The Konformist Blog

Robalini's NFL Picks: Super Bowl Edition

2012-01-29T10:51:00.000-08:00

Here's my results for week 20
W-L-T record: 1-1
Playoff record: 6-4
Final regular season record: 73-60-7
Total record: 79-64-7

Well, the conference championships have been played, and now, after a 20-week season, the NFL is leading up to the biggest game of the year: the Pro Bowl in Hawaii.

Okay, maybe it's not the biggest game, but this year it may be the best post-season bet. And so, as a bonus for Robalini's NFL picks SB XLVI edition, I will lend you my pick for the game...

Pro Bowl

I have a general feeling about betting on pre-season games: if the players playing don't really give a shit who wins, why should I? And that's a good general rule about the Pro Bowl as well, the one major league sport all-star game that just isn't taken seriously. The NFL, for all its marketing successes, has kryponite when it comes to this one, which in no way can match the MLB summer classic or the NBA all-star game. Even the NHL has a better track record.

Of course, that may be slowly changing, thanks to what is probably the best decision made yet by Roger Goodell during his reign over the NFL. It was a modest proposal: play the Pro Bowl the week before the Super Bowl rather than the week after. There were many people (myself included) who thought it was a bad idea before it was tried two years ago: by playing it before the big game, all Super Bowl participants would be ineligible, and thus the talent level at the game would be diluted, leading to an inferior game. But after the game, when viewer ratings came out and were through the roof, Goodell was immediately vindicated. And in retrospect, the results shouldn't have been a surprise. Of course viewers don't want to watch the Pro Bowl the week after the Super Bowl. After the Super Bowl, any game is decidedly anti-climatic.

And so, the new apparent tradition of having the Pro Bowl the week before the Super Bowl enters its third year. This year, the effect on the game is particularly noticeable. The Patriots have eight selections missing the game due to their participation in the Super Bowl. Eight players are nearly 20 percent of the roster. In contrast, the Giants only have two selections who are ineligible. Even worse is the biggest name from each team out of the game. The AFC loses Tom Brady, far and away the best QB in the AFC this year. The NFC loses Eli Manning, who, while proving all season once and for all what a clutch passer he is, isn't missed that much, especially since his replacement is Cam Newton.

It would be pretty tough in any case for the AFC, as the NFC has been stacked far greater with talent all year. But looking at the list of QBs on each team really says it all. For the NFC: Aaron Rodgers, Drew Brees & Cam Newton. For the AFC: Ben Roethlisberger, Philip Rivers & Andy Dalton. In a game notorious for defenses taking the day off, which group on gunslingers would you trust to really light it up? (And while Rodgers and Brees have been off-the-charts nearly the whole year, it may be Newton who comes up as the game's MVP, as his ludicrous athletic skills are just the kind of playing that dominates a game like this.) Considering all this, it's hard to believe the NFC is only favored by four points. I say give the points and bet on them...

NFC (-4) Over AFC

Super Bowl XLVI

Only a fool would bet against Tom Brady in a big game. So says I, who has voted against Brady and the Patriots in both their playoff games. The result haven't been too bad actually: I lost with Tebow and the Broncos, but 13 1/2 points still was a smart bet, and while the Ravens did lose, they lost by less than a touchdown, and thus I won the bet. But even with my .500 record, it still is a really bad idea to bet against him unless you have a good reason.

In this case, there is a great reason (and not just my obvious hatred of that pretty-boy wuss and his fellow New Englanders.) My feeling (and the feeling of many others) is the Giants have Brady's number. Push comes to shove, expect New York to win in the final two minutes on a Eli Manning TD pass. It's a pretty good bet, especially since Vegas is giving a field goal in the point spread.

The only problem with this: while the Giants are getting three points, they're also a -120 bet rather than the normal -110. To the beginner, that means to win $100, you have to bet $120 rather than $110. To put that in pure mathematical turns, that means the Giants would have to be on the winning side of the bet 6 out of 11 times, rather than 11 out of 21. That's 55 percent as compared to 52 percent, and while that difference seems small, it is a major difference, especially over the long haul.

Simply put, a -120 bet for Giants is a bad bet, period. You're risking too much with a bad opportunity for a return, based on the dynamics of the game. It would be far more worthwhile to give the three points, bet on the Pats and get the even return on your bet. On pure points, I'd side with Brady on this one.

But there's another way...

Rather than bet with points, you could use the Money Line, i.e. betting without a spread but by odds. It's not as popular in football games, but it is common enough. In the case of the SB XLVI, the Giants are +120, meaning that for every $100 you bet on New York, you get $120 in return. In pure math, that means the break even point for NY is winning five out of every eleven games, a winning percentage of 45%. I have more confidence the Giants will win this game 45 percent of the time than I do they'll be within a field goal 55 percent of the time. That's a 10-point percentage shift, a pretty large difference...

New York Giants (+120 ML) Over New England Patriots

All bets are placed at Station Casinos:

http://www.stationcasinos.com/

To check Las Vegas odds, The Konformist

recommends VegasInsider.com:

http://www.vegasinsider.com/

Robalini's Week 20 NFL Picks

2012-01-17T13:59:00.000-08:00

Here's my results for week 19 W-L-T record: 2-2
Playoff record: 5-3
Final regular season record: 73-60-7
Total record: 78-63-7

So now it is time for the conference championships, arguably the best day of NFL football every year. (The Super Bowl, after all, is only one game, and historically hasn't lived up to the hype due to notorious blowouts.) When it is all over, I expect that for a season so noted for Playstation-esque passing statistics and scores resembling college basketball games before the shot clock, the final word is ball-control offense, intimidating defense and great coaching is still the best recipe to getting to the big game...

Baltimore Ravens (+7 1/2) Over New England Patriots

Getting 13 1/2 points against the Pats last week was a good bet, but it was still the wrong bet. Psycho Tom (by nickname for Mr. Brady when he is really pissed off and playing with intense anger) was clearly tired of all the talk over Tim Tebow, and the Broncos defense paid the price, giving up six touchdowns to the toughest guy on the planet ever to wear Ugg boots and a Bieber haircut. But the Broncos are not the Ravens. The last time the Ravens played the Pats in the playoffs, they crushed them, and though they lost to them in 2010, it was a very close game when New England was hotter and scarier than they are now. It's foolish to bet against Brady, but I will bet that even if he wins, it'll be by less than a TD...

San Francisco 49ers (-2 1/2) Over New York Giants

I've seen this 49ers teams improve as the season has continued with awe. What's most telling is that with each of their three losses they have learned invaluable lessons that have made them only better. I don't expect them to learns any more lessons from losses this year. The Giants have made an impressive run thanks to great defense and Eli Manning, but you can only win on andrenaline for so long. 2 1/2 points is about right: the 49ers will win at home and by at least a field goal. Look forward to a Super Bowl with two coaches named Harbaugh...

All bets are placed at Station Casinos:

http://www.stationcasinos.com/

To check Las Vegas odds, The Konformist recommends VegasInsider.com:

http://www.vegasinsider.com/

Robalini's Week 19 NFL Picks

2012-01-12T22:22:00.000-08:00

Here's my results for week 18
W-L-T record: 3-1
Final regular season record: 73-60-7
Total record: 76-61-7

So here are my conference semifinal picks:

San Francisco 49ers (+3 1/2) Over New Orleans Saints

I'm a pure 49er fan, so is this a bet based on my heart? Maybe. Still, the Saints are an indoor turf team playing in Candlestick, arguably the most unfriendly football field for a team like NOLA. And while the Saints have a ridiculous offense, if anyone can stop them, it would be the San Francisco defense. The 49ers can win this game, and even if they don't, losing by a field goal or less is a pretty good bet...

Denver Broncos (+13 1/2) Over New England Patriots

I would place myself among the Tim Tebow supporters, and even I have underestimated him. I won't underestimate him again. I still think the Patriots will win this game, but to New England, a win is a win. The victory will be for less than two touchdowns...

Baltimore Ravens (-7 1/2) Over Houston Texans

This is a lot of points, but the Ravens are this good. They are in Super Bowl mode, so they won't slack off like they often have this season. The Texans have had an admirable year, but the season is over...

New York Giants (+7 1/2) Over Green Bay Packers

My third dog pick out of four games. The Giants smell like 2007, a team to underestimate at a risk greater than Tim Tebow. The Packers can still win this game, but expect it to be for less than a touchdown...

All bets are placed at Station Casinos:

http://www.stationcasinos.com/

To check Las Vegas odds, The Konformist recommends VegasInsider.com:

http://www.vegasinsider.com/

Why we get wasted on New Year’s

2012-01-06T07:08:00.000-08:00

Our Dec. 31st hedonism is the last remaining relic of an ancient Roman carnival of debauchery
Felisa Rogers
Saturday, Dec 31, 2011
http://www.salon.com/2012/01/01/why_we_get_wasted_on_new_years

Soccer balls bulge beneath the men’s polyester skirts and blouses to create exaggerated breasts and derrieres. Their masked faces are resplendent with rouge and eye shadow, wild like plumage. Trumpet, trombone and tuba players garbed in maroon polyester suits play rousing banda, and the men shake their tousled pink and blond wigs. Their dance is a lewd, thrusting affair, accompanied by the glad-handed twirling of tuxedoed dance partners dressed as evil businessmen, who leer at the crowd with sinister rubber masks.

Incongruous on the stately town square of Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato, the baile is but one of many unexpected mini-fiestas we’ve encountered as we travel through Mexico during the winter holidays. The grotesque dance is a far cry from the yuletide tableaus we’ve come to expect in the U.S., but perhaps no less bizarre: adult men dressed as women with huge asses versus adult men dressed as “Christmas elves”? Who’s to say? Although I never found out exactly what the dance in Dolores Hidalgo signified, it is likely a holdover from the wild holiday traditions of ancient Europe and Mexico.

Across ancient Europe, the yuletide holidays were a free-for-all, made dicey by role reversals: The poor invaded the homes of the rich, men dressed as women, and the lord bowed to the peasant. The 12 days of Christmas, from Dec. 25 to Jan. 7, were set in the mold of the Roman holiday Saturnalia: The holidays were a period of truce, when old grudges should be forgotten (at least temporarily), and anger swallowed. But despite all this brotherly love, the Christmas season had a sinister playfulness, similar to the original concept of trick-or-treating. Echoing Saturnalia’s public ridicule of society’s laws and customs, rowdy bands of peasants invaded the manor, demanding food and drink. In exchange, the lord received his subjects’ blessings and goodwill for the coming year.

Sometimes revelers brought the booze with them: In the British Isles, wassailing was a popular and alarming part of Christmas and New Year’s Eve. The word “wassail” comes from the Old English “was hal”: “be thou hale” or “be healthy.” The phrase was originally a greeting, but naturally the boozy Brits soon turned it into a toast : “was hale!” followed by the proper reply: “drink hale!” A poem written in 1066 describes a Saxon toast before the Battle of Hastings:

Rejoice and wassail
Pass the bottle and drink healthy
Drink backwards and drink to me
Drink half and drink empty.

By the 17th century wassailing was a holiday tradition. Girls gussied up in holiday finery would carry a dubious alcoholic punch (usually spiced beer with apples) from door to door. The wealthy were expected to drink a toast and offer the wassailers payment in return. Far from the beatific carolers of today, the mobs were known to get unruly: Wassailers would prank or menace householders who refused them booze or money.

British colonists brought wassailing and drunken “trick-or-treating” to the shores of America, where all walks of life adopted the New Year’s Eve traditions. A French visitor to the New York colony was alarmed when the house was accosted at 4 a.m. by a mob of children, servants and slaves who fired a musket and threw stones at the windows. The Frenchman was tired and attempted to ignore the racket, but finally the nature of the situation was explained to him: “Mr. Lynch got up and came into my chamber to tell me that these people certainly meant to do me honor, and get some money from me. I desired him to step down and give them two Louis; he found them already masters of the house and drinking my landlord’s rum. In a quarter of an hour, they went off to visit other streets, and continued their noise till daylight.”

No doubt the Frenchman’s next day was also eclipsed by rum. The Dutch had introduced a more civilized but equally drunken New Year’s Day tradition of open houses, in which city dwellers opened their doors to strangers and friends alike. New Year’s Day tables were laden with cherry bounce, coconut jumbles, rum-soaked doughnuts, honey cakes and fruit in white-wine jellies, and visitors could expect hot toddies, rum punches, eggnogs, peach cordials or sangria. Guests were expected to eat and drink at each stop, which led to great booziness.

At the time, these New Year’s traditions were just a small part of the rowdy American Christmas season, which retained its vaguely sinister European flavor. The two-week season had its abstemious detractors: Puritans railed against Christmastime as a pagan abomination and banned the holidays in their townships. Cotton Mather himself wrote disapprovingly: “”Feast of Christ’s Nativity is spent in Reveling, Dicing, Carding, Masking, and in all Licentious Liberty … by Mad Mirth, by long eating, by hard Drinking, by lewd Gaming, by rude Reveling… ”

Mather no doubt was equally horrified by New Year’s Eve, which always marked an apex of drunken revelry. This is true around the world and throughout time: Although the New Year is celebrated from June to January and from Tallahassee to Timbuktu, almost all cultures have used the passing of one year to the next as an excuse to really party. Take for instance the fine old Sumerian tradition wherein the king had public sex with the high priestess of Ishtar, symbolizing the conception of Ninkasi, the goddess of beer.

In ancient Mexico, the New Year was an exception to draconian Aztec laws. During the rest of the year, only specific sects were allowed to drink: You could hit the pulque (fermented agave pulp) if you were a nobleman, an extremely old person or a pregnant woman; for the young able-bodied commoner, drunkenness was punishable by death. An exception to this code was allowed every fourth New Year for Pilahuana, or “The Drunkenness of Children,” a festival in which godparents adorned young children with parrot down, pierced their ears, and accompanied them to watch their first human sacrifices. Afterward, everyone got wickedly drunk.

In Mexico today, people no longer go in for drunken kids and human sacrifice; a typical New Year’s Eve celebration consists of a late dinner with the family, followed by a midnight Champagne toast, amazing castillo fireworks and partying. Many families still practice the Spanish custom of eating a grape and making a wish for each chime of the countdown to the New Year. Other Mexican New Year’s superstitions include physically sweeping out the old year with a broom and wearing different-colored underwear to bring on various types of luck in the new year: white for good spiritual vibrations, red for luck in love.

The modern Mexican take on celebrating the passing of the old year and the coming of the new is representative of most countries’: a mix of superstitious ritual and heavy drinking. The Japanese say goodbye to the old year in December with “forget the year” drinking parties. The New Year’s holidays, or Oshogatsu, are more sedate family affairs that reflect the universal belief that actions during the first days of the New Year will influence the coming year: Debts are paid, disputes are settled, and houses are cleaned. Families gather to eat soba noodles for longevity and wealth and drink taruzake (sake aged in a cedar barrel) and toso, a medicinal sake that is supposed to ward of sickness in the new year. In accordance with an ancient imperial edict that the use of alcohol is prescribed by heaven, Chinese New Year traditions involve a similar mix of ceremonial drinking and eating. Food and alcohol are served to the spiritual guardians of the household, and parties toast with cognac.

In the United States, New Year’s Eve is the only night of the once bacchanalian winter season that still retains its hedonism, with the expected outcome of serious inebriation. When it comes to New Year’s Eve, Americans are short on superstitious traditions and long on drink. In modern America, New Year’s Eve is the drinking holiday (which is saying something when one considers the vast estuaries of beer consumed on the Fourth of July, St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco de Mayo). But New Year’s Eve is special because it offers a certain carte blanche for stupid behavior. New Year’s Eve is the Las Vegas of American holidays.

Americans were not immune to the worldwide rise of Champagne in the 18th century. During the belle époque, holiday advertisements touted Champagne as the drink for celebrations. By the 20th century, a New Year’s toast was hardly complete without Champagne. Washington socialite Mrs. Evalyn Walsh McLean took things to the next level with her 1937 New Year’s Eve party, where guests consumed 480 quarts of Champagne.

Champagne was queen, but in true American fashion, ethnic enclaves added their own flavor to the party. A guest celebrating New Year’s Eve 1939 with Cuban friends recorded: “We spend several hours in a small café, eating Cuban sandwiches and mixing Cuba Libres with Ronrico and Coca-Cola. There is a jook-organ which offers a selection of eight records of Cuban music, and two records of American music. There are couples present who dance the rhumba again and again. Estrella and Pedro dance the rhumba also. Apparently they are both enjoying themselves.” If the guest had wandered a few buildings down, he might have found Austrians eating marzipan pigs and toasting with Feuerzangenbowle (aka “flaming fire tongs punch”). Scottish immigrants brought Dundee cake, black buns and Hogmanay punch (apple cider and whisky) to the table. African-Americans prepared lucky New Year’s Day dishes such as black-eyed peas and collard greens, but eventually fell prey to the Champagne dream. A 1983 issue of Black Enterprise magazine recommends pairing Champagne with soul food, stating: “Only Champagne can reign like royalty over gala affairs and celebrations. Only Champagne can take ritual holidays and refashion them into moments of pure joy.”

Although it’s debatable that Champagne is a necessary ingredient for moments of pure joy, one thing is certain: New Year’s Eve offers a rare excuse to engage in the sort of carousing that we once viewed as a significant and inalienable yuletide right. Drink hale!

Felisa Rogers studied history and nonfiction writing at the Evergreen State College and went on to teach writing to kids for five years. She lives in Oregon’s coast range, where she works as a freelance writer and editor.

Why We Must Stop SOPA

2012-01-06T07:04:00.000-08:00

End of the American Dream
http://endoftheamericandream.com/archives/why-we-must-stop-sopa

Right now, there are two pieces of legislation in Congress that would change the Internet forever if they are enacted. The Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA) and the Protect Intellectual Property Act (PIPA) would give the federal government the ability to potentially shut down millions of websites. SOPA (the version being considered in the U.S. House of Representatives) is the more dangerous of the two. It would essentially be the equivalent of a nuclear bomb being dropped on the Internet. It would give government officials unlimited power to very rapidly shut down any website that is found to "engage in, enable or facilitate" copyright infringement. That language is very broad and very vague. Many fear that it will be used to shut down any websites that even inadvertently link to "infringing material". Can you imagine a world where there is no more Facebook, Twitter or YouTube? Sites like those would be forced to hire thousands of Internet censors to make sure that no "infringing material" is posted, and many prominent websites may simply decide that allowing users to post content is no longer profitable and is just not worth the hassle. Are you starting to get the picture? That is why we must stop SOPA. If SOPA is enacted, it could be the death of the free Internet.

But this is exactly the kind of bill that the establishment media has been waiting for. It would give them back control. SOPA is being heavily promoted by big media corporations. If they are able to shut down free speech on the Internet, then suddenly everyone would be forced to rely on them for news and entertainment once again.

That is why SOPA and PIPA must be stopped. A recent editorial in the New York Times described how these new laws would work....

The bills would empower the attorney general to create a blacklist of sites to be blocked by Internet service providers, search engines, payment providers and advertising networks, all without a court hearing or a trial. The House version goes further, allowing private companies to sue service providers for even briefly and unknowingly hosting content that infringes on copyright – a sharp change from current law, which protects the service providers from civil liability if they remove the problematic content immediately upon notification. The intention is not the same as China’s Great Firewall, a nationwide system of Web censorship, but the practical effect could be similar.

Everyone would be deathly scared of allowing anything to be posted on their websites in such an environment. Free speech on the Internet would be a thing of the past.

An article on lifehacker.com explained how easy it would be to bring a claim against a website under SOPA....

If it's possible to post pirated content on the site, or information that could further online piracy, a claim can be brought against it. This can be something as minor as you posting a copyrighted image to your Facebook page, or piracy-friendly information in the comments of a post such as this one. The vague, sweeping language in this bill is what makes it so troubling.

Fortunately, some of the biggest names on the Internet are rallying to defeat SOPA. For example, Google Executive Chairman Eric Schmidt says that he believes that SOPA will actually "criminalize" links....

"By criminalizing links, what these bills do is they force you to take content off the Internet"

Another huge name, Google co-founder Sergey Brin, is alarmed that SOPA would give the U.S. government the power to censor search results without even having to go through a court trial....

"Imagine my astonishment when the newest threat to free speech has come from none other but the United States. Two bills currently making their way through congress – SOPA and PIPA – give the U.S. government and copyright holders extraordinary powers including the ability to hijack DNS and censor search results (and this is even without so much as a proper court trial)"

In the United States, we used to believe that the government should not take our property away without a fair trial.

But now SOPA would allow the U.S. government to hit Internet websites with a "death penalty" without even having to go to court.

If SOPA becomes law, the Internet will change dramatically.

If there were no websites where people could post thoughts and ideas, what would the world look like?

Over recent months we have seen how sites like YouTube, Twitter and Facebook can literally change the face of the globe. The following comes from the same New York Times article referenced above....

YouTube, Twitter and Facebook have played an important role in political movements from Tahrir Square to Zuccotti Park. At present, social networking services are protected by a “safe harbor” provision of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, which grants Web sites immunity from prosecution as long as they act in good faith to take down infringing content as soon as rights-holders point it out to them. The House bill would destroy that immunity, putting the onus on YouTube to vet videos in advance or risk legal action. It would put Twitter in a similar position to that of its Chinese cousin, Weibo, which reportedly employs around 1,000 people to monitor and censor user content and keep the company in good standing with authorities.

Do we really want Chinese-style Internet censorship in America?

Thankfully, the Internet community is fighting back against SOPA really hard.

Initially, GoDaddy.com was publicly supporting SOPA, but a boycott organized on Reddit has hit them really hard. In fact, GoDaddy lost more than 70,000 domains just last week.

All of this pressure forced GoDaddy to renounce its support for SOPA. However, they are not actively opposing the bill at this point.

Congress is in recess right now, so action on SOPA and PIPA is stalled for now. But the battle is far from over.

And the stakes are incredibly high. One blogger recently put it this way....

“If either the U.S. Senate’s Protect IP Act (PIPA) & the U.S. House’s Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA) become law, political blogs such as Red Mass Group [conservative] & Blue Mass Group [liberal] will cease to exist”

Yes, the free Internet that we all love and enjoy today is under assault.

If we do not stand up now, we may lose it forever.

Every single day, control of the Internet gets tighter and tighter. For example, did you know that the U.S. Department of Homeland Security is now watching everything that is said on Facebook and Twitter?

The following comes from a recent Daily Mail article....

The Department of Homeland Security makes fake Twitter and Facebook profiles for the specific purpose of scanning the networks for 'sensitive' words - and tracking people who use them.

Simply using a word or phrase from the DHS's 'watch' list could mean that spies from the government read your posts, investigate your account, and attempt to identify you from it, acccording to an online privacy group.

But it is one thing for them to watch the Internet.

It is another thing for them to shut down free speech on the Internet entirely.

Please do what you can to save the open and free Internet.

The Electronic Frontier Foundation is helping to organize users of the Internet to protest this draconian legislation. The following is from a statement that the EFF recently put out....

As drafted, the legislation would grant the government and private parties unprecedented power to interfere with the Internet's domain name system (DNS). The government would be able to force ISPs and search engines to redirect or dump users' attempts to reach certain websites' URLs. In response, third parties will woo average users to alternative servers that offer access to the entire Internet (not just the newly censored U.S. version), which will create new computer security vulnerabilities as the reliability and universality of the DNS evaporates.

It gets worse: Under SOPA's provisions, service providers (including hosting services) would be under new pressure to monitor and police their users’ activities. While PROTECT-IP targeted sites “dedicated to infringing activities,” SOPA targets websites that simply don’t do enough to track and police infringement (and it is not at all clear what would be enough). And it creates new powers to shut down folks who provide tools to help users get access to the Internet the rest of the world sees (not just the “U.S. authorized version”).

The Electronic Frontier Foundation has created a page that makes it very easy to send a letter about SOPA to your representatives in Congress. You can find it right here.

There is also a website called "Stop American Censorship" that has even more ways to let the federal government know that you do not want SOPA to pass. You can find that site right here.

We must stop SOPA. The Internet has made it possible for average people all over the world to communicate with one another on a grand scale, and this is a direct threat to the establishment and the big media corporations that they control. They are going to try again and again to take back control over the flow of information. We must not allow them to succeed.

Please share this article with as many people as you can, and please do what you can to help defeat SOPA...

Stoner Cooking 1-6-12

2012-01-06T06:59:00.000-08:00

Retropedia: Girl Scout Cookies
http://www.retroland.com/girl-scout-cookies

What sort of ogre could look a smiling little girl in the eye and refuse her a cookie sale? Luckily for the Girl Scouts of America, it would appear that these monsters are few and far between. For nearly a century, we have anxiously awaited their annual arrival, and gobbled up these tasty treats to the tune of 200 million boxes sold each year.

Girl Scout cookies arrived on the scene all the way back in 1917, when the Mistletoe Troop of Muskogee, Oklahoma decided to utilize these baked treats for their fundraising efforts. The idea caught on, and by 1936, the Girl Scouts organization was recruiting commercial bakers to help them keep up with the demand. When WWII arrived, customers were limited to two boxes, available in either vanilla or chocolate, as a result of wartime rationing. But once the hostilities ended, the young entrepreneurs were back in full force, ensuring that American families could buy cookies by the armful, in a variety of flavors.

While many types of cookies are offered annually, many are sold under different names, depending on the geographic region and which commercial bakery produces them. Never the less, everyone seems to have a favorite type and people commonly stock up on numerous boxes during the short-lived opportunity for purchase each year. Maybe you prefer the chocolate goodness of the overwhelmingly popular “Thin Mints”, which take on a texture that can only be described as heavenly when chilled in the fridge. Or, maybe you are partial to the peanut buttery goodness of “Do-Si-Do’s” and “Tagalongs”. Perhaps you like the simplicity of the “Shortbreads” or “Trefoils”, depending on where you live. Finally, there is the mother of all Girl Scout Cookies, the caramel, chocolate, and coconut delicacies known as “Samoas”. Regardless of your preference, there is a smiling little Girl Scout, eager to persuade you to open your wallet and trade some greenbacks for a few boxes of sublime indulgence.

In the past, one had to deal with the cruel wait time, as you placed your order, then waited a few long weeks for them to be delivered. Utter torture, that was. In recent years, the order system has given way to swarms of little girls standing outside of grocery stores, and tempting you with all of your cookie favorites; boxes stacked high and offering promise of instant gratification. It would almost seem as if the cookie boxes reach inside your subconscious and pull you magnetically towards them. This feeling can’t be all that different from what a heroin addict feels.

But these aren’t drug pushers, they are sweet innocent little waifs, looking at you with their puppy dog eyes and softly speaking the words that will make anyone on a diet cringe: ”Excuse me, would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”. Why, of course we would, little girl. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Resistance is futile.

*

Ann Seranne's Rib Roast of Beef
http://shine.yahoo.com/shine-food/ann-serannes-genius-rib-roast-beef-174900523.html

Makes about 2 servings per rib

From "Ann Seranne's Recipe for a Perfect Roast: Put it in the Oven and Relax", The New York Times, July 28, 1966

One 2- to 4-rib roast of beef, weighing 4 1/2 to 12 pounds
Flour
Salt & freshly ground black pepper

1. Remove the roast from the refrigerator 2 1/2 to 4 hours before cooking.

2. Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.

3. Place the roast in an open, shallow roasting pan, fat side up. Sprinkle with a little flour, and rub the flour into the fat lightly. Season all over with salt and pepper.

4. Put the roast in the preheated oven and roast according to the roasting chart below, timing the minutes exactly. (This works out to be 15 minutes per rib, or approximately five minutes cooking time per pound of trimmed, ready-to-cook roast.) When cooking time is finished, turn off the oven. Do not open the door at any time.

5. Allow the roast to remain in the oven until oven is lukewarm, or about two hours. The roast will still have a crunchy brown outside and an internal heat suitable for serving as long as 4 hours after removing from the oven.

6. Note: Don't attempt this recipe if your oven isn't well-insulated (that is, if it's extremely hot to the touch when it's in use).

*

Waffles of Insane Greatness
http://shine.yahoo.com/shine-food/waffles-insane-greatness-162600175.html

Adapted slightly from Aretha Frankenstein's restaurant in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Serves 4, or 2 very hungry waffle eaters

3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup whole milk or buttermilk (or a combination)
1/3 cup vegetable oil or melted butter
1 egg
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
Butter and pure maple syrup, for serving

1. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, cornstarch, baking powder, baking soda, and salt; mix well. Add the milk, vegetable oil, egg, sugar and vanilla and mix well. Let the batter sit for 30 minutes.

2. Heat a waffle iron. Follow the directions on your waffle iron to cook the waffles. Serve immediately with butter and pure maple syrup or hold in a 200 degree oven, directly on the rack (don't stack them or they'll get soggy). These also reheat very well in the toaster.

*

Chicken Cordon Bleu Pizza
http://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/chicken-cordon-bleu-pizza

Italian dinner ready in 35 minutes! Enjoy chicken pizza made using Original Bisquick® mix – a cheesy treat.

PREP TIME 10 Min
TOTAL TIME 35 Min
SERVINGS 8

1 1/2 cups Original Bisquick® mix
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
1/3 cup hot water
1/2 cup Alfredo pasta sauce (from 16-oz jar)
2 cups chopped cooked chicken
1/2 cup chopped cooked ham
1 1/2 cups finely shredded Swiss cheese (6 oz)
3 medium green onions, sliced (3 tablespoons)

1 Heat oven to 425°F. Spray 12-inch pizza pan or cookie sheet with cooking spray.

2 In medium bowl, stir Bisquick mix, Parmesan cheese and hot water until soft dough forms. Press dough in pizza pan, using fingers dipped in Bisquick mix; pinch edge to form 1/2-inch rim. Bake 7 to 8 minutes or until light golden brown.

3 Spread pasta sauce over partially baked crust. Top with chicken, ham, Swiss cheese and green onions.

4 Bake 10 to 15 minutes longer or until crust is golden brown and cheese is melted.

Cordon bleu is a French dish combining chicken or veal with ham or prosciutto and Swiss or Gruyère cheese. In this recipe, those flavors are simplified to produce a fantastic-tasting pizza.

Be sure to use hot water to make the pizza crust. It helps keep the crust from rising too high during baking and also keeps it chewy and crisp.

*

Vada Pav
ROB MIFSUD
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204879004577111220920814462.html

“It mingles potent flavors with comforting textures: squooshy bread, creamy mashed potato and a hint of crunch.”

It's best to approach street-side dining in Mumbai—or anywhere in India, for that matter—with caution. But caution, if you love Indian food, is torture. While working in Mumbai, and studying the city's culinary specialties, I learned that you don't typically go to restaurants for great food, you go to the sidewalks. My daily commute took me past hawkers selling the food I craved: pav bhaji, a vegetarian sloppy joe made with tomato and potato stew; pani puri, hollow fried balls stuffed with spicy potatoes or chickpeas; and the dish I crave to this day, vada pav.

The temptation to sample it was almost overwhelming, but for what felt like forever, I didn't dare.

"Wait at least 30 days before trying vada pav," one of my hosts, a native Mumbaikar, had warned. According to my gastric guardian, I had nothing to fear from the vada (pronounced "wahda")—a mixture of chunky mashed potatoes, curry leaves, cilantro, mustard seeds and other spices, dipped in a turmeric- and chili-powder-laced chickpea flour batter, then deep fried. Pav (pronounced, enjoyably, "pow"), the small, square, hamburger-bun-like roll in which the fritter is sandwiched wouldn't pose any problems either.

The rub, my host told me, was the rub: the combination of chutneys slathered on the bun. Just as its Western cousin, the hamburger, remains incomplete without a squirt of ketchup or a dollop of relish, a vada pav lies naked without red or green chutney, or both. Red chutney scorches the mouth with garlic and chili powder (and maybe a touch of tamarind), while the green stuff tingles the lips with green chilis, cilantro and mint. The problem is that most chutneys require water, and the water in Mumbai...well, it's the water in Mumbai.

For two long months I looked but never touched, but then one night, after yet another long day at the office, I couldn't ignore my craving any longer. I hopped into a car and instructed the driver to take me to his favorite vada pav stand. I wanted authenticity, and I got it. This stall was a table covered by a corrugated tin roof at the front of an alley. The kitchen was out of sight, hidden around the corner, and customers poured water from an urn into a single, communal metal cup. Caveat emptor. Every few minutes, a fresh batch of vada would emerge, and I would scrum with the other customers for my share. I finally exchanged 12 rupees (approximately 27 cents) for two vada pav smothered in green chutney worrisomely darkened from oxidation. Never had I been all in for so little.

The exact details are unclear, but people who care about such things credit Mumbai street vendor Ashok Vaidya with inventing vada pav in the early 1970s. It quickly became the city's staple snack, and, after one bite, I understood why. Green chutney is not subtle; anything less than lip-tingling represents a "Western" level of chili-induced heat. The nutty, vaguely familiar taste of mustard seed and the earthy smell of curry leaves waft from the fritter, but vada pav approaches perfection because it mingles potent flavors with so many comforting textures: squooshy bread, creamy and slightly lumpy mashed potato and a hint of crunch from the batter.

Vada pav are easy to make at home. Both chutneys can be prepared while boiling potatoes, and the result is so extraordinary that committed carnivores never seem to notice that they're eating vegan. Better yet, there's no waiting period required.

Serves: 4-8
Hands-On Time: 1 hour
Total Time: 1½ hours

For the green chutney:
2¼ cups cilantro leaves, tightly packed
1/2 cup mint leaves, tightly packed
2 serrano chilis
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon lemon juice

Combine all ingredients in a food processor with ¼ cup water. Process until a thin sauce forms. Add more water if necessary to achieve a slightly watery consistency.

For the red chutney:
1 cup dried unsweetened coconut
10 cloves garlic
2 tablespoons red chili powder
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
Pinch of salt

Combine all ingredients in a food processor. Process until a sticky powder forms with the consistency of wet sand. Add more oil if necessary.

For the batter:
1 cup gram (chickpea) flour
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon red chili powder
Pinch of salt

Whisk together ingredients in a large bowl. Continue to whisk while adding ¾ cup water until a thick, smooth batter forms. Let rest at least 15 minutes.

For the potato mixture:
2 pounds Yukon gold potatoes (approximately 5)
1 quart plus 2 teaspoons vegetable oil
1½ teaspoons black mustard seeds
6 curry leaves, torn
2 teaspoons puréed garlic (finely minced is acceptable)
1 teaspoon puréed ginger
1 serrano chili (or more to taste), seeded and finely chopped
1 teaspoon salt (or more to taste)
1 tablespoon finely chopped cilantro
8 seedless hamburger buns

1. Peel and halve the potatoes. Cook in boiling water until fork tender, approximately 20 minutes. Drain. Mash using a potato masher until smooth with a few lumps.

2. Heat 2 teaspoons oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add mustard seeds and curry leaves and cook until the seeds start to pop. Add garlic, ginger and chilis and cook briefly. Stir in potatoes and salt. Remove from heat and stir in cilantro.

3. Divide potato mixture into eight equal portions and roll into balls. (Both chutneys, the batter and the potato balls can be stored overnight, covered tightly with plastic wrap, at this point. The green chutney will oxidize slightly.)

4. Heat 1 quart oil over medium-high heat in a wok or Dutch oven until it reaches 325 degrees.

5. Roll the potato balls in the batter and add to the hot oil one by one. Cook, turning occasionally, until they are golden brown, 3 minutes.

6. Spread red chutney on one half of a hamburger bun, and green chutney on the other half. Place hot potato vada between bun. Press down to flatten slightly.

*

Lamb Meatballs with Pomegranate Sauce
http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/food/recipes/lamb-meatballs-with-pomegranate-sauce-535864

1 egg or 2 egg whites, lightly beaten
1 cup fine dry bread crumbs
1/4 cup chopped fresh mint
2 or 3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. ground black pepper
2 lb. ground lamb
1 16-oz. bottle pomegranate juice
1 tsp. sugar
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1-1/2 cups plain Greek yogurt
2 Tbsp. snipped fresh chives
1 clove garlic, minced
Fresh mint leaves (optional)
Toasted pita bread wedges (optional)

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F. In large bowl combine egg, bread crumbs, mint, 2 or 3 cloves garlic, salt, and pepper. Add ground lamb; mix well. Shape into 32 meatballs; set aside.

For sauce, in medium saucepan bring pomegranate juice to boiling; reduce heat. Simmer, uncovered, 25 minutes or until reduced to about 1/2 cup. Add sugar; stir to dissolve.

Meanwhile, in large skillet brown half the meatballs at a time in hot olive oil, turning to brown evenly. Transfer to a 15x10x1-inch baking pan. Bake 15 to 20 minutes or until an instant-read thermometer registers 160 degrees F. In medium bowl combine yogurt, 1 tablespoon of the chives, and 1 clove garlic. To serve, drizzle meatballs with pomegranate sauce; sprinkle with remaining chives and mint. Serve with seasoned yogurt and pita wedges. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

In Search Of: Switzerland's Best Fondue

2012-01-06T06:55:00.000-08:00

Switzerland has 26 cantons and four languages, but one dish units everyone: fondue. Bread chunks dipped in a pot of hot cheese has been a national dish since the 1930s.
CHRISTINA PASSARIELLO
FOOD & DRINK
DECEMBER 31, 2011
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204552304577116693697573180.html

Size is not Switzerland's main asset. If the country were a U.S. state, it would rank 42nd in size, right between West Virginia and Maryland. The drive between its two biggest cities, Zurich in the northeast and Geneva in the southwest corner, takes just three picturesque hours, past church steeples, rolling green hills and thousands of long-lashed cows. Homogeneity doesn't rank high, either. A melting pot of cultures, Switzerland has 26 cantons and four languages jammed into its territory.

But there are symbols that unite the Swiss—chocolate, watches, geopolitical neutrality and an astronomically priced currency. Chiefly, however, there is fondue. Bread chunks dipped in a pot of hot cheese, served in army barracks and at Sunday family dinners, has literally been a national dish since the 1930s.

It's a pretty appealing dish to rally around—already excellent cheese turned to gooey, molten goodness over a burner or open flame. There's a low-stakes challenge in spearing bits of crusty bread on sticks and swirling them into the mixture without losing the bounty. It's one of the world's great communal meals.

"It is said that eating from the same caquelon—or fondue pot—establishes friendships," says Verena Lüthi, who runs the hillside chalet restaurant Auberge de Mont-Cornu, near Switzerland's northern border with France, with her husband

And while the Swiss eat it year-round, winter is a truly ideal time for fondue, whether you're just off the ski slopes or dining out in the city.

Fondue means "melted" in French. Ever since people began preserving milk as cheese thousands of years ago, they have been melting it, says Isabelle Raboud-Schüle, curator at the Musée Gruérien, a regional culture museum in the fondue-heartland town of Bulle in the Fribourg region. The first written recipes for dishes resembling modern fondue date back to 18th-century French and Belgian cookbooks, but they called for imported Gruyère cheese, she adds, thereby making fondue Swiss. (Two variations—chocolate fondue and beef fondue—are attributed to a Swiss chef in New York in the 1950s.)

In the 1930s, Switzerland wanted to promote cheese consumption at home. Through the distribution of fondue recipes, the Swiss Cheese Union advocated that the dish be eaten as often as possible, says Ms. Raboud-Schüle. It also happened to be a handy way to use up leftover scraps of bread and cheese.

Forget about that neutrality thing, though. Each region in Switzerland claims to have the best fondue formula based on local varieties of the two essential ingredients, cheese and wine, as well as other elements that get thrown in the mix. Around Fribourg, an area in western Switzerland that rises between two big lakes, I ate a pure Vacherin fondue, instead of the mix of cheeses that is common. As if a half pound of gooey cheese per person weren't rich enough, near Neuchâtel it was served with a mountain of fresh cream on top. In the Valais region, an arc that runs along the French and Italian borders and home to the Matterhorn, the local fondue variety calls for a tomato coulis.

The Gruyères version has become dominant in recent decades. Often referred to as a moitié-moitié, or half-and-half, it mixes Gruyère and Vacherin cheeses (not necessarily in a 50-50 proportion) with white wine and garlic. Though it's most common in the Fribourg region around the medieval town of Gruyères, the dish bubbles up in Geneva and Zurich, where transplants from Fribourg have set up shop.

Still, many chefs are playing with the classic formula. Christophe Demierre, who runs a molecular-cuisine cooking school from his home kitchen in the Fribourg region, makes fondue as a mousse and a powder that are meant to be eaten individually. "There's still a sense of sharing because it becomes a conversation topic," he says from his kitchen.

Carlo Crisci, who runs two-star Michelin restaurant Le Cerf, north of Lausanne, cooked a cold fondue of small cheese balls in a hot potato soup for a special event. But he doesn't serve his modern fondue at the restaurant. "You can't really serve fondue in an elegant restaurant" because of the smell, he says. Meanwhile, Hervé This, a molecular-gastronomy academic, recommends adding a pinch of citric acid to emulsify the ingredients in fondue—a step that traditionalists balk at.

As with any dish that has such cultural significance, there are plenty of rules that come with eating fondue. The Swiss only condone drinking white wine or hot tea with their melted cheese—anything else is said to create an indigestible ball of cheese in the stomach. (The most egregious offense is drinking Coke or beer, but even water is frowned upon, Ms. Raboud-Schüle says.) Purists don't approve of ordering a salad for some greens with all that dairy. But cured meats are okay. And whoever loses their bread in the fondue pot buys a round of drinks for the table.

After a few days of eating fondue in five Swiss cantons, I was ready to break all the rules. I wanted red wine. I wanted vegetables. But the upside was, I became a master at spotting standout fondue. Start with the bread: It should be crusty and flavorful. The cheese shouldn't be runny, but should envelop the bread. There should be a hint of wine in the mix, but the alcohol should not leave an aftertaste. Neither should the garlic.

The Tourist Treasure | Le Chalet
Fondue restaurants line the main cobblestone street in the medieval town of Gruyères, between Berne and Lausanne. Look to the top of the hill for Le Chalet and its quintessential wooden dining room. (Opt for the cozier upper floor, under the dark beams, rather than the lighter ground floor.) The moitié-moitié is a classic, served with potatoes and thick slices of bread. (At 29.50 francs, or about $30, it is also one of the most expensive, but that's the price of being a tourist.) Rue du Bourg, Gruyères, chalet-gruyeres.ch

The Crowd-Pleaser | Café Tivoli
Smack in the heart of fondue's Fribourg heartland, Café Tivoli is a favorite of local chefs. But this isn't hoity dining. Big groups gather around steaming caquelons for hearty fondue made with perfectly aged cheese. There isn't a menu offered in the wood-paneled dining room—you just chose between a moitié-moitié and a pure Vacherin. The latter is served warm, not hot—because the cheese is so rich, the oil separates from cream at high temperatures—and comes with potatoes for a dish that resembles raclette. Cafe Tivoli is currently in the hands of the fourth generation of the Colliard family—meaning they've been serving fondue for at least 80 years, going back to when Switzerland was first promoting it as a national dish. Place d'Armes 18, Châtel-St-Denis, cafetivoli.ch

The Urban Transplant | Fribourger Fondue Stübli
Denise Ernst, whose parents moved the family from Fribourg to the big city, set up her own restaurant in a gourmet ghetto of Zurich 36 years ago. Nearby, there are reputable pizza joints, high-end Italian restaurants and a Japanese noodle bar. For classic Swiss cuisine, try Ms. Ernst's moitié-moitié. Five cheeses go into it: two kinds of Gruyère and three kinds of Vacherin, ranging from young to aged, to get the right mix of flavors. For a sweet treat, ask for pears and pineapple to dip into the melted cheese. Rotwandstrasse 38, Zurich, fondue-stuben.ch

The Refined Rendition | Auberge de Mont-Cornu
This charming chalet in the hills above La Chaux-de-Fonds in northwestern Switzerland is straight out of "Heidi." The house fondue is nuanced, using three kinds of Neuchâtel cheese (Jura, Vacherin and Chaux d'Abel) topped with savory whipped cream and cracked black pepper. The restaurant, in the Luthi family's 400-year-old house, also serves local meats and Swiss specialties such as rosti, a fried potato pancake. If it's warm, you can have your fondue in the garden overlooking cow and horse pastures. Closed until April, 2012. Mont-Cornu 116, La Chaux-de-Fonds

The Neighborhood Joint | Au Vieux Carouge
Located in a neighborhood of gingerbread-like houses and gourmet stores on the outskirts of Geneva, Au Vieux Carouge was founded by a husband-and-wife transplant from Valais 28 years ago. It is what a diner is to hamburgers—a down-home spot filled with locals who crowd around orange caquelons. The menu makes some concessions to modern versions of fondue: The Marseillaise is spiced with herbs and the Neu-Neu has pasta mixed in. The tomato version—the owner's favorite—is made with a homemade coulis. Rue Jacques-Dalphin 27, Carouge, 22-342-6498

The Quirky Canteen | Buvette des Bains
This lakeside Geneva eatery is housed in a converted public bathhouse that dates to the 1930s, with wood-burning stoves to keep diners warm. Don't expect white tablecloths—here you order your fondue outside and leave your name. A few minutes later, someone will bring you a bubbling pot to one of the long communal tables. They use local sparkling white wine instead of still wine, but it's actually a pinch of baking soda that keeps the dish so fluffy. The tools are more basic than at most places—regular forks stand in for long fondue utensils—but the crowds don't seem to care. 30 quai du Mont-Blanc, Geneva, buvettedesbains.ch

Write to Christina Passariello at christina.passariello@wsj.com

Melting Pots
Where to find exceptional fondue around the U.S.

Swiss Chalet | Vail, Colo.
Where better to indulge in a pot of molten cheese than beside the wintry slopes of a ski resort—in this case, Sonnenalp Resort of Vail? Located in the heart of Vail Village, Swiss Chalet's Alpine-style décor and an array of old-style fondues and raclettes transport you straight across the Atlantic.
20 Vail Rd., sonnenalp.com

Café Select | New York
In the winter months, the grotto-like back room of Serge Becker's sceney Swiss eatery is dedicated to a special fondue menu featuring four different cheese versions, plus raclette. For a fresh take, try the South of the Alps fondue with fresh and sun-dried tomatoes and olives.
212 Lafayette St., cafeselectnyc.com

Geja's Café | Chicago
This Lincoln Park stalwart has been in business since 1965, and is well known to locals for its extensive wine list, dimly lit romantic ambience and the city's purported best fondue. Geja's serves just one, classic Gruyère fondue, available as a main meal or as a prelude to a hot oil fondue course featuring lobster, beef and a variety of other meats of your choosing.
340 W. Armitage Ave., gejascafe.com

The Little Dipper | Wilmington, N.C.
Locals are in love with the convivial atmosphere—and signature cheddar ale fondue, prepared tableside—at this popular restaurant just steps from Cape Fear. For the cheese-averse, the menu features a large variety of non-fondue items as well.
138 S. Front St., littledipperfondue.com

Melt | San Francisco
The fondue at this quirky neighborhood café in North Beach garners praise for its beautifully thick, elastic consistency. Choose from Classic Neufchatel, Welsh Rarebit, Scrumpy Welsh Rarebit and Stout Rarebit versions prepared in two sizes. Most evenings, wall-projected films, open-mic nights or live music round out the experience.
700 Columbus Ave., melt-cafe.com

—Elizabeth Gunnison

Lady Gaga left 'blood' in hotel bath

2012-01-06T06:44:00.000-08:00

03 January 2012
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/news/lady-gaga-left-blood-in-hotel-bath-6284380.html

Lady Gaga allegedly left "large amounts of blood" in a hotel bath.

The eccentric singer reportedly shocked staff when she checked out of London's lavish Intercontinental Hotel last summer and they discovered a pool of red liquid in the tub of her suite.

One housekeeper claimed the pop superstar was "bathing in blood as part of a Satanic ritual".

She told website Truthquake: "Lady Gaga left large amounts of blood in the suite during a stay this summer. The incident was reported to the concierge, who was told to put it out of her mind."

Other sources believe Gaga could have been using the red liquid as part of a "weird" stage costume or prop.

An insider said: "All of the hotel's staff are convinced she was bathing in it or, at the very least, using it as part of one of her new costumes or weird stage routines."

While it is unclear whether the liquid actually was blood or what the singer had been using it for, it is not the first time Gaga has been accused of unusual behaviour in hotels.

It has previously been claimed that she is terrified of evil spirits and reportedly has every hotel and tour venue scanned by a team of paranormal investigators before she will agree to stay there.

The 'Edge of Glory' hitmaker - who has previously said she believes she is inspired by the spirit of her dead aunt - allegedly splashed out £30,000 on state of the art Electro Magnetic Field meters to detect spectres.

A source said: "She believes in paranormal activity and won't take any risks when she is on the road. It's important to her to be safe from spirits."

You Can Run But You Cannot Hide

2012-01-06T06:40:00.000-08:00

Here's a tasteful new product you can get from JusticeCoin.com:

September 11, 2001 - the terrible events of that day will live in infamy, but the United States would ensure that those responsible would pay the ultimate price. Finally, after 10 years our nation savored the taste of justice.

$19.95 plus $7.95 shipping

From Adbusters.org:

On one side it proclaims: “You can run but you cannot hide” etched above a golden image of Seal Team 6 – the kill squad who finally brought the elusive cat down. On the other side it reads: “Justice has been done” next to three iconic engravings of the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and Flight 93.

Konformist Book Club: Hard Target

2012-01-06T06:36:00.001-08:00

From HowardGordon.com:

Gideon Davis has settled into the quiet life of an academic and is weeks away from being married when he discovers evidence of an impending terrorist attack on U.S. soil. He brings his suspicions to his ex-girlfriend, FBI Agent Nancy Clement, but her bosses are leery of Gideon's source: a meth-head informant affiliated with a white supremacist group. When their informant is murdered before they can get more details from him, Gideon enlists his brother, Tillman — newly sprung from prison through a presidential pardon — to infiltrate a group of white supremacists who may be involved.

Together, Gideon and Tillman expose the audacious plan to eliminate the entire top tier of the U.S. government during a high-value, mass-casualty attack. With only Nancy's support, Gideon and Tillman go rogue to stop the powerful titan behind the conspiracy before the entire government is toppled.

Touchstone, January 2012
ISBN-10: 1439175829
ISBN-13: 978-1439175828

Amazon URL:

http://www.amazon.com/Hard-Target-ebook/dp/B004T4KRBU/thekonformist

YouTube Movie of the Week: F Is for Fake

2012-01-06T06:33:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2EZ9rFBRlI
Robalini's Note: Fans of the Banksy "documentary" Exit Through The Gift Shop will appreciate viewing this film by Orson Welles, another film that has its central appeal the authenticity of the supposed non-fiction telling of the story.

From YouTube:

F for Fake is the last major film completed by Orson Welles, who directed, co-wrote, and starred in the film. Initially released in 1974, it focuses on Elmyr de Hory's recounting of his career as a professional art forger; de Hory's story serves as the backdrop for a fast-paced, meandering investigation of the natures of authorship and authenticity, as well as the basis of the value of art. Loosely a documentary, the film operates in several different genres and has been described as a kind of film essay.

Far from serving as a traditional documentary on Elmyr de Hory, the film also incorporates Welles's companion Oja Kodar, notorious "hoax-biographer" Clifford Irving, and Orson Welles himself, in an autobiographical role.

Kool Website: Mr. Brainwash

2012-01-06T06:32:00.000-08:00

http://www.mrbrainwash.com/

Mr. Brainwash is the moniker of Los Angeles-based filmmaker and Pop artist Thierry Guetta. He has spent the better part of the last decade attempting to make the ultimate street art documentary. Meanwhile, inspired by his subjects, he started hitting the streets, from Los Angeles to Paris, with spray painted stencils and posters of his pop art inspired images.

He rapidly emerged as a renowned figure on the international street art scene. In June 2008, Mr. Brainwash made his art show debut with one of Los Angeles's most memorable solo exhibitions; Life is Beautiful, held at the historic CBS Studios on Sunset Boulevard. In addition to his widely recognized images, Life is Beautiful featured larger than life installations which included a 20-foot robot made of old televisions, a life-size recreation of Edward Hopper's Nighthawks and a pyramid made from 20,000 books. Originally scheduled to open for only two weeks, the exhibit was extended for three months, attracting more than 30,000 visitors.

Mr. Brainwash's work continued to garner recognition from art collectors and street-art enthusiasts alike. By 2009, Madonna approached him to design the cover of her greatest hits compilation entitled, Celebration. In addition to the CD album, Mr. Brainwash created 15 different covers for the accompanying vinyls, singles and DVD releases.

On February 14th 2010, Mr. Brainwash made his New York solo debut as he unveiled Icons, a 15,000 square-foot exhibition in the heart of Manhattan's Meatpacking District. The show featured paintings and silk screens of world icons, portraits of music legends constructed of broken records and large-scale sculptural installations such as a giant boom box and a NYC cab in a life-sized Matchbox packaging. The sold-out show was extended until early May 2010. Not only were major collectors acquiring Mr Brainwash's works but also prestigious auction houses including Christie's and Phillips.

Due to its overwhelming success, the show was extended until the end of September 2010 under the name ICONS REMIX. It featured the addition of 20 large-scale paintings using mixed media and sculptures made out of recycled tires, notably a life sized horse.

Considered as one of the most prolific and talked about artists of today, Mr. Brainwash is also the subject of Banksy's documentary "Exit Through The Gift Shop", which debuted at the Sundance Film Festival in January 2010. Using Guetta's street art footage, Banksy eventually turned the camera on the only man who ever filmed him. The collaboration resulted in a remarkable documentary that is part personal journey and part an exposé of the art world with its mind-altering mix of hot air and hype.

Mr. Brainwash ended 2010 with a bang by taking Miami Art Basel, the most important art fair in the US, by storm. Within 10 days, without any announcement or promotion, he turned a 25,000-square foot empty retail space in the heart of South Beach into another art spectacle entitled "Under Construction". Surrounded by cut-out Storm Troopers, and featuring a monster made out of traffic cones, the art show created an energy and excitement at the art festival and soon became the obligatory stop for collectors and art lovers during Art Basel. The show mixed the ever-evolving urban environment with Mr. Brainwash's trademark positive message and playful spirit. Show highlights include a giant 40 ft x 12 ft mixed media mural on canvas and the AmeriCAN flag made out of 1400 empty spray cans. After 4 days and thousand of visitors, Mr. Brainwash packed up Under Construction and left Miami almost as quickly as he arrived, in what some might call a successful art hit-and-run.

Will the year 2012 be an apocalyptic game-changer?

2012-01-06T06:26:00.000-08:00

Amid a swirl of science, hucksterism and genuine spiritual belief, prognosticators say Dec. 21, 2012, will usher in a new era of nonviolence and sustainability or bring about TEOTWAWKI — survivalist shorthand for The End of the World As We Know It.
Some believe 2012 is the end of a major cycle in the Maya calendar, with possibly fateful consequences.
Mitchell Landsberg, Los Angeles Times
mitchell.landsberg@latimes.com
January 1, 2012
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-apocalypse-20120101,0,66615.story

There are years that are remembered for changing the course of human history: 1492. 1776. 1945.

Then there are years that were predicted to change the course of history. 1844, when Judgment Day didn't materialize. 1910, when Halley's Comet didn't wipe out humanity. And remember Y2K?

But rarely does a year arrive with such a mixture of anticipation and dread as 2012.

We speak not of the presidential campaign but of the Maya calendar, and the projection that it — or, more accurately, a cycle within it — will end on Dec. 21, 2012. That date has kicked up a swirl of anticipation, based on science, pseudoscience, hucksterism and spiritual belief. The idea is that 2012 will be a game-changer, the last year of civilization as we know it.

The predictions range from the benign — that this will be a year of spiritual breakthrough, the beginning of a new era of nonviolence and sustainability — to the worst sort of disaster movie cataclysm. And the Maya calendar is just the start. A hodgepodge of other theories has sprung up around the same date.

There are groups who claim that an uncharted, unseen planet called Nibiru will strike Earth or nearly hit it; that the Earth's polarity will reverse (so that north is south and south is north), wreaking widespread havoc; or that solar storms will destroy civilization by disrupting power grids. Most of the predictions are timed to coincide with the "end" of the Maya calendar on Dec. 21, the winter solstice.

Although scientists and many Maya scholars insist that there is nothing to most of the predictions, the idea of 2012 as a watershed year "has gotten great traction," said John Hall, a sociologist at UC Davis who specializes in apocalyptic movements. Hall said he expects the frenzy will only grow over the next 12 months.

Already, survivalist websites are full of accounts of people preparing for the coming TEOTWAWKI — survivalist shorthand for The End of the World As We Know It. Mexico, Guatemala and Belize are getting ready for an upsurge in tourism to Maya ruins.

"They're expecting to do some serious business," said Gerardo Aldana, an expert in Maya history and hieroglyphics at UC Santa Barbara.

It would be difficult to estimate how many websites are devoted to the topic, some branching into seemingly arcane aspects of the 2012 phenomenon. "Try googling 'Maya calendar' and 'crop circles,'" said Richard Landes, a historian at Boston University who specializes in millennial and messianic movements. "You'll have enough to read for the rest of your life."

For many people, the run-up began in 2009 with the movie "2012," in which things go badly for Earth. Both before and since then, dozens of books have been written with titles such as "Apocalypse 2012: The Ticking of the End Time Clock," "2012: The Awakening" and "The Mystery of 2012: Predictions, Prophecies and Possibilities" (whose publisher, Sounds True Inc., might not inspire confidence).

There is debate about the origins of the 2012 phenomenon, but since the 1960s there have been references to 2012 as the end of a major cycle of the 5,100-year Maya "Long Count" calendar. Since at least the 1980s, the date has been fixed to Dec. 21, the winter solstice, which is said to coincide with an extremely rare "galactic alignment" of the sun and the center of the Milky Way galaxy.

There is dispute among Maya scholars about the date, however. While some believe it is accurate, Aldana contends the calculations used to align the Maya calendar with the Gregorian calendar (the one widely used today) were based on a misunderstanding and could be as much as 50 to 100 years off.

There appears to be widespread agreement among serious scholars, however, that the Mayas never intended for the end of the Long Count calendar (one of several Maya calendars) to signal the end of the world.

"It was like 2000," Aldana said. "It was the end of a millennium, but that didn't mean it was the end of the world."

And, to be fair, many proponents of the 2012 phenomenon predict not doom, but the dawn of a new and better era of human kinship with one another and the Earth.

In any event, scientists say the astronomical phenomena being predicted for 2012 are, for the most part, hooey.

"It's not astronomy, it's astrology," Don Yeomans, manager of NASA's Near-Earth Object Program, said during a recent speech at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in La Cañada Flintridge. He was referring to the idea of a "galactic alignment."

According to NASA astronomers, the Earth and sun are aligned with the center of the Milky Way every December, with no discernible trouble. NASA has also been quick to dismiss the other 2012 disaster scenarios, saying the planet Nibiru doesn't exist, and therefore cannot strike the Earth; that the north and south poles do, in fact, switch polarity every 400,000 years or so, but that this poses no particular danger and isn't expected any time soon; and that warnings of the effects of a solar storm are vastly exaggerated.

However, NASA has said that such storms do occur on the sun approximately every 11 years, with the next cycle occurring around 2012-13. Though most are benign, 2012 doomsayers point to a National Academy of Sciences report issued in 2008 that warned of a severe solar storm blindsiding the Earth someday, causing a calamity through geomagnetic surges that could knock out power and communications across wide areas.

Meanwhile, scientists complain, the Earth faces a much more likely threat: climate change. And there are, of course, other slow-moving disasters looming.

"There are real crises in the world," said Hall of UC Davis. "There's the environmental crisis. There's the threat of terrorism. There's the economic crisis. There are political upheavals. And in a way, this [2012 phenomenon] is a great distraction for people. And how odd it is that real events that we might be able to do something about are having disastrous effects, and people focus their attention on an event that isn't going to happen."

Robalini Gladiators

2012-01-06T06:21:00.000-08:00

"Kicking Ass Ten Yards at a Time..."

In 2010, Konformist.com did its first venture in sports sponsorship by backing the Robalini Gladiators fantasy football team in the Cantina Football League. (The league has as its headquarters the Paradise Cantina of Las Vegas, across the street from The Hard Rock Hotel, hence the league's name.) In 2011 the investment paid off: thanks to the adept drafting of Robert Sterling (the Gladiators owner and Konformist chief editor) the team dominated the 16-team league, going 13-2 and winning the league's title at Margarita Bowl II.

Key acquisitions in the draft: Drew Brees as the league's fourth pick, both Wes Welker and Larry Fitzgerald as wideouts, Sebastian Janikowski as kicker, and both the SF 49ers and Baltimore Ravens defenses. But the most important pick came in the seventh round, when the Gladiators took a chance on rookie Cam Newton, who combined with Brees pretty much made this championship team.

(If none of what I said makes any sense, it's because you aren't a fantasy football junkie, which means you have a life.)

The team was so successful that Konformist.com may demand a team name change to the Konformist Gladiators to keep the corporate sponsorship. In any case, to read more about the Gladiators, check out the URL below, and check out the 20-man roster over the season that contributed to this powerhouse. Go Glads!!!

http://football.fantasysports.yahoo.com/f1/732195/11

Starters
QB Drew Brees, New Orleans Saints
QB Cam Newton, Carolina Panthers
WR Wes Welker, New England Patriots
WR Larry Fitzgerald, Arizona Cardinals
WR Brandon Marshall, Miami Dolphins
RB Cedric Benson, Cincinnati Bengals
RB Donald Brown, Indianapolis Colts
TE Tony Gonzalez, Atlanta Falcons
K Sebastian Janikowski, Oakland Raiders
DEF San Francisco 49ers

Backups
QB Vince Young, Philadelphia Eagles
WR Michael Crabtree, San Francisco 49ers
WR Randall Cobb, Green Bay Packers
RB LaDainian Tomlinson, New York Jets
RB Stevan Ridley, New England Patriots
RB Carnell Williams, St. Louis Rams
RB Deji Karim, Jacksonville Jaguars
TE Jeremy Shockey, Carolina Panthers
K Ryan Longwell, Minnesota Vikings
DEF Baltimore Ravens

Adam Gorightly comes to ConspiraZine!

2012-01-06T06:17:00.000-08:00

Ron Patton
Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Adam Gorightly, prolific writer for Paranoia Magazine and radio host of Untamed Dimensions, will speak at Cafe Libertalia, home of ConspiraZine, on Saturday, January 28, from 5-7pm. Adam's presentation will focus on his new book, “Happy Trails To High Weirdness: A Conspiracy Theorists’ Tour Guide.”

This book details his many strange wanderings across the fruited plain, documenting UFO encounters, mind control conspiracies and assorted doppelgangers that go bump in the night. Adam will also attempt to seduce the listening audience and stimulate their pleasure centers with his groovy, ambient tunes.

After the presentation, we'll head across the street and drain some brews in preparation for a podcast interview with the Church of Mabus, starting at 8pm at ConspiraZine.

Date: Saturday, January 28, 5-7pm and live podcast at 8pm

Location: Cafe Libertalia, 3834 5th Ave., San Diego, CA 92103

Cost: Buy a delicious beverage.....and consider purchasing AG's outstanding book :)

Occupy the P.U.-litzers!

2012-01-06T06:13:00.000-08:00

12/27/11
http://www.fair.org/index.php?page=4451

This year has given us simply too many worthy contenders for FAIR's annual P.U.-litzers--recognizing the stinkiest journalism of the year. A big part of the problem was that so many outlets were striving to distinguish themselves with especially awful coverage of the Occupy Wall Street movement. So to note those lowlights, we bring you a special installment of P.U.-litzers: The OWS edition.

--Early Warning System Award: CNN's Wolf Blitzer

On September 19: "Protests here in New York on Wall Street entering a third day. Should New Yorkers be worried at all about what's going on?"

--We Could Do It Better Award: New York Times' Ginia Bellafante

Under the headline "Gunning for Wall Street, With Faulty Aim" (9/23/11), Bellafante turned in the quintessential corporate media dismissal of progressive protests. The reporter discovered "a default ambassador in a half-naked woman...with a marked likeness to Joni Mitchell and a seemingly even stronger wish to burrow through the space-time continuum and hunker down in 1968."

The movement's cause "was virtually impossible to decipher," Bellafante complained, slamming [it] for "lack of cohesion and its apparent wish to pantomime progressivism rather than practice it knowledgeably." And who has more knowledge about grassroots progressive activism than the New York Times.

--What's News Award: NPR's Dick Meyer; Washington Post

Asked to explain NPR's non-coverage of OWS, executive editor Meyer said (NPR.org, 9/26/11): "The recent protests on Wall Street did not involve large numbers of people, prominent people, a great disruption or an especially clear objective."

And the massive demonstrations around the world October 15th made it onto the front page of the next day's Washington Post--in the form of a lower right-hand corner blurb approximately one column inch long, directing people to page A20 to find news about protests in "more than 900 cities in Europe, Africa and Asia."

--Channeling Glenn Beck Award: Reuters

Under the headline (10/13/11) "Who's Behind the Wall Street Protests," the news agency provided an answer straight from one of Glenn Beck's conspiratorial chalk boards:

One name that keeps coming up is investor George Soros, who in September debuted in the top 10 list of wealthiest Americans. Conservative critics contend the movement is a Trojan horse for a secret Soros agenda.

Who exactly is bringing up Soros' name? Reuters names one slightly less than credible source: right-wing talker Rush Limbaugh. But Reuters did its own digging, going on to suggest "indirect financial links" between Soros and the group Adbusters, which issued the original call for the Occupy protest. The links were mostly figments of the right-wing imagination, as even some Reuters reporters pointed out. Reuters eventually changed the headline to "Soros: Not a Funder of Wall Street Protests."

--The Suites to the Streets Award: New York Times' Andrew Ross Sorkin

The Times star business writer (10/4/11) did little to dispel critics who say he's too close to his Wall Street sources by admitting that he checked out the protests--after a banker told him to:

I had gone down to Zuccotti Park to see the activist movement firsthand after getting a call from the chief executive of a major bank last week, before nearly 700 people were arrested over the weekend during a demonstration on the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Is this Occupy Wall Street thing a big deal?" the CEO asked me. I didn't have an answer. "We're trying to figure out how much we should be worried about all of this," he continued, clearly concerned. "Is this going to turn into a personal safety problem?"

As I wandered around the park, it was clear to me that most bankers probably don't have to worry about being in imminent personal danger. This didn’t seem like a brutal group--at least not yet.

--Those Facts Are Biased Award: WNYC's Takeaway

Web producer Caitlin Curran was photographed at an OWS protest holding a sign that said this:

It's wrong to create a mortgage-backed security filled with loans you know are going to fail so that you can sell it to a client who isn't aware that you sabotaged it by intentionally picking the misleadingly rated loans most likely to be defaulted upon.

Curran was promptly fired by the New York public radio station for her flagrant violation of journalistic objectivity. Who could trust a journalist who took a far-out radical position like that?

--Timeless Cliches Award: Washington Post's Charles Krauthammer

"Starbucks-sipping, Levi's-clad, iPhone-clutching protesters denounce corporate America even as they weep for Steve Jobs," wrote Post columnist Krauthammer (10/14/11), maligning the protesters as "indigant indolents saddled with their $50,000 student loans and English degrees" whose policy proposal boils down to "eat the rich."

--We Smell a Rat Award: Washington Post

November 16: "Is this an occupation or an infestation?"

--Fact Check Failure Award: CNN's Erin Burnett

New CNN host Burnett decided on her debut program (10/3/11) to fact check the Occupy Wall Street protests. Declaring that that the protesters "did not know" why they were there, adding that "it seems like people want a messiah leader, just like they did when they anointed Barack Obama." Burnett quizzed one protester: "So do you know that taxpayers actually made money on the Wall Street bailout?" Burnett assured viewers this was true--"right now to the tune of $10 billion.... This was the big issue, so we solved it."

A few problems: The TARP bailout is not "the big issue" for OWS, and it's odd to think that people should feel good that big banks were about to turn low-interest government loans into profits. And the total cost of the various bank rescue policies run into the trillions of dollars (Bloomberg News, 8/22/11). But, yes, those protesters sure don't know what they're talking about.

--Tabloid-Style Dignity Award: New York Post

The front page of Rupert Murdoch's New York Post (11/4/11), urging a crackdown on Occupy Wall Street, proclaimed: "Enough! Mr. Mayor, It Is Time to Reclaim Zuccotti Park--and New York's Dignity." This on the same front page that recently declared (8/10/11), "Crazy Stox Like a Hooker’s Drawers--Up, Down, Up." Another cover (10/27/09) photoshopped a skirt onto a Phillies baseball player with a line about the "Frillies" coming to town. And who could forget the Iraq War classic (2/14/03), "UN Meets: Weasels to Hear New Iraq Evidence," with animal heads superimposed onto the representatives from France and Germany? That's the New York Post for you: Always dignified.

--Clueless and Repugnant Award: Washington Post's Richard Cohen

After the Post columnist visited the New York protests, he wrote a column (10/24/11) defending the group against bogus charges of anti-Semitism. But he had plenty of other things to say about OWS. To Cohen, "their slogans suggest a tired socialism that is as repugnant to me as the felonious capitalism that produced the mortgage bubble and the impoverishment of millions of Americans." Cohen was just getting warmed up. The protests are "a destination for the aimless...a tourist attraction with the usual vendors, the usual zaftig young women doing the usual arrhythmic dance, somehow missing the beat of many drums."

Occupy Wall Street is "an incoherent articulation of anger...above all, a conspiracy to have left-leaning writers make jackasses of themselves by imparting grave and grand meaning to what is little more than a vast sleepover." But no anti-Semitism.

Venezuela Wins Against Exxon Mobil Frivolous Lawsuit

2012-01-06T06:12:00.000-08:00

From LATimes.com:
Venezuela to pay Exxon Mobil only $255 million of ruling
State oil company Petroleos de Venezuela says debts and court action reduce an award of nearly $908 million by the International Chamber of Commerce.
Associated Press
January 2, 2012
http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-exxon-20120102,0,5269113.story

Venezuela said Monday that it has successfully defended itself in an international arbitration case brought by Exxon Mobil Corp. and will need to pay only $255 million of nearly $908 million awarded to the company.

State oil company Petroleos de Venezuela, or PDVSA, said in a statement that debts and court action reduce what it owes under the ruling by the International Chamber of Commerce.

PDVSA said Exxon Mobil had previously used international courts to freeze about $300 million in Venezuela's U.S. accounts and that the company also has a debt of about $191 million related to the financing of an oil project in the country, as well as $160 million that the arbitration tribunal said was owed to PDVSA.

PDVSA called it a "successful defense" and said Exxon Mobil had initially demanded about $12 billion in compensation.

There was no immediate response from the Irving, Texas, oil company. It confirmed the international chamber's decision Sunday, saying the arbitration body found that PDVSA "does have a contractual liability to Exxon Mobil."

Exxon Mobil sought arbitration after President Hugo Chavez's government nationalized an oil project in the country in 2007.

PDVSA said that Exxon Mobil's compensation demands had been "completely exaggerated."

"After four years of arbitration, the real amount determined by the ICC tribunal indeed represents less than the exorbitant sum initially demanded," PDVSA said in the statement.

Exxon Mobil still has another arbitration case pending against Venezuela before the World Bank-affiliated International Center for Settlement of Investment Disputes.

PDVSA said that Venezuela "will take all necessary steps to defend itself" in that case as well.

More than a dozen other arbitration cases involving Venezuela are pending as companies have sought billions of dollars in compensation in response to nationalizations by Chavez's leftist government.

75 Years Ago Today, the First Occupy

2012-01-06T06:08:00.000-08:00

Michael Moore December 30th, 2011
http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/mike-friends-blog/75-years-ago-today-first-occupy

On this day, December 30th, in 1936 -- 75 years ago today -- hundreds of workers at the General Motors factories in Flint, Michigan, took over the facilities and occupied them for 44 days. My uncle was one of them.

The workers couldn't take the abuse from the corporation any longer. Their working conditions, the slave wages, no vacation, no health care, no overtime -- it was do as you're told or get tossed onto the curb.

So on the day before New Year's Eve, emboldened by the recent re-election of Franklin Roosevelt, they sat down on the job and refused to leave.

They began their Occupation in the dead of winter. GM cut off the heat and water to the buildings. The police tried to raid the factories several times, to no avail. Even the National Guard was called in.

But the workers held their ground, and after 44 days, the corporation gave in and recognized the UAW as the representative of the workers. It was a monumental historical moment as no other major company had ever been brought to its knees by their employees. Workers were given a raise to a dollar an hour -- and successful strikes and occupations spread like wildfire across the country. Finally, the working class would be able to do things like own their own homes, send their children to college, have time off and see a doctor without having to worry about paying. In Flint, Michigan, on this day in 1936, the middle class was born.

But 75 years later, the owners and elites have regained all power and control. I can think of no better way for us to honor the original Occupiers than by all of us participating in the Occupy Wall Street movement in whatever form that takes in each of our towns. We need direct action all winter long if we are to prevail. You can start your own Occupy group in your neighborhood or school or with just your friends. Speak out against economic injustice at every chance you get. Stop the bank from evicting the family down the block. Move your checking and credit card to a community bank or credit union. Place a sign in your yard -- and get your neighbors to do it also -- that says, "WE ARE THE 99%." (You can download signs here and here.)

Do something, anything, but don't remain silent. Not now. This is the moment. It won't come again.

75 years ago today, in Flint, Michigan, the people said they'd had enough and occupied the factories until they won. What is stopping us now? The rich have one plan: bleed everyone dry. Can anyone, in good conscience, be a bystander to this?

My uncle wasn't, and because of what he and others did, I got to grow up without having to worry about a roof over my head or medical bills or a decent life. And all that was provided by my dad who built spark plugs on a GM assembly line.

Let's each of us double our efforts to raise a ruckus, Occupy Everywhere, and get creative as we throw a major nonviolent wrench into this system of Greed. Let's make the politicians running for office in 2012 quake in their boots if they refuse to tax the rich, regulate Wall Street and do whatever we the people tell them to do.

Happy 75th!

Vote Obama – if you want a centrist Republican for US president

2012-01-06T06:02:00.000-08:00

Because Barack Obama has adopted so many core Republican beliefs, the US opposition race is a shambles
Glenn Greenwald
guardian.co.uk, Tuesday 27 December 2011
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/dec/27/vote-obama-centrist-republican

American presidential elections are increasingly indistinguishable from the reality TV competitions drowning the nation's airwaves. Both are vapid, personality-driven and painfully protracted affairs, with the winners crowned by virtue of their ability to appear slightly more tolerable than the cast of annoying rejects whom the public eliminates one by one. When, earlier this year, America's tawdriest (and one of its most-watched) reality TV show hosts, Donald Trump, inserted himself into the campaign circus as a threatened contestant, he fitted right in, immediately catapulting to the top of audience polls before announcing he would not join the show.

The Republican presidential primaries – shortly to determine who will be the finalist to face off, and likely lose, against Barack Obama next November – has been a particularly base spectacle. That the contest has devolved into an embarrassing clown show has many causes, beginning with the fact that GOP voters loathe Mitt Romney, their belief-free, anointed-by-Wall-Street frontrunner who clearly has the best chance of defeating the president.

In a desperate attempt to find someone less slithery and soulless (not to mention less Mormon), party members have lurched manically from one ludicrous candidate to the next, only to watch in horror as each wilted the moment they were subjected to scrutiny. Incessant pleas to the party's ostensibly more respectable conservatives to enter the race have been repeatedly rebuffed. Now, only Romney remains viable. Republican voters are thus slowly resigning themselves to marching behind a vacant, supremely malleable technocrat whom they plainly detest.

In fairness to the much-maligned GOP field, they face a formidable hurdle: how to credibly attack Obama when he has adopted so many of their party's defining beliefs. Depicting the other party's president as a radical menace is one of the chief requirements for a candidate seeking to convince his party to crown him as the chosen challenger. Because Obama has governed as a centrist Republican, these GOP candidates are able to attack him as a leftist radical only by moving so far to the right in their rhetoric and policy prescriptions that they fall over the cliff of mainstream acceptability, or even basic sanity.

In July, the nation's most influential progressive domestic policy pundit, New York Times columnist Paul Krugman, declared that Obama is a "moderate conservative in practical terms". Last October, he wrote that "progressives who had their hearts set on Obama were engaged in a huge act of self-delusion", because the president – "once you get past the soaring rhetoric" – has "largely accepted the conservative storyline".

Krugman also pointed out that even the policy Democratic loyalists point to as proof of the president's progressive bona fides – his healthcare plan, which mandates the purchase of policies from the private health insurance industry – was designed by the Heritage Foundation, one of the nation's most rightwing thinktanks, and was advocated by conservative ideologues for many years (it also happens to be the same plan Romney implemented when he was governor of Massachusetts and which Newt Gingrich once promoted, underscoring the difficulty for the GOP in drawing real contrasts with Obama).

How do you scorn a president as a far-left socialist when he has stuffed his administration with Wall Street executives, had his last campaign funded by them, governed as a "centrist Republican", and presided over booming corporate profits even while the rest of the nation suffered economically?

But as slim as the pickings are for GOP candidates on the domestic policy front, at least there are some actual differences in that realm. The president's 2009 stimulus spending and Wall Street "reform" package – tepid and inadequate though they were – are genuinely at odds with rightwing dogma, as are Obama's progressive (albeit inconsistent) positions on social issues, such as equality for gay people and protecting a woman's right to choose. And the supreme court, perpetually plagued by a 5-4 partisan split, would be significantly affected by the outcome of the 2012 election.

It is in the realm of foreign policy, terrorism and civil liberties where Republicans encounter an insurmountable roadblock. A staple of GOP politics has long been to accuse Democratic presidents of coddling America's enemies (both real and imagined), being afraid to use violence, and subordinating US security to international bodies and leftwing conceptions of civil liberties.

But how can a GOP candidate invoke this time-tested caricature when Obama has embraced the vast bulk of George Bush's terrorism policies; waged a war against government whistleblowers as part of a campaign of obsessive secrecy; led efforts to overturn a global ban on cluster bombs; extinguished the lives not only of accused terrorists but of huge numbers of innocent civilians with cluster bombs and drones in Muslim countries; engineered a covert war against Iran; tried to extend the Iraq war; ignored Congress and the constitution to prosecute an unauthorised war in Libya; adopted the defining Bush/Cheney policy of indefinite detention without trial for accused terrorists; and even claimed and exercised the power to assassinate US citizens far from any battlefield and without due process?

Reflecting this difficulty for the GOP field is the fact that former Bush officials, including Dick Cheney, have taken to lavishing Obama with public praise for continuing his predecessor's once-controversial terrorism polices. In the last GOP foreign policy debate, the leading candidates found themselves issuing recommendations on the most contentious foreign policy question (Iran) that perfectly tracked what Obama is already doing, while issuing ringing endorsements of the president when asked about one of his most controversial civil liberties assaults (the due-process-free assassination of the American-Yemeni cleric Anwar Awlaki). Indeed, when it comes to the foreign policy and civil liberties values Democrats spent the Bush years claiming to defend, the only candidate in either party now touting them is the libertarian Ron Paul, who vehemently condemns Obama's policies of drone killings without oversight, covert wars, whistleblower persecutions, and civil liberties assaults in the name of terrorism.

In sum, how do you demonise Obama as a terrorist-loving secret Muslim intent on empowering US enemies when he has adopted, and in some cases extended, what was rightwing orthodoxy for the last decade? The core problem for GOP challengers is that they cannot be respectable Republicans because, as Krugman pointed out, Obama has that position occupied. They are forced to move so far to the right that they render themselves inherently absurd.

Robalini's Week 18 NFL Picks

2012-01-06T05:56:00.000-08:00

Here's my results for week 17 W-L-T record: 5-4-2
Final regular season record: 73-60-7

A final regular season winning percentage of 55%. Pretty good...

So here are my Wild Card Playoff round picks:

Houston Texans (-3) Over Cincinnati Bengals

The Bengals are 9-3 against teams not named the Steelers or Ravens, so on that basis they would look to be a good bet. Except look at their resume: there isn't a victory against a single playoff team. And though I've been betting against the Texans, they've done good enough without Matt Schaub (thanks to good play by T.J. Yates, a great rushing attack lead by Arian Foster, and solid defensive play) for me to be confident they can win a playoff game at home...

New Orleans Saints (-10 1/2) Over Detroit Lions

I've been a fan of the Lions all year, and I will say right now (barring the unforseen) they are pick to win the Super Bowl in 2013. But this is 2012, and they just aren't there yet. Especially against a team as explosively hot as the Saints. Yes, the point spread is high, but Drew Brees is even more frightening to face right now than Aaron Rodgers...

New York Giants (-3) Over Atlanta Falcons

The Falcons look actually more solid than they did in 2010 when they were 13-3, and they've proven they are going to be in Super Bowl contention for awhile. But the Giants are hot: Eli Manning is playing better than I've ever seen, their defense is intimidating, and they are playing at home in New York. They probably won't repeat their 2007 Super Bowl success, but they should win this game and be a very serious threat next week against the Packers...

Pittsburgh Steelers (-8) Over Denver Broncos

I've been a Tim Tebow supporter all season, but with a three-game losing streak entering the playoffs (with Tebow playing horribly the last two weeks) it doesn't look good for the Broncos. The Steelers will shut Tebow down, period. The only question is how potent the Steeler offense will be on the road. Ben Roethlisberger has played great this year (only Tom Brady has been a better AFC QB this year) but he's been hurt the last four weeks and it shows. They've scored only 30 points in his last three starts, and two of those games were against the 4-12 Browns. (I almost think they should let the competently efficient backup Charlie Batch start.) Still, I'll stick with Pittsburgh crushing the Broncos on the road with Big Ben taking it up a notch...

All bets are placed at Station Casinos:

http://www.stationcasinos.com/

To check Las Vegas odds, The Konformist recommends VegasInsider.com:

http://www.vegasinsider.com/

Stoner Cooking 1-5-12

2012-01-05T10:17:00.001-08:00

Mini "Mimosas"
http://www.kraftbrands.com/Jello/recipe.aspx?ID=129224

WHAT YOU NEED
1/4 cup boiling water
1 pkg. (3 oz.) JELL-O Orange Flavor Gelatin
1/3 cup cold club soda
2 fresh strawberries, each cut crosswise into 5 slices

PREP TIME 10 min
(plus refrigerating) MAKES 10 servings

MAKE IT

1 Add boiling water to gelatin mix in small bowl; stir 2 min. until completely dissolved. Stir in club soda.

2 Place strawberries in 10 (2-oz.) plastic cups sprayed with cooking spray; fill with gelatin. Refrigerate 1 hour or until firm.

3 Unmold before serving.

Substitute boiling orange juice for the boiling water.

Variation

Cut each strawberry into 5 wedges instead of slicing it. Prepare gelatin mixture as directed; pour into 2-oz. plastic cups sprayed with cooking spray. Refrigerate 10 min. Insert strawberry wedge into gelatin in each cup. Refrigerate 1 hour or until firm.

*

Monster Pops recipe - Even picky eaters will enjoy this raw, green treat
Christy Pooschke
Saturday, December 17, 2011
http://www.naturalnews.com/034423_frozen_desserts_recipe.html

Unlike most store-bought popsicles which contain little to zero nutrition and an over-dose of toxic ingredients like corn syrup and artificial colors, this homemade version packs a nutritional punch! This recipe also provides a convenient and sneaky way to get even the pickiest eaters to enjoy spinach without plugging their noses! Imagine the satisfaction you'll get from transforming a typical junk food into one of the healthiest options in your freezer!

These homemade popsicles are made from 100% fresh fruits and vegetables, so they are a great option for a sweet but healthy snack or dessert! Spinach is one of the main ingredients, and it's a great source of fiber, potassium and iron. The spinach also makes these popsicles a fun, bright-green color! (If you prefer to make a different color, try adding some berries to create red or purple pops!) Fresh pineapple, bananas and freshly-squeezed orange juice complete the ingredients list of this recipe, and they cleverly disguise the taste of the spinach while adding even more potassium, vitamin C and calcium to these treats.

If your picky eaters don't like spinach, you shouldn't let them watch you make this recipe the first time. You may or may not choose to reveal the ingredients to them after they've enjoyed the flavor. It's also useful to name these pops something fun when serving them to children. The "Monster Pops" name used here plays up the fact that they are green. "Popeye Pops" is another great name, highlighting the spinach ingredient! Either way, your picky eaters will soon be bragging to their friends about how much they enjoy eating their spinach!

"Monster Pops" Recipe
1 cup fresh baby spinach, packed tightly
2 cups fresh pineapple
2 medium ripe bananas
1/2 cup freshly-squeezed orange juice (about 2 Valencia oranges)

Place the ingredients in a blender in the order listed above. Blend until smooth, stopping to scrape the sides and "plunge" the ingredients into the blade as needed. (Note: The popsicles will taste much sweeter once they are frozen, so don't be discouraged if the flavor of the blended mixture doesn't appeal to you. Sweetness will also vary depending upon the ripeness of the fruit, so use the ripest pineapple and bananas available.) Pour into popsicle molds and freeze for at least 4 hours until solid. Depending on the molds used, you may need to run hot water on the outside of each pop for about 10 seconds to loosen from the mold before eating. This recipe makes 6 four-ounce pops. Enjoy!

About the author:

Christy Pooschke is the author of "Eating Additive-Free" - a natural cookbook and shopping guide! If you want to eat less processed food but aren't sure what to buy or what to eat instead, then this book is for you! Hard copy and e-book versions are available for purchase on her website at GroceryGeek.com. Christy also blogs regularly on her website to teach consumers how to reduce their reliance on processed food, and she offers personal consultations for folks who desire a more individualized approach, as well!

Check out her blog to learn how to shop for and prepare additive-free, natural foods. You'll love the FREE recipes, shopping tips and videos! Subscribe to "Grocery Geek" via email on the site's main page or follow "Grocery Geek" on Facebook!

Christy's passion for eating REAL food was sparked in 2007 when she eliminated her Fibromyalgia symptoms through diet and lifestyle changes. Until this time, she had been ingesting a Standard American Diet of boxed dinners, soda pop, candy and fast food; and she was very ill. Since regaining her health with an additive-free diet, Christy has been on a mission to educate others about the dangers lurking in their cabinets and to help them achieve maximum health by reducing their reliance on processed foods.

In her free time, Christy operates Completely Nourished, Inc., a non-profit organization she founded to educate folks about natural foods, natural health and natural living. Check out the resources, recipes and online community available at www.CompletelyNourished.org. It's free!

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Chorizo and Roasted Pepper Pizza
http://www.realsimple.com/food-recipes/browse-all-recipes/chorizo-roasted-pepper-pizza-00100000067021/

Serves 3| Hands-On Time: 10m | Total Time: 25m

Ingredients
2 ounces Spanish chorizo (cured sausage), thinly sliced
1/2 cup sliced roasted red peppers
1 13- to 15-ounce frozen cheese pizza
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Directions
1. Scatter the chorizo and peppers over the still-frozen pizza and bake according to the package directions. Sprinkle with the parsley.

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Delicious Meals for $3 or Less!
Southern Living
http://shine.yahoo.com/shine-food/delicious-meals-3-less-150700263.html

Fresh Vegetable Lasagna: $3 per serving

Ingredients
4 medium zucchini, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced (about 1 1/2 lb.)
1 (8-oz.) package sliced fresh mushrooms
2 garlic cloves, minced
Vegetable cooking spray
1 medium-size red bell pepper, chopped
1 medium-size yellow bell pepper, chopped
1 yellow onion chopped
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 cups fat-free ricotta cheese
1 large egg
2 cups (8 oz.) shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese, divided
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, divided
5 cups Basic Marinara Sauce (use our recipe or premade sauce)
1 (8-oz.) package no-boil lasagna noodles

Basic Marinara Sauce
Sauté 3 cups chopped yellow onions in 3 Tbsp. hot olive oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat 5 minutes or until tender. Add 1 Tbsp. sugar, 3 minced garlic cloves, 5 tsp. freshly ground Italian seasoning, and 2 tsp. salt; sauté 1 minute. Stir in 2 Tbsp. balsamic vinegar; cook 30 seconds. Add 2 cups low-sodium fat-free vegetable broth and 3 (28-oz.) cans no-salt-added crushed tomatoes. Bring to a boil; reduce heat to low, and simmer, stirring occasionally, 55 minutes or until sauce thickens.

Preparation
Preheat oven to 450°. Bake zucchini, mushrooms, and garlic in a jelly-roll pan coated with cooking spray 12 to 14 minutes or until vegetable are crisp-tender, stirring halfway through. Repeat procedure with bell peppers and onion. Reduce oven temperature to 350°. Toss together vegetables and salt in a bowl.

Stir together ricotta, egg, 1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, and 1/4 cups grated Parmesan cheese.

Spread 1 cup Basic Marinara Sauce in a 13- a 9-inch baking dish coated with cooking spray. Top with 3 noodles, 1 cup sauce, one-third ricotta mixture, and one-third vegetable mixture; repeat layers twice, beginning with 3 noodles. Top with remaining noodles and 1 cup sauce. Sprinkle with remaining 1/2 cup shredded mozzarella and 1/4 cup grated Parmesan.

Bake, covered, at 350° for 45 minutes. Uncover and bake 10 to 15 more minutes or until cheese is melted and golden. Let stand 10 minutes.

Hearty Italian Soup: $2.50 per serving

Ingredients
1 (16-oz.) package mild Italian sausage
2 tsp. olive oil
1 large onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 (48-oz.) container chicken broth
2 (15-oz.) cans cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
2 (14.5-oz.) cans diced tomatoes
1 tsp. dried Italian seasoning
1 (5-oz.) package baby spinach
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
Freshly shaved Parmesan cheese

Preparation

Cook sausage in hot oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat 7 to 8 minutes on each side or until browned. Remove sauce from Dutch oven, reserving drippings in Dutch oven. Sauté onion in hot drippings 3 minutes or until tender. Add garlic, and sauté 1 minute. Cut sausage into 1/4-inch-thick slices, and return to Dutch oven.

Stir chicken broth and next 3 ingredients into sausage mixture; bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer 25 minutes.

Stir in spinach and next 2 ingredients; cook, stirring occasionally, 5 to 6 minutes or until spinach is wilted. Top each serving with Parmesan cheese.

Kentucky Hot Browns: $3 per serving

Ingredients
4 thick white bread slices
3/4 lb. roasted turkey

Mornay Sauce
1 cup (4-oz.) shredded Parmesan cheese
3 plum tomatoes, sliced
8 bacon slices, cooked

Mornay Sauce
Melt 1/2 cup butter in a 3-qt. saucepan over medium-high heat. Whisk in 1/3 cup all-purpose flour; cook, whisking constantly, 1 minute. Gradually whisk in 3 1/2 cups milk. Bring to a boil, and cook, whisking constantly, 1 to 2 minutes or until thickened. Whisk in 1/2 cup (2-oz.) shredded Parmesan cheese, 1/4 tsp. salt, and 1/4 tsp. pepper.

Preparation

Preheat broiler with oven rack 6 inches from heat. Place bread slices on a baking sheet and broil 1 to 2 minutes on each side or until toasted.

Arrange bread slices in 4 lightly greased broiler-safe individual baking dishes. Top bread with turkey slices. Pour hot Mornay Sauce over turkey. Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.

Broil 6 inches from heat 3 to 4 minutes or until bubbly and lightly browned; remove from oven. Top sandwiches with tomatoes and bacon. Serve immediately.

Chicken-and-Brisket Brunswick Stew: $2.75 per serving

Ingredients
2 large onions, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tsp. vegetable oil
1 1/2 Tbsp. jarred beef soup base
2 lb. skinned and boned chicken breasts
1 (28-oz.) can fire-roasted crushed tomatoes
1 (12-oz.) package frozen white shoepeg or whole kernel corn
1 (10-oz.) package frozen cream-style corn, thawed
1 (9-oz.) package frozen lima beans
1 (12-oz.) bottle chili sauce
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 Tbsp. yellow mustard
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1/2 tsp. coarsely ground pepper
1 lb. chopped barbecued beef brisket (without sauce)
1 Tbsp. freshly lemon juice
Hot sauce (optional)

Preparation

Sauté onions and garlic in hot oil in a 7.5-qt. Dutch oven over medium-high heat 3 to 5 minutes or until tender.

Stir together beef soup base and 2 cups water, and add to Dutch oven. Stir in chicken and next 9 ingredients. Bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook, stirring occasionally, 2 hours.

Uncover and shred chicken into large pieces using 2 forks. Stir in brisket and lemon juice. Cover and cook 10 minutes. Serve with hot sauce, if desired.

Stovetop Chicken Pie: $3 per serving

Ingredients
8 frozen buttermilk biscuits
1 small sweet onion, diced
1 Tbsp. canola oil
1 (8-oz.) package sliced fresh mushrooms
4 cups chopped cooked chicken
1 (10 3/4-oz.) can reduced-fat cream of mushroom soup
1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/2 (8-oz.) package 1/3-less at cream cheese, cubed
1/2 (0.7-oz.) envelope Italian dressing mix (about 2 tsp.)
1 cup frozen baby peas, thawed

Preparation
Bake biscuits according to package directions.

Meanwhile, sauté onion in hot oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat 5 minutes or until golden. Add mushrooms, and sauté 5 minutes or until tender. Stir in chicken and next 5 ingredients; cook, stirring frequently, 5 minutes or until cheese is melted and mixture is thoroughly heated. Stir in peas, and cook 2 minutes. Spoon chicken mixture over hot split biscuits.

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Thai Chicken Wings with Peanut Sauce
Better Homes and Gardens
http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/food/recipes/thai-chicken-wings-with-peanut-sauce-540253/

cook time: 2 hrs 30 mins
servings: 12

These sweet Thai drummies are great as an appetizer at home or made in bulk for a party. A slow cooker makes cooking the wings a little easier. A lively mix of flavors including ginger, garlic, and soy give a spice to sweet, smooth peanut butter. A touch of hot pepper will give these wings a little more zing.

24 chicken wing drummettes (about 2-1/4 pounds)
1/2 cup bottled salsa
2 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
1 tablespoon lime juice
2 teaspoons soy sauce
2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger
1/4 cup no-calorie, heat-stable, granular sugar substitute (Splenda)
1/4 cup creamy peanut butter
3 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons water
2 cloves garlic, minced

directions

Place chicken in a 3-1/2- or 4-quart slow cooker. Combine salsa, the 2 tablespoons peanut butter, the lime juice, the 2 teaspoons soy sauce, and the ginger. Pour over chicken wings. Toss to coat.
Cover and cook on low-heat setting for 5 to 6 hours or on high-heat setting for 2-1/2 to 3 hours.
Meanwhile, for the peanut sauce, in a small saucepan use a whisk to combine sugar substitute, the 1/4 cup peanut butter, the 3 tablespoons soy sauce, the water, and garlic. Heat over medium-low heat until mixture is smooth, whisking occasionally; set aside (mixture will thicken as it cools).
Drain chicken, discard cooking liquid. Return chicken to slow cooker. Gently stir in peanut sauce. Keep warm on low-heat setting for up to 2 hours. Makes 12 servings (2 pieces per serving).

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Battered Fried Clams
http://www.food.com/recipe/battered-fried-clams-115269

These fried clams are nothing like the ones you find frozen in the supermarket, these are the real McCoy. I like to serve them with my KFC Coleslaw, chips, or onion rings and french fries and of course tartar sauce is an absolute must!

2-4 Servings

1/2 cup milk
1 egg yolk
1 tablespoon butter, melted and cooled
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 egg white
1 pint shucked clam, rinsed and well drained
oil (for deep frying)
tartar sauce, for dipping

Directions:
1 In a medium sized bowl mix milk, egg yolk, butter, and salt. Sift the flour into the milk mixture stir until smooth. In a small chilled bowl beat the egg white with an electric mixer until soft peaks form. (For best results: refrigerate the bowl, mixer blade and egg white prior to mixing) Fold the beaten egg white into the milk mixture.

2 In a large saucepan or deep fat fryer heat oil to 375'. Poke each clam with fork. Dip clams into the batter. Fry a few at a time around 1-1/2 minutes or until golden brown, turning once. Remove with slotted spoon, drain on paper towels or on brown paper bags. Keep warm in a 300' oven while frying the remaining clams.

3 Serve with tartar sauce.

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Eggplant With Pasta
Adapted from Leslie Bruni
http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2011/12/21/dining/20111221-holiday.html

Time: 1 hour 15 minutes

Salt

1 pound penne or mezzani

4 1/2 cups Italian tomato sauce (use recipe at nytimes.com/dining or own sauce), heated

1/4 cup olive oil, or as needed

2 large eggs

1/2 cup flour

2 large firm eggplants, peeled and thinly sliced crosswise

3/4 cup grated Romano cheese, plus more for serving.

1. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Set aside a large heatproof colander placed over a plate or bowl. Set aside a shallow 9-inch-by-12-inch baking dish. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil.

2. Add the pasta and cook until al dente, about 6 to 8 minutes. Drain well, return to the pot, and add 1 cup tomato sauce, mixing well. Set aside.

3. Place a large skillet over medium-high heat and add the oil. While the oil is heating, place the eggs, 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1 tablespoon water in a wide, shallow bowl, and beat with a fork until blended. Place the flour in another wide, shallow bowl.

4. Dip each eggplant slice first in egg and then in flour, coating both sides. Working in batches, fry the slices until golden brown, about 2 minutes a side, then transfer to the colander for the oil to drain. Add oil as needed.

5. Cover the bottom of the baking dish with about 1 cup tomato sauce. Arrange slightly overlapping slices of eggplant on the sauce to cover it completely. Sprinkle with 3 tablespoons of the cheese, and dot with additional tomato sauce. Add half the prepared, sauced pasta, spreading it evenly, and cover with remaining eggplant slices. Sprinkle again with 3 tablespoons of the cheese and dot with tomato sauce.

6. Cover with remaining sauced pasta. Top with 3 tablespoons cheese and cover evenly with remaining tomato sauce, or up to 1 cup. Sprinkle with remaining 3 tablespoons cheese. Cover with foil, crimping it so it rests above the top layer without touching it. Bake until hot and bubbling, 30 to 50 minutes. Let it rest for a few minutes before cutting into squares for serving. Pass additional cheese separately.

Yield: 6 to 8 servings.

Italian Tomato Sauce
Adapted from Leslie Bruni

Time: 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours

3 cans (28 ounces each) Italian plum tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon oregano

1 tablespoon minced fresh basil, optional

Salt and black pepper

1 pound sweet or hot Italian sausage

1 pound (or larger) piece of pork loin, pork butt or pork shoulder

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large onion, minced

1 to 4 cloves garlic, minced.

1. Place a food mill over a Dutch oven or other large deep pan, and pass the tomatoes through until only the seeds remain; or seed the tomatoes, purée in a food processor and pour in the pan. Add 2 cups water, oregano, and basil, if using, and salt and pepper to taste. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low.

2. Place sausage in a skillet and add water to cover. Bring to a boil and cook, covered, until surface is opaque, about 3 minutes. Drain well and pat dry with paper towels. Return sausage to skillet and place over medium-high heat. Prick sausages all over with a fork to release oil into the pan; cook until browned on all sides. Transfer to the pot of sauce.

3. Season the pork with salt and pepper. In a large skillet over medium heat, heat the oil until shimmering. Add the pork and brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. Reduce heat to low, and add onion and garlic. Cover and cook until the onion is soft, about 5 minutes. Transfer contents of skillet to the pot of sauce.

4. Simmer the sauce until the pork is tender, 2 to 3 hours. To serve, remove meats and place on a serving platter to pass separately, and use the sauce to dress pasta.

Yield: About 4 1/2 cups.

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Jewel Box Cookies
http://www.smuckers.com/Recipes/Details.aspx?recipeID=5421

PREP TIME: 20 min
COOK TIME: 12 min
YIELD: 6 dozen

Ingredients:

• 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons Pillsbury BEST® All Purpose Flour
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup butter, softened
• 1 large egg yolk, beaten
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 cup Smucker's® Cherry Preserves, or your favorite jam or preserves

Directions:

1 COMBINE flour and sugar in large bowl. Cut in butter with pastry blender or two knives until coarse crumbs form. Add beaten egg yolk and vanilla. Mix until dough holds together.

2 SHAPE into small balls using half teaspoonfuls. Place 1-inch apart on cookie sheet. Make small indentation in center of each cookie. Chill 20 minutes.

3 HEAT oven to 350°F. Fill each cookie with scant 1/4 teaspoon jam, jelly or preserves. Bake 11 to 13 minutes or until just golden around the edges.
TIP For added sparkle, unbaked cookies may be rolled in coarse bakery sugar crystals before being placed on cookie sheet to chill.

Stoner Cooking Special: Juan in a Million

2012-01-05T10:16:00.000-08:00

http://www.juaninamillion.com/
Traditional Mexican food served up daily in Austin, Texas since 1980!

Mexican cuisine has its roots in native and Spanish traditions. Rich and rustic, flavors borne from this background create dishes worth celebrating.

For 30 years, Juan In A Million® has blended unique, authentic and creative food with great service and atmosphere. Enjoy our colorful food, warm service, and quality spirits.

•Daily Lunch Specials
•Private Room For Events
•Catering Services Available

¡Buen Provecho!

2300 Cesar Chavez Street
Austin, TX 78702

Restaurant Hours:
7 days a week
7AM - 3PM

2011's Over-the-Top Fast Foods

2012-01-05T10:12:00.000-08:00

Source: Yahoo Shine
http://shine.yahoo.com/tistheseason/2011s-over-top-fast-foods-225000779.html

Burger King Stuffed Steakhouse Burger
Calories - 590
If fast food has taught us one thing, it is this: Any food item can be stuffed inside any other. Burger King's Stuffed Steakhouse Burger, introduced earlier this year, is a prime example. Not content to simply put cheese atop a burger patty, the chain stuffed bits of Cheddar and jalapeño inside the beef, for "an experience you can see and taste in every bite."

Pizza Hut's Big Dinner Box
Calories - 4,860 (for the lowest calorie options)
Pizza Hut's "epic-size" repast offers up two medium pizzas, eight wings, and five breadsticks - in one convenient box! For the low prize of $20, ravenous diners might be tempted to scarf down the entire thing themselves, but please, make this one a family affair: The items in a single box are estimated to contain around 5,000 calories.

Dunkin' Donuts Sausage Pancake Bites
Calories - 300 (for 3)
If you're craving a pancake and sausage breakfast, but just can't find the time, Dunkin' Donuts discovered a solution in 2011. An order of the chain's Sausage Pancake Bites offered diners three nuggets of flapjack dough that each enclosed a sausage link. A trio of nuggets also managed to enclose 20 grams of fat, more than most doughnuts.

Taco Bell Doritos Locos Tacos
Calories - 350 (for 1)
Think outside the bun - and the conventional taco shell. In an apparent bid to include as much junk as possible in a single meal, Taco Bell used California and Ohio residents as guinea pigs to test shells made entirely of Doritos' nacho-flavored chips. The cheesy delicacy might be introduced nationwide next year, when, presumably, the chain will also swaps burrito wraps for potato chips.

Friendly's Ultimate Grilled-Cheese Burger Melt
Calories - 1,500
Why eat one sandwich, when you can eat three? The KFC Double Down may have replaced a burger bun with fried chicken, but this year, Friendly's managed to outdo even that monstrosity. They swapped out a cheeseburger's bread with two entire grilled cheese sandwiches. This gastronomical innovation, not surprisingly, is also a caloric nightmare: 1,500 per sandwich(es)...

The Book of Jobs

2012-01-05T09:50:00.000-08:00

Forget monetary policy. Re-examining the cause of the Great Depression — the revolution in agriculture that threw millions out of work—the author argues that the U.S. is now facing and must manage a similar shift in the “real” economy, from industry to service, or risk a tragic replay of 80 years ago. Joseph E. Stiglitz
The Economic Crisis
January 2012
Domino Theory: The financial meltdown is the Depression parallel everyone notices. The more frightening parallel is everything else.
http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/2012/01/stiglitz-depression-201201

It has now been almost five years since the bursting of the housing bubble, and four years since the onset of the recession. There are 6.6 million fewer jobs in the United States than there were four years ago. Some 23 million Americans who would like to work full-time cannot get a job. Almost half of those who are unemployed have been unemployed long-term. Wages are falling—the real income of a typical American household is now below the level it was in 1997.

We knew the crisis was serious back in 2008. And we thought we knew who the “bad guys” were—the nation’s big banks, which through cynical lending and reckless gambling had brought the U.S. to the brink of ruin. The Bush and Obama administrations justified a bailout on the grounds that only if the banks were handed money without limit—and without conditions—could the economy recover. We did this not because we loved the banks but because (we were told) we couldn’t do without the lending that they made possible. Many, especially in the financial sector, argued that strong, resolute, and generous action to save not just the banks but the bankers, their shareholders, and their creditors would return the economy to where it had been before the crisis. In the meantime, a short-term stimulus, moderate in size, would suffice to tide the economy over until the banks could be restored to health.

The banks got their bailout. Some of the money went to bonuses. Little of it went to lending. And the economy didn’t really recover—output is barely greater than it was before the crisis, and the job situation is bleak. The diagnosis of our condition and the prescription that followed from it were incorrect. First, it was wrong to think that the bankers would mend their ways—that they would start to lend, if only they were treated nicely enough. We were told, in effect: “Don’t put conditions on the banks to require them to restructure the mortgages or to behave more honestly in their foreclosures. Don’t force them to use the money to lend. Such conditions will upset our delicate markets.” In the end, bank managers looked out for themselves and did what they are accustomed to doing.

Even when we fully repair the banking system, we’ll still be in deep trouble—because we were already in deep trouble. That seeming golden age of 2007 was far from a paradise. Yes, America had many things about which it could be proud. Companies in the information-technology field were at the leading edge of a revolution. But incomes for most working Americans still hadn’t returned to their levels prior to the previous recession. The American standard of living was sustained only by rising debt—debt so large that the U.S. savings rate had dropped to near zero. And “zero” doesn’t really tell the story. Because the rich have always been able to save a significant percentage of their income, putting them in the positive column, an average rate of close to zero means that everyone else must be in negative numbers. (Here’s the reality: in the years leading up to the recession, according to research done by my Columbia University colleague Bruce Greenwald, the bottom 80 percent of the American population had been spending around 110 percent of its income.) What made this level of indebtedness possible was the housing bubble, which Alan Greenspan and then Ben Bernanke, chairmen of the Federal Reserve Board, helped to engineer through low interest rates and nonregulation—not even using the regulatory tools they had. As we now know, this enabled banks to lend and households to borrow on the basis of assets whose value was determined in part by mass delusion.

The fact is the economy in the years before the current crisis was fundamentally weak, with the bubble, and the unsustainable consumption to which it gave rise, acting as life support. Without these, unemployment would have been high. It was absurd to think that fixing the banking system could by itself restore the economy to health. Bringing the economy back to “where it was” does nothing to address the underlying problems.

The trauma we’re experiencing right now resembles the trauma we experienced 80 years ago, during the Great Depression, and it has been brought on by an analogous set of circumstances. Then, as now, we faced a breakdown of the banking system. But then, as now, the breakdown of the banking system was in part a consequence of deeper problems. Even if we correctly respond to the trauma—the failures of the financial sector—it will take a decade or more to achieve full recovery. Under the best of conditions, we will endure a Long Slump. If we respond incorrectly, as we have been, the Long Slump will last even longer, and the parallel with the Depression will take on a tragic new dimension.

Until now, the Depression was the last time in American history that unemployment exceeded 8 percent four years after the onset of recession. And never in the last 60 years has economic output been barely greater, four years after a recession, than it was before the recession started. The percentage of the civilian population at work has fallen by twice as much as in any post-World War II downturn. Not surprisingly, economists have begun to reflect on the similarities and differences between our Long Slump and the Great Depression. Extracting the right lessons is not easy.

Many have argued that the Depression was caused primarily by excessive tightening of the money supply on the part of the Federal Reserve Board. Ben Bernanke, a scholar of the Depression, has stated publicly that this was the lesson he took away, and the reason he opened the monetary spigots. He opened them very wide. Beginning in 2008, the balance sheet of the Fed doubled and then rose to three times its earlier level. Today it is $2.8 trillion. While the Fed, by doing this, may have succeeded in saving the banks, it didn’t succeed in saving the economy.

Reality has not only discredited the Fed but also raised questions about one of the conventional interpretations of the origins of the Depression. The argument has been made that the Fed caused the Depression by tightening money, and if only the Fed back then had increased the money supply—in other words, had done what the Fed has done today—a full-blown Depression would likely have been averted. In economics, it’s difficult to test hypotheses with controlled experiments of the kind the hard sciences can conduct. But the inability of the monetary expansion to counteract this current recession should forever lay to rest the idea that monetary policy was the prime culprit in the 1930s. The problem today, as it was then, is something else. The problem today is the so-called real economy. It’s a problem rooted in the kinds of jobs we have, the kind we need, and the kind we’re losing, and rooted as well in the kind of workers we want and the kind we don’t know what to do with. The real economy has been in a state of wrenching transition for decades, and its dislocations have never been squarely faced. A crisis of the real economy lies behind the Long Slump, just as it lay behind the Great Depression.

For the past several years, Bruce Greenwald and I have been engaged in research on an alternative theory of the Depression—and an alternative analysis of what is ailing the economy today. This explanation sees the financial crisis of the 1930s as a consequence not so much of a financial implosion but of the economy’s underlying weakness. The breakdown of the banking system didn’t culminate until 1933, long after the Depression began and long after unemployment had started to soar. By 1931 unemployment was already around 16 percent, and it reached 23 percent in 1932. Shantytown “Hoovervilles” were springing up everywhere. The underlying cause was a structural change in the real economy: the widespread decline in agricultural prices and incomes, caused by what is ordinarily a “good thing”—greater productivity.

At the beginning of the Depression, more than a fifth of all Americans worked on farms. Between 1929 and 1932, these people saw their incomes cut by somewhere between one-third and two-thirds, compounding problems that farmers had faced for years. Agriculture had been a victim of its own success. In 1900, it took a large portion of the U.S. population to produce enough food for the country as a whole. Then came a revolution in agriculture that would gain pace throughout the century—better seeds, better fertilizer, better farming practices, along with widespread mechanization. Today, 2 percent of Americans produce more food than we can consume.

What this transition meant, however, is that jobs and livelihoods on the farm were being destroyed. Because of accelerating productivity, output was increasing faster than demand, and prices fell sharply. It was this, more than anything else, that led to rapidly declining incomes. Farmers then (like workers now) borrowed heavily to sustain living standards and production. Because neither the farmers nor their bankers anticipated the steepness of the price declines, a credit crunch quickly ensued. Farmers simply couldn’t pay back what they owed. The financial sector was swept into the vortex of declining farm incomes.

The cities weren’t spared—far from it. As rural incomes fell, farmers had less and less money to buy goods produced in factories. Manufacturers had to lay off workers, which further diminished demand for agricultural produce, driving down prices even more. Before long, this vicious circle affected the entire national economy.

The value of assets (such as homes) often declines when incomes do. Farmers got trapped in their declining sector and in their depressed locales. Diminished income and wealth made migration to the cities more difficult; high urban unemployment made migration less attractive. Throughout the 1930s, in spite of the massive drop in farm income, there was little overall out-migration. Meanwhile, the farmers continued to produce, sometimes working even harder to make up for lower prices. Individually, that made sense; collectively, it didn’t, as any increased output kept forcing prices down.

Given the magnitude of the decline in farm income, it’s no wonder that the New Deal itself could not bring the country out of crisis. The programs were too small, and many were soon abandoned. By 1937, F.D.R., giving way to the deficit hawks, had cut back on stimulus efforts—a disastrous error. Meanwhile, hard-pressed states and localities were being forced to let employees go, just as they are now. The banking crisis undoubtedly compounded all these problems, and extended and deepened the downturn. But any analysis of financial disruption has to begin with what started off the chain reaction.

The Agriculture Adjustment Act, F.D.R.’s farm program, which was designed to raise prices by cutting back on production, may have eased the situation somewhat, at the margins. But it was not until government spending soared in preparation for global war that America started to emerge from the Depression. It is important to grasp this simple truth: it was government spending—a Keynesian stimulus, not any correction of monetary policy or any revival of the banking system—that brought about recovery. The long-run prospects for the economy would, of course, have been even better if more of the money had been spent on investments in education, technology, and infrastructure rather than munitions, but even so, the strong public spending more than offset the weaknesses in private spending.

Government spending unintentionally solved the economy’s underlying problem: it completed a necessary structural transformation, moving America, and especially the South, decisively from agriculture to manufacturing. Americans tend to be allergic to terms like “industrial policy,” but that’s what war spending was—a policy that permanently changed the nature of the economy. Massive job creation in the urban sector—in manufacturing—succeeded in moving people out of farming. The supply of food and the demand for it came into balance again: farm prices started to rise. The new migrants to the cities got training in urban life and factory skills, and after the war the G.I. Bill ensured that returning veterans would be equipped to thrive in a modern industrial society. Meanwhile, the vast pool of labor trapped on farms had all but disappeared. The process had been long and very painful, but the source of economic distress was gone.

The parallels between the story of the origin of the Great Depression and that of our Long Slump are strong. Back then we were moving from agriculture to manufacturing. Today we are moving from manufacturing to a service economy. The decline in manufacturing jobs has been dramatic—from about a third of the workforce 60 years ago to less than a tenth of it today. The pace has quickened markedly during the past decade. There are two reasons for the decline. One is greater productivity—the same dynamic that revolutionized agriculture and forced a majority of American farmers to look for work elsewhere. The other is globalization, which has sent millions of jobs overseas, to low-wage countries or those that have been investing more in infrastructure or technology. (As Greenwald has pointed out, most of the job loss in the 1990s was related to productivity increases, not to globalization.) Whatever the specific cause, the inevitable result is precisely the same as it was 80 years ago: a decline in income and jobs. The millions of jobless former factory workers once employed in cities such as Youngstown and Birmingham and Gary and Detroit are the modern-day equivalent of the Depression’s doomed farmers.

The consequences for consumer spending, and for the fundamental health of the economy—not to mention the appalling human cost—are obvious, though we were able to ignore them for a while. For a time, the bubbles in the housing and lending markets concealed the problem by creating artificial demand, which in turn created jobs in the financial sector and in construction and elsewhere. The bubble even made workers forget that their incomes were declining. They savored the possibility of wealth beyond their dreams, as the value of their houses soared and the value of their pensions, invested in the stock market, seemed to be doing likewise. But the jobs were temporary, fueled on vapor.

Mainstream macro-economists argue that the true bogeyman in a downturn is not falling wages but rigid wages—if only wages were more flexible (that is, lower), downturns would correct themselves! But this wasn’t true during the Depression, and it isn’t true now. On the contrary, lower wages and incomes would simply reduce demand, weakening the economy further.

Of four major service sectors—finance, real estate, health, and education—the first two were bloated before the current crisis set in. The other two, health and education, have traditionally received heavy government support. But government austerity at every level—that is, the slashing of budgets in the face of recession—has hit education especially hard, just as it has decimated the government sector as a whole. Nearly 700,000 state- and local-government jobs have disappeared during the past four years, mirroring what happened in the Depression. As in 1937, deficit hawks today call for balanced budgets and more and more cutbacks. Instead of pushing forward a structural transition that is inevitable—instead of investing in the right kinds of human capital, technology, and infrastructure, which will eventually pull us where we need to be—the government is holding back. Current strategies can have only one outcome: they will ensure that the Long Slump will be longer and deeper than it ever needed to be.

Two conclusions can be drawn from this brief history. The first is that the economy will not bounce back on its own, at least not in a time frame that matters to ordinary people. Yes, all those foreclosed homes will eventually find someone to live in them, or be torn down. Prices will at some point stabilize and even start to rise. Americans will also adjust to a lower standard of living—not just living within their means but living beneath their means as they struggle to pay off a mountain of debt. But the damage will be enormous. America’s conception of itself as a land of opportunity is already badly eroded. Unemployed young people are alienated. It will be harder and harder to get some large proportion of them onto a productive track. They will be scarred for life by what is happening today. Drive through the industrial river valleys of the Midwest or the small towns of the Plains or the factory hubs of the South, and you will see a picture of irreversible decay.

Monetary policy is not going to help us out of this mess. Ben Bernanke has, belatedly, admitted as much. The Fed played an important role in creating the current conditions—by encouraging the bubble that led to unsustainable consumption—but there is now little it can do to mitigate the consequences. I can understand that its members may feel some degree of guilt. But anyone who believes that monetary policy is going to resuscitate the economy will be sorely disappointed. That idea is a distraction, and a dangerous one.

What we need to do instead is embark on a massive investment program—as we did, virtually by accident, 80 years ago—that will increase our productivity for years to come, and will also increase employment now. This public investment, and the resultant restoration in G.D.P., increases the returns to private investment. Public investments could be directed at improving the quality of life and real productivity—unlike the private-sector investments in financial innovations, which turned out to be more akin to financial weapons of mass destruction.

Can we actually bring ourselves to do this, in the absence of mobilization for global war? Maybe not. The good news (in a sense) is that the United States has under-invested in infrastructure, technology, and education for decades, so the return on additional investment is high, while the cost of capital is at an unprecedented low. If we borrow today to finance high-return investments, our debt-to-G.D.P. ratio—the usual measure of debt sustainability—will be markedly improved. If we simultaneously increased taxes—for instance, on the top 1 percent of all households, measured by income—our debt sustainability would be improved even more.

The private sector by itself won’t, and can’t, undertake structural transformation of the magnitude needed—even if the Fed were to keep interest rates at zero for years to come. The only way it will happen is through a government stimulus designed not to preserve the old economy but to focus instead on creating a new one. We have to transition out of manufacturing and into services that people want—into productive activities that increase living standards, not those that increase risk and inequality. To that end, there are many high-return investments we can make. Education is a crucial one—a highly educated population is a fundamental driver of economic growth. Support is needed for basic research. Government investment in earlier decades—for instance, to develop the Internet and biotechnology—helped fuel economic growth. Without investment in basic research, what will fuel the next spurt of innovation? Meanwhile, the states could certainly use federal help in closing budget shortfalls. Long-term economic growth at our current rates of resource consumption is impossible, so funding research, skilled technicians, and initiatives for cleaner and more efficient energy production will not only help us out of the recession but also build a robust economy for decades. Finally, our decaying infrastructure, from roads and railroads to levees and power plants, is a prime target for profitable investment.

The second conclusion is this: If we expect to maintain any semblance of “normality,” we must fix the financial system. As noted, the implosion of the financial sector may not have been the underlying cause of our current crisis—but it has made it worse, and it’s an obstacle to long-term recovery. Small and medium-size companies, especially new ones, are disproportionately the source of job creation in any economy, and they have been especially hard-hit. What’s needed is to get banks out of the dangerous business of speculating and back into the boring business of lending. But we have not fixed the financial system. Rather, we have poured money into the banks, without restrictions, without conditions, and without a vision of the kind of banking system we want and need. We have, in a phrase, confused ends with means. A banking system is supposed to serve society, not the other way around.

That we should tolerate such a confusion of ends and means says something deeply disturbing about where our economy and our society have been heading. Americans in general are coming to understand what has happened. Protesters around the country, galvanized by the Occupy Wall Street movement, already know.

Significa 1-5-12

2012-01-05T09:42:00.000-08:00

Kool Websites
Watch Live Baseball
http://www.watchlivebaseball.com/

Tune in to Watch Baseball Live Streaming online on your pc with instant access payments...

Watch Live NBA Online
http://www.watchlivenba.tv/

Watch all the top NBA games through high quality online streams...

The Jinn
http://www.thejinn.net/

UFO, alien, poltergeist, demon, ascended master, space brother, monster, Watcher, nephilim, reptilian, Grey, Bigfoot, ghost....

We don't actually know a single thing about life on other planets. Scientific evidence that extraterrestrials visit us doesn't exist.

Our belief that they do is fantastic modern mythology in the making.

However, there is enormous evidence that deceptive entities are masquerading as extraterrestrials.

There are unseen creatures that we share this Earth with.

They don't come from other planets.
They've been called many names: aliens, spirits, Etherians, Ultraterrestrials, and more.

In the Koran they are called the Jinn.

Information about the Jinn reads like a textbook description of UFO and other paranormal phenomena.

Discovering these entities gives you an essential key to understanding paranormal phenomena.

They are the major players behind our myths and most perplexing mysteries.

UFOs aren't extraterrestrial -- They're extradimensional.

*

Celente’s Trends Proven Accurate; What Will 2012 Bring?
Gerald Celente
Trends Research
December 16, 2011

“Wake-Up Call” Trend: The Decline of America trend is nowhere near bottom, and the worse is yet to come.

One year later: “Worse” has happened, as the country piles up more and more debt, politicians are gridlocked, paralyzed in some perpetual political traffic jam of inaction.

“Crack-Up 2011” Trend: Teetering economies will collapse, currency wars will ensue, trade barriers will be erected, economic unions will splinter...

One year later: The Sovereign debt crisis threatens both the European Union and Euro, currency wars are underway and the US and China are trading trade barbs.

“Crime Time” Trend: No job + no money + compounding debt = high stress, strained relations, short fuses. Hardship-driven crimes will be committed across the socioeconomic spectrum by legions of the on-the-edge desperate who will do whatever they must to keep a roof over their heads and put food on the table.

One year later: Thieves are stealing copper piping and cables, cooking oil and temple donation boxes; “Criminal recycling” is flourishing; in 2011 a record number of cyber crimes is reported to the FBI: more than 23,000 per month.

“Screw the People” Trend: As times get even tougher and people get even poorer, the “authorities” will intensify their efforts to extract the funds needed to meet fiscal obligations.

One year later: In the two-tier American justice system, the long arm of the law only reaches down to the low hanging fruit. Banks are slapped with slap on the wrist fines for billion dollar crimes, and like Jon Corzine, no crime time. But swift justice is readily dealt out for small time crimes. From closing down lemonade stands operating without a license to swat teams busting raw foods cooperatives, in America, Justice means “just us!”

“Students of the World Unite” Trend: “University degrees in hand yet out of work, in debt and with no prospects on the horizon, young adults and 20-somethings are mad as hell, and they’re not going to take it anymore.”

One year later: Occupy Wall Street is just one of the scores of worldwide student protest movements, some of which have proven powerful enough to bring down governments.

“Crackdown on Liberty” Trend: A national crusade to “Get Tough on Crime” will be waged against the citizenry. And just as in the “War on Terror,” where “suspected terrorists” are killed before proven guilty or jailed without trial, in the “War on Crime” everyone is a suspect until proven innocent.

One year later: TSA strip searches of little old ladies; Obama backs bill “authorizing indefinite military detention of U.S. citizens.”

“Journalism 2.0” Trend: With its unparalleled reach across borders and language barriers, “Journalism 2.0” has the potential to influence and educate citizens in a way that governments and corporate media moguls would never permit.

One year later: Aleksai Navalny, an imprisoned young Russian blogger/Twitterer with some 200,000 followers, is “credited with mobilizing a generation of young Russians through social media, a leap much like the one that spawned Occupy Wall Street and youth uprisings across Europe this year.”

“Cyberwars” Trend: The demonstrable effects of Cyberwar and its companion, Cybercrime, are already significant – and will come of age in 2011. Equally disruptive will be the harsh measures taken by global governments to control free access to the web, identify its users, and literally shut down computers that it considers a threat to national security.

One year later: Iran proudly displayed a sleek, white U.S. drone that was used for spying on Iranians; Iranians were able to capture what US military officials privately told Bloomberg was a Lockheed Martin RQ-170 by hacking into its security code; PayPal shuts off service to WikiLeaks.

Gerald Celente was spot on with his Top Trends 2011. No one else came even close. To get a heads up on “History before it happens,” you’ll want the Top Trends 2012.

*

Why the Smell of Cinnamon Makes You Spend Money
Retailers know how to manipulate all our senses — and that includes our olfactory ones
Martin Lindstrom
December 16, 2011
http://ideas.time.com/2011/12/16/why-the-smell-of-cinnamon-makes-you-spend-money

Lindstrom's latest book is Brandwashed: Tricks Companies Use to Manipulate Our Minds and Persuade Us to Buy.

Every December, you vow it’s not going to happen and yet, without fail, you return home from your Christmas shopping with far more than you intended. Do you ever wonder why? The answer might surprise you, because you’ve probably been seduced by something you can neither see nor hear.

It was a perfectly normal kind of day when I was first struck by that feeling of Christmas in the air, the one that links directly to childhood anticipation of the festive season. The odd thing was that it was early November, yet my need for tangible symbols of the festive season had bitten like a bug. I studiously hit the streets of my neighborhood in search of the perfect tree. I bought decorations and wrote Christmas cards, only to realize that Nov. 5 was a little early to be mailing them.

I was astounded by my behavior. After all, I’m a 41-year-old man who’s long since stopped believing in Santa Claus. So what was it that led me to this neat pile of cards ready to be mailed a good six weeks before Christmas? In my attempt to understand, I went over the details of the days leading up to my own personal Christmas frenzy, and I tracked the origins of it back to a brief window of time as I changed flights in the Zurich airport. I noticed the duty free shops were already full of the colors of Christmas. There was a ginormous tree topped by a gleaming star, surrounded by images of Santas and reindeer and sleighs. But surely it would take more than clichéd icons to turn me into a Christmas zombie?

Not having anything else to go on, I investigated further. Turns out I was on the right path, for the truth of the matter was to be found in the mechanisms behind the displays. To be more precise, carefully camouflaged tubes strategically placed amongst the tinsel and glitz were piping in the sumptuous smells of Christmas: a perfect mix of cinnamon and pine.

Although it seemed I’d gotten to the nub of the issue, I was still perplexed. I mean, can a tube dispensing cinnamon and pine really compel me to embrace the Christmas spirit way ahead of time? Surprisingly, yes. Dr. Gemma Calvert, who is an expert in modern brain imaging based in Oxford, England, discovered the remarkable ability smells have to reactivate childhood memories. She exposed a group of volunteers to cinnamon and then viewed their reactions, using an fMRI scanner. As they breathed in the sweet spicy scent, their brains fired up — including the region responsible for authentic emotional engagement. It seems cinnamon is one of the main ingredients associated, over time, with baking and cider-making rituals and can kick-start an emotional journey whenever it wafts our way.

So while it might seem as though retailers are concentrating on everything that delights your eyes and ears, they also might be surreptitiously enticing you to buy more through your nose. And they might not even be doing it in a sneaky manner. This season, Trader Joe’s, Publix, and other supermarkets are prominently displaying heavily-scented “cinnamon brooms” by the check out — large, smelly bunches of twigs to hang inside your home and anoint with cinnamon oil when their pungency starts to fade. At Bed, Bath and Beyond, Home Depot, and other big-box stores, cinnamon-scented pine cones for sale greet you as you walk in the door. Take these items home and you might even get the urge to rush out shopping again. Christmas is in the air — quite literally!

Lindstrom is a marketing consultant and the author of Brandwashed. The views expressed are his own.

*

Konformist Book Club

The World's Greatest Conspiracies
http://www.atomicbooks.com/index.php/worlds-greatest-conspiracies.html

$21.95

Too unsettling to be buried in the shadows for far too long, the Pandora’s Box of information unleashed in this completely updated and expanded expose proves you just can’t get away from Them. Hidden agendas, massive cover-ups, diabolically sinister plots—if you can handle it, the lowdown on the latest right-under-your-nose conspiracies is right here, including: - 9/11: Islamic terrorism...or inside job? - George W. Bush: The real powers behind the leader of the free world - Atlantis Rising: the deep and wide mythology of a “lost” civilization - Elvis: Still everywhere, with new King-size theories aplenty - Cuidad Juarez: Who—or what—is behind the unsolved serial killings of more than 90 women in this otherwise sleepy border town? - Dick “Darth” Cheney: Dr. Evil for the New Millennium? - And many others that will have you looking over your shoulder With the sordid truth finally leaking more and more into the nightly news, this provocative compilation is crucial reading for seeing beyond what They want you to believe. Whether you’re a cynic or completely certain, this walk on the wild side will convince you of one thing: You should be very, very nervous. “Fills a desperate need in this paranoid era.” —Wired magazine

Jonathan Vankin / John Whalen
Publisher Citadel Press
Page Count 844pp
Publication Date June 29, 2010
ISBN 978-0806528786

The Man Cave Book
Jeff Wilser

Kindle Price: $9.99 includes free wireless delivery via Amazon Whispernet
Paperback $10.19

What separates the men from the boys? The Man Cave.

Boyhood Fort Vs. Man Cave

Who's allowed
Boyhood Fort: Not girls—they have cooties
Man Cave: Not women—they have authority

Primary materials used in construction
Boyhood Fort: Wood, stuff your mom doesn't want
Man Cave: Particleboard, stuff your wife doesn't want

Key activities inside
Boyhood Fort: Goofing around, avoiding responsibility
Man Cave: Goofing around, avoiding responsibility

Peak periods of use
Boyhood Fort: After school, weekends
Man Cave: After work, weekends

Slumber parties with buddies?
Boyhood Fort: Yes
Man Cave: No

Food and beverages consumed
Boyhood Fort: Soda and unhealthy snacks
Man Cave: Beer and unhealthy snacks

Spend the night inside?
Boyhood Fort: Not as a habit, but it's been known to happen
Man Cave: Not as a habit, but it's been known to happen

Money spent on space
Boyhood Fort: As little as possible
Man Cave: As much as possible

Is this a phase you will outgrow?
Boyhood Fort: Yes
Man Cave: No

The Man Cave Book is a tribute to great and glorious man spaces and the craftsmen behind them. Complete with instructions and insights into creating your own unique refuge and shrine to beer, sports, and everything else that's right with the world, this is an essential manual for any man cave enthusiast.

About the Author

A former USMC Reserves squad leader and the author of The Maxims of Manhood, Jeff Wilser is a regular columnist on dating, nightlife, and pop culture who has contributed to GQ, Esquire, Glamour, MTV, and VH1.

Format: Kindle Edition
File Size: 8251 KB
Print Length: 192 pages
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books; Original edition (April 19, 2011)
Sold by: HarperCollins Publishers
Language: English
ASIN: B004U73C1S
Text-to-Speech: Enabled

Amazon URL

Kindle Edition:
http://www.amazon.com/The-Man-Cave-Book-ebook/dp/B004U73C1S/thekonformist

Paperback:
http://www.amazon.com/Man-Cave-Book-Jeff-Wilser/dp/0062003925/thekonformist

*

Awesome Quotes

“You know, a one-term president with some balls who actually got stuff done would have been, in the long run of this country, much better.”
Matt Damon on Barack Obama

"The sound of five pretentious old guys joylessly grinding out sub-shoegaze drone and patting themselves on the back for being 'subversive.' It's more out of touch than a bunch of CEOs starting a drum circle at an Occupy rally and as sonically disastrous."
Entertainment Weekly, in naming the Lou Reed - Metallica collaboration Lulu the worst album of the year

*

YouTube Greatest Hits

Tiger Woods Amazing Miracle Shot:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHMPpZVOfbI

16th Hole at the 2005 Masters in Augusta...

The Dark Crystal, Part 1 of 8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMnFMAF_0RQ

All eight parts are available...

Bill Hicks: On Letterman (1993)
The Cut Set
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=vf340K_Ed0o

In honor of what would be his 50th birthday on December 16th:

http://alchemicalarchives.blogspot.com/

Hicks constantly faced problems with censorship. In 1984, Hicks was invited to appear on Late Night with David Letterman for the first time. He had a joke that he used frequently in comedy clubs about how he caused a serious accident that left a classmate confined to a wheelchair. NBC had a policy that no handicapped jokes could be aired on the show, making his stand-up routine difficult to perform without mentioning words such as "wheelchair". Hicks was disappointed that the TV audience didn't get to experience the uncensored Bill Hicks that people saw in clubs.

On October 1, 1993, about five months before his death, Hicks was scheduled to appear on Late Show with David Letterman, his twelfth appearance on a Letterman late night show but his entire performance was removed from the broadcast — then the only occasion where a comedian's entire routine was cut after taping. Hicks' stand-up routine was removed from the show allegedly because Letterman and his producer were nervous about Hicks' anti-religious jokes. Hicks said he believed it was due to a pro-life commercial aired during a commercial break. Both the show's producers and CBS denied responsibility. Hicks expressed his feelings of betrayal in a letter to John Lahr of The New Yorker. Although Letterman later expressed regret at the way Hicks had been handled, Hicks did not appear on the show again. The full account of this incident was featured in a New Yorker profile by Lahr, which was later published as a chapter in Lahr's book, Light Fantastic.

Hicks' mother, Mary, appeared on the January 30, 2009, episode of Late Show. Letterman played the routine in its entirety. Letterman took full responsibility for the original censorship and apologized to Mrs. Hicks. Letterman also declared he did not know what he was thinking when he pulled the routine from the original show in 1993. Letterman said, "It says more about me as a guy than it says about Bill because there was absolutely nothing wrong with that."

*

Retropedia: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians
http://www.retroland.com/santa-claus-conquers-the-martians

Earthlings have long held an affinity for the jolly bearded fellow in the red suit that hands out Christmas presents each year. Is it any wonder that other planets might just be a little jealous that we haven’t shared St. Nick with the rest of the galaxy? Well, that all changed in 1964, when the Martians took matters into their own hands in the campy sci-fi classic, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. It might not have given Citizen Kane a run for its money in terms of quality, but that hasn’t stopped numerous generations from gleefully embracing this one-of-a-kind B-movie that remains popular to this day.

The poor kids on Mars have a tough life, what with all of that forced educational programming that has left them little freedom to have fun. Luckily, they are allowed access to some good ol’ Earth television and, as a result, have become enamored by famed North Pole resident, Santa Claus. One particular set of Martian parents, Kimar and Momar (dad and mom, respectively) become aware of this trend, thanks to their kids Girmar and Bomar, and bring their children’s fascination with St. Nick to the attention of the all-knowing Martian, Chochem, who realizes the importance in letting the children of Mars have a little fun in their lives. To that end, he instructs the Martian leaders to head over to Earth and kidnap the famed Kris Kringle.

The idea is to have Santa set up shop on Mars and start churning out toys for the kids, but that doesn’t sit well with one particularly cantankerous alien named Voldar, who would rather see Santa killed, rather than corrupt their ancient culture. So when Santa arrives, along with two Earth children, Betty and Billy, Voldar starts plotting their demise. He immediately sends his henchmen, Shim and Stobo to sabotage the new toy factory so that it builds defective products. And when fellow Martian, the dimwitted Dropo, starts impersonating Santa around town and shows up at the toy factory, Voldar mistakes his identity for the real thing and kidnaps the faux Santa. Meanwhile, the real all-knowing Santa is a step ahead of the scheming and Voldar’s plans quickly unravel. But the big guy is too kind-hearted to leave the children of the planet sans Santa and he has a pretty good idea of who might make a suitable replacement for him on the planet.

While there may not be any huge box-office revenues to report or a list of Academy Award nominations, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians is one of those films that is almost impossible not to like, despite its “B” status. And, although the film certainly didn’t boast an all-star cast, eagle-eyed viewers might notice that one of the Martian kids is actually a very young Pia Zadora.

Recent generations were re-introduced to Santa Claus Conquers the Martians as part of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 show on Comedy Central. The cast poked fun at (skewered) the film in their own inimitable way, leading it to become one of the most popular episodes, one that airs every holiday season. And, although rumors of a remake have persisted for years, it would appear that this classic film is safe from being re-invented as of this writing.

To view the movie:
http://www.rawstory.com/rs/2011/12/24/holiday-movie-santa-claus-conquers-the-martians

RawStory.com review:

There are b-movies and c-movies and then there’s this holiday confection, “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.” The title alone should tell you everything you need to know about how seriously this 1964 release takes itself. We file this one under “So bad, it’s good.” Actually, make that under “So bad, it’s AWESOME.”

Merry Christmas!

*

RIP

Christopher Hitchens, 1949–2011:
http://www.vanityfair.com/online/daily/2011/12/In-Memoriam-Christopher-Hitchens-19492011

Vaclav Havel, Czech dissident, playwright, politician dead at 75:
http://edition.cnn.com/2011/12/18/world/europe/czech-republic-vaclav-havel-obit

Cheetah the Chimp, Johnny Weissmuller's sidekick in the Tarzan movies, at the age of 80, allegedly:
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/nationnow/2011/12/cheetah-remembering-tarzans-hairy-sidekick.html

The Wilshire Grand Hotel in downtown Los Angeles:
http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-1223-wilshire-grand-20111223,0,2448939.story

NOT RIP: Jon Bon Jovi. Also, Taylor Lautner isn't gay...

Christmas ’43

2012-01-05T09:23:00.000-08:00

Excerpted from Here Comes Trouble: Stories From My Life by Michael Moore
December 24th, 2011
http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/must-read/christmas-43

My dad had noticed for some years that I no longer wanted to shoot guns. He had taken note of when we boys in the neighborhood had stopped playing War. I didn’t know much about his time as a Marine in the South Pacific during World War II. The only clues my sisters and I got was when he would name our dogs after battles he was in: Peleliu, Tarawa, etc. In our attic he kept some war souvenirs: a Japanese flag, a sword, and the gun he had taken off a Japanese soldier. One day, without explanation, Dad decided he no longer wanted these items in our house. He quietly went and got a shovel out of the garage, gathered together the Japanese spoils of war, and went out to the large weeping willow tree in our backyard. He dug a hole — a very, very deep hole — and buried the gun and the sword and flag under the shade of that tree. When it was all done and the earth had been restored, he stood there alone, looking down, deep in thought or prayer or who knows what. I watched from my bedroom window.

“I want to tell you a story from the war,” he told me one day. “I want you to know why every day is precious and why I am thankful each day to be here.”

My dad was one of seven children, and they lived in twelve homes over eighteen years. They moved around a lot, dodging landlords who came to collect the rent they couldn’t afford to pay. The Great Depression had not been particularly kind to the Moore family of Kansas Avenue/Franklin Avenue/Kensington Avenue/Bennett Street/Kentucky Street/ Illinois Street/Caldwell Avenue/Jane Street and other thoroughfares on the east side of Flint, Michigan.

Francis (or Frank, as he was known) was the fourth child of the family, and now, suddenly, at the age of twenty-two, his whole life — falling down the coal chute at two, clinging on for dear life at four while stuck on the running board of his dad’s car, getting cut from the high school basketball team the game before the state championship so that the coach could make room for a younger player coming in next year, getting fired the first day of driving the Coca-Cola delivery truck because he admitted he “didn’t much like the taste of Coke,” being placed by his mother temporarily at the age of ten in an orphanage along with his brother because she simply couldn’t afford to take care of seven children — all of this flashed before him as he lay exposed on top of Hill 250 on some miserable piece-of-shit island in the South Pacific, watching as the tracer rounds came out of the plane above, firing directly at him and his fellow Marines on Christmas Day, 1943. Except the planes, like him, were American.

How Frank came to find himself on Hill 250 on the island of New Britain made about as much sense to him as the fact that his own side was now trying to kill him with such ease.

To begin with, no one ever explained to him how these hills got their names; it wasn’t as if there were 249 other hills he had to climb to get to Hill 250. In fact, to even call them “hills” seemed like some War Department cartographer’s idea of a joke. Maybe by calling them hills they would make an American Marine feel more like he was home — and that if he were going to die for this hill, then, well, at least he’d feel like he was dying for . . . home. Home had hills. Hills with trees and wildflowers with names like Yellow Lady Slippers and Jack in the Pulpit and Shooting Stars. Hills with pleasant hiking paths. Hills to hide out in. Hills to pick berries from. Hills where hobos could find a peaceful night’s rest. Hills where you and yours could find a small, quiet space to build a quick fire and make love beside it.

What led Frank to this particular hill was a worldwide war that had nothing in particular to do with his world. His world was one of hard work and sports and Saturday nights at the Knickerbocker Dance Hall. Though they lived the shared poverty of many in the worst days of the Depression, the Moore brothers — Bill, Frank, Lornie, and Herbie — each took extra care to always have a clean, well-pressed suit, a sharp haircut, and enough coin in their pockets to buy a pretty girl the first drink, if not the second.

They took dance lessons upon leaving high school, somehow figuring out that the fairer gender liked to go dancing. Because the other young men in town were slightly less adept at picking up on this, the Moore boys were always the first ones out on the dance floor, and this impressed the ladies. If nothing else, it showed the girls that they were fearless, and that in and of itself was quite attractive. Lornie, sixteen months younger than Frank, became known as the king of the dance floor and soon found himself teaching dance in a downtown dance studio. It dawned on him that he was in fact helping out the enemy by teaching other men how to dance a cool jitterbug, but Lornie had a gentle soul and a generous spirit, and he was just happy to see more people dancing the night away.

Things had been looking up in Flint by 1941. The Roosevelt policies of putting everyone back to work, plus the beginning of industrial production in anticipation of American involvement in a war that had started two years earlier in Europe and the Far East, was enough to prevent a factory town like Flint, Michigan, from collapsing entirely. Bill and Frank and Lornie all had WPA jobs right out of high school (a fact they tried to hide when speaking to girls). By the summer of ’41 Frank had already held down numerous jobs from hawking flyers for a local grocery store to driving an egg truck to (briefly) driving a truck full of the maximum-size (6 oz.), green-tinted Coke bottles. Each of the boys eventually landed the coveted General Motors assembly-line job. Frank, not looking forward to the monotony and repetition of placing the same nodule on an AC Spark Plug 4,800 times a day, took a night class to learn how to type, hoping to get a clerk’s job in the factory’s office. But he couldn’t type as fast as the girls, so he was relegated to Plant 7, line 2, spark plug pin insertion.

Eventually his three brothers saw a bigger world in their future and quit the factory (“Sales, Frank — that’s where the money is!”), and their combined incomes in 1941 were enough to pay the rent on their mother’s home and cease the constant upheaval of being two steps ahead of the landlord and his good friend, the county sheriff.

And after the rent and the food and the coal bills were paid, there was enough left over for the bus ride to the Knickerbocker. Or, if it was a special weekend, to the Industrial Mutual Association auditorium where the likes of Tommy Dorsey and Frank Sinatra would play as they passed through the Midwest. It was, for young working men, a version — a version — of paradise.

So it came with some disappointment that the Emperor decided to interfere with their lives on the morning of December 7, 1941. The attack, the elimination of nearly the entire Pacific fleet, came as a shock to the nation. The following day, even as President Roosevelt issued his call to arms, young men flocked to recruitment centers like the one in Flint, Michigan, which had been hastily set up in a large grade school on the near east side of town. The Brothers Moore, though, would not be among those signing up that day, or the next day, or the next week or the following month, or the month or two or three or six after that. It wasn’t that they weren’t upset at Hirohito or any less patriotic or any less eager to go kick some Axis ass. After all, they weren’t known at St. Mary’s High as “dancers.” They were Irish, and they never shied away from a fight.

It’s just that this new war was, well, poorly timed. Bill had just gotten married, and Frank was sweet on a girl who had been the valedictorian of her class at Flint Northern. She planned to go to Ann Arbor, to the University of Michigan, to study medicine, which in those days meant she would become a nurse. Frank had some ambition for further education, but the recent union victories at GM meant that he was making good money, and Ann Arbor might as well have been on the moon. Nonetheless, the valedictorian seemed worth pursuing, so this war was unwelcome at best.

Frank’s father had served in the Marines in World War I, and his uncle Tom had been a doughboy in the trenches in France during that same war. Having been gassed by the Germans, Tom was of ill health and thus lived with Frank and the family in Flint. Frank got to see up close the effect that nasty war had on these two good men. Neither could explain to Frank why America had gone to war in 1917, and so when the drums began to beat again, Frank wanted to know exactly what this one was all about. Yes, it was enough that the nation was attacked — but was there something else we should know? Anything? Something? OK, well, those bastards destroying our fleet was certainly good enough for Frank. He was ready to go fight.

He waited until the last minute, until the draft notices started to arrive in July 1942. He decided he didn’t want to be drafted into the Army — “every man’s for himself in that operation,” he would say — and so on the first of August, 1942, Frank went down to the recruitment center at the large grade school and signed up to be a Marine. A Marine? “The Marines fight as a team,” he told his friends. “They look out for each other.” But his brothers (all of whom would soon enlist themselves: Bill in the Air Force, Herbie in the Navy, and Lornie in the paratroopers, where he would die from a sniper’s bullet in the last months of the war) told him, “Marines are sent into the worst of situations. You’ll get killed in the Marines.”

“Perhaps,” said Frank, “but the Marines never leave a man behind.” After thirteen years of crushing Depression, Frank had had enough of being left behind.

The enlistment officer asked him when he could get his affairs in order to ship out.

“What’s the last possible date I have?” Frank asked.

“August 31,” the recruiter replied.

“I’ll take that day.”

Frank spent that final month enjoying the life he had: working, going to Knickerbocker’s, helping his mother. On the day he packed his duffel bag, he left quietly and went down to the bus station by himself. When he arrived he found himself waiting on a bench with fifteen other Marine recruits. A photographer from the Flint Journal snapped a picture of them and captioned it “READY!” The look on Frank’s face in the photograph was anything but READY! and apparently this wasn’t noticed by the copy editor, who let the ironic caption go through and be printed on the page the next day. By that time, Frank was on a train, on his way to basic training outside San Diego, California.

The delay in enlisting not only had bought Frank a few extra months of peace, it caused him to miss the first large Marine amphibious landing in the war — on the island of Guadalcanal. Over 7,000 Marines and soldiers would be killed, along with 29 ships sunk and an amazing 615 planes lost. Frank would not arrive in the South Pacific until the end of the Guadalcanal campaign, and thus he avoided one of the worst massacres of the war. But there would be plenty of other opportunities to die in the next three years.

“Private Moore,” the sergeant whispered. “Cap’n wants ya.”

It was sometime around 11:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve, 1943. Frank Moore wasn’t sure if it was Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, and he didn’t care much for this thing called the International Date Line that meant he was always a day ahead of his life, the life he left back home. Instead of trying to do the math, he just decided to keep himself on “Flint time.” Easier. Friendlier.

He and a thousand other Marines had bunked down early on this night on the transport ship as it headed toward the battle on New Britain, an island that was part of Papua New Guinea, a few hundred miles off the coast of Australia. There wasn’t much Christmas celebrating going on, though there were, no doubt, many, many prayers being said. Because at 0700 hours they would be loaded into amphibious assault vehicles and lowered into the Pacific Ocean just a mile off the coast of Cape Gloucester, New Britain. But for now, Captain Moyer wanted to see Frank.

“I hear you can type,” Moyer said to the young private.

“Yes, sir, sorta,” replied Frank, not quite understanding what typing had to do with killing Japanese or Christmas.

“I want you to stay behind here on the ship,” Moyer said. “I need someone who can type up the casualty reports.”

“But sir...”

“Listen, this is important. We need to be accurate and we need to be accountable. If not to HQ , at least to the families of these men.”

This was, Frank realized, a free Get-Out-of-Dying card being offered to him. Stay behind on the boat. Don’t die in the wave of bullets and mortars that will spray across the chests and the necks and the heads of his friends and fellow Marines. Live for another day. But there were no guarantees of living in the days or weeks ahead.

He had figured out in the previous months of fighting on New Guinea that the South Pacific theater was a slaughterhouse. He wondered: If he had joined the Army instead of the Marines, would he be somewhere in the Mediterranean right now? He figured there was no way that Italians and Germans were fighting tooth-and-nail like these Japanese. Sure, the enemy in Europe wanted to win, but not at the expense of everyone in their unit dying. After all, what’s the point of winning if you’re all dead? He would like to ask a Japanese soldier that question, but never really got the chance as none of them were into being captured, or worse, surrendering.

The offer from Captain Moyer seemed mighty tempting, but Frank knew that staying behind on the ship was only delaying the inevitable. If your time is up, you might as well go on Christ’s birthday.

“Captain, I’d rather stay with my battalion. If it’s OK with you, sir, let me stay with my buddies.”

Moyer had been impressed with Private Moore and how he had volunteered to help the chaplain during Mass, serving as his “altar boy.” Though Moyer was Episcopalian, he often attended the close-enough-to-count Catholic services and observed how reverently Moore treated the whole ceremony, even if it was being said on the stump of a fallen coconut tree. He thought he’d give Moore a chance to live another day, but the kid wasn’t biting.

“OK,” he told the private, “you’re dismissed. Get some sleep.”

“Thank you, sir.” Frank returned to his bunk and for the first time in a long time had no problem falling asleep.

At 0500 hours the booming sounds of the artillery guns from the nearby American destroyers made Frank stop and wonder if he had made a mistake turning the captain down.

Someone mentioned that Moyer and a reconnaissance party had slipped down into the bay two hours earlier with the intent of landing before the invasion, under cover of darkness, in order to find out just what the First Marine Division was about to face.

Tucked tightly into his amphibious lander with thirty or so other Marines, Frank said one final prayer before the door came down and deposited everyone into the slosh of chest-high saltwater. They were nothing more than the fish in the Japanese shooting barrel. The first thing Frank noticed was that it was nearly impossible to walk, that it was impossible to fire his gun, and although he was a human target for Japanese snipers in need of some early-morning target practice, Frank’s focus was on some very short-term goals: one foot forward, now the other foot. Keep gun above head so it doesn’t get wet. Now one more foot forward. This seemed like it took an hour or more (it took less than five minutes), and Frank kept wondering how it was that he was still alive. Dumbroski, a sergeant who had been the big, tough bully of the unit until this moment, was frozen in place, weeping. Keep moving. Leg. Foot. Rifle. Dry.

And then suddenly he was on the beach. A beach of black volcanic sand. Red blood on black sand made for an odd mixture; both caught the light of the morning sun and glistened with more life than they deserved. The brush of the jungle was just a few yards away and appeared to offer the best chance for cover from the incoming shells being fired from a cliff about a mile away. Within a couple hours most of the Marines had landed and the casualties were not as great as anticipated. The Japanese had decided not to fight this battle on the beach, perhaps because the Marines had set off enough smoke bombs so that the enemy had difficulty seeing the invading Americans.

Frank’s battalion moved out on the left flank to head toward higher ground, while other battalions pushed straight through the jungle. Frank and his men were again surprised at the absence of Japanese gunfire or resistance. Within the hour, moving fast, they began to climb Hill 250. It seemed too easy.

They were right.

For some reason they had found a magical crack in their own front lines and, without realizing it, slipped right through it with no one noticing. They were now in Japanese territory, a good thousand yards ahead of what everyone believed were the front lines of the United States Marine Corps.

Their map indicated it might be Hill 250. It is generally believed that during a battle, it is better to be on top of the hill than at the bottom. You don’t need to be a West Point graduate to understand that. So Frank and the others began to make their way up the hill. The Japanese at the top of the hill didn’t want any company that day, so they lobbed everything they had on the lost battalion. Then, out of nowhere, a monsoon rain erupted, making it impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. That gave the Marines the cover and the advantage they needed, and they quickly made their way up Hill 250. With grenades, 37mm machine guns, and sheer force of will, they took the hill. The Japanese on top of the hill had no way of knowing that this was just a small unit of Marines; they assumed that they were facing an invading horde of hundreds, if not thousands, of Americans. So they retreated down the other side, where the larger force of their Japanese army lay in wait.

As the Marines secured the ridge, the rain stopped. This first victory felt good — not exactly flag-planting good (they had barely advanced onto the three-hundred-mile-long island) but good enough — and there were remarkably no casualties.

It was then they heard the sound of airplanes. This was a welcome sound, as it was the sweet hum of a Wright Cyclone engine on a B-25, the sound that said, Here we are, boys! The Cavalry to the rescue! The grunts on the ground had cleared the hill — now it was time for the flyboys to swoop in and take out the valley!

But as Frank squinted at the planes backlit against the now-punishing tropical sun, he saw a plume of smoke coming out of one of them. The plane had been hit. How could that be? They were coming from behind, coming from American-held territory — who would have shot at an American plane from back there?

In fact, it was Americans back on the beachhead who had actually fired on the American planes, thinking (wrongly) that they were Japanese bombers. The American planes, in turn, thought that the Japanese had hit them (two of the B-25s went down in flames), and so when they looked down on Hill 250 and saw the “Japanese” whom they thought fired on them, well, it was payback time.

But, of course, these were not Japanese on Hill 250; these were the men of my dad’s unit.

Swooping in at almost treetop level, the B-25s strafed Hill 250 with their bullets. Frank and the men had no time to signal that they were on the same side. There was nowhere to run for cover. They threw themselves down and prayed for the best. Frank could see the tracer rounds coming from the planes straight at them. He accepted that this was the end of his life, and he closed his eyes as that life, with all of its scenes of joy and poverty and family, sped by him in an instant. He knew that the next instant would be his last.

When Frank opened his eyes, his life was not over. But the scene in front of him was one he had never wanted to see. Lying beside him was one of his friends. His face was gone. Frank looked up and over the body to see a dozen or so of the men in his unit lying there, riddled with bullets, many crying out for help, some alive, some perhaps dead, their uniforms beginning to stain broadly with the blood that was oozing out of the numerous wounds. In all, fourteen Marines were hit and one was dead. Only Frank was alive and untouched. For a moment he was convinced that he must be dead, too, as it was simply not possible to survive that many bullets fired from so low, bullets that not only penetrated the bodies of his comrades but also chewed up the volcanic rock all around him. How could this be? Why was he untouched? And why in God’s name did this good Marine next to him die at the hands of other Americans?

Frank had little memory of what happened next. Apparently the Marines on the front lines behind him had witnessed the whole stunning incident. They reached Frank and the others as Frank was trying to administer first aid to his buddies. Medics and stretchers were called in, and after the wounded were attended to, Frank was brought back down to the staging point near the shore.

“I’m OK,” Frank said after a few hours of rest. “I’m ready to go back.”

“It’ll be night soon,” a corporal told him. “I think it’s OK if you stay here with us.”

He thought perhaps someone would want to talk to him, to file a report or something. But there was a war, a real war, going on, and after he asked one lieutenant why this tragic mistake had happened, he was told this happens in war all the time. “You just have to move on and win.” After that, Frank never asked about it again.

The following day, he got word that Captain Moyer and the five men with him had all been killed on their recon mission. He could see that this was the way it was going to be. Death, then more death. Soon another captain from the front line appeared with two privates who had “cracked” under duress.

“These guys are my wiremen,” he told the officer in charge. “They’re no good to me now. Trade me these for one of your guys.”

The lieutenant looked at Frank.

“This guy’s a machine gunner. I’ll trade you him.”

“Don’t need a gunner, need a wireman. Someone who can carry spools of radio wire, run fast, and duck.”

“This guy knows how to duck. Believe me.”

“A wireman?” Frank asked. “Carry and run the radio wire from the front lines back to the command post?”

“Yup.”

“No more firing a gun?”

“Nope. You can’t fire a gun and carry wire at the same time. But they will fire at you. They go after the radio guys first so we can’t talk to HQ. You take this job, you better have some guts and know some fancy dance moves to dodge those Japs.”

Guts? Dance moves? Why didn’t he say that in the first place?

“I was a wireman for the rest of the war,” my dad said as he finished his story. “I would never carry a machine gun again. I would be shot at over and over, but I couldn’t shoot back because I had to carry the spool of wire. It was kind of a crazy decision.”

I thanked him for telling me all this, but I was thirteen and, by the end of it, I was fidgeting around and checking the clock. I wanted to go outside and hang with the guys. My dad noticed none of that, as his mind was still back in 1943.

“Every Christmas I think about that day. I got to live, somehow . . . lucky, I guess . . . ,” he said, his voice trailing off.

“Dad, um, can I go, now? Maybe you can tell me another war story later?”

It would be years before I heard one again.

Pietà

2012-01-05T09:22:00.000-08:00

Excerpted from Here Comes Trouble: Stories From My Life by Michael Moore
December 13th, 2011
http://www.michaelmoore.com/words/must-read/pieta

I was lost.

I had paused for perhaps too long to inspect the statues in the hallways and the Rotunda, bronzed and marbled renditions of an odd assortment of great and not-so-great Americans: Will Rogers, Daniel Webster, George Washington, Robert La Follette, Robert E. Lee, Jefferson Davis, Brigham Young, Andrew Jackson.

And then there was the statue of Zachariah Chandler. Not well-known outside the state of Michigan (and not well-known there, either), he was a four-term United States senator representing the Great Lakes state in the mid-nineteenth century. Historians who feel a kinship with the Confederacy credit him with starting the Civil War. On February 11, 1861, two months before the rebels fired on Fort Sumter, Chandler gave an inflammatory speech on the Senate floor where he threw down the gauntlet and called for some “bloodletting,” to purge the nation of its proslavery sentiments. In other words, once we kill a few of these slave owners, they’ll get the message that slavery is over. The South took this as an unofficial declaration of war and they continued to prepare for the bloodletting they would initiate.

Chandler is also credited with being a founder of the Republican Party. On July 6, 1854, he led the first effort in the nation to form a statewide antislavery party. He called upon all abolitionists to meet him under a giant oak tree in Jackson, Michigan — and six short years later they saw the Republican candidate, Abraham Lincoln, win the White House.

By the age of eleven I was fascinated with history and politics. For this, along with those too-early reading lessons, I blamed my mother. Her father (my grandfather) was a leader of the Republican Party in our town of Davison during the early half of the twentieth century. Being an immigrant from Canada, Dr. William J. Wall brought with him a Canadian common sense and a keen interest in the “goings-on” of government. He also believed that books and music were necessary companions in the pursuit of happiness.

Born and raised on a farm between Sarnia and London, Ontario, “Will” was one of eleven children. Reaching adulthood, he obtained his own small farm next to his brother Chris’s farm, and together they tilled the soil by day and played the Irish fiddle by night. The Wall brothers and their fiddles became much in demand for the local dances and shindigs. Even during their midday break from farming, they would get together and play their fiddles.

Within time, Will, who was well regarded by those in the village, was asked if he would teach at the one-room schoolhouse during the winter months. He accepted the offer and soon grew to like teaching so much that he ceded his farm to his brother.

After a few years of teaching, Will decided he wanted to be a doctor. The nearest medical school was across the St. Clair River in the state of Michigan. In 1898, medical school took one year, as that was all the time needed to teach everything that was known then about healing the human body. After finishing medical school in Saginaw, he traveled through Michigan’s “thumb” and happened upon a village called Elba, about thirteen miles east of Flint. He liked the people of Michigan and he liked the Americans, and though he would remain proud of his Canadian roots, he saw America as a place full of curious, inventive, progressive people and ideas. He decided to settle in Elba.

In September 1901, Dr. Wall traveled back to Ontario to visit his family and, at the last minute, decided to take the train over to Buffalo to see the much-anticipated Pan-American Exposition. This Exposition, with its City of Light, was the talk of the nation, as it would be one of the first times such a large area would be lit up with electric lights. There were fascinating exhibits on display, including the first X-ray machine and numerous other turn-of-the-century inventions, that filled the crowds with wonder and excitement. There was even a ride simulating the “First Trip to the Moon.”

The Exposition also provided a chance for Dr. Wall to see a president of the United States. And it was there, at four in the afternoon, on September 6, 1901, as my Grandpa Wall waited to get a glimpse of President William McKinley, that a shot rang out in the Temple of Music. An anarchist from Detroit (by way of Alpena, Michigan), Leon Czolgosz, fired two bullets in the ribs and abdomen of President McKinley. McKinley’s security guard would later admit (in an early and tragic case of racial profiling) that he had been distracted by keeping his eye on the large black man standing behind Czolgosz. It was that large black man, James Parker, who actually stopped Czolgosz from firing any further shots when he knocked him to the ground.

My grandfather, being a doctor, tried to get through the mob that had descended on the Temple from the fairgrounds when the shots rang out. An ambulance was there within minutes, and though Will announced he was a doctor and could help, they had already placed the president in the ambulance and were rushing him off to the temporary hospital that was part of the Exposition. Although there were electric lights located all around the fair, no one had thought to place any in the emergency room at the makeshift hospital. The surgeons had to operate on the president by having nurses hold metal trays in the direction of the windows in order to bounce enough light onto the president’s wounds. Unable to locate one of the bullets, the doctors decided to sew McKinley back up.

Remarkably, as is often the case after an operation, President McKinley recovered rapidly and seemed in good spirits. He was transferred to the home of the Exposition’s president so he could recuperate. But within six days, McKinley was dead of gangrene and a build-up of fluid. In spite of the Exposition’s heralding of new inventions like the electric vacuum sweeper, the wireless telegraph, ketchup in a bottle, and the X-ray machine, there was not much known about infection and how to prevent it from spreading.

Dr. Wall returned to Michigan. The violence he had witnessed (no Canadian prime minister had ever been assassinated; this was the third killing of an American president within thirty-six years) did not deter him from becoming an American citizen. Like McKinley, he also became a Republican. He met his wife, my grandmother, when he stopped by her father’s store to see about renting some space to set up his doctor’s office. Martin Moore was happy to oblige, as Elba was in need of its own doctor. He invited Will over to the house for dinner, and when Will came in he saw Martin’s daughter, Bess, playing the piano. He asked if she could play along if he brought his fiddle over. She said yes. Within a couple years the two of them were married and moved to nearby Davison.

The walls of their home were lined with books instead of wallpaper. I’m not even sure if there were walls. A piano sat in their parlor, and Will’s doctor’s office was at the back of the house with its own entrance. By the 1920s, a large radio sat on the floor in the living room, and it was here that the Walls would listen to the music of Caruso and Rudy Vallee, news shows and baseball games and The Lone Ranger. As no pictures were provided, they had to invent the images in their heads. Doc Wall loved imagining the streets of New York, the lair of the Green Hornet, or the canyons through which the Lone Ranger and Tonto would ride. Across the street from the Wall house was the local cinema, where the main feature would change two or three times a week. The village doctor made sure he never missed one, and he would sit there always hoping that newborns would be kind enough to take their time until the closing credits.

My grandfather enjoyed being in the thick of politics, and the local Republicans would meet at his house to plan their campaigns. His youngest daughter, my mother, Veronica, was bitten by the political bug and it would never leave her. And thus it was in our garage in the fall of 1960 where I, as a freshly minted first grader, heard my mother and father have their first argument.

“President Eisenhower,” my mother said as she handed my dad a box of old clothes to store in the attic, “He won the war and, despite the fact he’s not campaigning for him, he does support Nixon. What more do you need than that?”

“Yes,” my dad responded, “I like Ike. But Kennedy—our first Catholic president!” That was enough for me. But not for my mom.

“He’s too young, he’s inexperienced—and he’s a Democrat!”

“That’s a plus! We Moores’ve been voting for Democrats since Roosevelt!”

“Oh! Pshaw!”

Pshaw? Yes, she said “pshaw” a lot. And “ice box” (never “refrigerator”). And “grip” (instead of “suitcase”). The Bible on her shelf, from her mother’s side of the family, was from the 1840s. The complete volume of Shakespeare, also from the 1800s, was from her father. Her language and mannerisms were also from the nineteenth century. And clearly her view of the Republican Party was also lodged somewhere in a lost time. My dad was always fond of reminding her which party was in charge when the nation was sent reeling into the Great Depression. She would ignore such slights, as they were irrelevant to her. Her father, being the village doctor, was paid through the Depression with chickens and eggs and milk, not to mention a used sewing machine here or an oil change there. My dad, on the other hand, had memories of much more difficult times, and if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he would be a Democrat ’til the day he died.

And so throughout September and October of 1960 I would listen to this back-and-forth parental sparring during the great Nixon vs. Kennedy presidential election. My sisters and I were with my dad (my youngest sister was only three and a half, so she just nodded when we told her to). I felt bad for my mom, as she was up against not only the four of us but also God — because the Catholic Church was the One True Church. The nuns and priests could barely contain their excitement that 170 years of anti-Catholic bigotry was about to end. We said daily prayers, held rosaries, conducted novenas, and did everything we could to implore the Almighty to put the Catholic in the White House. In the end, the value of Catholic prayer was proven to be quite powerful, and Kennedy “miraculously” became president. It would be another twenty years before my mother would finally toss the Republicans overboard. “My father would not recognize these Republicans!” she would say (and for that I have Ronald Reagan to thank).

My mother’s love of country, its government, and its political institutions was always evident. She saw it as part of her parental responsibility to school us in the values of a democratic republic, specifically this one: the United States of America.

When I finished fifth grade in the summer of 1965, she loaded my sisters and me into our Buick and drove us to our nation’s capital for our summer vacation. While the other kids in the neighborhood got to go “up north” or to Scout camp or to Tot Lot, we were forced to go see the original documents of the Founding Fathers, the first flag sewn by Betsy Ross, the plane that Charles Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic. We took the FBI tour at the Department of Justice, we had our picture taken in front of the Iwo Jima statue, and we knelt and prayed in Arlington at the grave of our fallen Catholic president. We traipsed from one end of Pennsylvania Avenue to the other, climbed all 896 steps of the Washington Monument, and paid a visit to our congressman to shake his hand and let him know we’d be voters someday.

And it was while I was there, inside the Capitol building, that I found myself separated from my mother and sisters and our cousin Patricia. We were on our way to sit in the Senate gallery as the senators were debating a bill that would provide free health care for all the old people in America. But I got distracted by the statues and sharing the life of Zachariah Chandler with whomever would listen.

Eventually it dawned on me that I was all alone and on my own. My mother and sisters were nowhere in sight. I began to panic. Where did they go? Why did they leave me here? I may have thought I was a smart kid, but I had no idea where I was, where they were, or how I would find them. At age eleven, the Capitol Rotunda seemed like its own planet to me or, worse, a giant white marble vortex spinning madly and sucking everything into it. I tried to catch my breath and began walking quickly in whatever direction seemed like the way out.

I somehow ended up on the Senate side of the building and went down a staircase, looking frantically for any sign of my family. Realizing I was getting nowhere, I bolted through a pair of elevator doors just as they were closing.

Inside the elevator I began to cry. There was a lone man in the back corner, leaning against the railing, his face covered by the newspaper he was reading. He heard my sniffling and put the paper down to see what the commotion was all about.

As I had been properly schooled in all things political and Catholic, I instantly recognized this man. He was the junior senator from New York, Robert Francis Kennedy.

“What’s wrong, young man?” he said in a voice that was comforting enough to stop the tears. After all, no one had ever called me a young man before.

“I lost my mom,” I said sheepishly.

“Well, that can’t be good. Let’s see if we can find her.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Where are you from?”

“Michigan. Near Flint.”

“Oh, yes. My brother loved that Labor Day Parade. Big parade.”

The doors of the elevator opened, and he put his arm on my shoulder and escorted me to the nearest Capitol police officer.

“Seems this young man from Michigan . . .” He turned to me. “What’s your name, son?”

“Michael. Moore.”

“Michael has lost his mother, and perhaps we can help him.”

“Yes, sir, Senator. We’ll take care of it.” The officer told the senator he’d handle the matter from here on so that the senator could proceed with his much more important duties.

“Well, I’ll stay here for a minute or two to make sure he’s OK.”

I stood there thinking how stupid did I have to be to get lost, and now I was holding up Bobby Kennedy and the business of the United States Senate so that everybody could go search for my mommy. Jeez-oh-pete, was I embarrassed.

“How old are you, Mike —can I call you Mike?” Kennedy asked.

“I’m eleven. This is my first time in the Capitol,” I offered, hoping to make myself seem less like an idiot.

“Well, you got your first ride in the Senate elevator. That almost makes you a senator!” The Irish in him had now kicked in, and he flashed that Kennedy grin. I smiled, too, and joined in.

“Hey, you never know!” I said, then wanted quickly to retract this wise-ass remark.

“Well, we got two good Democrats from Michigan already, Senators McNamara and —”

“— Hart!” I jumped in as if I were on a quiz show.

“You know your senators. Very good! And promising,” he added with a wink to the officer.

“We’ve got his mother,” a voice squawked across the police radio the cop was holding. “Stay there. She’s coming.”

“Well, it seems everything worked out OK,” proclaimed the senator from New York. “Good luck, young man — and never lose sight of your mother!”

And with that he was gone, before I even had a chance to thank him or wish him well or recite for him my favorite passages from his brother’s Inaugural Address.

Within minutes my mother and sisters and cousin arrived, and after a stern look and a word or two, we were off to sit in the Senate gallery and listen to ninety-eight men and two women debate the passage of a new law that would pay for the doctor bills of every single senior citizen, a radical idea to be sure. They called it “Medicare,” and the idea seemed to sit well with the doctor’s daughter in the gallery. Most senators also seemed to like the bill, though there were some who said it was the first step toward something called “socialism.” My sisters and I had no idea what that was; we just knew it was a bad word.

“This law will also help poor people,” our mother added, and although that wasn’t us, by the tenets of the Church it was considered a good thing, even if it did conflict with the principles of Mom’s Republican Party. The bill passed, and one senator proclaimed that the elderly would never have to worry again about going broke because of medical bills.

When we went back a few days later to sit in the House gallery, a new bill was up for discussion: the Voting Rights Act of 1965. From watching the evening news and being taught to read the daily newspaper, I knew that “colored people” were being unfairly treated, even killed. A few months earlier, in March 1965, a white housewife from Detroit, Viola Liuzzo, upset at what she had been seeing on the television regarding the savage treatment of black people, made an impromptu decision to head down to Selma, Alabama, to march with the Rev. Martin Luther King. I knew King to be the Negro man in charge of the civil rights movement, and in the town where I lived his name was rarely mentioned — and when it was, it usually had other words attached to it, none pleasant.

Mrs. Liuzzo, a mother of five children, was brutally murdered by the Ku Klux Klan while volunteering as one of the drivers who ferried demonstrators back and forth to Selma. It was a shock to most of Michigan, and when I heard it being discussed by Jesse the barber, he informed those who were getting their hair cut that day that she was found with “some nigga boy” in the car — a married woman up to no good and “sticking her puss in where it don’t belong!” Jesse’s Barber Shop was the place you went for enlightenment in Davison, and the place was always full. Jesse was a short man with a short haircut, and there was always a pair of scissors or a long razor in his hand. This was problematic, as he wore thick-lensed glasses, the kind the legally blind wore, and it frightened me when I sat in his chair as he held court, the sharp instruments being used to make various punctuation points in the air.

For many nights after Mrs. Liuzzo’s murder I could not sleep, and when I did, I had dreams that it was my mother found dead in the car along the road in Alabama. I told my parents of this, and they suggested I give the news-watching a break, but I continued to tune in to Walter Cronkite each night.

It was confusing for me and my sisters, sitting in the House gallery, listening to men talking about how “it isn’t the federal government’s business” who gets to vote.

“Why don’t they want people to vote?” I asked my mother.

“Some people don’t want some people to vote,” she said, trying to protect me from the fact that even United States senators could think like the men who killed Viola Liuzzo.

The next day we took an overly long and punishingly hot car ride to Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson. This historic site, located about two hours southwest of Washington, deep in the state of Virginia, took us into the beginnings of the “real South,” as our mother called it. The tour through Monticello was mostly unmemorable, except for the too-short doorways that indicated people two hundred years ago were not that tall, and the glaring omission of any mention of Jefferson’s slaves.

On the way back to D.C. we pulled off the highway for gas and for a trip to the rest room. I walked with my mother around to the back of the station, where there were two doors. One was marked WHITE and the other COLORED (though it looked like someone had tried to scrape that last word off, unsuccessfully). I stood and stared at these signs, and although I knew what it meant, I wanted to hear my mother’s explanation of it.

“What is this?” I asked.

She looked at the signs and was silent for a moment.

“You know what it is,” she said curtly. “Just go in there and do your business and get out.” I went into the “Colored” bathroom and she went into the “Whites.” When we came out, she led me back to the car.

“Get in there and stay with your sisters.”

She then headed into the gas station with the kind of walk we three kids knew meant that heads would roll. We cranked our heads out the windows, hoping to hear what she was saying to the man at the counter, but all that was available to us was the tight-lipped look on her face and the few motions she made with her index finger. He, too, made a few gestures, including a shrug of his shoulders. She came back outside to the car and got in and said nothing.

“What were you doing?” I asked.

“Just mind your business,” she said, cutting me off. “And lock your doors.” (This would be the only time in my life I would hear such a demand when in the vicinity of all white people.) We never learned what she said to the man, or what he told her, and years later I liked to think she had given him a piece of her mind for her children having to witness such immorality in the U.S.A. that she loved. He might have told her that they just hadn’t gotten around to taking it down yet, or had tried (the Civil Rights Act outlawing such things had passed twelve months earlier), or maybe he told her to get her nigger-loving ass out of there. Or maybe she was just complaining that the ladies’ room was out of toilet paper. I always meant to ask but didn’t. She was no Viola Liuzzo, and for that, I guess, I was thankful, as I liked my mother being alive.

The trip to D.C. to learn how our government worked was coming to a close, but our mother had scheduled a “part two” for our summer trip: we were going to New York City and to the New York World’s Fair! When she was eighteen, her parents took her to the 1939 World’s Fair in New York, and it was there she first saw inventions like the television and was given a glimpse of the “World of Tomorrow.” We would now get a glimpse into our future via this new Fair. Five hours later we arrived at our aunt’s house on Staten Island.

The New York World’s Fair of 1964–65 was a mind-bursting experience. Located on 646 acres in the borough of Queens, the Fair included over 140 pavilions and exhibits from all over the world. Most of it, for our young eyes, was a thrilling look at what the adults of that day thought the world would look like in the twenty-first century. The IBM pavilion introduced us to what computers could do for us, and while it was never proposed that we would ever own our own computers, it did spike the imagination and create an excitement for the bold world of the coming new millennium.

At the Pepsi pavilion we saw a very entertaining show called “It’s a Small World,” a precursor to the “We Are the with African starvation than with beating Coke.

There was nothing that came close to the massive building sponsored by General Motors at the Fair. They called it Futurama, and with all of us being from the company’s hometown, we were quite proud to enter its doors. They put us in chairs —and suddenly those chairs began to move! They took us on a ride through the Future — flying cars, cities under the oceans, colonies on the moon, and happy people everywhere. It was a world at peace, where everyone had a nice job, and there was no poverty or pollution or anything that might upset us. That was cool. We went on the ride again, and this time I took notes. GM was making a very generous promise, and I wanted to be able to tell the boys back in the neighborhood about it.

Many states and countries also had their own pavilions. New York State had three towers from which you could see the tri-state area. The tallest one had a huge lobby with a million-dollar map of New York laid out with exotic tiles (and a star on the location of every Texaco gas station in the state). At the top of the tower was a revolving restaurant. The new state of Alaska had an exhibit, as did Wisconsin (free samples of cheese!), and the British, French, Canadians, and dozens of other countries were well represented.

But the longest lines were reserved for the Vatican City pavilion. For it was inside this edifice that the Pope had sent abroad, for the first time ever, a work of art from St. Peter’s Basilica. Yet this wasn’t just any piece of art. This was one of the most famous works of sculpture in the history of the world: the Pietà, by Michelangelo.

The Pietà depicted the Blessed Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus, holding the body of her dead son after he was taken down from the cross. It measured approximately six feet high and six feet wide and was only the third sculpture by a young and somewhat unknown twenty-four-year-old Michelangelo of Florence, Italy.

To view the Pietà you had to wait in a long line and, once inside, you were placed on a moving sidewalk where you could view the work at 1.2 miles per hour. No photography was allowed and silence and reverence were expected at all times.

On my pass by the Pietà I was frozen in amazement. I had never seen anything like it. Suddenly, all the exhibits depicting the future were a distant memory, because this piece of marble from four hundred years ago had me transfixed. The moving walkway sped by far too fast for me, and as I passed by I cranked my neck back as far as it would go, until the conveyor belt deposited me out of the room.

“I want to go back again!” I told my mom.

“Really? Um, OK. Girls, let’s get back in line.”

We got back in line, and within the hour, we were on the movable belt again.

This time I locked my eyes in slow motion and soaked up every inch of the Pietà. Here was Mary holding her only son — her dead son — but she wasn’t sad! Her face was young and smooth and . . . content. What could be a worse moment in anyone’s life, to lose one’s child? And to have it happen in such a violent, barbaric way — and you, the mother, were forced to watch the whole sickening ordeal? And yet, there was no sign of any violence in the Pietà, just a mother gazing down at her son as he slept in her arms. And that was what Jesus looked like — serenely asleep in her arms. No blood from the crown of thorns, no hole in his side from the Roman’s spear. It was as if he would wake up at any moment — and she knew it. There was death, but there was life.

I couldn’t take it much further than that — I mean, I was eleven! — but it was profound and it had my head spinning — and I wanted to see it again!

“No, we have to move on,” my mother responded to my pleas. My sisters, too, had had it with me, as they wanted to get back over to the more fun parts of the Fair.

“But I want to get a picture! We have to show Dad!”

That won the argument: something for Dad, back home, toiling away in the factory. And fortunately she hadn’t seen the No Photography signs. So back in we went for a third time, my mother with the 8mm home movie Bell & Howell, me with the Kodak Brownie in hand.

On the third pass — where we were chastised for the cameras (this disturbed my mother, who did not like to be told to do anything by anybody) — I was now completely focused on the face of the mother Mary. At one point I turned away to look at my mother’s face, and I decided that the resemblance was significant enough to warrant better treatment of her in the weeks to come.

Before exiting the Vatican City pavilion, I approached a bevy of monsignors in robes who stood near the Swiss Guards. I had two questions I wanted to ask. A friendly-looking, Irish-accented priest with a nose as red as Rudolph’s offered his assistance.

“There was some writing carved into Mary’s clothes,” I asked, innocently. “Do you know what it says?”

“It says MICHAEL. ANGELUS. BONAROTUS. FLORENTIN. FACIEBAT — ‘Michelangelo Buonarroti of Florence Created This.’ He carved it in there because when he attended the unveiling of the sculpture he heard people in the crowd give credit to another famous sculptor at the time, saying ‘so-and-so must have made this!’ It upset him, so that night he came into St. Peter’s and carved that inscription across Mary’s sash. But when he came back the next day, he saw what that looked like, and he was ashamed and upset that he had defaced his own artwork because of his pride and vanity. He vowed at that moment, as his penance, never to sign another sculpture of his again. And he never did.”

I paused to take that in, and it seemed like a good lesson to hear.

My other question was a simpler one. “What does Pietà mean?”

“It’s Italian,” the priest said.

“It means ‘pity.’”

“I want to see where the Towers stood,” she said, and she wouldn’t let me talk her out of it. I did not want to take my mother down to lower Manhattan. I did not want this to be her last possible memory of the city she loved, a place that was so much a part of her imagination and memories and a lifelong source of joy for her whenever she stepped onto this island. That magical place was now still smoldering, the fires underground still burning, some ten weeks after the attack. It still felt and smelled of death, and the progress of combing through the 220 stories of twisted steel and pulverized concrete in search of the departed was painstakingly slow.

“I want to see it.”

Days before, I went out to LaGuardia Airport in our Volkswagen Beetle to pick up my parents who had flown in to be with us for the Thanksgiving weekend. As I stood behind the newly tightened airport security zone I could see the two of them coming up the aisle of the Northwest Airlines terminal. My mother had not been well, and her health was deteriorating as each month went by. Yet there she was, walking three paces ahead of my dad as if she were twenty years younger, the kind of lilt in her step that only New York could give her. She also spotted me long before my dad did and started waving enthusiastically. I waved back.

Whatever “slowing down” she had done back at home was not evident once she was firmly planted in Manhattan. No longer forced to take the ferry and the bus to get into the city from her sister’s house on Staten Island, she was now “sitting pretty,” as my dad would say, in our West Side apartment. He would walk into my condo building and, without fail, remark that I was “sure livin’ high on the hog!” This was beyond anything he could have imagined on the factory floor of AC Spark Plug, and while he enjoyed the amenities and the view of the city, he remained appropriately skeptical for a man of his means.

The night before Thanksgiving, my wife and I took them over to West Eighty-First Street and along Central Park West so they could see the balloons being inflated for the Macy’s Parade the next day. It was cold and we bundled them as best we could, and for a short time they enjoyed being with thousands of New Yorkers marveling at the deflated Snoopy and slightly inflated Bart Simpson lying on the ground (though they had no idea who the latter was). It was a peek behind Life After Flint — a trip to the Cannes Film Festival with a walk up the stairs of the Palais, a seat at the Emmy Awards next to Sid Caesar the night we won, a chance to have people like Rob Reiner tell them that “your son’s film has the impact of an Uncle Tom’s Cabin” — that alone being worth the price of admission if you’re a parent, slightly embarrassing if you’re the son.

But now my mother wanted to see Ground Zero, the site of the recent massacre of 2,752 people. I acquiesced and, thinking that Thanksgiving Day would find it the least crowded there, I loaded them in the Beetle and headed down the West Side Highway.

By mid-November of 2001, the authorities had opened up more streets in Tribeca to traffic, and it was possible to drive right up the perimeter of the World Trade Center’s former location. The place was every bit the disaster area it had been for the past two months, and smoke could still be seen wafting its way up from the ruins.

I slowed down so they could get a better look. I glanced over at my mother, who was sitting in the front seat with me. There were tears in her eyes, and I would have to go back to the death of her sister to recall such a look of sadness on her face. It was like her facial muscles had just collapsed on their own. She looked down, and then away, and then back again at the destruction. This was not the New York of Ed Sullivan or the Rainbow Room or giving your regards to Broadway.

This was the future not promised, her world of tomorrow, and I was sorry for her to see it.

“Mike! Mike!”

I was sitting in the living room of our home in northern Michigan, planning which movie I was going to take the family to in the next half hour. The choice was between Men in Black II or Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. It was the Fourth of July weekend, 2002, and my sister Veronica had flown in from California with her kids to be with my wife and daughter and our parents. It was Saturday, early evening, and we had spent the day on the lake, taking the kids tubing, and giving Mom and Dad a spin on the boat. My mother hung on to her hat and laughed and admonished me to slow down as the kids on the inner tube shouted to go faster.

Afterward, before dinner, I sat with my mom in the Adirondack chairs on top of the small hill beside the lake. She rolled up her pants to get some sun on her legs and closed her eyes, and you could see it all felt good to her.

For the past three weeks I had taken off from work and come to Davison to hang out with them. I took them out for a wedding anniversary dinner, and we did driving tours of all their old haunts from their years of growing up in the Flint area. We visited the graves of all the ancestors, some with birthdates going back to the late 1700s. We planted flowers, we visited the free legal service provide by the UAW (they wanted to update their wills), and we went to a Tigers ball game in Detroit. It was, without a doubt, three of the best weeks I ever spent with them. Though my mother was fading in energy, she participated in everything. But I noticed her time in the bathroom seemed to be getting longer and longer. My dad complained about it, and I agreed we should take her to the doctor and get her checked out.

“Mike! Mike!!” It was my mother’s voice, but it wasn’t coming from inside the house where the rest of us were. It was coming from the back deck. I went out to see what she needed.

When I came out the door, it was clear she was very, very sick.

“I need to get to the bathroom —” She threw up at that moment, and what she threw up was pitch-black gunk. My dad, by then, had come outside to see what was the matter, and he and I helped her up and took her inside. My wife called the local hospital to see what they suggested.

“Pepto Bismol,” my wife said, relaying the message. This did not seem like a job for a pink liquid. My mother continued to throw up. “I think we should take her to the hospital,” I said. I did not want to call an ambulance as that would take a long time (the nearest one was at least eight miles away).

We walked her slowly out to my dad’s Ford, and my wife and sister made her comfortable in the back seat. I got behind the wheel and headed down our long driveway to the road. We lived deep in the middle of nowhere (in 2002, our road still wasn’t wired for cable TV).

As I reached the end of the driveway, I had a quick decision to make: Do I take her to the nearest hospital — or do I take her to the better hospital? The nearest hospital was in a small town twenty-three miles to the north. The better hospital, the best in northern Michigan, was in the opposite direction, forty-five miles away, twice the drive. So there was the dilemma. Your mother is seriously ill, you don’t know why, but it doesn’t look good. Do you get her help immediately or, if she’s much worse than even you realize, do you drive the longer distance and end up with a better array of doctors and facilities available?

What would you do? You’d get her to the quickest hospital, right? Right? That’s what I did. I chose the nearest hospital.

I got there in record time — less than twenty minutes — and we took her in, told them the problem, and they saw to her right away. There was only one doctor on duty, but it wasn’t long before he looked at her.

“It seems that her intestinal tract is blocked. We’re going to take some X-rays.” And, sure enough, the X-rays confirmed the doctor’s suspicions.

They gave her liquids that they said should help. It didn’t. They gave her an IV and they said that should do the trick. It didn’t. While waiting to see which procedure would get the expected results and then seeing no results, the clock had peeled away the hours; it was well past midnight.

“OK,” said the doctor finally. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to give her a series of four or five enemas and keep her overnight. This should work and she should be able to go home tomorrow.”

We went with her to the room they had given her and we stayed until they were ready to start the enema procedures. At that point the nurse suggested, “It’s almost three a.m. — why don’t you go get some sleep and come back in the morning?”

Our mother agreed. “Take your father home and let him get some rest. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

For reasons we could never later explain to ourselves, we took her advice and, amazingly — shockingly — left her alone there in this tiny hospital. We went home and crashed quickly — and just as quickly we were awoken a few hours later.

“Is this Michael Moore?” said the voice on the phone. “This is Dr. Calkins, the surgeon here at the hospital. The enemas didn’t work on your mother, and she’s taken a turn. We need to operate. How soon can you be here?”

In less than twenty minutes we were there. Mom looked embarrassed and sorry to be putting everyone out for the trouble she was causing. “Did you get some sleep?” was all that was on her mind.

“Don’t worry about us,” I said. “How are you doing?”

“Well, nothing seems to be working. They want to operate,” she said with a weak voice.

I took the doctor aside and asked him to explain to me what was going on.

“Your mother’s intestines are shot,” he said matter-offactly. “We will more than likely need to take a piece of them out.”

“Are you sure that’s necessary?”

“If we don’t get in there, she could go into septic shock. The bacteria trapped in there may have already seeped through the lining of her intestine. This is a common procedure; I’ve done many of them. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. She should be fine.”

“Fine? How many of these did you say you have done?”

“I do one or two a year — and I’ve been doing this for thirty-some years. As it is now, I’m all you got ’cause I’m the only one here — and I think we should get going.”

We went back in the room and the nurse brought in some paperwork for my dad to sign. She then asked my mother to sign the consent form.

“Would you sign it for me, Frank?” she asked my dad.

He took the clipboard and signed it, slowly. We squeezed my mom’s hand and told her everything was going to be OK. She assured us everything was going to be OK. I fought hard not to cry. They took her away and we went to the lounge to wait for the hour or two.

Four hours later the surgeon had not come out, and a pall fell over the room. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t going to be good.

Finally, the doctor appeared.

“I think it went well,” he said. “She’s recovering fine now. We had to remove about a foot of her intestine. I’d say the chances for a full recovery are about 90 percent.”

Whew. You know how many times you’ve seen that doctor come through those doors — a thousand times — on TV shows and in the movies and it’s rarely good news. He explained to us that she will probably have to stay in the hospital for the better part of the week. He didn’t see any seepage through the intestinal lining and her vital signs were all good. In fact, we could see her within the hour as soon as she woke up.

We thanked the surgeon and, with a sense of relief, headed back to the intensive care unit. Well, there was no “unit” or ward at this hospital. They had a small ICU area with two rooms. That was fine, just fine. She was OK!

When we went into our mother’s room, she was hooked up to all the standard monitors and IV tubes, but she was awake and alert and very happy to see us.

“Here I am,” she said, stating the obvious. I liked hearing that: first person, present tense.

“Well, the doctor says you made it through with flying colors!” I said to her, as I pulled up a chair beside the bed. My sister and wife and father were equally upbeat in their assessments of her condition.

“You’re gonna be OK, Mom,” Veronica said, giving her a kiss on her forehead. “In fact, you look pretty chipper there!”

Our only concern until this point had been the effects of putting such an elderly person under sedation. We had known of friends with not-good stories of what happened to their parents when knocked out with anesthesia. Sometimes all their memory didn’t return, at least not right away. I decided to give her a pop quiz.

“Hey Mom —you know what day this is?”

“Sure,” she said, “it’s Sunday.”

“Where did you and Dad go on your honeymoon?”

“New York. Boston. Albany.” (I know. Albany. Don’t ask.)

And now for the Final Jeopardy question. This was a family that loved to go to the movies.

“Where did you first see High Noon?”

“Cheboygan, Michigan. Nineteen fifty-two!” she responded without missing a beat. Wow. Crisis averted, roll credits!

Everyone pulled up a chair, and we spent the next few hours talking about the good times and growing up and Dr. Wall and the time he was “blocked” just before her wedding and how he too had to go to the hospital and almost didn’t make it. Never had discussions about enemas been so heartening.

The doctor and nurses on call would occasionally come in to check on her, change the IV bags, inspect the area where the surgery took place. She would doze off now and then, her body wanting to restore itself after the shock of surgery.

By 9:00 p.m. it was decided that we would take shifts and stay with her for as long as she was going to be in the hospital. I offered to take the first shift until the morning. Veronica and my wife took Dad and the kids back to the house. I got comfortable with a book and my ever-present legal pad, sketching out the final fixes I wanted to make to my film before its release in the fall.

Every now and then my mother would wake up and we would talk.

“I’m very lucky to have the family I have,” she said.

“We’re very lucky to have you,” I told her, patting a lukewarm washcloth on her face like she would do for us, so many years ago.

“I’m thirsty,” she said. She was not allowed to have any food or liquids, not even water, during these first twenty-four hours. All we could do was to let her suck on a little Q-tip that had a tiny moist sponge on its head. I held one up to her lips, and she sucked on it with some desperation.

“I’m parched.” I smiled. No one said “parched” in this century or the last.

“Lemme do this,” I said, as I took another one and rubbed it around her lips. Like an infant looking for its mother’s nipple, she grabbed at the little stick with her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, wanting more, more.

“Thirsty.”

“I think that’s all we can do for now, Mom. I’ll just sit here with you and we’ll do it again in a little bit.”

I sat in the chair next to her bed and got comfortable.

“Here,” she said, as she lifted her head off her pillows and tried to reach for one of them. “Take one of my pillows.”

I could not believe, in the state she was in, that she was worrying about me not having a pillow. And that even in her worst suffering, her instincts were still to be a mother, to look out for her son, to make sure he was OK, to allow him to fall asleep, to sleep peacefully and in comfort. On her pillow.

“That’s OK, Mom,” I said with a smile, trying to contain a laugh. “I don’t need a pillow. You keep it.” I arranged the pillow back in place, and her head now nestled in it comfortably.

“I love my kids. I have good children,” she said with a sweet, faint smile.

I put my hand on her face and gently combed her hair back with my fingers.

“We love you, too, Mom.” I felt lucky to have her as my mother.

A moment later the night nurse came in with an aide and said that she needed to give my mother some potassium in her medicine bag and change the top sheet of the bed. For my mother’s modesty and privacy, she suggested that maybe I could “just step out for a few minutes.” The nurse had hair fashioned into a long braid that extended down her back, the kind I guess you might see in a religious community. Her glasses were like something from the late seventies, and they framed a face that seemed frozen in time.

I left the room and went out in the hallway to wait. It wasn’t long before I heard sheer human panic.

“No —move her over. There! Stop! We’ve got a problem!”

I rushed back into the room to see my mother in what I later learned was a cardiac arrest. The nurse was panicked and confused and I suggested we get the doctor down here NOW.

“Yes, right.” She picked up the intercom phone and paged the lone doctor in the ER.

My mother was struggling to breathe — gasping, gasping, gasping, her eyes locked on to mine as if to say, Please help me!

“Everything’s going to be OK, Mom, hang in there!”

I turned to the nurse and demanded action. “We need the doctor in here now! Do I have to go get him?”

The doctor walked in and immediately saw what the problem was. “She needs to breathe! Where is the respirator?”

The little ICU at this small-town hospital did not have a respirator machine in the unit at that moment.

“Grab the portable!” the doctor shouted. The nurse went and got a small plastic device that she tore out of a plastic bag, then tried to insert it in my mother’s mouth. She had it upside down.

“Here, give it to me!” the doctor demanded. He took it from her, inserted it into my mother’s mouth, placing the tube squarely down her throat. “Here, pump it like this!”

Jesus, oh Jesus, what the fuck was going on? He was having to show a nurse how to bring air into a patient’s lungs? This was madness. I wanted to jump in, help, do something, do CPR, something, ANYTHING, please God this isn’t happening!

While the nurse pumped, the doctor told the aide to go down to the ER and get the hospital’s lone ventilator. He worked on my mother, gave her a shot of something, massaged something, and the only good news in this moment was that the heart monitor never went dead, never flatlined. The heart was still beating, there was oxygen getting into the blood.

I picked up my phone and called the house. My sister answered.

“I think you guys better get here now,” I said, trying to disguise my panic. “Something’s happened. Don’t kill yourself getting here. She’s alive. But struggling bad. Come now!”

The ventilator arrived with another nurse, and the doctor wasted no time jamming the hose straight down my mother’s throat. Her eyes were no longer on mine. They were open, frozen, looking straight up and seemingly unaware of what was happening to her. At that moment a bolt of lightning struck the hospital and it lit up the room. I had not noticed that for the past fifteen minutes a thunderstorm had rolled in and was now in full fury. Deafeningly close thunder exploded, and the lightning continued to flash into the unit. I looked at the clock: 12:45 a.m. For some reason, with all that was going on, it occurred to me that I was born at 12:45 (but in the p.m.). How did I know this? For every year of my adult life, no matter where I was, at exactly 12:45 p.m., my mother would call me to tell me this was the moment she gave birth to me. Now, here I was, crumbling inside, helpless and lost, feeble and useless and impotent in this most critical moment where I was responsible for giving her life, or at least saving it. The voice inside my head kept pounding: YOU made the wrong decision! Yes, I had chosen the closest hospital, not the better hospital where I was certain I would not be witnessing a Mack Sennett version of intensive care where the Keystone Cops finally find the only ventilator in the mop closet and wheel it out, asking each other if they know how this newfangled contraption works. I was sick, sick, and I wanted to throw up.

I went over by my mother’s side and put my hands on her. I whispered in her ear: “I’m here. You’re OK. This will be OK. Stay with me. Don’t leave me. Dad and Veronica are on the way!”

I bowed my head and said a prayer and asked God to please spare her, to not take her, to let her live. It was not her time! I asked him to take everything from me, everything I had, all my possessions, my career — anything — I would give it all up right now just so she could live. It was a crazy, illogical and unnecessary request. God — or nature or my mother herself — were going to decide if her body could carry on. But I meant it nonetheless, and I would be overjoyed if my offer were accepted.

My dad and sister and wife arrived, slightly shaken by what they said was the worst storm they’d ever driven through. They went to her side and spoke to her, and though there would be the occasional twitch in her eyes, there was no guarantee she could hear us.

Her heart beat through the night and into the morning. Our other sister, Anne, rushed to get on a red-eye from Sacramento and would soon arrive there to be with us. Each hour, our mother’s vital signs would stabilize, then go slightly downward. The night nurse with the long braid left without a word, and a new day nurse came in. She stopped when she saw me, and she didn’t try very hard to contain “that look” I’ve seen a thousand times from those who would rather not see me. Of course, the other nurses and doctors more than made up for her attitude, and they did their best to make my mother comfortable and to keep the rest of us calm. The doctor on duty admitted that if my mom were stable he’d like to move her to another hospital with facilities that might be better for her. But that kind of travel would be too dangerous at this point, he said. We would just have to play the cards we were dealt.

By two in the afternoon (now twenty-four hours since the surgery), her progress continued steadily downward. The blood pressure read 60 over 35. I called Jack Stanzler, a doctor and friend in Ann Arbor, to get some advice, and he in turn called a doctor friend of his in northern Michigan to see if there was anything he could do. Our mother’s eyes remained wide open with little or no movement. We all kept whispering encouraging things to her, hoping it would help.

I took a break for a moment and went out in the hall to the nurses’ station, where I encountered the not-so-happy to-see-me nurse. She looked straight at me, and with a tone of disgust that she didn’t even have the decency to hide, she uttered the following:

“Why don’t you just knock it off in there? Your mother is dead. And nobody’s got the guts to tell you that. She’s gone and nothing you’re doing is going to bring her back.” And then she walked away.

I thought I had suffocated. If I didn’t know better, it felt as if the nurse’s hand was now on my throat, choking the life out of me.

“Wait a minute!” I yelled, as I found my breath. “Who are you?! Why would you say such a thing? You’re sick. Sick!”

I broke down. The others in the room heard me, and my wife came out. Sobbing, I told her what the nurse just said.

“Your mother’s not dead. Those monitors don’t lie. I don’t know why she would say that. Come back in the room.”

Instead, I went to the phone and called the surgeon. I told him what just happened. He told me to ignore the nurse and that the doctor on duty was handling things and that was all that mattered. “And your mother is still alive.”

Over the next hour we all took turns spending a few private moments with my mother, saying the things that you would only say if it were just you and your dying mother in the room. Around 4:00 p.m. we all gathered in a circle around her bed, and each of us offered a prayer or a remembrance or a thank-you to this woman who brought us into the world and raised us and took care of us and encouraged us to embrace knowledge and goodness and kind-heartedness and to never back down if we thought that was what our conscience was demanding. No one could get through what they were saying without breaking down.

At thirty seconds after 4:30 p.m. on July 8, 2002, my mother left this world. There was a sharp, profound sorrow in the room, and too many tears to count. We cried for the better part of the next half hour, and one by one, after a long silence, we picked up our things to leave. I was the last in the room. I went over to my mother and held her. She was asleep, her eyes having been closed by the doctor. I kissed her on her head, and when I pulled back I noticed a long gray hair of hers on my shirt. I gently took the hair — the hair that to me was still alive, still full of her DNA, the twenty-three chromosomes that made her who she was, that helped to make me who I am, a piece of her (though it was just a simple strand of hair). I tucked the hair into my shirt pocket, looked at her one last time, and left.

To this day, that last strand of gray hair still sits in that same shirt pocket, folded up in a small bag in my old bedroom in the home I grew up in, hidden away, untouched, up on top of the bookshelf, next to a little plastic statue she gave me at the New York World’s Fair of Michelangelo’s Pietà.

The intellectual cowardice of Bradley Manning’s critics

2012-01-05T09:20:00.000-08:00

Those wanting the Army Private imprisoned are afraid to condemn the virtually identical acts of Daniel Ellsberg
Glenn Greenwald
Saturday, Dec 24, 2011
http://www.salon.com/2011/12/24/the_intellectual_cowardice_of_bradley_mannings_critics

After imprisoning Private First Class Bradley Manning for eighteen months, the U.S. Army last week finally began the preliminary stage of his court-martial proceeding, and that initial process ended on Thursday. Manning faces over 30 charges; the most serious — “aiding the enemy” — carries a death sentence (though prosecutors are requesting “only” life in prison for the 24-year-old soldier). The technical purpose of this week’s hearing was to determine if there is sufficient evidence to warrant a full court-martial proceeding; the finding (that there is such evidence) is a virtual inevitability. Manning’s counsel, Lt. Col. David Coombs, spent the week challenging the Army’s evidence, suggesting that his client may have suffered “diminished capacity” by virtue of his gender struggles and emotional instability, and finally, forcefully arguing that the leaks were an act of political conscience and that the Army has severely “overcharged” Manning in an attempt to coerce incriminating statements against WikiLeaks (Kevin Gosztola and The Guardian were at the hearing and have recaps of what happened over the last week; my general view of Manning was set forth in an Op-Ed in The Guardian last week, and my specific view of the gender defense is here).

For the moment, I want to make one narrow point about Bradley Manning. I’ve made it before but it was really underscored for me by a debate I had on an Al Jazeera program Thursday night regarding Manning with Daniel Ellsberg and the neocon activist Cliff May, who vigorously defended the Obama administration’s treatment of Manning:

Ever since Manning was accused of being the source for the WikiLeaks disclosures, those condemning these leaks have sought to distinguish them from Ellsberg’s leak of the Pentagon Papers. With virtual unanimity, Manning’s harshest critics have contended that while Ellsberg’s leak was justifiable and noble, Manning’s alleged leaks were not; that’s because, they claim, Ellsberg’s leak was narrowly focused and devoted to exposing specific government lies, while Manning’s was indiscriminate and a far more serious breach of secrecy. When President Obama declared Manning guilty, he made the same claim: “No it wasn’t the same thing. Ellsberg’s material wasn’t classified in the same way.”

One problem for those wishing to make this claim is that Ellsberg himself has been one of Manning’s most vocal defenders, repeatedly insisting that the two leaks are largely indistinguishable. But the bigger problem for this claim is how blatantly irrational it is. As Ellsberg clearly details in this Al Jazeera debate, he — Ellsberg — dumped 7,000 pages of Top Secret documents: the highest known level of classification; by contrast, not a single page of what Manning is alleged to have leaked was Top Secret, but rather all bore a much lower-level secrecy designation. In that sense, Obama was right: “Ellsberg’s material wasn’t classified in the same way” — the secrets Ellsberg leaked were classified as being far more sensitive.

To the extent one wants to distinguish the two leaks, Ellsberg’s was the far more serious breach of secrecy. The U.S. Government’s own pre-leak assessment of the sensitivities of these documents proves that. How can someone — in the name of government secrecy and national security — praise the release of thousands of pages of Top Secret documents while vehemently condemning the release of documents bearing a much lower secrecy classification?

Nor is there any way to distinguish the substance of the two leaks. While the Pentagon Papers exposed the lies from American leaders regarding the Vietnam War, the WikiLeaks disclosures have done exactly the same with regard to the Iraq War, the war in Afghanistan, and a whole litany of other critical events. Here is what Ellen Knickmeyer, the Baghdad Bureau Chief for The Washington Post during the Iraq War, documented about the Iraq War logs Manning is accused of releasing:

Thanks to WikiLeaks, though, I now know the extent to which top American leaders lied, knowingly, to the American public, to American troops, and to the world, as the Iraq mission exploded.

Is that not exactly what makes so many people view the Pentagon Papers leak as noble and just? Even some of Manning’s fellow soldiers in Iraq have hailed the WikiLeaks leaker as a hero. Beyond that, the diplomatic cables and war logs released by WikiLeaks revealed falsehoods and improprieties from the U.S. government (and other governments around the world) in a wide range of areas: its involvement in the covert war in Yemen; lies told by the U.S. Government regarding horrific, civilian-slaughtering incidents in Iraq; and, in general, numerous acts of abuses, deceit and illegality regarding much of what was done under the War on Terror rubric: exactly as the Pentagon Papers did.

Nor, if the U.S. Government’s evidence is to be believed, can there be any doubt about the similarity in motives between the two leakers. Just as Ellsberg repeatedly explained that he could not in good conscience stand by and have the world remain ignorant of the government lies he discovered about the Vietnam War (a war he once supported and helped plan), so, too, did Manning repeatedly state that these leaks were vital for informing the world about the depths of brutality, corruption and deceit driving these wars (including one war to which he was deployed as a soldier) — all with the goal of triggering what he called “worldwide discussion, debates, and reforms.” In the purported chats he had, Manning described how the intense worldwide reaction to the video of an Apache helicopter shooting unarmed civilians and a Reuters journalist in Baghdad “gave me immense hope”; that’s because: “i want people to see the truth… regardless of who they are… because without information, you cannot make informed decisions as a public.” That is as pure an expression as possible of exactly what motivated Ellsberg as well.

Just as Ellsberg came to realize the evil of the war of which he was a part and felt compelled to act to expose it even at the risk of his own liberty, so, too, did Manning (in the chat logs Manning purportedly said: “im not so much scared of getting caught and facing consequences at this point… as i am of being misunderstood”). The Army Private also explained in the chat logs that he began to realize how heinous the Iraq War was when he discovered that “insurgents” being rounded up and imprisoned by the U.S. Army were doing nothing more than issuing “scholarly critiques” of the Malaki government’s corruption — only to find that his Army superiors ignored his discovery when he brought it to their attention. Both Ellsberg and (allegedly) Manning then did the same thing: turned over the information they discovered to a third party to select the parts that should be published to the world (The New York Times for Ellsberg and WikiLeaks for Manning).

What’s really going on here in this Manning v. Ellsberg comparison is pure intellectual cowardice. At this point — four decades after it happened — most people are unwilling to stand up and publicly condemn the Pentagon Papers leak. In progressive circles, it has long been entrenched dogma that Ellsberg’s leak was just and noble and that the Nixon administration’s efforts to prosecute Ellsberg were ignoble. Ellsberg has hero status, and deservedly so: he risked his life, literally, to expose to the world just how systematic and deliberate was the U.S. Government’s deceit about the Vietnam War and how heinous was the war itself.

As a result, very few people are willing to condemn what he did (even the neocon May, in this Al Jazeera debate, was afraid to say that what Ellsberg did was wrong). So in order to condemn Manning — and, as importantly, if not more so, to defend the Obama administration — it’s necessary for Manning’s critics to contrive distinctions between the Pentagon Papers leak and the WikiLeaks disclosure: of course I approve of what Ellsberg did — all Decent People do — but what Manning is accused of doing is radically different and just awful: he must be punished.

The clear reality, though, is that those who condemn Manning now and want to see him imprisoned for decades are the direct heirs of those who, in the early 1970s, wanted to see Dan Ellsberg imprisoned for life. Those who now condemn both Ellsberg and Manning — like those who support the executive power abuses and secrecy of both the Bush and Obama administrations — are authoritarians to be sure, but at least they’re sincere and consistent in their views; it’s those who support one but condemn the other who are incoherent at best.

As Ellsberg himself makes clear, everything that is being said now to condemn Manning — everything – was widely said about Ellsberg at the time of his leak. Back then, Ellsberg was repeatedly accused of being a traitor, of violating his oath, of endangering America’s national security, of aiding its enemies, of taking the law into his own hands; he was smeared and had his sanity continuously called into question. Had it not been for the Nixon administration’s overzealous attempts to destroy him by breaking into the office of his psychiatrist — the primary act that caused the charges against Ellsberg to be dismissed on the grounds of government misconduct — there is a real possibility that Ellsberg would still be in a federal prison today. He’s viewed as a hero now only because the passage of time has proven the nobility of his act: it’s much easier to defend those who challenge and subvert political power retrospectively than it is to do so at the time.

As the Walkely Foundation recognized last month when awarding WikiLeaks and Julian Assange Australia’s equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize: “the secret cables [] create[d] more scoops in a year than most journalists could imagine in a lifetime.” Those who want to see Manning punished and imprisoned for decades are driven by exactly the same mentality as those who wanted to see Ellsberg in prison back then: a belief that the U.S. Government has the right to use secrecy to hide its acts of deceit and illegality, and that those who expose such acts to the world are the real criminals. Just as the Obama administration’s obsessive persecution of whistleblowers has its roots in the secrecy-worshipping mentality of the Nixon administration — in her New Yorker article on the war on whistleblowers, Jane Mayer quotes Gabriel Schoenfeld as saying: “Obama has presided over the most draconian crackdown on leaks in our history—even more so than Nixon” — those demanding Manning’s punishment are, in every sense, the Nixonians of today. Manning’s critics are made from the same authoritarian cloth as those demanding Dan Ellsberg’s scalp in 1971. They should at least be honest enough to admit that, and stop contriving blatantly false distinctions between the two cases.

12 College Town Breweries Crafting Seriously Good Beer

2012-01-05T09:18:00.000-08:00

December 20th, 2011
http://www.onlinecollege.org/12-college-town-breweries-crafting-seriously-good-beer

In college towns, you'll find a population dominated by college students, and within these towns are plenty of specialty businesses that cater to the student crowd: bars, book shops, inexpensive eateries, and coffee shops, to name a few. In some of the more fortunate college towns, you'll also find excellent breweries, some of them making beers that are sought after by beer geeks all over the world. Certainly, there's a link between academic excellence and great beer — we just haven't been able to prove it yet. And while not every college student appreciates a finely crafted beer, the growing ranks of enlightened college beer drinkers would be lucky to find themselves studying near one of these great breweries.

We've listed 12 of the best college town breweries out there, but we're certain there are even more worthy brewers out there, especially budding new breweries that have flown under our radar. Please be sure to share your favorite college town brewery in the comments.

Independence Brewing
As the capital of Texas and home to the University of Texas, Austin is also home to a dozen breweries and counting, with more in the planning stages. Even in this crowded market, Independence really stands out for its excellent beer portfolio. Standards include the Austin Amber Ale, Bootlegger Brown, Convict Hill Oatmeal Stout, and Stash IPA. We're thinking, though, that University of Texas students especially appreciate Oklahoma Suks, an American Amber/Red Ale that's brewed each year for the OU vs. UT game. Other special treats from Independence include the Jasperilla Old Ale, a French farmhouse saison called Epanoui, and Braggot, made with Texas wildflower honey. Also notable in Austin are North by Northwest, which earned a bronze at GABF for Barton Kriek, as well as Great American Beer Fest silver winners Austin Beerworks and Uncle Billy's Brew & Que.

Avery Brewing Company
Boulder, Colo., is another great college town with no shortage of beer. In this mountain town full of hippies and hipsters alike from the University of Colorado, you'll find Avery, Mountain Sun, Boulder Beer, Upslope, and Twisted Pine, all doing a great job of serving excellent beer. But Avery Brewing is really the star of Boulder with its reputation for putting out really amazing, adventurous beers. Two of Avery's beers, Fifteen and Brabant, have taken home medals from GABF in the Experimental Beer category, and standards Ellie's Brown, Avery IPA, Out of Bounds, Kaiser Oktoberfest, and Hog Heaven have all won awards as well. Students enjoy the brewery's cozy tap room, with themed nights, live music, and plenty of mind-blowing beer.

New Belgium
Colorado, in general, is rich with great beer, with the aforementioned Boulder breweries, several great ones in Denver, and plenty more scattered around the state, but Fort Collins is a great place to be if you're a college beer lover. The home of Colorado State University boasts not only New Belgium Brewing, but the up and coming Funkwerks, Odell, Crooked Stave, Left Hand, and more. New Belgium is a town favorite, though, for its ubiquitous Fat Tire, which can be found throughout Fort Collins and, really, college towns everywhere. But beyond this old staple are some really interesting beers, particularly in the brewery's Lips of Faith series, which highlights beers that push the envelope in terms of spices, barrel aging, and often, souring agents. New Belgium is a popular brewery not just in Fort Collins, but nationwide, and GABF judges seem to be fans as well: the brewery has earned no fewer than 25 GABF medals.

Squatters
Lots of people aren't even aware that Utah is allowed to have beer, much less produce awesome brews like those from Uinta, Red Rock, Squatters, and other Salt Lake City breweries. In fact, Draft magazine named the town, home of the University of Utah, a Beertown, USA, highlighting the city's great resources for beer lovers and those seeking an active lifestyle. College students, business professionals, and out-of-town conference attendees alike pack into the Squatters Pub & Brewery, which has won countless awards for its beers both under the pub name and through its Utah Brewers Cooperative with Park City's Wasatch Brewing. Some of the brewery's most popular beers are its Black Forest Schwarzbier, India Pale Ale, Provo Girl Pilsner, and Vienna Lager.

Vermont Pub & Brewery
Burlington, Vt., is a classic college town, with the University of Vermont, Burlington College, and Champlain College all located in the city limits. But it's also a beer town, rightly fitting for Vermont, which has more breweries per capita than any other state. Burlington boasts Vermont Pub & Brewery, the state's oldest craft brewery, American Flatbread, and the nation's eighth-largest craft brewer, Magic Hat. Since opening in 1988, Vermont Pub & Brewery has celebrated much success, with a gold GABF medal for their flagship Burly Irish Ale, as well as medals for Forbidden Fruit and Handsome Micks' Smoked Stout. Conveniently located near the city's community college, Champlain College, and the University of Vermont on, you guessed it, College Street, we're sure that the city's college students agree that this brewery is great and here to stay.

Cigar City Brewing
In Tampa, Fla., you'll find the University of South Florida, one of the largest individual college campuses in the United States. But perhaps more importantly, you'll find Cigar City, a brewery that is rated among the highest of the high with an A+, "world class" rating on Beer Advocate. Every college student should be so lucky to study in a city that's home to a brewery like this one. Cigar City is just three years old, yet has won the gold at GABF for both its Minaret ESB and Humidor Series IPA, while also becoming a favorite for craft beer lovers nationwide. Their bottles are among the most sought after in craft beer, and often quite hard to find, but University of South Florida students have the convenience of living right in the same city as this legendary beer, where the tap room is open every day and available for tastings, growler fills, and bottles to take home.

Foothills Brewing
In Winston-Salem, North Carolina, you'll not only find Wake Forest University, but also Foothills Brewing, an award-winning brewery that's been around since 2004. With several GABF wins, including a gold for their Bourbon Barrel Aged Sexual Chocolate Imperial Stout, Wake Forest students are lucky to have such a great beer resource right in the area. And students who are interested in learning more about beer can take advantage of Foothills' Beer School, a detailed class that discusses the brewing process, along with a brewery tour and samples of current beers. Also worth noting are Winston-Salem's neighbor, Asheville, which was named Draft magazine's 2010 Beer City USA, and the acclaimed Duck-Rabbit Craft Brewery in Farmville (yes, there is a real Farmville).

Cambridge Brewing Company
Boston is a huge, bustling city that's bursting with colleges and breweries alike: there are more than 100 colleges and universities in the Greater Boston area and at least 25 breweries and brewpubs. Just north of Boston, the small town of Cambridge is known for its two most prominent universities, Harvard and MIT. Cambridge is not only blessed with an excellent educational pedigree, but also some pretty awesome beer. Within walking distance of MIT, you'll find Cambridge Brewing Company, a comfortable brewpub that's serving up awesome beer on a regular basis and earning a reputation for creatively pushing the envelope with beer. With several GABF medals under their belt, Cambridge is especially proud of its three gold medal brews: Arquebus, The Wind Cried Mari, and Triple Threat, all three of them experimental, specialty, or brewed with herbs and spices. But the great minds at Harvard and MIT aren't limited to just Cambridge Brewing Company. A new brewery, Pretty Things Beer & Ale Project, has begun to release critically acclaimed beers, and in the greater Boston area, you'll find Clown Shoes, Harpoon, Mercury, and even the legendary Sam Adams, all offering excellent beer for the college masses in the Boston area.

Terrapin Beer Company
Athens, Ga., is a college town that credits its initial growth to the University of Georgia, the first state-chartered university in the U.S. Terrapin Beer Company has wowed the college town and beer community with its beers from the very start: its Rye Pale Ale won gold at GABF when the brewery was just six months old in 2002, and it was the brewery's only offering at the time. Since then, Terrapin has put out some very interesting beers, including the Terrapin Coffee Oatmeal Imperial Stout (frequently referred to as Wake-n-Bake Coffee Imperial Stout), the Hopsecutioner, and Beer Gone Good. Terrapin has recently announced that it sold a 25% ownership to Tenth and Blake, a craft group from MillerCoors, which has understandably ruffled a few feathers, but we're thinking that the college kids in Athens can only be excited about the growth and expansion that will come from it.

Bell's Brewery
Western Michigan University has four campuses in Kalamazoo, and the town is home to Kalamazoo College as well. The most well known and celebrated brewery in Kalamazoo is Bell's Brewery, established way back in 1985, before most of today's college students were even born. But that doesn't stop them from enjoying the great beer that Bell's has to offer at the brewery's pub, Eccentric Cafe. Bell's has earned both awards (nine of them, to be exact), and the love of beer geeks and critics everywhere, particularly with its legendary Two-Hearted Ale, Hopslam, and Expedition Stout. Also close to campus is the very popular Founders Brewing Company in Grand Rapids, Dark Horse in Marshall, and Arcadia Brewing Company in Battle Creek, which is particularly well known for its Cereal Killer Barley Wine.

Jolly Pumpkin
Another great college town in Michigan, Ann Arbor is the home of the University of Michigan. A much-loved brewery, Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales, is located less than 20 minutes away in Dexter, but fortunately for Michigan students, they've got an Ann Arbor brewpub as well. Jolly Pumpkin is best known for their celebrated Belgian- and French-style beers, which also happen to be their most awarded: Oro De Calabaza has earned GABF gold, as well as Belipago. The brewery's style is typically described as farmhouse, or rustic country, due to the brewery's unfiltered and unpasteurized treatment. Michigan students and regular beer lovers alike are treated to the unique beers that Jolly Pumpkin puts out, including Bam Biere, La Roja, Luciernaga, and Calabaza Blanca.

Ninkasi Brewing Company
Eugene, Ore., also known as the "Emerald City," is known for its natural beauty, arts, and outdoor recreational opportunities, as well as the University of Oregon. And college students in the know also recognize Eugene as the home of Ninkasi Brewing Company. Named for Ninkasi, the ancient Sumerian goddess of beer, the brewery is certainly educational for University of Oregon students. Ninkasi's Radiant IPA earned bronze in the latest GABF awards, and other popular beers include Total Domination IPA, Tricerahops, Believer Double Red, and Oatis Oatmeal Stout. The brewery opened a tasting room in 2009, welcoming college students and visitors to try both their flagship beers and seasonals. Other notable breweries in the state, primarily located in Portland, include Deschutes, Bend Brewing Company, BridgePort, Full Sail, and Rogue Ales.

Doh! The top 10 tech 'fails' of 2011

2012-01-05T08:55:00.000-08:00

Doug Gross, CNN Thu December 29, 2011
http://www.cnn.com/2011/12/29/tech/web/2011-tech-fails/index.html
Netflix's short-lived plan to split itself into two services didn't go over so well this year. Qwikster?

STORY HIGHLIGHTS
The highs were high but the lows were lower in the tech world in 2011
U.S. Rep. Anthony Weiner makes our top 10 list for using Twitter to send lewd photos
PlayStation outage, "Duke Nukem Forever" and failed tablets also made the cut
It was a rough year for RIM and its BlackBerry, with a handful of "fails"

(CNN) -- Can't win 'em all, can you?

The highs were pretty high in the tech world in 2011, as new gadgets, updates and advances delighted the masses. I mean, Facebook made a change that most people (so far) seemed to actually like. What are the odds?

But the lows were lower. For every moment of digital bliss, it seemed, there was a clunker of equal or greater magnitude.

So, who are we to not rub salt in the wounds of those who got it oh-so-wrong this year?

In fairness, some of these "Doh!" moments came from folks who had otherwise good years. And nobody, not even perennial tech darling Apple, is perfect. (One hard-working journalist even had to write this very story twice after he accidentally deleted it and was forced to start over. Sweet, sweet irony.).

Sure, tech successes are nice. But these social-media miscues, foot-in-mouth e-moves and other digital duds gave us more to talk about in 2011.

Here are our 2011 "Tech Fails of the Year." Feel free to jump in the comments and let us know what we missed.

Weiner on Twitter

In a crowded and competitive field, former U.S. Rep. Anthony Weiner grabs our "What Were You Thinking?" award for this one.

The congressman (we're staying away from name jokes because ... well ... too easy) was being talked up as possibly the next mayor of New York City when his Twitter account was apparently hacked by someone who sent lewd photos to some of his female followers. That's the story Weiner gave, anyway.

Except, as it turned out, that someone was him.

Many of us gave Weiner the benefit of the doubt in the scandal's opening hours. I mean, what public official would be dumb enough to get raunchy on a platform like Twitter, where anyone who wants to can follow your every tweet?

Turns out ...

He wasn't alone. Comedian Gilbert Gottfried tweeted jokes about the Japan tsunami and earthquake that killed more than 15,000 people. Actor and Twitter pioneer Ashton Kutcher posted a hasty tweet defending Penn State coach Joe Paterno -- before, he says, learning the full extent of the school's child-sex scandal. The resulting backlash even led him to quit Twitter, at least temporarily.

But for so badly misunderstanding the public nature of Twitter, for the whirlwind of lies that followed before he fessed up and resigned and ... yes ... for thinking women like it when you send them closeup pictures of your crotch on the Internet, Weiner earns this bulging "Fail."

Go Daddy's SOPA misstep

When the vast majority of the Web's most active players are against something, and when your livelihood depends on the Web's most active players, it's probably best to either go along or keep quiet about it, right?

Not so for Go Daddy, the Web registrar and hosting company known for its titillating TV ads. In December, the company made the ill-fated decision to come out in support of the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA).

Google, Yahoo and Facebook are just some of the Internet heavyweights that have lined up to stop the proposed federal law, which would penalize websites that host pirated content. The bill has come under fire from Web-freedom advocates, who say it could dampen online expression.

Go Daddy, which had submitted testimony to Congress in support of the bill, issued a public statement supporting it -- even doubling down with a stronger statement when the Web backlash began.

Fast forward 24 hours and the company -- which had already earned ire in some quarters for its racy (some might say sexist) TV commercials and its founder's penchant for elephant hunting -- changed its mind amid a rash of defections.

Tens of thousands of domains, including more than 50 owned by Wikipedia's Jimmy Wales, were moved from Go Daddy, and that's before a Reddit-organized boycott planned for Friday. Oops.

'Duke Nukem Forever'

When video gamers wait 14 years for a follow-up to one of their favorite titles, they sort of expect it not to suck. In the minds of many, "Duke Nukem Forever" failed that important test.

First announced in 1997, "Forever" was to be a follow-up to a game that got lots of love for good-heartedly pushing the boundaries of sex, violence and naughty language in the emerging field of shooter games.

It was delayed. And delayed. And delayed. What finally emerged in June hit with a thud.

"At best, it can look a few years out of date; at worst, it is a blurry, stuttering mess," wrote CNN's Ravi Hiranand, in what actually was one of the kinder reviews of the game "Playing the game feels like being thrown back into the mid-'90s, and not in a happy, nostalgic sense."

In a post-"Grand Theft Auto" world, maybe waiting "forever" would have been a better idea after all.

The other tablets

As 2011 dawned, it appeared that Apple had created a thriving new space in personal computing with its iPad.

Beginning in January at the Consumer Electronics Show, a host of competing companies stepped forward with their rival tablets. The Motorola Xoom. BlackBerry's PlayBook. Samsung Galaxy Tab. The HP TouchPad.

One problem: Nobody bought them.

Most of the new tablets, many running Google's Android operating system, came in at roughly $500 -- about the same price as Apple's new iPad 2. And the public showed that at that price, they were happy going with the industry leader.

Some tablets got pulled. Others never made it off the production line. HP had some luck selling TouchPads -- after throwing up its hands and slashing prices to fire-sale levels.

One exception. Amazon may have cracked the code late in the year with its Kindle Fire, a smaller, simpler tablet that, at $199, is $300 cheaper than the least-expensive iPad 2.

Game off at PlayStation Network

When roughly 70 million users lose access to your gaming and entertainment network, it's a "fail."

In April, a hacker accessed account information for users of Sony's PlayStation Network, ultimately knocking the network offline in late April. It wasn't completely restored until early June and some gamers lacked access for weeks.

While getting hacked was bad, some users were even madder after Sony took a week from the time of the attack to let them know what happened.

Another, much smaller, attack happened in October. In the end, it looks like most of the network's fans stuck around -- a fact no doubt aided by multiple blockbuster game releases this year.

iPhones and bars don't mix

Seriously, Apple employees?

No ... seriously?

In 2010, the tech world was aflutter after an Apple employee, reportedly celebrating his birthday, lost a prototype of the unreleased iPhone 4 in a California beer hall.

Tech blog Gizmodo bought the phone, showcased it on their site, and touched off a firestorm that included everything from police raids to legal threats.

Well, at least we know that after all of that, it could never possibly happen again.

No ... wait. It happened again.

Tech blog CNET reported that an Appler left a prototype of the iPhone 4S in a Mexican bar and restaurant in San Francisco.

As our John Sutter wrote: "Here's a theory: Maybe there's some sort of connection between drinking and losing things?"

Netflix-Qwikster

Netflix, the Web's most popular movie-rental service, first rattled some customers by raising prices in July.

Then, in September, the company announced it was, basically, splitting itself in half. Web-streaming video would still come from Netflix. DVD-by-mail rentals would come from a separate company.

Called ... "Qwikster."

Where to start here? Customers who wanted both services complained about having to set up and maintain two different accounts on two different websites. Then there was the new name, which felt dated (Napster and Friendster, anyone?) and like it was spat out by some zany-misspelled-startup name generator.

Oh yeah ... and there was the fact that the "Qwikster" Twitter handle was already owned by a guy whose avatar was a weed-smoking Elmo muppet.

Chris Taylor, of Mashable, questioned whether Qwikster was "the worst product launch since New Coke."

It didn't even last as long as that syrupy mistake. About three weeks later, Netflix announced that Qwikster was dead.

PayPal plays Scrooge

Shutting down a fund to give presents to children in need at Christmas? Sounds like something one-percenter Mr. Potter from "It's a Wonderful Life" would endorse.

But that's essentially what Web-payment titan PayPal was doing before getting popped in the nose by the Internet.

Snarky blog Regretsy, when not mocking regrettable craft projects, has long maintained various charity funds. With the holidays approaching, actress and blog runner April Winchell (who writes on the site as "Helen Killer") announced a fund drive to buy toys for 200 children submitted by community members.

It was hugely successful, meeting its fundraising goal in the first 24 hours. Then PayPal, which was processing the donations, stepped in and froze the fund because it said Winchell used a "Donate" button that's supposed to be for nonprofits only.

The Web wasn't pleased.

Winchell used her popular blog to blast PayPal in less-than-friendly terms. Twitter users and other sites amplified the outrage.

A day later, PayPal said it "recognized our error" and even offered to donate to the fund.

God bless us ... every one.

iPhone 4S battery life

OK ... this one never reached the fever pitch that the iPhone 4's antenna problems did last year.

And maybe it's a sign that, when millions of people buy your product in the first few hours it exists, there are bound to be problems.

Despite not being the mythical iPhone 5, the 4S flew out of Apple stores when it was released October 14. But within hours, users started flocking to Apple's support forum to complain their batteries were running out of juice faster than Herman Cain's presidential campaign.

Apple publicly ignored the complaints for a little over two weeks. Then the company issued a statement saying that "a small number of customers" had complained about the battery and that an update to the phone's operating system was on the way.

As with the iPhone 4 "death grip," we'll call this a modest "fail" wrapped inside an epic win. The battery gripes didn't stop Apple from selling an iLoad of the new phones.

Bad year for BlackBerry

Alas, poor BlackBerry.

Research in Motion's crack-like gadget was once synonymous with "smartphone," effectively ushering in the era of messaging, e-mail-checking and other Phone 2.0 behavior.

But, 2011 wasn't kind.

It's bad enough that the iPhone and the rise of the Androids continue to muscle BlackBerrys out of the limelight. Then the BlackBerry PlayBook, RIM's effort in the burgeoning tablet space, arrived with a thud in April.

The capper, however, was an October outage at a data center that caused users to lose messaging ability in parts of Europe, the Middle East, India, Africa, Latin America and North America. (To their credit, RIM ultimately gave away a pile of free apps to the folks affected).

The outage lasted for several days and was the final straw for some users, who abandoned ship for other phones.

Teamsters boss Jimmy Hoffa was buried in cement at General Motors' HQ

2012-01-05T08:36:00.000-08:00

Book claims Teamsters boss Jimmy Hoffa was buried in cement at General Motors' HQ

Has one of America's most enduring mysteries been solved?
Lydia Warren
26th December 2011
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2078470/Teamsters-boss-Jimmy-Hoffa-buried-cement-General-Motors-HQ.html

The disappearance of Teamsters union boss Jimmy Hoffa remains one of America's most enduring mysteries.

But now, nearly four decades after Hoffa vanished, his driver has claimed he knows where he is buried – and how he got there.

Resting place? Informant Marvin Elkind claims a mob boss insinuated Hoffa was buried at the Renaissance Center in Detroit, Michigan - now General Motors' HQ

‘It was his own people who did it,’ Mr Elkind said in excerpts of a new book published in the New York Post, adding Mafia member Tony Jack insinuated he was responsible.

The startling claim comes 36 years after Hoffa, who led the labour union for 13 years, vanished while on his way to meet two mobsters he knew well, Anthony Provenzano and Tony Jack – real name Anthony Giacalone.

The Renaissance Center was under construction when he disappeared.

Mr Elkind explains how, during a Teamsters conference in 1985, he was among a group of men walking from the city’s Omni International when the Center came into view.

Tony Jack nodded toward the tower’s base and said, ‘Say good morning to Jimmy Hoffa, boys’, Mr Elkind alleges in The Weasel: A Double Life in the Mob by Adrian Humphreys.

He also describes the rush to build the Renaissance Center following the disappearance of Hoffa – and claims the body was buried in wet cement.

‘There was a mad rush to get the concrete poured,’ the New York Post quotes the book as saying.

Hoffa was declared legally dead July 30, 1982, when he would have been 69.

He was a union stalwart, serving as its General President from 1958 to 1971 and playing a key part in its growth and development.

During his term as its leader, membership surged to more than 1.5 million members, becoming the largest single union in the country.

As well as a role as Jimmy Hoffa's driver, Mr Elkind had careers as a loan collector, a boxer - and a police informant.

He was working as a busboy in a Toronto restaurant frequented by Jimmy Hoffa's crew when he was poached as a driver.

Mr Elkind initially said he didn't want the job, but he was told: 'Nobody's asking you.'

He began testifying against the mob when police discovered he'd worked with a con man. They gave him an ultimatum - tell or be charged.

The book, by Canadian reporter Adrian Humphreys, follows his life.

It takes its title from Mr Elkind's nickname, The Weasel, which he claims was his boxing moniker - rather than to do with his snitching.

South Carolina voter ID law rejected by feds

2012-01-05T08:34:00.000-08:00

Associated Press December 23, 2011
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2011/12/23/MNU01MGH11.DTL

Columbia, S.C. -- The Justice Department on Friday rejected South Carolina's law requiring voters to show photo identification at the polls, saying it makes it harder for minorities to cast ballots. It was the first voter ID law to be refused by the Obama administration.

Assistant Attorney General Thomas Perez said South Carolina's law didn't meet the burden under the 1965 Voting Rights Act, which outlawed discriminatory practices preventing blacks from voting. Perez said tens of thousands of minorities in South Carolina might not be able to cast ballots under South Carolina's law because they don't have the right photo ID.

South Carolina's new voter ID law requires people casting ballots to show poll workers a state-issued driver's license or ID card, a U.S. military ID or a U.S. passport.

South Carolina Attorney General Alan Wilson said he would fight the Justice Department in federal court. He said the U.S. Supreme Court upheld a similar law in Indiana several years ago.

The Justice Department must approve changes to South Carolina's election laws under the federal Voting Rights Act because of the state's past failure to protect the voting rights of blacks.

This article appeared on page A - 8 of the San Francisco Chronicle

Senate will vote next month on Protect IP copyright bill

2012-01-05T08:32:00.000-08:00

Declan McCullagh
December 19, 2011
http://news.cnet.com/8301-31921_3-57345187-281/senate-will-vote-next-month-on-protect-ip-copyright-bill

The U.S. Senate will debate a controversial Hollywood-backed copyright bill as soon as senators return in January.

A vote on the Protect IP Act, a close cousin of the Stop Online Piracy Act, or SOPA, will be held January 24, thanks to a last-minute push by Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-Nev.) over the weekend.

Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, who calls Protect IP "a bipartisan piece of legislation which is extremely important."

"This is a bipartisan piece of legislation which is extremely important," Reid said Saturday. "I repeat, it is bipartisan. I hope we can have a productive couple of days, pass this bill, and move on to other matters."

Both Protect IP and SOPA have earned the enmity of Silicon Valley companies, Internet engineers, venture capitalists, civil libertarians, and a growing number of Internet users because of the methods they use to make suspected piratical Web sites virtually disappear from the Internet. Harvard Law professor Laurence Tribe, author of the treatise American Constitutional Law, says this approach violates the First Amendment.

On Saturday, as the Senate was preparing to adjourn until 2012, Reid proposed that the initial debate on Protect IP would take place at 2:15 p.m. ET on January 24, one day after senators return from the holidays.

"I am pleased the majority leader has filed a motion to proceed to the Protect IP Act," Sen. Patrick Leahy (D-Vt.), Protect IP's author, said afterward. "The costs of online infringement are American jobs, harm to America's economy, and very real threats to consumers' safety. The answer cannot simply be to do nothing."

In the House of Representatives, allies of the Motion Picture Association of America and the Recording Association of America also are moving with dispatch. Even though the House is likely not to be in session then, SOPA author Lamar Smith (R-Tex.) has scheduled a vote on the legislation and related amendments for Wednesday, just in case.

"From our perspective we don't understand the rush, especially when these are dramatic policy changes with regard to the Internet," Markham Erickson, head of NetCoalition, whose members include Amazon.com, eBay, Yahoo, and Google, told CNET today. "We think they ought to be handled in a very thoughtful and careful way."

One explanation for the rush to vote is that a groundswell of opposition among Internet users has become better organized and higher-profile in the last month--meaning that if SOPA and Protect IP supporters move quickly, they may be able to send one version of the legislation or another to President Obama for his signature.

Nearly 90,000 Tumblr users telephoned Congress to register their disagreement, and another 10,000 did using Engine Advocacy's Web site. More than 1 million people have signed a petition posted by the Avaaz.org advocacy group; over 700,000 people chose to "like" the AmericanCensorship.org anti-SOPA site.

Sen. Ron Wyden, a foe of Protect IP, has threatened to filibuster it on the Senate floor. "I will be working with colleagues on both sides of the aisle over the next month to explain the basis for this widespread concern, and I intend to follow through on a commitment that I made more than a year ago, to filibuster this bill when the Senate returns in January," he said over the weekend.

Reid's motion to end debate, which would require a three-fifths supermajority of 60 senators to invoke a procedure called "cloture," is a preemptive strike against Wyden's promised filibuster.

Invoking cloture would impose a 30-hour limit on the motion to end debate. There would then be a second 30-hour period on the bill itself, and a third 30-hour period if supporters want to amend Protect IP from the version approved by a committee in May.

Obtaining 60 votes to end Wyden's filibuster curb debate, however, may not be that difficult for Hollywood's allies in the Senate: Protect IP already has 41 sponsors. (During last week's House Judiciary hearing, copyright enthusiasts outnumbered critics of the bill by margins of three-to-one or four-to-one.)

A representative for Wyden, who has offered an alternative proposal, told CNET today that her boss is undaunted:

The senator is prepared to require the Senate to take multiple cloture votes and use all time allowed under Senate rules to prevent passage of this misguided bill, even if that means taking a full week of floor time or longer. And he intends to use every minute of that floor time to let colleagues know that there is a lot more to voting for Protect IP than doing a favor for industry lobbyists.

Declan McCullagh is the chief political correspondent for CNET. Declan previously was a reporter for Time and the Washington bureau chief for Wired and wrote the Taking Liberties section and Other People's Money column for CBS News' Web site.

Is Free Thinking A Mental Illness?

2012-01-05T08:30:00.000-08:00

Oct 8th, 2010 http://www.offthegridnews.com/2010/10/08/is-free-thinking-a-mental-illness/

Is nonconformity and freethinking a mental illness? According to the newest addition of the DSM-IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders), it certainly is. The manual identifies a new mental illness called “oppositional defiant disorder” or ODD. Defined as an “ongoing pattern of disobedient, hostile and defiant behavior,” symptoms include questioning authority, negativity, defiance, argumentativeness, and being easily annoyed.

The DSM-IV is the manual used by psychiatrists to diagnose mental illnesses and, with each new edition, there are scores of new mental illnesses. Are we becoming sicker? Is it getting harder to be mentally healthy? Authors of the DSM-IV say that it’s because they’re better able to identify these illnesses today. Critics charge that it’s because they have too much time on their hands.

New mental illnesses identified by the DSM-IV include arrogance, narcissism, above-average creativity, cynicism, and antisocial behavior. In the past, these were called “personality traits,” but now they’re diseases.

And there are treatments available.

All of this is a symptom of our over-diagnosing and overmedicating culture. In the last 50 years, the DSM-IV has gone from 130 to 357 mental illnesses. A majority of these illnesses afflict children. Although the manual is an important diagnostic tool for the psychiatric industry, it has also been responsible for social changes. The rise in ADD, bipolar disorder, and depression in children has been largely because of the manual’s identifying certain behaviors as symptoms. A Washington Post article observed that, if Mozart were born today, he would be diagnosed with ADD and “medicated into barren normality.”

According to the DSM-IV, the diagnosis guidelines for identifying oppositional defiant disorder are for children, but adults can just as easily suffer from the disease. This should give any freethinking American reason for worry.

The Soviet Union used new “mental illnesses” for political repression. People who didn’t accept the beliefs of the Communist Party developed a new type of schizophrenia. They suffered from the delusion of believing communism was wrong. They were isolated, forcefully medicated, and put through repressive “therapy” to bring them back to sanity.

When the last edition of the DSM-IV was published, identifying the symptoms of various mental illnesses in children, there was a jump in the diagnosis and medication of children. Some states have laws that allow protective agencies to forcibly medicate, and even make it a punishable crime to withhold medication. This paints a chilling picture for those of us who are nonconformists.

Although the authors of the manual claim no ulterior motives but simply better diagnostic practices, the labeling of freethinking and nonconformity as mental illnesses has a lot of potential for abuse. It can easily become a weapon in the arsenal of a repressive state.

Privatizing Money

2012-01-05T08:26:00.000-08:00

Thu, 22 Dec 2011
Alan Grayson
alangrayson@graysonforcongress.com

WHAT THE EUROPEAN BANKS GOT FOR CHRISTMAS.

Yesterday, the European Central Bank (ECB) announced that it will hand out $645,000,000,000 in three-year loans to European banks. Which the ECB printed out of thin air, like Monopoly money! The interest rate will be one percent per year.

The ECB will not be lending this money to the Government of Greece, even though that government is running a budget deficit of just under 10% of GDP – and the Greek GDP dropped by 5% this year. The Government of Greece is now paying 37% per year on its ten-year bonds, when it can borrow anything at all.

The ECB will not be lending this money to the people of Spain, even though official unemployment in Spain is now at 23%. Spain’s Economy Minister said recently that “Spain faces its deepest recession in half a century.” Tough luck; their Christmas tree has nothing under it.

And when the European banks get this $645 billion, to whom will the banks be lending? Anybody, or nobody. No strings attached. They can borrow from the ECB at 1%, lend it back to the German Government at 2%, lock in that profit, and take the next three years off.

I just have one question.

Why?

The world continues to face the greatest economic crisis since the Great Depression. Unemployment throughout Europe is over ten percent. Entire national governments are on the verge of going broke. Why would anyone think that THE THING THAT WE HAVE TO DO RIGHT NOW is to hand out $645 billion in more funny money to the banks? In Europe or anywhere else?

The ECB is a public institution. How can it possibly justify yet another bailout for selfish private interests, while the public is sent straight to hell?

If a Martian were to land in Paris today, and just read the headlines of the newspapers today, he could reach only one conclusion. That there has been a coup in Europe, the banks are now in charge, and they’re grabbing everything that they can get their hands on.

Mark my words: at some point, people are just not going to take it anymore.

Courage,

Alan Grayson

P.S. On a more positive note, a very sizable number of you answered the call on Tuesday. In less than three hours, you helped us to meet our $500,000 fundraising goal for the quarter. To all those who helped, thank you. To anyone who didn’t, it’s not too late; you can still click that Contribute button below. And to everyone, from Aaron to Zuzzana, Happy Holidays.

Paid for and Authorized by the Committee to Elect Alan Grayson
8419 Oak Park Road, Orlando, FL 32819

Defector: Rumors Circulating Kim Jong-Il Was Assassinated

2012-01-05T08:23:00.000-08:00

Dictator’s death could have been result of internal power struggle with country’s military
Paul Joseph Watson
Prison Planet.com
Monday, December 19, 2011
http://www.prisonplanet.com/defector-rumors-circulating-kim-jong-il-was-assassinated.html

A prominent North Korean defector and a South Korean politician are contradicting reports that North Korean dictator Kim Jong-Il died of a heart attack, pointing to rumors that he was assassinated as result of an internal power struggle between the ruling Communist Workers’ Party and the country’s military.

“A rumor is circulating that earlier a high-ranking North Korean official was shot dead. This has yet to be confirmed, but such talk is evidence that discontent was brewing among some people in the North,” political scientist An Chan-il told the Korea Times.

Noting that numerous military officers were dismissed shortly after the anointment of Kim Jung-un as the Stalinist state’s next leader, An said that growing resentment within the ranks could have led to an assassination plot carried out “by those harboring discontent with the way he ruled the country.”

“As their vested interests were hurt due to Kim Jong-il, I would not rule out the possibility that some military officers, who believed their clout and influence had been damaged, could have played a role in his death,” An said.

Rep Chun Yo-ok of the ruling Grand National Party (GNP) also speculated that Kim Jong-Il’s death could have been an act of “homicide,” the result of an internal power struggle.

Although the dictator has been in bad health since he reportedly suffered a stroke in August 2008, recent public appearances suggest Kim Jon-Il’s health was improving.

Rumors have long circulated that not all of the country’s military units held the slavish devotion to their “dear leader” that was portrayed by the state-run media.

As Infowars reported yesterday, strong rumors of the regime’s collapse have been circulating for over a year on the back of suspicions that Kim Jong-Il had already died. The London Telegraph questioned back in September 2010 whether a double was covering for his premature death, noting that North Korea had gone to some lengths to formally name his son, Kim Jong-un, still in his twenties, as successor in a ceremony.

Meanwhile in a related report, China has sent 2,000 PLA troops to the border with North Korea in an effort to ensure refugees do not flood across the border. 30,000 Chinese troops will be in place by the end of the month, according to a report out of Taiwan’s Central News Agency . The amount of North Koreans attempting to flee the country has surged in recent years.

Paul Joseph Watson is the editor and writer for Prison Planet.com. He is the author of Order Out Of Chaos. Watson is also a regular fill-in host for The Alex Jones Show.

I'm So Ronery

2012-01-05T08:14:00.000-08:00

In honor of the late Kim Jong Il, here's a clip from the 2004 film Team America: World Police where Trey Parker of South Park as the North Korean leader sings the tragedy to be an evil dictator:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UEaKX9YYHiQ

The Best Christmas Gift Ever

2012-01-05T07:53:00.000-08:00

On the morning after Christmas, my male cat Blueboy snuck outside while I was bringing in groceries. He's an indoor cat, but I let him play outside a little for exercise and fresh air while I am nearby. He didn't realize I wasn't there, and appears to have been confused where our apartment is. I was so heartbroken that I became extremely depressed, and little Fluffer was very sad as well about the disappearance of her boyfriend. For the first few days, I left food out for him in hopes of getting him back, and I believe I did see him once. Then on January 1st and 2nd, I decided to take more extreme measures and camped out with tuna for him outside in hopes to get him back. The good news is on January 2nd, the eighth day, he was found by neighbors & security and I was able to get him home.

Fortunately, it wasn't too cold this Xmas season, and my apartment is a gated complex and a large compound, so he had places to stay. (Cats rarely travel more than 300 feet from their home base.) I have bought a collar with a bell so I can hear him when he tries to sneak out again. All I can say is the return of Blueboy is far and away the best Christmas gift I have received in my life.

Above is a photo of Blueboy I took, after he came out from hiding and sleeping for 20 hours. He doesn't look too happy in the photo, but that's because I had to hold him in place for the photo. He is actually very happy. But happy or not, I wanted to show you his face, so you can see the face of the son I have fallen in love with.

Merry Xmas,

Robert