. At least out here” said Jack. “Why don’t I come down to hear you play. Maybe we can talk a little between sets. I’ll buy you a drink” said Julia. “That’s nice but I always make it a practice to pay for a lady” replied Jack as he put on his yellow hard hat and prepared to go out into the cold. Julia shook her head. Here we go. Sexism rears its ugly head. “We can argue about it later cowboy. But just so you know I don’t surrender to Patriarchy. Ever!” “Not to worry Mizz Julia. I hate those cheaters up in Boston. I am a Cowboys Fan” said Jack. He winked at her and strode confidently out the door without a backward glance. His little friend too.
Was he serious or was he pulling her leg. The thought of him pulling at her legs gave her pause. She felt a little flushed. It had been a while since she felt like this. She adjusted the cowl neck of her sweater. Maybe North Dakota would be interesting after all.
Flo came over with another cup of tea and a piece of apple pie. “Here you go sweetie. You are gonna need your strength if you are gonna hook up with Hot Rod.” “Who said anything about hooking up?” Julia was nonplussed. They knew about hooking up in North Dakota?
Flo could read her thoughts. “We know all about hooking up here in the sticks dearie. We call it being a slut bag.” She was fiercely protective of her boys who deserved better than a dried up stick of New York dog shit. “But you know best I am sure. Enjoy your pie.”
Julia hated apple pie. Also hot dogs and Chevrolet. After all she was a liberal. She had an Audi and only ate veggie burgers. And tofu cheesecake. But there wasn’t any tofu in North Dakota. When she asked for it at the hotel dining room they thought she was talking about toe cheese.
She sat there lost in thought. How was she going to get a purchase on these simple minds? The cowboy might be an interesting diversion. She knew how to handle difficult men. After all she was pushing forty even though she looked much younger. She had enough experience to know better.
She thought back through the years -- about her college boyfriend when they were both at Vassar. They had discovered so much together. Tennessee Williams. Marx and Engels. Che. Balzac. His ball sack. Cunnilingus. It was a time of discovery for the both of them.
Julia laughed a little to herself. Ratso Stoddard was a very smart guy. Never let a word serve when he could use fifty five of them. He would argue about anything. Any time. With anybody. The only way she knew how to shut him up was to stick her tit in his mouth. Good times.
But like most men he was a big disappointment. She should have known when he took Ratso Rizzo as his professed role model. He only answered to the nickname Ratso. Of course you could understand that when you knew his real name was Mort. He left her for a Brazilian stripper with size 44 D’s and a suspiciously large scar where her Adam’s apple should be. She shouldn’t judge. She was a liberal after all. Non-judgmental. Superior in all regards.
The only thing that gave her pause was that she was all alone. Again. Her eggs were getting as unappealing and congealed as the cold glob sitting forlorn on her breakfast plate.
Enough introspection! Time to go back to the hotel and blog. She had a spot on Blogging Heads to prepare for today. She hoped it was with Bob Wright. She felt like slapping around a girlie man.
Julia went to her hotel room to wait out the day before she went to the bar to hear that loser band play. She could get some work in on the computer before then. Order room service. Stay in her room. Not talk to anyone except on-line. It would almost be as if she was back home in Williamsburg. All she needed was the chubby gay guy who did pen and ink drawings and had the collection of esoteric vinegars. She would hear him moaning through the paper thin walls and know that he was getting it on with his Peruvian busboy boyfriend. At least someone was getting some. As a matter of fact, she had not seen him for a while. Oh well that’s the way it goes. People came in and out of her life now. She really had very few friends in real life anymore. All of her social intercourse took place on the internet.
She stripped down to her bra and panties. They were sensible ones. A basic black bra with a heavy underwire and not quite granny panties. Not frilly. Not lace. She wasn’t about to wear something like that. She didn’t even have any sets like that anymore. Who would get to see them anyway? Her cat?
Julia examined herself in the mirror over the dresser. She cupped her somewhat large breasts to bring them to a point. Points way down low and soft. Julia hated Bob Seger. She wondered what kind of music she would have to endure tonight. Probably country. Cowboy music. She hated country music. It wouldn’t be what she was used to hearing. Techno. Industrial. Rap. Hip hop. She didn’t like the last two anyway. Black people scared her. She couldn’t admit that. Then she would be a racist like the people here in North Dakota. She didn’t have any black friends. Well not real black people who worked at regular jobs like a bus driver or a school teacher. They were basically beneath her. She had some African American “friends” but they were all academics. You know. The Cosby kids. Not the Boys in the Hood.
She jiggled her breasts up and down. They were her best feature. It was how she attracted male attention. Of course it didn’t take much to get the geeks she normally met at blogger conventions. They were basically the dweebs that went to comic book conventions except they could spell. Some loser would always ride up in the elevator with her and hit on her [lol - ed.]. Or least in her mind they hit on her. It could be true. But even that hadn’t happened lately. Maybe she should wear her tight jeans and her most revealing top. Who was she kidding? All of her jeans were tight these days. She might as well let it work for her.
She opened up her lap top and turned on the Internet Explorer. She decided to do a quick run through of her favorite sites. She went to Blogging Heads to see the featured bloggers today. Oh crap. It was that simpering ninny from Wisconsin who looked a deracinated Florence Henderson vainly flirting with that racist black college professor Ivan Dixon guy. Damn. She had been watching too much MeTV. Julia was starting to identify everyone she met as sitcom characters from the 1960’s and 1970’s. But what’s a lonely girl to do. She couldn’t watch the current TV shows. They were all too violent. CSI and Hannibal Lector and Walking Dead bodies all over the place. If it wasn’t violent it was gay. Nothing against gay people. All of her best friends were gay guys. Her last three boyfriends were gay. Or she turned them gay. But why did every sitcom have to be obsessed with gays? Back in the day the only gays you saw were Charles Nelson Reilly and Tony Randall and Paul Lynde. Julia liked to watch the old shows that she remembered from when she was a little girl. She could be Mary Richards working at the News Station. Or Rhoda working as a window dresser. Or even Dixie McCall who was the nurse who ran the Rampart Hospital. But instead she was alone in her underwear playing with her computer.
Julia surfed from site to site. She usually hit the same ones all the time. The one with the angry black man who hated racism, new age gurus, French women and anyone who’s skin was lighter than Harry Belafonte's. The guy or girl who pretended to be a cow and posted funny pictures and conservative political stuff. Even that strange fellow who was obsessed with food and pop up books. It was an eclectic bunch. But still very incestuous. They all posted and commented on each other’s blogs. It wasn’t a cool incestuous relationship like Angelina Jolie and her hot brother. It was more of a creepy Woody Allen in the attic sniffing your lady bits kind of incest. So every once in a while she wanted to change it up.
Maybe she could do that with this oil worker dude. He sort of reminded her of Johnny Gage the paramedic. At least he wasn’t Corporal Lebec like her last boyfriend. She had decided. She would wash her vag again before she went out. You never know what might happen.
Julia wasted most of the day reading “Television Without Pity” and posting snarky nasty comments on the “Honey Boo Boo” thread. Anything to stick a finger in the eye of these rubes. After a short nap and an even shorter grooming session, Julia left her hotel room and went down to the lobby. She went to the concierge to ask how to find this “Long Branch” so she could check out the band and more importantly to question some of the locals. Julia found that her questioning always went better with alcohol. Maybe she could wrap this up tonight and get back to Williamsburg in time to read the Sunday Times alone in her room. With her cat George Sand.
The desk clerk was busy on her computer and looked up with a bright smile until she saw it was Julia. She wondered why she so often had that effect on service people. She didn’t understand that it was because she was an unreconstructed bitch on wheels and treated service people as what she saw them to be. Servants. Theoretically she supported these hard working people. In reality she tipped like a black person. Or a German. So they only gave her the minimum courtesy that any customer might be due.
“Do you know how to get to the 'Long Branch' saloon” she asked brusquely. She often felt that if she was rough and gruff she got better results from the “lower classes.” In fact it just meant that she always got spit in her latte but what she didn’t know wouldn’t burst her bubble.
“Really. You are going to the 'Long Branch'” well okey dokey.” The clerk looked amused. “Just drive down Main St and turn on Jefferson. Go about a mile until you see a down at the heels honkey tonk with a bunch of beat up old trucks and American cars. There’s a Buffalo head over the door and a neon sign with three letters out. That’s it.”
“Delightful.” Julia shuddered. She walked away without saying thank you. That was her style. Entitled. She left gratitude and humility to those less gifted. She did not have a PhD in Woman’s Studies so that she could be nice to desk clerks.
Julia got into her hideous rental car and drove down Main St. It was bustling with people and commerce even at this hour. The boom times from the energy explosion in North Dakota had brought a lot of money to so many undeserving types. They were prospering from the rape of the land. Like their ancestors who stole this land from the Native Americans. She had to expose them. She had to find the truth of their evil. This story must be told.
Julia walked into the raucous bar. There was a big crowd drinking and dancing on the straw dust covered floors. Hot Rod and Stubby and couple of other old dudes were wailing away on song. She couldn’t quite recognize it. Oh yeah. It was Zeppelin. “Black Dog.” Racists.
Julia went up to the bar. She found a seat and waited. A heavy breasted Latina with a scar and a purple streak in her hair walked to her with a bar towel and a smirk. “Hola Mommy wha chu want?” “Do you have any white wine perhaps a chandon blanc?” replied Julia.
“Red or white baby red or white you chooze.”
“Never mind I’ll have an Amstel Light.”
The bartender reached down and took out a bottle of Bud. “Bud or nada chica -- this is an Americana Bar.” She twisted off the top and walked away.
Julia turned toward the bar to watch the band. Hot Rod was wailing on the drums and Stubby was nodding out like a junkie on the needle in the park. There was a black guy with a grizzled beard playing the lead guitar and who stood4 in front of the mike. Another guitarist looked vaguely Hispanic. Julia was surprised. She didn’t know that were any minorities in North Dakota. Let alone in a cracker cover band.
The song ended with a flourish and the black guy went to the mike. “OK people one more song before we take a break. Here is an Al Green tune I bet you all know. Get up and dance bitches!” The band swung into a rollicking version of “Take it to the River.” The singer was pretty good and the band kept up with him as the rocked out the soul tune. They were surprisingly good. For North Dakota.
The song ended with a wail and the band started to put down their instruments. Somebody fired up the jukebox. Somebody shouted “Sing it Waylon!” Wasn’t he dead? Maybe not. Someone else would have picked up the puppet and carried on with the act. Lovely.
Hot Rod and Stubby and the black singer walked up to the bar. Stubby shouted across the raucous room “Three buds and three shots of tequila you filthy puta!” “Doncha make me come over there and rip what little you got off a you Stubby” said the busty barmaid as she frantically twisted open bottles and poured shots to the crowd that had rushed the bar after the band stopped playing. “I will be over there in one Segundo!”
Stubby turned to Julia with a laugh and said “Vanessa just loves me. We would get married if only she was a Filipino.” Julia was confused. “Why only Filipino’s?” “Because those are the only women for me. Don’t get me wrong. I would be happy to dip my wick in anything. Even a white girl from New York City if you know what I mean” he laughed at himself. Hot Rod knew when it was time to interrupt. He interposed his body between them. “That’s great Stubs. Go wrangle the drinks while I talk to the young lady. I promised her that we would palaver.” Stubby shrugged and continued shouting across the bar at Vanessa.
“Your friend is quite the charmer” Julia said. “He’s alright. Good man on the rig and he can play. Let me introduce you to my friend our lead singer. This here is Roscoe. Rosc this is Julia all the way from New York City.” The large lead singer of the Stray Dawgs bent down to shake her hand. He was a tall burly black man with a salt and pepper goatee and a shiny bald head. He strikingly resembled Delroy Lindo in a pair of stained overalls. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Meadowlark Lemon but you can call me Roscoe like all the rest of the ignorant crackers do.” “Stop screwing around Rosc she don’t get it. I told you she comes from New York City” sighed Hot Rod. “I most certainly get it” Julia huffed. What is it with this yokel? She gets it. Well she was very confused but she was not going to admit that. That is how she went through college and she didn’t admit it then either. She was good at fooling herself. “Anyway can we talk for a few minutes Jack?” “Sure enough just let me get my drink.” He turned and picked up his shot of tequila and downed it. Then he sipped from his long neck bottle of Bud and turned back to her. “Let’s go find a corner. I like to sit with my back to the wall.”
[to be continued one day]
"An IRS employee tasked with trying to restore and obtain emails on Lois Lerner’s IRS computer’s hard drive was legally blind. Stephen Manning, the deputy chief information officer for strategy and modernization at the IRS, submitted an affidavit in the True the Vote vs. IRS litigation regarding the persons and procedures used to attempt to recover Lois Lerner’s hard drive containing emails pertaining to Tea Party targeting."
When I saw this tweet I thought it was a joke, a parody. It's not a joke. To paraphrase instapundit 'we are in the best hands.'
Read more: http://pjmedia.com/jchristianadams/
Friday, February 27, 2015
stuff like American Idol. You know before everything became about fighting
Well my DVR got scrambled last night and it mixed up CPAC and American
Idol. Here are my impressions of both:
*Lovey* – Generic blond who is no great shakes. She is rememberable for
being forgettable. She is just an average voice and will soon be gone. Air
bushed news bunny. Think Monica Crowley before she got laid.
*Adanna* – One of these chicks with the hard luck story who is trying her
best but is really overmatched. She gave it her all and shouted her way
through the song. She did much better in the Detroit vibe this week than
she will do in a more sedate setting when talent counts. But she is safe
for this week. Think Ben Carson with tits covered in feathers.
*Alexis* – This chick is in the running for the phoniest of phony awards.
She is trying be both country and Latin and that doesn’t mix. Doesn’t she
realize that Mexicans are taking away jobs from Country Music people? She
is the Jeb Bush of this competition.
*Joey* – This the pretentious mook with the squeeze box and yellow teeth.
She really grates. She sang a Keith Urban song in the style of Betty Boop.
Think Jerry Brown with really bad teeth.
*Katherine* – She channeled Stevie Nicks and really sucked big time. The
Rick Santorum of this year’s American Idol.
*Shannon* – This is the kid they tried to sell as the next Janis Joplin.
She went soft and slow and it stunk out the joint. Will be gone this week.
Think a thin Chris Christie. Or the little girl that Chris Christie really
is in his heart.
*Loren* – This chick really sang great in the last round but stunk out the
joint on the big stage. She really struggled and her notices went to her
head and she thinks she can do whatever she wants and her fans will eat it
up. Think Sarah Palin with more melanin.
*Shi* – This chick was the worst performance of the night. She has a great
look and a great outfit but she can’t sing for beans. Great looks no
talent. The John Edwards of this years Idol.
*Maddie* – This teenager does not belong. She is singing sexy songs when
she is still jailbait. Think one of the girls on the plane with Bill
Clinton on the way to a Caribbean vacation.
*Sarina* – Far and away the best performance of the night. She kicked ass
and took names but was humble about it. The Scott Walker of this time round.
*Jax* – Very affected and mannered and in a style that I don’t care for but
they are pimping her big time so she might be around until the final six.
The Marco Rubio chair of affected singing.
*Tyanna* – Great personality with a mediocre voice. She will get a bunch of
votes but fall short. Ted Cruz if he had a purple Mohawk.
This was American Idol. Seacrest out! (Or at least everyone knows he is a
sword swallower so it is basically the same thing.)
He served in the U.S. Army from 1953-55
For Spock, Nimoy invented the V-shaped Vulcan “Live Long and Prosper” hand gesture and the neck pinch that rendered his enemies unconscious. (He said he devised the latter move because he had grown tired of getting into staged fistfights. “Here’s a chance to cleverly avoid that,” he said in a 2000 interview with The Archive of American Television.)
Nimoy was not happy about wearing pointy ears, but Roddenberry convinced him to do it.
After being impressed with the humor in Star Trek IV, new Disney studio chiefs Jeffery Katzenberg and Michael Eisner, fresh from Paramount, asked Nimoy to step in to direct Three Men and a Baby, a remake of the 1985 Oscar-nominated French film Trois Hommes et un Couffin (Three Men and a Cradle). Coline Serreau, who directed Trois Hommes, had exited the American version because of “creative differences.”
Starring Tom Selleck, Ted Danson and Steve Guttenberg as bachelors scrambling to take care of a child, Three Men and a Baby raked in $167 million in the U.S., and no film grossed more that year.
A deep-thinker, Nimoy authored nine poetry books; a comic book titled PriMortals (developed with writer Isaac Asimov); a 1977 autobiography, I Am Not Spock; and another autobiography in 1995, I Am Spock. He once said that the contradicting titles “baffled the reading audience” but that he “had some fun with that.”
"We have an African-American president. This country is ready for a woman to be president. This country is ready for somebody of Hispanic origin, Asian origin."Link
Since he puts that out there front and center, is notion of POTUS based on inherited qualities rather than merit?
The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives this month revealed that it is proposing to put the ban on 5.56 mm ammo on a fast track...
The inexpensive 5.56 M855 ammo, commonly called lightgreen tips, have been exempt for years, as have higher-caliber ammunition that also easily pierces the type of soft armor worn by police, because it's mostly used by target shooters, not criminals. The agency proposes to reclassify it as armor-piercing and not exempt.
But now BATFE says that since the bullets can be used in semi-automatic handguns they pose a threat to police and must be banned from production, sale and use. But, as Goodlatte noted, the agency offered no proof. Federal agencies will still be allowed to buy the ammo.
"This round is amongst the most commonly used in the most popular rifle design in America, the AR-15. Millions upon millions of M855 rounds have been sold and used in the U.S., yet ATF has not even alleged — much less offered evidence — that even one such round has ever been fired from a handgun at a police officer," said Goodlatte's letter.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
There are no valid new ideas in Christianity lurking, waiting to be excavated.Link for context
Simon sounds downright Ratzingerian there. What do you think?
There may be nothing new in Christianity, but Christianity is always in the new:
But God's own descent
Into flesh was meant
As a demonstration
That the supreme merit
Lay in risking spirit
Spirit enters flesh
And for all it's worth
Charges into earth
In birth after birth
Ever fresh and fresh.
We may take the view
That its derring-do
Thought of in the large
Is one mighty charge
On our human part
Of the soul's ethereal
Into the material.
“Until we pass a law through Congress, the executive actions we’ve taken are not going to be permanent; they are temporary. There are going to be some jurisdictions and there may be individual ICE official or Border Control agent not paying attention to our new directives. But they’re going to be answerable to the head of Homeland Security because he’s been very clear about what our priorities will be,” Obama said, according to a partial transcript provided by the pool reporter.Obama's word is now law. Some Law professors agree and some disagree.
“Not only are we going to have to win this legal fight.. but ultimately we’re still going to pass a law through Congress. The bottom line is I’m using all the legal power invested in me in order to solve this problem.”
“If somebody’s working for ICE … and they don’t follow the policy, there’s going to be consequences to it.”
I wanted to cut a pertinent juicy clip of the c-span video, but, as Chip mentioned last night, I'm on limited internet capabilities. Video eats up too much bandwidth.
Hillary Clinton accepted money from foreign governments for the Clinton Foundation while Secretary of State
This is a Washington Post story, one of many bastions of right wing conspiracy. </snark>
It causes problems. One such is with Algeria. A 2010 State Department report on human rights in Algeria cited several serious problems with Algerian government including restrictions on freedom of association and assembly, arbitrary killings, lack of transparency and widespread corruption, along with restrictions on labor and women's rights.
Following the Haiti earthquake the Algerian government donated half million dollars to the foundation. The foundation admits they should have sought State Department approval.
At the time the Algerian government was lobbying Washington heavily in an attempt to build a better relationship with Washington regarding the human rights issues.
The Washington Post story goes into the number of meetings between Hillary at the State Department and members of the Algerian government during this time of the Haiti earthquake. They note a steady history of donations directly to State with a bump in Algerian donation to the foundation coinciding with a bump in the number of meetings between Hillary and Algerian lobbyists.
It doesn't look good because it isn't good. My little portion of the twitterverse is calling this 'open air corruption.' Their point of view is, if you and your husband and your family foundation don't give a shit about what people might think, and reporters really don't care to cover it, then we've reached the point where corruption is expected from the Clintons. There is really nothing there to discuss because all that is already accepted.
Defending the foundation, a spokesperson said that all the donations went to work around the world. Some foreign government donations are part of multiyear grants awarded before Clinton's appointment. These pay for efforts to lower cost of HIV and AIDs drugs and to curb greenhouse gas emissions.
The spokesperson was doing so well up to that last part. Nothing says 'fraud shop' quite like handing out global climate change religious indulgences.
The spokesperson continued talking about how they rely on the support of individuals, organizations, corporations, and governments who share the goal of addressing critical global challenges in meaningful ways.
When anyone contributes to the Clinton Foundation, it goes towards foundation programs that help save lives.Wow. In that case, carry on.
Some of the donations come from countries with complicated diplomatic, military and financial relationships with the U.S., including Kuwait, Qatar and Oman.
Foreign individuals and governments are prohibited from giving money to presidential candidates for a very good reasons having to do with influence peddling. The Clinton Foundation has provided foreign individuals and governments a means to gain favor with the Clintons apart from the legal limitations.
The Washington Post report goes into greater detail about all the trouble this holds for Hillary Clinton as candidate and how Republicans might exploit it. So far the Clinton team's response is all these things happened before Hillary became Secretary of State.
In the progressive liberal line of thinking there is no conflict of interest legal or otherwise.
Secretary of State = save the world (from the United States, from hunger, from Republicans, from overpopulation, from environmental destruction, from CO2, from asteroids, from what have you)
Clinton Foundation = save the world (from the United States, from hunger, from Republicans, from overpopulation, from environmental destruction, from CO2, from asteroids, from what have you)
See? They're the same. No conflict. And as our media will agree, journalistically nothing to pursue.
This Washington Post article being an exception, what is really important to journalists is can the apparently front-running opposition candidate affirm the president's sense of religious depth and patriotism. He was elected twice, you know. And that is all the investigative curiosity we can expect from them.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
But in her dissent, Justice Kagan argued that fish should be included in the “tangible object” category of evidence the law describes.
“A fish is, of course, a discrete thing that possesses physical form,” she wrote. “See generally Dr. Seuss, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish (1960).”
Link to Sopranos fish scene on YouTube.
During oral arguments in November, things sometimes took a turn for the absurd, as justices debated the legal nature of fish and whether a fish could count as a record if information was carved into its scales.
The facility, a nondescript warehouse on Chicago’s west side known as Homan Square, has long been the scene of secretive work by special police units.Secretive work, special units operating a place where people basic human rights are suspended, never mind Constitutional rights, by keeping arrestees off the books, by beatings so severe that head wounds resulted, denial of attorney access due to the place being "secure," holding people for half a day up to a full day, holding children young as 15 years, holding a man in interview room either abused or neglected allowing him to die there.
Well yeah, but was anyone waterboarded?
The Guardian piece goes into horrifying detail with individual stories.
“They just disappear,” said Anthony Hill, a criminal defense attorney, “until they show up at a district for charging or are just released back out on the street.”Guardian.com/us-news
What the h-e-double Billy clubs, Chicago?
"It was crazy, It is what it is," he added. "It was one of those things, if we could have prosecuted, we would have prosecuted. But as far as the laws go, I think it was done in the Netherlands and they have fence around them where you can't do anything. We had lawyers look into it.
"It was pretty shocking. It was one of those things. There's always looking to get somebody. It just happened to be me. There were multiple other people that it happened to, obviously. Seriously, it took five days and we really didn't hear about it anymore."
Buchholz's wife reportedly said soon after the leak that the photos had initially been sent to Buchholz and were for his eyes only.The best advice I read somewhere... if you don't want people to see your nude pictures, don't take them.
It is a giant 4-prop airplane that carries very heavy things. Following the Carter-era Iran hostage rescue mission failure, the U.S.A.F. started a project nicknamed 'Credible Sport' to develop a C-130 that could land on a soccer field and take off from it.
The team had nine C-130 airplanes at its disposal and one workable prototype at the time working with Congress for six more when their prototype crashed spectacularly. Reagan was elected, the hostage situation resolved, and congressional support for the project evaporated. The plane never could land and take off within a soccer stadium. Whereas this program failed another similar program succeeded. The article ends on an uplifting note, "But the failure of Eagle Claw [the earlier aborted hostage rescue attempt] inspired the development of other long-range aircraft that can [land/take off within soccer stadium], specifically the tilt rotor V-22 Osprey. Without rockets, of course."
The video is linked in Ace of Spade's sidebar amusingly, "This Rocket Powered C-130 is the most badass BadAss in the history of Bad Ass.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Stop! In The Name Of Love was the 4th consecutive hit for The Supremes, songwriters Holland-Dozier-Holland, the musicians The Funk Brothers, and of course for Berry Gordy and Motown. I have a theory that Holland-Dozier-Holland were secretly pushing the budding romance between Gordy and Ross.
The song was released 50 years ago this month.
I didn't much care for the host's personality at first but he grew on me by watching him have so much fun. I was trying to understand an earlier video, was it hacked or what? I see by watching that it is not hacking, it is actually the essence of the game. Players are provided a hostile situation and a siege-type mechanism with player ability to adjust the mechanism, following a sequence of failures, to meet the challenge onscreen.
The portion of the video covering the robot mechanism comes at 16:20. That will tell you where the individual who made the following video got their idea and how they did it and which portions are part of the Besiege program.
O'Keefe is a new media journalist who caught video of a National Public Radio executive bashing the tea parties and GOP conservatives. NPR is subsidized by tax payers. The NPR executive thought he was meeting with representatives of a Muslim Brotherhood front group, looking for more favorable news coverage towards Palestinians, in a possible exchange for a sizeable donation.
My gut tells me if this story, O'Keefe says he has, was really big, somebody else would have it.
What do you think? Any ideas on what would constitute a "big story" these days? Remember, we are talking about an openly court defying, I have a pen and a phone, I don't have that much time left presidency.
Monday, February 23, 2015
That’s unfair to ObamaCare.GOP control of both the house and the Senate has not amounted to a hill of beans when it comes to slowing down Obama's aggressive power grab.
Both ObamaCare and “Obamanet” submit huge industries to complex regulations. Their supporters say the new rules had to be passed before anyone could read them. But at least ObamaCare claimed it would solve long-standing problems. Obamanet promises to fix an Internet that isn’t broken.
The permissionless Internet, which allows anyone to introduce a website, app or device without government review, ends this week. On Thursday the three Democrats among the five commissioners on the Federal Communications Commission will vote to regulate the Internet under rules written for monopoly utilities.
Olga handed me a jar that looks like salsa verde and really had me going in anticipation automatically planning a whole series of things around it. It is a great idea. It made me happy. Upon opening the jar at the critical moment it turned out to be brown lentils, what a bummer.
But the brown lentils are fantastic.
I'll make salsa verde myself. I probably have everything. What do I need? Tomatillos. I don't have those.
Tomatillos are not green tomatoes. They come wrapped in a papery covering, a type of protective connected petals with sticky film on them. They are a bit creepy getting at the shiny green firm tart tomatillo fruit inside.
In Southwestern cooking, the type mostly inspired by Mexican home cooks, the difference between green and red salsa is tomato goes in red salsa and tomatillo goes in green salsa. That is the only real difference. This same idea carries over into red and green chili.
That is the insight. You can make a pile of chopped onion, diced garlic, diced green chile, lime, salt and pepper. Then divide the pile in two and double the bulk with diced tomato to one half and double the bulk with diced tomatillo to the other, BAM, two distinct salsas, pico de gallo and salsa verde.
Incidental ingredients that would mark the preparations unique to yourself are; ground coriander, ground cumin, ground Mexican oregano, fresh cilantro, fresh basil, fresh mint, chopped chives, scallions.
This became clear to me only just now. After all this time I was thinking the difference between them would have more to do with the color of grocery chiles used but that is not so. Further, both red and green chiles can be used in both red and green salsas, and chili stews, there is no rule against it, and both tomatoes and tomatillos can be used in all those things too, no rule about that either. It gets down to what is the base for both types. If the base is tomato, then pico de gallo, if the base is tomatillo then salsa verde.
It is something so simple and now that you know this you can prepare great batches with ease and fill jars of salsa verde, hand them out and spread the joy and excitement of salsa verde love all around. If they don't know what to do with it give them a bag of tortilla crisps.
On breakfast eggs.
On and in omelet
On pork chop
For starters. Here's the thing that impresses me so greatly. Just a few years ago had I looked up salsa verde to see what goes in it there would not be that many good images available. Mostly deplorable dark cell phone snaps. The photographs I look at today are improved tremendously and they keep getting better. People are learning all over the world how to take better photos. It was fun scanning down the results page and seeing how well people arranged their mise en place, a board or a tray with all the elements needed, showing at a glance "what goes in it." Over and over people do very well with no extraneous nonsense cluttering the picture. Interesting angles. Good composition. That is where I saw all the tomatillos piled all over the place in so many pictures all down the page and I was able to see in an instant the essential difference between salsa types.
How does this happen? A crop of tomatoes becomes ripe all at once. What to do with them? Add the usual things. The tomatillo bushes all ripen at once. What to do with them? Add the usual things.
So, now I need to go buy a pile of tomatillos to proceed.
[pico de gallo]
“That made the whole situation worse,” Kayla Mueller’s brother, Eric, told the network. “Because that's when the demands got greater. They got larger. They realized that they had something. They realized that, ‘Well, if they're gonna let five people go for one person, why won't they do this? Or why won't they do that?’”
Islamic State announced earlier this month that Mueller, who was taken hostage Aug. 4, 2013, had been killed by a Jordanian airstrike that was conducted as retaliation for the terror group’s savage murder of a Jordanian air force pilot. The Islamist group later provided the Muellers with undisclosed evidence that she was indeed dead.
Who should have won? Do you think Sniper was purposely snubbed? What about the Joan Rivers in memoriam snub?
What about the political speeches? The Host disrobe?
|Drudge: American Diaper|
Science fiction writer Robert Heinlein, in his famous novel Starship Troopers, envisioned a society where voters, too, had to demonstrate their patriotism before being allowed to vote. In his fictional society, the right to vote came only after some kind of dangerous public service — in the military, as a volunteer in dangerous medical experiments, or in other ways that demonstrated a willingness to sacrifice personally for the common good. The thought was that such voters would be more careful, and less selfish, in their voting.Maybe those Colorado voters, Chip referred to in the last post, would think more carefully about who they vote for, if they had some skin in the game... wait. I didn't mean to inject race in this post. "Skin in the game" is just a common phrase devoid of any racial overtones.
So when the five-day wonder of questioning Barack Obama's patriotism is over, perhaps we should address another question: How patriotic is the electorate?
In the phrase, "skin" is a synecdoche for the person involved, and "game" is the metaphor for the actions on whatever field of play is at reference. The aphorism is particularly common in business, finance, and gambling, and is also used in politics.Maybe it should be extended to voting.
because Hillary is already taken.
And Hillary2016 is already taken.
And HillaryForever is already taken.
And HilllaryClinton2016 is already taken.
And HillaryHillary is already taken.
And ILoveHillary is already taken.
Originally, the idea was have a dozen shirts printed and send them to friends as a knowing, meta, 'you're so easy to read' sort of passive aggressive joke, then I thought, nah, make them pay for it. And if not them then people like them. What could it hurt?
[None of the videos for this song on YouTube can be linked here. I tried 4 and they all do this:]
Sunday, February 22, 2015
I like most of Linklater's movies - perhaps because he is my age and he knows the 1970's Zeitgeist and beyond from my perspective. I've liked his movies ever since Dazed And Confused -- a vastly underrated movie in my opinion.
Boyhood uses Linklater's original lapsed-time cinematography which is an art form unto itself. I liked it in his Before...trilogy and I like it in Boyhood. Of course, it portends there being a subsequent film called Manhood. :0
Boyhood is really a movie for people who had kids during that time period. The back talk scenes are priceless as are the moments when parents and child really do connect. And there is something very alluring about Patricia Arquette which made me realize that Nicholas Cage is a fortunate man.
My Oscar predictions: Either American Sniper or Boyhood for Best Picture. I'd be happy with either.