Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Chris Whitley "Phone Call From Leavenworth" 1997
Finally, a decent live version of Chris Whitley playing one of his best, "Phone Call From Leavenworth."
Good Lord, this man was genius.
Although, he does play a little fast this time around.
Just Good Ole Boys (Moe & Joe) w/ lyrics
"the Amazing" and I heard this song on the satellite radio a couple years ago and just laughed our collective butts right off.
Mine never came back.
Unfortunately, I didn't catch the name of the song or the band at the time and it's been haunting me ever since.
That ended on Sunday.
I was leaning against the bar at Robert's Western Wear,
listening to The Spaghetti Westerneers, and telling Greg my tale of woe and angst when he casually said, "Moe and Joe. Just Good Ol Boys. I have it on vinyl."
Well, problem solved.
Pirata un-haunted.
Like any good nemesis, it had to be faced.
Ed. Note: Of course I read this food critic's review of Outback Steakhouse and jonesed for that damn fried onion all day long.
I finally broke around 7:30.
It was delicious.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Consider the Bloomin Onion.
One hundred sixty-one grams of fat.
Crispy, oily, sweet, crunchy. A big slick of salt and grease. Slightly disgusting. Completely addictive.
The Bloomin Onion is an almost perfect example of the gluttony and fun inherent in the tradition of American fair food. The Bloomin Onion is a triumph of Americana.
You'll notice that I said "American fair food" and not "Australian." That's because, despite its marketing, nothing about Outback Steakhouse, home of the Bloomin Onion, is Australian. Don't be fooled by the guy on the ads with the thick Australian accent. Don't be fooled by the "Aussie cheese fries" or the "walkabout soup" on the menu. Outback Steakhouse is 100 percent American.
Lest anyone think me an unbiased observer, let me dissuade you of that notion. The whole concept of Outback Steakhouse is an affront to me. Australia is my country of birth, and I'll admit I'm touchier than most — many Australians are quite cheerful about their status as the funny drunk uncle of the world.
But that reputation was no fun for me when I arrived at an American high school with purple hair and a bad attitude right on the heels of Crocodile Dundee, the 1986 movie that depicted a brawny, endearingly clueless Australian crocodile wrestler. I wanted to talk about The Cure; people wanted to ask me about kangaroos. "Are you from the Outback?" kids at school would ask, snickering, and I'd think of my hometown, Melbourne, with its Victorian houses and old Italian cafés and leafy avenues, and sneer to keep from crying.
Just the name "Outback" makes me angry — in the cynical hands of public relations professionals, it's lost all meaning. The dry center of Australia is many things: an inhospitable desert, a wonder of nature, sacred land to our indigenous population. In America it's just a word attached to all things Australian to conjure a dumb guy in a funny hat who says "bloke." Given that I blame Crocodile Dundee and its Outback-flavored aftermath for ruining my adolescence, it's no wonder I'd never set foot in an Outback Steakhouse before.
And yes, Outback Steakhouse is in some ways a direct result of Crocodile Dundee. It was the film's huge popularity that inspired the four American founders to brand the restaurant, founded in Tampa in 1988, as Australian. None of those founders — Chris Sullivan, Robert Basham, Tim Gannon and Trudy Cooper — had ever been to Australia. Restaurant-industry veterans of chains like Bennigan's, Steak & Ale and Chili's, the quartet had one big idea: Contrary to popular belief, Americans were not looking for healthier options. Quite the opposite. They wanted steak. And fat. And, apparently, battered and deep-fried onions specifically engineered to pack as much fat and grease into every molecule of their being as is allowable by the laws of physics.
As a matter of fact, the owners of Outback specifically didn't visit Australia because they didn't even want to take the chance that they'd be influenced by its culture or cuisine. They just wanted to think of it as cute and fun and full of fuzzy animals and people who talk funny. If there's a better symbol for the way that most Americans have approached me over the years about my Australianness, I can't think of it.
I decided to take on Outback for all these reasons. Like any good nemesis, it had to be faced. I also was intrigued because people love it. Here's the thing about these successful chain restaurants that most food obsessives don't want to admit: There's a reason people love them. And it's not just price and familiarity and convenience, although those things play a big part in their popularity. There is also something about the food that humans with taste buds very much appreciate.
On my first visit, to the Glendale location, we slid into a booth adjacent to the bar, and I eyed the almost-Aboriginal art adorning the walls. As our waitress arrived to introduce herself (she didn't say "G'day," thank sweet baby Jesus, though I'm sure she probably was supposed to), the Men at Work song "Land Down Under" started to play on the stereo system. "Oh my God, this is awesome," my American husband beamed as he watched me try not to wriggle out of my skin with 23 years of pent-up disgust.
Asking someone for "shrimp on the barbie" was maybe one of the hardest things I've ever done. I've spent years railing against the very concept, declaring that I've never had a barbecued shrimp because it's basically made-up — no one barbecues shrimp in Australia. "We'll have the shrimp on the barbie. And the Toowoomba pasta. And the Bloomin Burger." My soul cracked at the edges with each word.
Yet it was hard to deny, when those shrimp arrived, that they were pretty good: well-seasoned, fat, cooked pretty much perfectly. The puce-colored dipping sauce accompanying them was salty and slutty and gross — or drunk-food delicious, depending upon your mood. You can say that about almost anything at Outback Steakhouse.
The Toowoomba pasta is famous for being one of the most calorific entrees on the planet. (During my visits, just eating a few bites here and there of each dish still made it practically impossible to leave before consuming 1,000-plus calories.) They somehow manage to cram 1,344 calories into one bowl of fettuccine with shrimp, crawfish, mushrooms and Parmesan cream sauce.
It's a regular-sized bowl, but eating it is like eating cream-and-seafood-flavored buttercream icing — big, steaming, gloppy mouthfuls of savory icing. It's disconcerting, and I felt like death for hours afterward (and I ate a total of perhaps three or four mouthfuls). And yet: The seafood tastes fresh and sweet; it was harder to stop shoveling into my mouth than I'd like to admit.
And the steaks? The steaks aren't very good. But they're big as hell and cooked right and incredibly cheap for something as inherently decadent as steak. They aren't thin and gray; they're big and meaty. They just have no tang or depth. And maybe it's just me, but sometimes I feel as though I can taste the barely perceptible flavor of misery in a piece of meat. The cow's misery? The cook's misery? I've declared more than once that you can taste love in food, so why not misery?
Still, it's hard to argue with a $20 filet that's as big as your head and comes with a wedge salad covered in glop and a substantial side. If I were a kid with $60 in my pocket and a girl who needed impressing on a Saturday night, I could see the appeal. Baby, I love you so much, Imma take you to Outback and you can get the big steak.
And then, of course, there's the Bloomin Onion, Outback's signature dish, its crowning glory. Over a number of meals at Outback and a number of weeks of thinking about Outback, I had a lot of conversations with people about the Bloomin Onion.
At first, people would hesitate, waiting to see if they'd be shunned for proclaiming their Bloomin love to me, a grumpy Australian, and a food critic no less. But once prompted a little, the floodgates opened.
"Why is a Bloomin Onion so much more delicious than any onion ring?!?" one friend demanded passionately late one night, a few drinks in. Another admitted that said onion was the one reason she secretly looked forward to her annual visit to her small hometown, where a visit to Outback with the folks was the blowout meal of the trip, and the Bloomin Onion the highlight.
After ordering this juggernaut twice, America, I say embrace the Bloomin Onion in all its disgusting glory. Just know that it's yours, not mine. And definitely not Australia's.
By Besha Rodell Thursday, Jun 13 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
June 23rd, 2013. Part II
My future/former wife for your entertainment and enjoyment.
The Spaghetti Westerneers were great.
I don't mean to tell tales out of school here but I met this gorgeous creature recently and she gazed into the good eye with what I can only describe as a deep inner yearning and told me that I was both mysterious and sexy.
Your weekend sounded nice too.
,))
Those babies are gonna be tall and beautiful but I sure hope they get their momma's nose.
It's pretty dodgy over here on the paternal side.
Monday, June 24, 2013
June 23, 2013. Part I. Mikey says Happy Birthday to Aunt Dotty: A Photo Essay
Since Mikey and I were up early today, we thought we'd use the time to send a special
Happy Birthday message to Aunt Dotty!
A wonderful Aunt that did so much for my brothers and I since forever.
We love you, Aunt Dotty!!!
 |
| Me and Aunt Dotty at Thanksgiving dinner - around '91 or so. |
I don't know why my computer randomly decides to turn my pictures on their heads but it's doing it again dang-it!!
Sunday, June 23, 2013
The horse was a total loss.
This is a powerful bit of writing.
(Also the strangest piece about Gettysburg you've ever read.)
I've read a fair amount about The Civil War since seeing the Ken Burns documentary called, appropriately, The Civil War.
We should make every child in every public school watch it from beginning to end and write 10 page book reports on it.
Just sayin'.
Shelby Foote's 3 volumes on The Civil War are brilliant and, if memory serves me, was the basis from which Ken Burns worked.
One of many reasons I liked the documentary so very much is I just love to hear Shelby Foote speak.
He has that old southern, upperclass Mississippi drawl that is so beautiful to the ear.
Foote's smaller book, Stars in their Courses, is an excerpt from the larger series and is a stunningly brilliant portrait of the Battle of Gettysburg - which is what I'm writing about now.
Only Shelby Foote could write a book in a book.
http://www.amazon.com/Stars-Their-Courses-Gettysburg-June-July/dp/0679601120
Stars in their Courses is one of 3 books that I always keep close at hand (and heart) on top of my dresser.
The other two being a collection of Billy Collins poetry and Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
I'm a complicated man.
I'm not bragging.
As I write this I am listening to Mel Gibson's portrayal of Hamlet on the TV behind me.
That was bragging.
Maybe.
http://www.billy-collins.com/
Until recently I kept my father's original copy of Ernie Pyle's book, Brave Men, on top of the bookcase closest to my bed.
Something about having something that belonged to dad, something he held, used, enjoyed, something that meant something to him, made me feel safer when it was the last thing I would see before I turned out the light.
Ernie Pyle was a popular writer before WWII but became a sort of national icon for reporting from the front lines.
He was killed by a Japanese sniper while reporting from the Pacific Theater.
No one has ever spoken so beautifully and with such love and admiration about the American GI as Ernie Pyle did.
I sent father's copy of Brave Men to my brother just the other day and have replaced it with another and now it just doesn't feel right in the room.
Everything is suddenly out of order.
An interloper has taken up residence and now the place reeks of fraudulency.
It's wrong for me to hoard the few things that dad left behind but I have to admit I miss having that book near me at all times.
I have only a couple other things that belonged to dad - 2 zippos and a watch that is beyond repair so the "loss" of the book is a reduction of 25% of his artifacts.
Unacceptable.
Please read Ernie Pyle's writing in, "The Death of Captain Waskow".
It will make you a better person.
http://www.pbs.org/weta/reportingamericaatwar/reporters/pyle/waskow.html
This year marks the 150th Anniversary of The Battle of Gettysburg.
It will be an anniversary marked by special events including the largest ever reenactment of
Pickett's Charge
I believe it was during Pickett's charge when General Hancock was hit by a "minie ball" that knocked him off his horse and took off his leg.
The horse was a total loss as well.
Hancock worried that his men would lose faith seeing their commander's body removed from the field so he made the stretcher bearers stop so he could light a cigar, knowing the soldiers would see the little clouds of smoke as he puffed away to the field hospital and realize he was still alive.
Also, he really liked his cigars.
William Faulkner wrote this about Pickett's Charge:
For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it's still not yet two o'clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand probably and his sword in the other looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it's all in the balance, it hasn't happened yet, it hasn't even begun yet, it not only hasn't begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances which made more men than Garnett and Kemper and Armistead and Wilcox look grave yet it's going to begin, we all know that, we have come too far with too much at stake and that moment doesn't need even a fourteen-year-old boy to think This time. Maybe this time with all this much to lose than all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world, the golden dome of Washington itself to crown with desperate and unbelievable victory the desperate gamble, the cast made two years ago.
— William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust
From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pickett's_Charge
Pickett's Charge was an infantry assault ordered by Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee against Maj. Gen. George G. Meade's Union positions on Cemetery Ridge on July 3, 1863, the last day of the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War. Its futility was predicted by the charge's commander, Lt. Gen. James Longstreet, and it was arguably an avoidable mistake from which the Southern war effort never fully recovered psychologically. The farthest point reached by the attack has been referred to as the high-water mark of the Confederacy.
The charge is named after Maj. Gen. George Pickett, one of three Confederate generals who led the assault under Longstreet.
After Confederate attacks on both Union flanks had failed the day and night before, Lee was determined to strike the Union center on the third day. On the night of July 2, General Meade correctly predicted at a council of war that Lee would try an attack on his lines in the center the following morning.
The infantry assault was preceded by a massive artillery bombardment that was meant to soften up the Union defense and silence its artillery, but was largely ineffective. Approximately 12,500 men in nine infantry brigades advanced over open fields for three-quarters of a mile under heavy Union artillery and rifle fire. Although some Confederates were able to breach the low stone wall that shielded many of the Union defenders, they could not maintain their hold and were repulsed with over 50% casualties, a decisive defeat that ended the three-day battle and Lee's campaign into Pennsylvania.[1]
Years later, when asked why his charge at Gettysburg failed, General Pickett replied:
"I've always thought the Yankees had something to do with it."[2]
___________________________________________________________________________________
This is the powerful bit of writing that I mentioned up top.
by ROD GRAGG
22 Jun 2013, 6:27 PM
At the beginning of the second day of fighting at the battle of Gettysburg, Sergeant Matthew Marvin, a 24 year-old Northern soldier in the First Minnesota Infantry, penned a note on the rear cover of his diary:
Should any Person find this on the body of a soldier on the field of battle or by the roadside they will confer a lasting favor on the parents of its owner by sending the book & pocket purse and silver finger ring on the left hand. Taking their pay for the trouble out of the Greenbacks herein enclosed.
Sergeant Marvin was seriously wounded later that day when his regiment made a courageous stand against overwhelming numbers, but he survived the battle.
Many others did not.
One of them, a young Southern officer, also had his family in mind when he too scribbled a brief note of final instructions.
Mounted on horseback, 34 year-old Colonel Isaac Avery was shot out of the saddle as he led a brigade of North Carolina troops into battle later the same day.
As he lay dying, paralyzed on his right side, he managed to pull a scrap of paper and a pencil from his uniform pocket and scrawled his final words:
"Tell father I died with my face to the enemy --"
Nineteen year-old Lieutenant Bayard Wilkeson of New York was actually near his father during the first day’s fighting at Gettysburg. Young Wilkeson commanded a battery of the 4th U.S. Artillery engaged on the north side of town, and his father, journalist Samuel Wilkeson, was embedded with the Federal army, covering the battle for the New York Times. While trying desperately to hold back a Confederate assault with his battery, Lieutenant Wilkeson was struck down by enemy artillery fire, which left one of his legs mangled beyond repair.
In an attempt to stay in the fight, Wilkeson applied a makeshift tourniquet and then stoically amputated his own leg with a pocketknife.
A battlefield observer described the young officer’s determined attempt to keep his guns in action:
His soldiers lay him upon the ground…and, sitting there, he tells his cannoneers to go on with their fire – a bravery unsurpassed even by the Chevalier of France….Faint and thirsty, he sends a soldier with his canteen to fill it at the Almshouse well. When the man returns, a wounded infantryman who life is ebbing away, beholding the canteen, exclaims, “Oh, that I could have but a swallow!” Wilkeson, with like unselfishness, courtesy, and benevolence, replies, “Drink, comrade; I can wait.”
When it was seen that the line must retire, Wilkeson allowed himself to be carried to the Almshouse hospital… where, during the night, for want of attention, he died. Dead – but his heroism, sense of duty, responsibility to obligation, devotion and loyalty remain….
That “sense of duty” – and extraordinary examples of courage and sacrifice – are what is most remembered about the Americans, Northern and Southern alike, who were engaged at the Battle of Gettysburg on July 1-3 -- 150 years ago this year. It was the greatest battle of the Civil War, and, with more than 51,000 casualties, it was also the bloodiest. Like the Civil War itself, the Battle of Gettysburg was a pivotal historical event, marked by remarkable drama, tragedy, irony and significance.
**Gettysburg Battlecast** Watch Pickett's Charge Live!
It was by many measures the decisive battle of the Civil War, and would prove to be the war’s turning point. Almost two more years of bloody warfare would follow, but in many ways the Southern military defeat was mightily hastened by General Robert E. Lee’s defeat at Gettysburg. Never again would Southern forces be able to mount such a powerful offensive on Northern soil. The outcome of the Civil War, enabled in no small way by the Northern victory at Gettysburg, set the nation on a new course. Serious discussion about the right of secession, which had been raised in behalf of various causes, was ended. The institution of slavery in America was destroyed forever. “These united states” effectively became the United States of America, and the American nation, under a much stronger Federal government, was eventually reunited in an extraordinary spirit of reconciliation.
All these reasons make Gettysburg the must-see historic site among the long parade of Civil War battlefields, justify the undying American fascination with the battle and the war, and make the great battle genuinely worthy of commemoration 150 years after the fields of fire and fury fell silent. Equally memorable, however, is the “human story” of Gettysburg – which The Illustrated Gettysburg Reader attempts to document through the words of those Americans who lived through the battle, as well as some who did not. Along with its unsurpassed historical importance, the Battle of Gettysburg also offers all Americans – and the world -- another cause for commemoration. Today, 150 years later, Gettysburg remains an unsurpassed expression of American courage and sacrifice that should stand the test of time.
Civil War historian Rod Gragg is the director of the Center for Military & Veterans Studies at Coastal Carolina University, and is author of The Illustrated Gettysburg Reader: An Eyewitness History of the Civil War’s Greatest Battle, which is newly published by Regnery History.
http://www.breitbart.com/Big-Government/2013/06/22/The-Battle-of-Gettysburg-and-American-Memory-What-We-Want-to-Know-and-Why-We-Need-to-Know-It
Friday, June 21, 2013
Doc Holiday and Johnny Ringo Latin Translated (What they really said) To...
Great scene from Tombstone.
Now with Latin Translation.
O'Brother (where art thou)
Again.
Great scene from a great movie.
Even funnier when it's dubbed in Spanish.
Enjoy.
Soggy Bottom Boys - I'm A Man Of Constant Sorrow
Love this song and the movie, O' Brother.
All things Coen, all the time.
Plus I have a crush on Francis McDormand.
True Romance ( Elevator Scene )
I love this movie.
It's so good.
If you haven't seen it shame on you.
Apologize now.
You were wrong and it's time to own up.
And to see the movie.
The setup for the scene is this:
Christian Slater has a briefcase full of stolen cocaine that he's trying to sell.
Bronson Pinchot has set up a meeting with a big time movie producer/director.
Unbeknownst to Slater, Pinchot was busted with a bag of the stuff and is wearing a wire while the cops, played by the late Chris Penn and Tom Sizemore listen.
Rottweiler Rescues Chihuahua From Coyote
In the opening scene of this movie you will notice a small black lump on the far right of the screen.
Suddenly the black lump jumps to it's feet.
In scene 2, Black Lump attempts to flee.
But, alas, it is too late.
Coyote has caught Black Lump and intends to have Black Lump for breakfast.
Poor Black Lump.
Black Lump cain't get no break..
In scene 3 the end is imminent for Black Lump.
Coyote is dragging Black Lump into Dark Forest to eat.
"Somebody help Black Lump!"
"Somebody please save Black Lump"
"Why, oh why, won't somebody take Black Lump far away from Evil Coyote!?!"
Black Lump thinks to itself.
In scene 4, just when it appears all is lost, a hero emerges.
Enter Rottweiler from far left.
"Rottweiler angry."
"Rottweiler smash coyote."
"Rottweiler CRush coyote."
"Rottweiler CRUSH CAyoTE!"
"RTwyLR CRSH cYOTe!!!"
"rTwYlrCRSHcyTT!!!
"RrrtLrCRRRRRcyt!!!!
"rRRRRcRRRsssHHKkYTrrrrrrrr"
"rRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. gRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRggRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRgRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRgRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRggRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"
Rottweiler thinks to itself.
In scene 5, the conclusion of the story, watch Black Lump exit stage left, as Rottweiler chases Evil Coyote back to Dark Forest.
The End.
Top five regrets of the dying
A nurse has recorded the most common regrets of the dying, and among the top ones is 'I wish I hadn't worked so hard'. What would your biggest regret be if this was your last day of life?
Susie Steiner
A palliative nurse has recorded the top five regrets of the dying. Photograph: Montgomery Martin/Alamy
There was no mention of more sex or bungee jumps. A palliative nurse who has counselled the dying in their last days has revealed the most common regrets we have at the end of our lives. And among the top, from men in particular, is 'I wish I hadn't worked so hard'.
Bronnie Ware is an Australian nurse who spent several years working in palliative care, caring for patients in the last 12 weeks of their lives. She recorded their dying epiphanies in a blog called Inspiration and Chai, which gathered so much attention that she put her observations into a book called The Top Five Regrets of the Dying.
Ware writes of the phenomenal clarity of vision that people gain at the end of their lives, and how we might learn from their wisdom. "When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently," she says, "common themes surfaced again and again."
Here are the top five regrets of the dying, as witnessed by Ware:
1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
"This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it."
2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard.
"This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children's youth and their partner's companionship. Women also spoke of this regret, but as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence."
3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.
"Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result."
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
"Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying."
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
"This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called 'comfort' of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content, when deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again."
What's your greatest regret so far, and what will you set out to achieve or change before you die?
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
It's a cat. Just a cat.
This sounds about right.
Cat stands for election in Mexican city
Campaign shines light on political disenchantment with slogan: 'Tired of voting for rats? Vote for a cat'
Email
The Mexican mayoral candidate Morris the cat. Photograph: Reuters
It started as a joke between friends, but Morris the cat's bid to become mayor of the Mexican city of Xalapa, the capital of the state of Veracruz, has now turned into a social media phenomenon with a serious message about political disenchantment.
"Morris has become an expression of how fed up people are with all the parties and a political system that does not represent us," said Sergio Chamorro, the owner of the furry black-and-white candidate whose first campaign slogan was: "Tired of voting for rats? Vote for a cat."
The Facebook page for the Candigato (gato means cat in Spanish) now has more than 130,000 "likes" – far more than those accrued by any of the candidates registered to stand in the Xalapa election, and more too than those of Veracruz's current governor. Mexico will hold local elections in around half of the country on 7 July.
Morris's Facebook page and website are filled with artwork, videos and slogans sent in by supporters from all over Mexico and beyond. Spin-off Twitter accounts have sprouted too, beyond the control of Chamorro and the small group of thirtysomething professionals who have run Morris's campaign since his popularity took off earlier this month.
A Morris campaign T-shirt. Photograph: Reuters
"The truth is that Morris no longer belongs to us. He belongs to his fans," said Chamorro, adding that he had even received messages from citizens designated to run the polling stations on election day describing their plans to ensure the cat's votes are registered and made public, even if they do not officially count.
Morris has also inspired a number of other animal candidates in other Mexican cities including a donkey in Ciudad Juárez, a dog in Oaxaca and a chicken in Tepic. None, however, have become as popular as the cat, which appears to have politicians and the authorities genuinely worried.
The head of Veracruz's electoral institute, which organises elections in the state, has urged members of the public not to waste their votes by spoiling their ballots with support for Morris. "It is important to vote for the registered candidates," Carolina Viveros said. "Please."
The cat's popularity also prompted the well-known columnist Julio Hernández to claim its candidacy was a front for the incumbent Institutional Revolutionary party's efforts to draw votes away from genuine electoral alternatives. Morris's team insist their point is precisely that they don't care who wins.
And beyond the election? The current plan is to put the cat's future public role to a vote of his Facebook friends.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Richard Marx - Hazard (With Lyrics)
I know it's Richard Marx but I've always liked this song.
Look past the goofy hair and '80's drum track and it's a good song.
HEINEKEN - 'The Man with The Eyepatch'
Some days you just can't decide.
I need an eyepatch with bling.
DollarShaveClub.com - Our Blades Are F***ing Great
This is what a great commercial looks like.
Love this guy!
The Police - Wrapped Around Your Finger
I've been listening to a lot of older music lately.
Not sure if that's sentimentalism or nostalgia or something else.
Whatever the case, The Dire Straits, Bob Seger, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Bros. and lots more "old guy music" have been in regular rotation.
And now, I share with you, my friends, The Police from 1983's Synchronicity.
A truly great album.
I was not really a big fan when it came out but it's one of those albums that, if you were alive and in a civilised country during the 80's, you know it by heart.
Enjoy.
I love Nure.
At least I think I do.
I mean, I'm not at all sure that's how Nure is spelled but I'm pretty sure it's close.
Either way he's a great guy.
When I got home from the road last year a simple handshake would not do.
So he came out from behind the bulletproof glass and gave me a hug.
That's not typical Chevron cashier behavior but it's certainly appreciated.
He's a good guy.
A couple weeks ago I casually mentioned that he might want to start carrying my favorite summertime beverage, Lemon Lime Jarritos.
http://www.jarritos.com/#
Jarritos is a Mexican soda made with cane sugar.
And delicious.
You throw a couple Jarritos in a bucket of ice on a hot summer day and you've got yourself a party.
Nure immediately pulled out his supply catalog and ordered some Jarritos up for me.
A few days later I asked how the order was coming but Nure said that his supplier was unable to get them. He'd have to try another vendor.
A couple weeks went by and I was beginning to lose faith.
I should've know better than to doubt Nure.
I'm embarrassed by and I apologize for my behavior.
Sunday when I popped into the Chevron there at Virginia Ave and North Highland, Nure casually mentioned that I might want to check out cooler 15 to see if there was something I might want inside.
God bless this man.
I bought one for him and two for me, one of which I shared with Ellen at Rosebud.
The Jarritos website is really cute - go visit.
I love the squirrel with the camera.
"Say Queso. Say it!"
* Also, I may have convinced Ron, owner and head chef at Rosebud to start carrying Jarritos as well.
Admittedly, not a hard sell but I still count it as a win.
Quote of the Day:
"One does not really need to support the people who not only kill their enemies, but open up their bodies, eat their intestines in front of the public and cameras," Putin said.
I think that goes without saying.
We here at The El Pinche Pirata Online Religious Preparatory School have taken the controversial stance that Cannibalism is just plain wrong.
There.
I've said it.
Let the chips fall where they may.
Sometimes you just have to draw a line in the sand.
Story after The Kessel Run:
Crew Rides Across the U.S. in 3 Days — On an Electric Motorcycle
BY DAMON LAVRINC06.18.139:23 AM
Thad Wolff arrives at the Santa Monica Pier last Thursday. Photo: Moto-Electra
As night fell on the Moto-Electra team during the first day of its cross-country adventure, Thad Wolff realized the headlight on the home-built electric motorcycle was out of alignment. It was dark, it was raining and he really, really needed that light. So he pulled into a gas station, his support van not far behind, to make an emergency repair.
Brian Richardson, the man responsible for building the bike, whipped out a Dremel and went to work on the fairing to readjust the headlamp. With little to do but wait, Wolff, a former professional motorcycle racer, decided to enjoy some shut-eye and hope for the best.
“I’m lying on the ground, with my jacket as a pillow, trying to get some sleep,” Wolff recalled today, “and asking myself, ‘What the hell did I get into?’”
What he got into was a 2,500-mile blitz from Jacksonville, Florida to Santa Monica, California, on an electric motorcycle. It was an epic test for the bike, the team, and its riders, who covered that distance in 84.5 hours, arriving at the Santa Monica Pier last Thursday, making it the fastest cross-country trip ever made on an electric bike.
Richardson is nothing if not ridiculously ambitious. Before proving the viability of electric drivetrains with his cross-country run, he and the Moto-Electra crew competed in the TTXGP electric motorcycle racing series from 2010 to 2012 and finished second overall last year. Wolff was the man on the bike for every season, so when Richardson needed a pilot for his transcontinental adventure, Wolff was the only logical choice. And the electro-Norton was the only logical bike.
The bike, a 1966 Norton Featherbed frame with a motor and battery pack wrapped in a replica fairing from the John Player Special Norton grand prix bike, is by far the most gorgeous electric motorcycle ever. It’s a modified version of the machine that competed against purpose-built racers in the TTXGP.
Richardson — who’s neither an engineer or a fabricator yet built the bike himself in a shed in Virginia — doubled the capacity of the lithium-polymer batteries to about 22 kilowatt-hours, which is only slightly smaller than the pack in a Nissan Leaf. Most of the batteries were donated, including an auxiliary pack from a military vehicle of some kind. It isn’t the prettiest system, but the price was right.
“We had no budget,” Richardson says. That meant the team couldn’t swap battery packs along the way — something Richardson calls “cheating” — and instead squeezed every mile from the battery before stopping to recharge. The team took a conservative approach to both speed and charging.
“We just wanted to finish,” says Richardson.
The entire Moto-Electra team after a grueling three and a half-day journey. Photo: Moto-Electra
Wolff rode at a sedate 65 mph and went 100 to 120 miles between charges, plugging into a generator pulled behind the support van. The team followed Interstate 10 across the southern part of the country, and electrical outlets are few and far between through west Texas and the Mojave. “We’re trying to demonstrate the battery tech,” Richardson says. “Not the charging grid.”
While the batteries held up perfectly and the bike was nearly faultless, the ride was far from relaxing — or comfortable.
“Brian set up the bike as more of a cafe racer, with low handlebars and pegs,” Wolff says. “It wasn’t that comfortable and we added about 200 pounds worth of batteries, so it didn’t handle very well.”
Weather also presented trouble, which can be nerve-racking on an electric motorcycle (let alone a British electric motorcycle.). Wolff was on the radio with Will Hays, a sophomore at James Madison University who served as the team’s tech expert, when they hit a monsoon-level rainstorm outside of Florida. “He was talking to Will,” Richardson says, “and pretty much asked if he was going to be electrocuted.”
And on the other side of the spectrum was the heat.
“We got to San Antonio and we were on schedule to do it under three days,” says Wolff. “But the heat was so bad.” That lead to Wolff and Richardson taking turns riding the Moto-Electra through the hottest (and most boring) expanses of I-10.
Both Richardson and Wolff are quick to praise Hays and his expertise. “He was exceptional,” Richardson says. “With a laptop and other equipment, [Hays] captured data every second — things like wind speed/direction, volts, amps, temperature, GPS location/speed/elevation. If you wanted to start installing charging stations across the U.S., Will has the database.”
And if Moto-Electra wanted to do it again, Richardson is confident they could make the trip in less time, at a higher speed, and with fewer charges.
“We could’ve done 150 miles to a charge,” Richardson admits. “And bumped the amperage to reduce [charge times] to 30 minutes.” But for now, the team is confident in their standing.
“After we finished I told myself I’d never do it again,” says Wolff. “But never say never. We’ve achieved what we wanted in racing and with this cross-country tour, but what’s next… I don’t know.”
How Hijackers Commandeered Over 130 American Planes — In 5 Years
BY BRENDAN KOERNER06.18.136:30 AM
BOOK EXCERPT
The Skies Belong to Us:
Love and Terror in the Golden Age of Hijacking
BY BRENDAN I. KOERNER
“
“The astonishing true tale of a troubled Vietnam vet and a mischievous party girl who skyjacked their way to new lives.”
For several years during the Vietnam Era, hijackings were astonishingly routine in American airspace. Desperate and deluded souls commandeered over 130 planes between 1968 and 1972, often at a pace of one or more per week. WIRED contributing editor Brendan I. Koerner tells the story of this forgotten criminal epidemic in his new book, The Skies Belong to Us: Love and Terror in the Golden Age of Hijacking, which comes out today. In this exclusive excerpt, Koerner recounts the early days of the “Golden Age,” when Cuba was the skyjackers’ destination of choice and the airlines thought they had everything under control.
MOST SKYJACKERS EARNESTLY believed that upon reaching Havana, their sole destination during the mid-to-late 1960s, they would be greeted as revolutionary heroes. “In a few hours it would be dawn in a new world—I was about to enter Paradise,” one skyjacker recalled thinking as the runway lights at José Martí International Airport came into view. “Cuba was creating a true democracy, a place where everyone was equal, where violence against blacks, injustice, and racism were things of the past. . . . I had come to Cuba to feel freedom at least once.”
A 34-year-old Cuban exile diverted a flight back home because he could no longer bear to live without his mother’s delicately seasoned frijoles. But though Fidel Castro welcomed the wayward flights in order to humiliate the United States and earn hard currency—the airlines had to pay the Cuban government an average of $7,500 to retrieve each plane—he had little but disdain for the hijackers themselves, whom he considered undesirable malcontents. After landing at José Martí, hijackers were whisked away to an imposing Spanish citadel that served as the headquarters of G2, Cuba’s secret police. There they were interrogated for weeks on end, accused of working for the CIA despite all evidence to the contrary. The lucky ones were then sent to live at the Casa de Transitos (Hijackers House), a decrepit dormitory in southern Havana, where each American was allocated sixteen square feet of living space; the two-story building eventually held as many as sixty hijackers, who were forced to subsist on monthly stipends of forty pesos each. Skyjackers who rubbed their G2 interrogators the wrong way, meanwhile, were dispatched to squalid sugar-harvesting camps, where conditions were rarely better than nightmarish. At these tropical gulags, inmates were punished with machete blows, political agitators were publicly executed, and captured escapees were dragged across razor-sharp stalks of sugarcane until their flesh was stripped away. One American hijacker was beaten so badly by prison guards that he lost an eye; another hanged himself in his cell.
Yet graphic news reports about this brutal treatment did little to slow the epidemic’s spread. Every skyjacker was an optimist at heart, supremely confident that his story would be the one to touch Castro’s heart. The twenty-eight-year-old heir to a New Mexico real estate fortune hijacked a Delta Airlines jet while inexplicably dressed as a cowboy; a sociology student from Kalamazoo, Michigan, forced a Piper PA-24 pilot to take him to Havana because he wanted to study Communism firsthand; a 34-year-old Cuban exile diverted a Northwest Airlines flight back home because he could no longer bear to live without his mother’s delicately seasoned frijoles.
By July 1968 the situation had become dire enough to warrant a Senate hearing. The FAA was represented at the hearing by a functionary named Irving Ripp, whose testimony was devoid of even the slightest hint of hope. “It’s an impossible problem short of searching every passenger,” Ripp testified. “If you’ve got a man aboard that wants to go to Havana, and he has got a gun, that’s all he needs.”
Senator George Smathers of Florida countered Ripp’s gloom by raising the possibility of using metal detectors or X-ray machines to screen all passengers. He noted that these relatively new technologies were already in place at several maximum-security prisons and sensitive military facilities, where they were performing admirably. “I see no reason why similar devices couldn’t be installed at airport check-in gates to determine whether passengers are carrying guns or other weapons just prior to emplaning,” Smathers said. But Ripp dismissed the senator’s suggestion as certain to have “a bad psychological effect on passengers … It would scare the pants off people. Plus people would complain about invasion of privacy.” None of the senators made any further inquiries about electronic screening.
Two weeks after the Senate hearing, a deranged forklift operator named Oran Richards hijacked a Delta Airlines flight. Somewhere over West Virginia, Richards jumped from his seat and pulled a pistol on the first passenger he encountered in the aisle—a man who just happened to be Senator James Eastland of Mississippi. Though the Delta crew eventually talked Richards into surrendering in Miami, the skyjacking of a national political figure represented a dangerous new twist to the epidemic. Almost immediately the State Department proposed a novel anti-skyjacking solution: free one-way flights to Cuba for anyone who wished to go, provided they vowed never to return to the United States. But Castro refused to accept these “good riddance flights”; he had no incentive to help America curtail its skyjackings, which gave him excellent fodder for his marathon sermons against capitalist decadence.
Unwilling to spend the money necessary to weed out passengers with dark intentions, the airlines instead focused on mitigating the financial impact of skyjacking. They decided that their top priority was to avoid violence, since passenger or crew fatalities would surely generate an avalanche of bad publicity. As a result, every airline adopted policies that called for absolute compliance with all hijacker demands, no matter how peculiar or extravagant. A November 1968 memo that Eastern Air Lines circulated among its employees made clear that even minor attempts at heroism were now strictly forbidden:
To facilitate impromptu journeys to Cuba, all cockpits were equipped with charts of the Caribbean Sea, regardless of a flight’s intended destination. The most important consideration under the act of aircraft piracy is the safety of the lives of passengers and crew. Any other factor is secondary … In the face of an armed threat to any crew member, comply with the demands presented. Do not make an attempt to disarm, shoot out, or otherwise jeopardize the safety of the flight. Remember, more than one gunman may be on board … To sum up, going on past experience, it is much more prudent to submit to a gunman’s demands than attempt action which may well jeopardize the lives of all on board.
To facilitate impromptu journeys to Cuba, all cockpits were equipped with charts of the Caribbean Sea, regardless of a flight’s intended destination. Pilots were briefed on landing procedures for José Martí International Airport and issued phrase cards to help them communicate with Spanish-speaking hijackers. (The phrases to which a pilot could point included translations for “I must open my flight bag for maps” and “Aircraft has mechanical problems—can’t make Cuba.”) Air traffic controllers in Miami were given a dedicated phone line for reaching their Cuban counterparts, so they could pass along word of incoming flights. Switzerland’s embassy in Havana, which handled America’s diplomatic interests in Cuba, created a form letter that airlines could use to request the expedited return of stolen planes.
As the airlines labored to make each hijacking as quick and painless as possible, the epidemic only grew worse. Eleven flights were commandeered during the first six weeks of 1969—a record pace. The hijackers included a former mental patient accompanied by his three-year-old son; a community college student armed with a can of bug spray; a Purdue University dropout with a taste for Marxist economics; and a retired Green Beret who claimed that he intended to assassinate Castro with his bare hands.
At the behest of the House Committee on Interstate and Foreign Commerce, the FAA formed a special anti-hijacking task force to develop possible solutions to the crisis. The group was immediately inundated with thousands of letters from concerned citizens, who recommended inventive ways to frustrate skyjackers: installing trapdoors outside cockpits, arming stewardesses with tranquilizer darts, making passengers wear boxing gloves so they couldn’t grip guns, playing the Cuban national anthem before takeoff and then arresting anyone who knew the lyrics. The most popular suggestion was for the FAA to build a mock version of José Martí International Airport in a South Florida field, so that skyjackers could be duped into thinking they had reached Havana. That idea sparked serious interest at the agency but was ultimately discarded as too expensive.
John Dailey, a task force member who also served as the FAA’s chief psychologist, began to attack the problem by analyzing the methods of past skyjackers. He pored through accounts of every single American hijacking since 1961—more than seventy cases in all—and compiled a database of the perpetrators’ basic characteristics: how they dressed, where they lived, when they traveled, and how they acted around airline personnel. His research convinced him that all skyjackers involuntarily betrayed their criminal intentions while checking in for their flights. “There isn’t any common denominator except in [the hijackers’] behavior,” he told one airline executive. “Some will be tall, some short, some will have long hair, some not, some a long nose, et cetera, et cetera. There is no way to tell a hijacker by looking at him. But there are ways to differentiate between the behavior of a potential hijacker and that of the usual air traveler.”
Dailey, who had spent the bulk of his career designing aptitude tests for the Air Force and Navy, created a brief checklist that could be used to determine whether a traveler might have malice in his heart. Paying for one’s ticket by unconventional means, for example, was considered an important tip-off. So, too, were failing to maintain eye contact and expressing an inadequate level of knowledge or concern about one’s luggage. Dailey fine-tuned his criteria so they would apply to only a tiny fraction of travelers—ideally no more than three out of every thousand. He proposed that these few “selectees” could then be checked with handheld metal detectors, away from the prying eyes of fellow passengers. Most selectees would prove guilty of nothing graver than simple eccentricity, but a small number would surely be found to be in possession of guns, knives, or incendiary devices.
In the late summer of 1969, the FAA began to test Dailey’s anti-hijacking system on Eastern Air Lines passengers at nine airports. When a man obtaining his boarding pass was judged to fit the behavioral profile, he was discreetly asked to proceed to a private area, where a federal marshal could sweep his body with a U-shaped metal detector. One of Dailey’s assistants secretly videotaped this process, so the FAA could ascertain whether travelers took offense at the intrusion.
Dailey pronounced the experiment a roaring success, noting that his profile selected only 1,268 out of 226,000 passengers; of those beckoned aside for a brief date with the metal detector, 24 were arrested on weapons or narcotics charges. More important, selectees rarely seemed to mind the extra scrutiny; when interviewed afterward, most said they were just happy to know that something was finally being done to prevent hijackings. Satisfied with the subtlety of Dailey’s system, the airlines began to voluntarily implement the program in November 1969, right after Raffaele Minichiello, an Italian-American Marine, famously escaped to Rome on a hijacked Boeing 707. Almost immediately, hijackings in American airspace dwindled to a handful—just one in January 1970, and one more the following month. Janitorial crews started to find guns and knives stashed in the potted plants outside airport terminals, possibly left there by aspiring skyjackers who lost heart after seeing posted notices that electronic screening was in force.
But there were two fatal flaws in how the FAA’s system was implemented. The first was that pilots and stewardesses were not told which of their passengers were selectees. If a hijacker claimed to have a bomb, the crew had no way of knowing whether he had been searched prior to boarding—and thus no way of determining whether his threat was a bluff. All they could do was err on the side of caution and obey the hijacker’s every command.
The system’s more fundamental weakness, though, was the fact that it depended entirely on the vigilance of airline ticket agents. They, rather than professional security personnel, were responsible for applying Dailey’s checklist to every passenger they encountered. Over time the agents’ attention to detail was bound to flag as they processed thousands upon thousands of harried customers each day. It is simply human nature to grow complacent.
http://www.wired.com/threatlevel/2013/06/love-and-terror-in-the-golden-age-of-hijacking/
This is just gross.
Please read this article from The Simon Wiesenthal Center first and then come back to this story.
http://www.wiesenthal.com/atf/cf/%7B54d385e6-f1b9-4e9f-8e94-890c3e6dd277%7D/HAMAS_YESTERDAY_TOMORROW.PDF
Paris museum honours Palestinian suicide bombers
© haaretz
A Paris museum is exhibiting photos of Palestinian suicide bombers who the museum says "lost their lives fighting against the occupation”. France's Jewish community says those commemorated belonged to groups the EU has deemed terrorist organisations.
By HAARETZ (text)
A Paris museum subsidized by the French government opened an exhibition of photos of Palestinian suicide bombers, which the museum calls freedom fighters.
The exhibition of 68 photos entitled “Death” by Ahlam Shibli opened on May 28 at the Jeu de Paume museum of contemporary art in Paris.
The museum’s website describes suicide bombers as “those who lost their lives fighting against the occupation,” and the exhibition as being about “the efforts of Palestinian society to preserve their presence.”
According to CRIF, the umbrella body of French Jewish communities, the people commemorated in the photos are “mostly from the [Fatah-affiliated] al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades, the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades [of Hamas] and the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine.” All three are designated by the European Union as terrorist groups.
One of the photos is of Osama Buchkar, a PFLP operative who killed three people and wounded 59 in a terrorist attack he carried out at an open market in Netanya on May 19, 2002. The caption to his picture says he “committed a martyr mission in Netanya.”
In a letter Wednesday to France’s Culture and Communications Minister, Aurélie Filipetti, CRIF President Roger Cukierman said that it was “particularly lamentable and unacceptable that such a display should justify terrorism from the heart of Paris.”
Click here to read this article on Haaretz.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Happy Father's Day
I was up early (shocking) and actually productive yesterday (not today).
By 9AM I had walked the dog, cleaned the truck, and gone to the grocery store.
Because it was Sunday, I cleaned myself up, put on a nice shirt and a tie, and rode over to meet
"The Source of the Trouble" at Mass.
St. Thomas had a nice Father's Day service and after we went down the hill to
"The Farm Burger Modelling Agency" for lunch.
They should really change the name.
The girls behind the counter are just stunning.
And nice.
Nice is not to be underrated.
Looks fade, nice doesn't.
I spent a fair amount of time on the bike yesterday.
Back and forth to Decatur.
Down to Rosebud and The Family Dog for a drink
Over to 6 Ft. Under on the westside for a quick drink.
I sat down at the bar at 6 Ft. Under and had a great conversation with an off duty waitress about -
A.) The joy of blowing stuff up
B.) Shooting things and such,
3.) and the emotionally satisfying aspects of muddin'
Turns out the waitress is from Florida and is well versed in all areas.
It's good to run into "your people" every now and again.
Fell asleep on the couch in the evening and woke up in time to see and hear the horrendous storms that drove thru Atlanta last night.
All in all, a good day.
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