The Tragedy Of Alzheimers

Pappy done got loosed agin and called the dang TV station...

President Obama on Monday defended the actions he and the rest of the Executive Branch took in the days and weeks after the assault that took the lives of four Americans, directly questioning those who claim that he orchestrated a cover-up.
But on Fox News last night, Cheney attacked Obama’s response, claiming (without evidence) that the Obama administration “lied” about Benghazi:
CHENEY: I watched the Benghazi thing with great interest, Sean [Hannity]. I think it’s one of the worst incidences, frankly, that I can recall in my career. It put the whole capability claiming the terrorist problem solved once we got Bin Laden, that Al Qaeda was over with. If they told the truth about Benghazi, that it was a terrorist attack by an al-Qaeda-affiliated group, it would destroy the confidence that was the basis of his campaign for re-election.
They lied. They claimed it was because of a demonstration video, that they wouldn’t have to admit it was really all about their incompetence. They ignored repeated warnings from the CIA about the threat. They ignored messages from their own people on the ground that they need more security. They reduced what was already there.
Cheney’s choice of words is interesting, given the numerous security lapses and misleading narratives that took place during his multiple periods in power in Washington. One would think that the former vice president would regard the 9/11 attacks as the “worst incident” that he could recall. Or perhaps the run-up to the invasion of Iraq, in which he and other members of the administration repeatedly misled the American people about Iraq’s WMDs and the war’s difficulty and costs. Or the Abu Gharib prison scandal, in which Iraqis were tortured under the watchful eyes of American soldiers and prompted more and greater attacks on U.S. forces. Or perhaps the thirteen attacks on U.S. diplomatic compounds that occurred during the Bush administration’s two terms, in which nearly a dozen Americans died.
“Well, they tried to cover it up by constructing a false story, claiming there was confusion about what happened in the Benghazi compound,” Cheney went on to tell Hannity, joining the chorus of those who believe a conspiracy took place to hide the truth about the attack. “The cover up included several officials up to and including President Obama and the cover up is still ongoing.”
Former Ambassador Thomas Pickering, co-chair of the State Department’s Accountability Review Board report on Benghazi, referred to claims that a cover-up occurred as “Pulitzer Prize fiction.” Likewise, the CIA’s original draft of the infamous talking points, which Republicans, including Cheney, point to as evidence of a conspiracy, mentioned that the attacks “were spontaneously inspired by the protests at the U.S. Embassy in Cairo,” with the next draft Congressman showing the intelligence community’s belief that a demonstration had occurred prior to the attacks.

It’s also worth noting that during his time as a congressman from Wyoming, Cheney was the ranking member of the panel investigating the Iran-Contra scandal, during which an actual cover-up occurred. At the time, Cheney viewed the Congressional investigation as being an overreach into executive prerogative. Apparently the Iran-Contra scandal doesn’t fall under “one of the worst incidences” that he can recall.

Thank You FOX NEWS!

We all owe a lot to FOX NEWS for putting the pieces together for us about  what really happened in Benghazi. It seems that Hillary flew to Benghazi dressed as Gaddafi and rented a Toyota, loaded it up with explosives and then went to have lunch with Ambassador Stevens, things quickly went down when Stevens taunted Hillary about Monica. Outraged Hillary then shot and killed Stevens, then went and blew up the Embassy and blamed it all on a Justin Beiber video. I just saw this on Fox News, so I know it is the TRUTH.

Remember:

Funki Porcini...a work in progress...
MEL!

20 Years In Prison For 83 Year Old Hero

An 83-year-old nun who broke into a Tennessee depleted uranium storage facility in 2012 and splashed human blood on several surfaces, exposing a massive security hole at the nation’s only facility used to store radioactive conventional munitions, was convicted Wednesday and sentenced to a term of up to 20 years in prison.
The only regret Sister Megan Rice shared with members of her jury on Wednesday was that she wished 70 years hadn’t passed before she took direct action, according to the BBC. She and two other peace activists, 64-year-old Michael Walli and 56-year-old Greg Boertje-Obed, were convicted of “invasion of a nuclear facility” in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, even though investigators admitted they did not get close to any actual nuclear material.
The three activists are part of a group called “Transform Now Plowshares,” a reference to the book of Isaiah, which says, “They shall beat their swords into plowshares. They shall learn war no more.” All three face individual sentences of up to 20 years, along with a litany of fines.
As they invaded the Y-12 National Security Complex at Oak Ridge, a perimeter fence was cut, several surfaces were spray-painted, banners were hung and activists read from the Bible. They also spread human blood on several surfaces, saying its use was symbolic, meant to remind people “of the horrific spilling of blood by nuclear weapons.”
“The shortcomings in security at one of the most dangerous places on the planet have embarrassed a lot of people,” the activists’ attorney, Francis Lloyd, told members of the jury according to the BBC. “You’re looking at three scapegoats behind me.”
Sister Rice has been arrested between 40 or 50 times committing acts of civil disobedience, according to The New York Times, including once in Nevada after she physically blocked a truck at a nuclear test site.
Depleted uranium munitions like the kind stored at the facility Sister Rice targeted are blamed for some of the worst birth defects and soaring cancer rates seen in post-war Iraq, particularly in the city of Fallujah following the siege of 2004, in which U.S. soldiers killed thousands of civilians.
The city has never recovered, particularly from the use of depleted uranium munitions, and to this day residents suffer from health effects “worse” than those seen following the nuclear detonations at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, according to a study by the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health.
“I believe we are all equally responsible to stop a known crime,” Sister Rice said from the witness stand, according to quotes published by her group. She called herself a “citizen of the world” and reportedly smiled as the verdict was read. 

The Statue Of Bigotry

I can really relate to this story as I work as an "agricultural laborer" for a few months a year. I enjoy it, because I love the work, but it's the quality of the conditions I work in. The folks I work for may not pay me the top dollar, but they respect my work. They feed me well, they house me in a decaying chateau. I work hard, but if I so much as sneeze, they are there for me. I work with a multi national crew...French, Dutch, Algerian, Moroccan, English and me the sole American. I love the work and am inspired to work harder because I know I am respected and I am shown respect.  I find it so troubling that agricultural workers in America are treated as expendable slave labor. In a few states they have even tried to use forced prison labor to pick up the slack of their xenophobia...and utterly failed.  It's racism, it's classic social oppression. It's a social mental disease that infects the entire society.  How dare they put breathing above the needs of the people they work for? No wonder they were tossed out!

A group of agricultural workers in southern California lost their jobs last week when they took shelter to escape the ash-filled air blowing down on them ahead of one of the wildfires currently blazing in that state. According to NBC Los Angeles, 15 workers went inside to escape the smoke, which was interfering with their ability to breathe. When they returned to work the next day, they were informed that they had been fired.
“The smoke was very bad. There’s no doubt about that,” said Lauro Barrajas, one of the workers, who are represented by the United Farm Workers union.
The wildfire, dubbed the Springs Fire was growing out of control in Camarillo Springs, California on Thursday, May 2. The workers, employees of Crisalida Farms in Oxnard, located 11 miles south of the fire’s center, began to cough and experience lowered visibility as smoke and ash rained down on them.
Even as the air quality in the fields declined, a foreman told the workers that if they walked off the job, they would not have jobs to come back to. When they returned on May 3, they were told that they were fired.
Farm representatives made a statement to Latin TV network Telemundo that the workers had clocked out without permission with orders still to be filled, hence the firing.
Union reps, including Barrajas, met with the farm’s managers and applied a union rule, “No worker shall work under conditions where they feel his life or health is in danger.”
Crisalida Farms settled with the union and offered the workers their jobs back, but all but one declined. The others have since taken jobs on other farms where they feel they are safer.


I immediately thought of the Lou Reed song, Dirty Boulevard....Lou is from Queens, but there's something in the honesty of his lyrics...this goy has been writing great American Pop Music since he was a teen in the 60's. The phrase in this song, The Statue of Bigotry seemed to sum it all up for me...
Here's the lyrics if you want them after the break:

White Trash Justice

Well...once upon a time there was a young guy named Microdot, who lived in various locations around Toledo, Ohio. It's very hard to tell a simple story, in fact, with Microdot, there are no simple stories. Even the simplest story is a the result of a chain of interconnected events, tragic, banal, dramatic but usually with a pretty ludicrous ending. This might be one.
So, Microdot, who really believed he was an artist, a wizard of sorts and a true star had previously lived another life as a semi homeless freak in Detroit, decided to go to Night School, get his GED and then go to college and get a degree in Fine Art. He really wanted to change his life after a few years of probation and he was lucky enough to end up with after a drug bust in a suburb of Toledo. He really was lucky because if he hadn't been white, he probably would have ended up in the Mansfield, Ohio State Prison for 2 years. He had decided to take advantage of his culinary expertise and was working as a chef in restaurants. He was actually doing pretty good as a chef, faking his way through Hollandaise sauce, learning authentic Northern and Southern Italian cuisine while indulging his  budding passion for playing loud and obnoxious music. He lived for a while with a few friends over the state line in Michigan. It was a strange ranch house on a long thin strip of property that went from sandy dunes to forest to Lake Erie Swamp with ugly shag carpeting in every room including the kitchen. The rent was cheap and they realized that it was because of the water. They had well water and it was sort of stinky and very red. It left ugly stains on the 70's style blue sinks and a thick gritty feeling no matter how well you thought you had washed your hair. Luckily, they had friends who let them take showers once in a while at their houses. One of his friends was his good buddy, Jody Frenchfry, who really was a great artist, but spent a lot of time denying it and was working as a semi driver. The other friend who lived in the strange ranch house was a self styled conceptual type artist. He was a real smart, pretty crazy guy named Greenie, but frankly, Microdot never saw any of the art work that his friend created. His art work was all in development, a collection of ideas and items that grew in the garage of the house they shared. Well, there was one piece, but it was unfinished and involved his hand cast in clear lucite plastic. His friend, the conceptual artist would go jogging along the busy road they lived on. One night after jogging, the artist showed Microdot a set of Michigan license plates he found on the road. "I think I'm going to put them in a piece" he said and put them on the table with the ever growing collection of artifacts. Microdot wondered why anyone would discard a set of current plates on the road, but forgot about them.
The conceptual artist left to go to the University in Ann Arbor in the fall, but his collection of artifacts remained in the garage.
One day, Microdot was driving to work in his snazzy white 1967 Toledo Police Auction Jeepster and he stopped at a light and a guy in the car next to him was trying to tell him something. He rolled down the window and the guy yelled, "Hey, your plates fell off of your car back there!"
There was no traffic and Microdot got out of his car to look at the front and back...his Ohio Plates were on the car...whaaaa? The helpful fellow backed up his car and turned around and roared back up Talmadge Road, stopped and got out and picked a few objects off of the road and then came back as Microdot tried to figure out what he was talking about. The guy stopped and said, "I saw them come off when you turned off of Alexis. Here!" He gave them to the puzzled Microdot...who thanked him but for what? The guy roared off when the light changed. Now, if Microdot had real Spiderman sense, he would have tossed the plates like they were red hot...but in his confused state, he put them under the front seat of his car and went to work. It clicked as he drove..."Why, it was the little darling"...he realized that the plates were his artist friends artifacts and that his girlfriends 4 year old daughter had found them and put them on his car while playing in the garage. He meant to put them back on the table with the other stuff, but, well, he plain forgot about them.
Time went by and Microdot moved out of the house in Michigan, back into inner city Toledo into a row house on Delaware Ave. that was slowly falling apart. The rent was very cheap and he shared it with Jody Frenchfry, who was rarely there. In the interim, he had managed and cooked for a dinner theater restaurant in a shopping mall in Toledo. He became pretty friendly with his immediate boss, a large mannish woman who always wore a white uniform. She liked him and one night she asked him if he wanted some furniture she was getting rid of. He came by her house and moved a few tables and a big comfy chair....as he was dismantling the chair, a pair of professional, police type handcuffs fell out of the cushions. The woman looked startled and said, "Oh, they must have belonged to my son", as if that was logical explanation. "You can have them, if you want..."...Microdot picked them up and took them as you never know...but there was no keys for them. He showed them to his friend, Crazy Paul, whose uncle owned a pawn shop on Monroe Street. He had recently bought a nice mid 60's Fender Stratocaster guitar there. Paul said that his uncle could sell him keys, so he bought some. Over the next few months, the handcuffs got abused by Microdot and Jody as they pulled pranks on a few unsuspecting friends, usually after a few joints. They would look at each other and Jody would say, "Don't you think he's getting a bit put of line?" Microdot would say, "Well, we need a break from this. let's do something about it."
He'd whip out the handcuffs and Jody and Microdot would and cuff their unsuspecting victim to the comfy chair and then get up and leave, laughing hysterically. Not for long. They would walk down Delaware Avenue to the carryout and buy a six pack of beer with the sputtering rage of their guest fading in the distance. Then they'd come back, tell the victim that they would give him a beer if he was good and unlock him. Usually, it ended up well but a few times, well, it didn't. But you know, fuck'em if they can't take a joke.
So, Microdot had a new job. He was running the only Vegetarian Restaurant in Toledo. Not that he was a militant vegetarian...the boy liked his meat...but he knew food. The freak guys would come in to check him out because they were a little spooked by the artist/musician who was cooking up the food their girlfriends were raving about. Microdot might have seemed a bit elfin, but he knew his way around a kitchen and had spent hundreds of hours in front of broilers burning steaks and lobsters. He loved biking and hiking and had begun to make himself into a real naturalist. He could do stuff these dudes whose dreams were based on getting a job at Jeep and working on the assembly line until they farted their last fart could not imagine. He was a weight lifting elf from another planet.  He was the buyer, planned the menus, did most of the cooking and even had decorated the place with a huge wall mural of wheat stalks blowing in the wind around the entire space. It had been an old post office and the entrepreneurs had built a huge stage where bands played. It was fairly successful. Microdot even got to use the place as his own rehearsal studio and occasionally got to play on the stage as well. He had quite a few musician friends in Toledo. There was a crew of aging jazz musicians he had met through his latest girlfriend, an aspiring young jazz pianist and composer.
Microdot took a little vacation. He loved the coast of Lake Superior and knew it well. He had biked 1200 miles up there and back from Ohio one year. That year he drove the Jeepster up to the Pictured Rocks and drove on the old logging roads having a great time, until while going over a small creek on an old bridge, it collapsed. The Jeepster was in an impossible position, but the front wheels were on the creek bank. It took all day, but with the winch on the front of the Jeepster and the steel cable he had in the back, he actually got the machine to haul itself out of the creek. Luckily he had a set of good maps of the logging trails and the car still seemed to run well and was in one piece. The little camping trip continued. Then it was time to drive the 700 miles back to Ohio. Things went smooth, but he noticed that there was a tendency for the car to start to shimmy. The alignment was off because of the accident and he knew he would have to get it fixed back in Toledo.
Back in Toledo, back to work. Driving to Ann Arbor twice a week to buy food from an organic co-op, one of these days, he was going to get the car looked at. One day in the early spring, he had to get some lumber and went to his friends fathers lumber yard in Temperance, Michigan. The friend was one of the owners of the restaurant he managed. Ron told Microdot, just tell my dad who you are and I'll tell him you are coming and he'll give you the lumber...good deal!
So he went to Ron's Dads Lumber Yard and got the wood he needed and started to drive back. Nice day, he had rolled a big fat joint and was smoking it when the fatal shimmy started....the car started to shake and he slowed down and pulled over. A innocuous car pulled in back of him. He thought it was someone who was going to ask if he needed a hand. Then, he noticed that there was a flashing thing on the hood of the car. "Whaaa?" he thought as two uniformed Michigan State Cops got out of the car. "Augghhh! I'm fucked!" Microdot mentally screamed in anguish. They wanted to see the registration,  insurance, his license and all seemed to be going well. They didn't seem to notice the slight odor of pungent pot wafting out of the closed ashtray. Microdot did a very ornate dance routine, making jokes and patter as the cops took advantage of the new Michigan Stop and Search Law...looking under the seats of the car and then finding....
The License Plates! The friking License Plates that had sat there forgotten for almost a year! They asked him about the plates and he told them the truth as far as he knew it. Then they did a search for info on the plates while Microdot sat in his car sweating. The cops walked over and asked him to get out of the car and wanted to frisk him and asked, "So, what do you know about a 1968 Tempest from Highland Park, Michigan?"...A totally freaked Microdot told them the truth, "I don't know nothing...my friend found them. My girlfriends daughter was playing and put them on my car. They fell off and someone retrieved them for me and I stuck them under the seat a year ago and forgot them!" The cops looked at each other in amazement and cuffed and then arrested him for grand theft. They took him to State Police Highway Patrol center up I-75 and then left him handcuffed to a radiator for about three hours. He pathetically finally was allowed to pee...then they told him he was being booked and was going to be held in the Monroe Michigan County Jail. It was getting dark then. Microdot kept repeating the insane tale of the plates and the 4 year old girl...the cops in the car driving to Monroe actually bcgan to be sympathetic. One cop said, "You know, your story is so nutty that it almost makes sense."
Then they got to the jail and frisked him again and looked at his key ring. On the key ring was the handcuff key his friend, Paul's Uncle, the pawn shop owner had made. The cop took the key, fitted into the handcuffs he was wearing and they popped open.
The two cops looked at each other incredulously. "You know, I was almost beginning to believe this guy...then we find he has a key for the cuffs in his pocket all the time...."
Microdot begins to sputter....
"I think we should just take him downstairs and work him over...."
They didn't, again, chalk it up to the luck of being a white trash in America.
He had a bail hearing and called Ron, the owner of the restaurant...."Look, man, I'm in the Monroe County Jail. I didn't do anything. It looks really bad. I'm being charged with Grand Theft, but the story is too stupid to even try to explain over the phone. Just come up here and pay the bail or you won't have a restaurant tomorrow!"
Then Microdot was dragged off to a holding cell where he shared company with a group of 15 crazed hippies who were tripping their brains out on any variety of trash psychedelic drugs after the party they were at was raided by the cops. Half of the guys were hysterically laughing, the other half were in the throes of a shared epic bad trip. They were screaming that they were going to die..and then describing the nauseous hallucinations that were attacking them. Microdot, who was quite conscious of his own sense of decorum and style, tried to disappear as well as he could into the darkest corner of the cell. These guys smelled! You could smell the stench of drug induced fear. It was impossible to escape the ugly reality as they pissed their pants and vomited.
After about 6 hours. It was well after midnight, the hippies had drifted into an uneasy coma, a jailer cop rapped on the cell bars. "Who's Microdot? Your friends are here!" He peered our from the corner of the cell and waved his hand..."Here I am!"
The door opened and Ron was there with Microdot's beautiful neighbor, Mindy, who he was secretly in love with as was everyone who ever met Mindy. "I paid your bail" said Ron. Mindy wanted to know what had happened. He said he would try to explain, but it was too crazy. He told the story on the way back and as he told it, he knew that it was just too crazy for even his own brain to accept. "Ron, just trust me. You know me. I never stole a car...in fact I have to try to make sure that this never really happened..." Then he went home, went to bed and in spite of everything, collapsed and slept.
The next morning, Microdot woke up. It was like a very bad dream, but he knew what he had to do. Immediately, he got on the phone and called his friend John. John had been a child prodigy pianist and composer in Toledo. He was as everyone who knew him said, a true genius. But John was totally fucked up. He was still a brilliant player when he wasn't smacked out and even then, he could be brilliant. He had been through the wringer and in and out of jail and still landed on his feet. Microdot knew that if there was anyone who knew what he should do, John would know. So, he went to work at the Restaurant the next day and called John as soon as he felt it could catch him in a semi coherent state. Microdot knew that there was no way that he could let this go any further.
He got John on the phone and after John began to rise to the land of the living and he realized who was calling him he listened in utter fascination to Microdots idiot saga of woe. "So, John, that's why I called you. I can't go to court. I need the crookedest connected lawyer you can recommend who has some pull in Monroe County. In fact, I want to make this go away, as if it never happened." Silence on the end of the line, then John said, "Yes, I know what you mean. In fact I know a guy who might be able to help..." Microdot feverishly copied the number and name John gave him and slavishly thanked him. "If this works or it doesn't, I owe you a big one, my friend!"
John in fact, called his lawyer buddy before Microdot did. The guy was expecting his call and said, "Unfortunately, I can't practice law anymore in Monroe....but John explained the story but I'm not sure he gave me the details...it just sounded too????" Microdot related the details and the lawyer said, "Well, that's kind of what John said but it's even screwier than his version...look I'll get back to you this afternoon."...Microdot sweats bullets as the reality of what had occurred only 24 hours earlier sets in. "I'll never go to jail" he rants...."This never happened and I will make sure it never happened!"
His friends are getting worried about what he might mean by these statements...Total reality denial? No, this is something bigger! This is total emotional commitment...I think if the Monroe County Court System knew what they were really dealing with here, they might be worried, because Microdot isn't going to stop with lawyers...if this fails, he's gonna get Santeria magic priests, Incan Brujos...Voodoo! Baby, Microdot is gonna burn your playhouse down...and he's not gonna play your game! He knows if he even gets his feet wet in the legal system, they're gonna pull him down into the drowning pool.
So about 4 pm he gets a call as he is putting together the dinner menu at the restaurant....the typical vegetarian pizza, spinach lasagna and an experimental recipe he is adapting, The Argentinian Walnut loaf....It's a guy named Allan, who works with the lawyer he spoke to earlier in the day. Allan tells him to meet him on steps of the Monroe County Court House before the hearing and to dress appropriately...Allan says he can't quite grasp the details of the story, but he knew John the pianist and owed him one...everybody seemed to owe John one. Microdot told him he would be the guy with the green art deco tie and he wouldn't mistake him for anyone else. Allan asked if he would tell him the story, in his own words...after about 5 minutes, John said..."Okay, that's enough...you can tell me the rest on Tuesday...."
On Tuesday, a very nervous Microdot got a ride from his buddy Dale up to Monroe for the hearing. He nervously walked up the steps of the ancient courthouse and looked for someone like Allan...who suddenly appeared...a pudgy middle aged guy in a bad suit. They shook hands and Allan told Microdot to follow him. They went down a hallway and Allan told him to sit down in a chair in the hall while he went into a room. Microdot sat there for almost 45 minutes. Then Allan appeared, smiling and said, "Okay, that's it. It never happened." Microdot was stunned beyond belief. He tried to thank Allan who said, "Now we have to get your bail back...you have to sign for it." They went to an office, Microdot signed a form, the bailiff started to hand him a wad of cash, which Allan deftly intercepted, folded and stuck in his pocket. "You can thank me now" he said. He shook his hand and just walked away.
Microdot got a slip which allowed him to go to the pound where his Jeepster was in bondage. Dale drove him over. The wood was still in the back. He got the car released and then looked in the ashtray and the giant doobie he was smoking when the cops arrested him was still there. He showed it to Dale. They began to laugh hysterically and then lit it up and smoked it...

Ray Harryhausen

The Harryhausen family regrets to announce the death of Ray Harryhausen, Visual Effects pioneer and stop-motion model animator. He was a multi-award winner which includes a special Oscar and BAFTA. Ray’s influence on today’s film makers was enormous, with luminaries; Steven Spielberg, James Cameron, Tim Burton, Peter Jackson, George Lucas, John Landis and Nick Park (you know, Wallace and Grommit) have cited Harryhausen as being the man whose work inspired their own creations.
I have been an admirer of his work ever since I was conscious enough to be awed by his sense of the marvelous. As I got older, I began to understand and study the art, the technical ability of what he did. I am still floored every time I see the 1963 skeleton animation sequence from Jason and the Argonauts...
I met him twice, in Yellow Springs, Ohio at a film festival in the early 70's. then I had him autograph his book at Forbidden Planet in 1981 in New York when Clash of the Titans was released. The sophistication he achieved with his clay and plasticine models and single frame stop motion animation may never be equaled again, now that we are in a digital, programmable animation world. There are very few artists working in this medium any more. Thank you Tim Burton for keeping the art alive and vital!
Harryhausen’s fascination with animated models began when he first saw Willis O’Brien’s creations in KING KONG with his boyhood friend, the author Ray Bradbury in 1933, and he made his first foray into filmmaking in 1935 with home-movies that featured his youthful attempts at model animation. Over the period of the next 46 years, he made some of the genres best known movies – MIGHTY JOE YOUNG (1949), IT CAME FROM BENEATH THE SEA (1955), 20 MILLION MILES TO EARTH (1957), MYSTERIUOUS ISLAND (1961), ONE MILLION YEARS B.C. (1966), THER VALLEY OF GWANGI (1969), three films based on the adventures of SINBAD and CLASH OF THE TITANS (1981). He is perhaps best remembered for his extraordinary animation of seven skeletons in JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS (1963) which took him three months to film.
Harryhausen’s genius was in being able to bring his models alive. Whether they were prehistoric dinosaurs or mythological creatures, in Ray’s hands they were no longer puppets but became instead characters in their own right, just as important as the actors they played against and in most cases even more so.
Raymond Frederick Harryhausen, born June 29, 1920 in Los Angeles and he died today, May 7, 2013 in London.

Technical Shit....

I'm still experiencing off and on again internet service as the France Telecom guys wrassle with replacing the lines after a huge oak took them out earlier this week. They had them spliced and working for a while, but now, they are replacing a few rotting poles. It affects all 7 of us here in La Sechere and La Roche...hopefully it will be back on again tomorrow.  Meanwhile, here's the TV Commercial from 1971 for Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band's record, Lick My Decals Off, Baby. It was banned by all networks at the time, but it is a great little piece of cinema. I still have the original vinyl and still consider Lick My Decals Off, Baby as one of the seminal recordings of all time. I wonder if David Lynch saw this when he was young....

Through Another's Eyes

This is just about how this was reported on French Network News yesterday.

America seems like a very scary, dangerously freaky place. Perhaps it is.

But It's All Right

The song stuck in my little brain today...JJ Jackson, 1966, But It's All Right....

2 Days Without Internet

The Chateau of Badefols d'Ans back in the
time they still grew grapes here....

Our main street, perhaps about 1916

In the middle of a relentless rainstorm
on Tuesday morning, I was trying to look a the news on line with my morning coffee and suddenly, the internet just froze...then I checked my ADSL box and it was sending out it's light show indicating that it was making a futile attempt to reconnect..A few minutes later, a car pulls up and it is my neighbor down the hill asking if my email is working, nope, hers neither. That's reassuring, because I know it is a system problem, not me.
So that's that. I have things to do, I have to roll two bales of hay down from the barn for the neighbors horses. I have some graphic work to do. I want to work on some furniture pieces, bring in firewood...walk the dog, again....
In fact, it's suddenly almost time for lunch! After lunch, the neighbor comes by in his tractor and we load the hay. I am tying up the door of the barn when a car arrives and it is a visit from our friend Claud. He is a 81 year old Marchand de Bien...a disappearing profession. He arranges sales of property and handles the legal work for the people here in the countryside. He was born here in Badefols d'Ans and his father was a mayor. He has done well for himself, a Marchand de Bien usually makes a part of the deal he arranges...a parcel of land here, a falling down house there. It mounts up. He's a pretty interesting fellow. He and his wife are members of quite a few organizations devoted to the preservation of Occitain Culture. They play musical instruments, the cornis which is a sort of bagpipe and his wife plays the vielle which is an instrument which is cranked and has wooden keys. They are the traditional instruments of the music of rural Southwestern Rural France. Occitain is the Patois, the pre French latin tongue spoken still by the peasant population. On his way here, he had to drive the kilometer or so from his house on our little road and he saw the problem...a huge tree had fallen and taken down the line and was partially blocking the road.  
We were happy to see Claud, and he had his cell phone with him...I have to admit, I don't have a working cell phone, so we called France Telecom and told them that the tree had fallen our phone line, but it was about 3:30 pm and the day before May 1st...which is one of the biggest holidays here in France. It really is Workers Day, so fat chance if we were going to get any workers to come out here.  Claud is a great story teller. We count on him for the real background tales about our village history. I invited him in. He got a computer for Christmas before last and now he is an email addict. I asked if he wanted a drink and poured him a glass of Pineau. We began to talk about the Movie Jacquou Le Croquant which he had downloaded off of the internet. He didn't think it was at all like the story by Eugene LeRoy but it was very pretty. He began to talk about Eugene LeRoy who was born near here and then he told us a story about a Hamlet called La Rochette. I go by La Rochette on my bike all the time on the road down to St. Agnan. It sits on a ridge overlooking the valley which the Chateau d'Hautefort dominates. It was abandoned for years an now a rich American has bought it and is restoring it. It even has a small church. The story took place in the mid 1800's. It seems that one day some workmen were working on the church, trying to hang a new bell and having a lot of problems. A man was walking on the road with a rucksack and stopped and offered his advice. They listened and let him help. The bell was hung perfectly in no time. The lord of the hamlet thanked the man and said now that they had the bell hung, all they needed was new priest as the old cure had just died. What luck! The passerby said he was a priest! He had the job. After he was there for a while, he told the lord that he needed a servant. Not too old, not too young, but nice looking. Soon the Cure had his servant who became his mistress. The people thought he was a very holy fellow because at night he would beat a pillow and moan and they would think he was whipping himself. He performed a certain miracle. He had a cupboard with a revolving shelf known only to himself. He would take a bottle, fill it with water and put it in the cupboard and pray. When he opened the cupboard, the water turned miraculously to wine! All his dinner guests were usually impressed.

In the village, Badefols, looking down the hill, circa 1900.

The Bishop of Hautefort asked him where he was ordained and he told them Toulouse.
No one ever thought to question him because he was so well liked and obviously a great and holy Cure. He lived to be a ripe old age, but when he died, the Bishop tried to find someone to contact in Toulouse and sent his name and description in case there were relatives. He got an answer from the authorities that the man they had thought was their Holy Cure in reality was a criminal wanted for the murder of a priest and he had stolen his identity 35 years earlier!
With that, Claud started laughing until he was gasping! "He killed a priest!"...a typical Claud story. Usually he regails us with tales of hilariously botched suicides which amuse him so much he laughs until he is almost in tears!
He finished his glass of Pineau and had to get going. Say Hello to Mimi! Au revoir!
So, about 11 am this morning, I heard a truck up the hill...sure enough...the France Telecom guys were splicing the line...I'm back in the 21st century again!

It's Too Late

There are some songs which are just too evocative, like an Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole, you tumble into another world, another time,  doors are unlocked and open to memories in closets which have been closed and forgotten. Carole King wrote a lot of great music, she recorded her first hit in 1960 and then went on to write over 118 top ten records in a career that lasted 50 years and recorded an album in her own voice, the 1971 recording, Tapestry which stayed in the top ten for over 6 years! This was not cynical pop methodism, this was passion and a singular genius. She had a knack for melodies that transcended the formulas...that's part of what made her so unique. I just have to listen to the 1965 Beatle's recording of Chains to make me appreciate her genius.

 It's a traditional pop song, it does the changes, but then there's something else. The phrasing, the placement of the emphasis of the words go beyond poetry. King created music that was emotionally powerful because she understood that there was something beyond poetry, uniting the words to the chords and beat, creating an emotional language that was able to evoke universal feelings in who ever listened to it. On one hand, I would dismiss her big hit, It's Too Late, from her 1971 recording Tapestry as pure pop fluff, but it became the soundtrack of the early 70's and the artistry of what she did still works. I can't help but hear this and relive the time, the emotions of that part of my life.

That's why it's the all too perfect soundtrack for the lame regretful backwards statement by Sandra Day O'Connor who  provided the fifth vote to install George W. Bush as president, is now having second thoughts about that decision:

Looking back, O’Connor said, she isn’t sure the high court should have taken [Bush v. Gore].
“It took the case and decided it at a time when it was still a big election issue,” O’Connor said during a talk Friday with the Tribune editorial board. “Maybe the court should have said, ‘We’re not going to take it, goodbye.’”
The case, she said, “stirred up the public” and “gave the court a less-than-perfect reputation.”
“Obviously the court did reach a decision and thought it had to reach a decision,” she said. “It turned out the election authorities in Florida hadn’t done a real good job there and kind of messed it up. And probably the Supreme Court added to the problem at the end of the day.“
If nothing else, Bush v. Gore demonstrates how justices who are determined to reach a certain result are capable of bending both the law and their own prior jurisprudence in order to achieve it. In Bush, the five conservative justices held, in the words of Harvard’s Larry Tribe, that “equal protection of the laws required giving no protection of the laws to the thousands of still uncounted ballots.”
The Court’s decision to hand the presidency to Bush stunned many legal observers, some of whom were O’Connor’s fellow justices. Retired Justice John Paul Stevens once recounted a story where he ran into fellow Justice Stephen Breyer at a party while a relatively early phase of the case was pending before the Court. According to Stevens, “we agreed that the application was frivolous.”
Indeed, Bush’s own lawyers were skeptical of the legal theory that ultimately made up the basis of the Court’s decision in Bush. As Ben Ginsberg, a top lawyer on Bush’s presidential campaign, explained in 2006, “just like really with the Voting Rights Act, Republicans have some fundamental philosophical difficulties with the whole notion of Equal Protection.”
And, yet, O’Connor and four of her fellow Republicans joined together to embrace a particularly aggressive reading of Equal Protection — at least so long as it could put George W. Bush in the White House.

Oh, yeah, Cause it's too late baby, just too late...Cause we really just tried to make it...Something inside just died and I just think that I just can't take it....It's too late, baby! Baby, just too late.....

More George!

George Jones about 1957. Check out Joe Maphis on that big double neck Gretsch!

Pin The Tail On The Jack Ass

Rick Perry, The Republican Governor or Texas is demanding that the California paper, The Sacramento Bee fire their editorial cartoonist, Jack Ohman over his cartoon mocking Governor Good Hair for the lax enforcement of regulations which created the conditions which led to the disasterous fertilizer plant explosion last week in West, Texas. He claims it insults the victims of the disaster his policies enabled.
Texas Lt. Governor Dewhurst has publicly called for Ohman to be fired, saying his cartoon mocked the victims of the West fertilizer plant explosion.
But the California newspaper appears to have no plans to apologize or fire their cartoonist.
Stuart Leavenworth, the editorial page editor of The Sacramento Bee, said the cartoon illustrated Perry’s “disregard for worker safety, and his attempts to market Texas as a place where industries can thrive with few regulations.”
This is the typical way these jerks deal with criticism. It's too damn painful and bothersome to deal with reality, so just deflect the blame. He blames the cartoonist for the victims his own policies created. I would say that this cartoon truly pins the tail on the jack ass!

Shit Finger

So, yesterday, my wife is all out of shape because of an article in the French Press about Obama being the recipient of $41,000 of gifts from Nicolas Sarkozy and his wife, Carla Bruni in 2011. It was reported that way in the French version of The Huffington Post..as well as in the French magazines .and it's quite a list of swag....
Black lack Hermès golf accessory bag: Valued at $7,750.00 (January 2011)
Pink outfit and green outfit by Bonpoint: Valued at $360 (January 2011)
Set of seven Bonpoint Paris perfume, skincare lotion, soap products: Valued at $401 (January 2011)
Baccarat 'Our Fire' crystal table lamps: Valued at $5,500 (January 2011)
Lacoste white classic men's polo shirt, bottle of Christian Drouin Pays d'Auge, S.T. Dupont black and silver fountain pen, 14 inch blue-gray glass sculpture of Bucephalus, Alexander the Great's horse: Valued at $15,083 (May 2011)
Frédéric Malle soaps, candle and Cologne Bigarade: Valued at $435 (May 2011)
Hermès orange cotton canvas travel case, Hermès cotton terrycloth beach towel, Forge de Laguiole letter opener: Valued at $1,994 (May 2011)
Crystal golf statuette by Baccarat of a golfer with his iron pitched over his head. Baccarat statuette of golfer with his iron out in front in a follow-through posture. Black Hermès golf travel bag: Valued at $1,650 (August 2011)
Silver watch with black wristband made by B.R.M., Lancel brown leather woman's wallet, Lancel black leather folding toiletry bag, His and hers Dior bathrobes, Lancel black leather suitcase, Christian Dior black leather clutch purse, Men's Dior hygiene products: Valued at $6,191 (November 2011)
Black leather Neo Igor Louis Vuitton men's business bag, embossed with 'B.O.' Valued at $2,310 (December 2011)
I thought it was pretty strange because as I understood it, Obama didn't really like Sarko and he didn't like him...Carla, on the other hand...She's the ultimate high priced groupie. Super Rich Italian Nobility who in her rise as a model went from Mick Jagger to Eric Clapton...then became the mistress of Socialist Prime Minister un der Mitterand who is now the present Socialist Foreign Minister, Laurent Fabius. She has been linked to quite a few French Pop musicians in her attempt to create a career as a musician. She was introduced to Sarkozy by his ultra right wing strategist, Claud Gueant as a perfect match after his Marriage to Celia collapsed after his election to the presidency. Carla took to dressing up like a Jackie Kennedy Barbie Doll.  I would say right off, anything from Sarko is like a poison apple. He is the king of sleaze incarnate. He's desperately trying to raise his public image here at the expense of The floundering Socialist administration of Hollande. His Right wing UMP Party is trying to regain credibility in a very frantic Tea Party type putsch. Racism, homophobia, blaming the Socialists for the fallout from his own failed economic policies, ultra right wing nationalism...what ever works. But, the reality, even with all the PR that Sarko is mustering and his behind the scene manipulations, he has to deal with the ever mounting legal fallout of the scandals he was able to avoid as President of France. So, he's a lawyer now and moving to Morocco with Carla...who is trying to jumpstart her music career with her new lame dead in the water CD of Bo Toxed surgically enhanced generic pop tunes.
But the reality, is that Sarko is a compulsive manipulator. He has to try to influence everything he comes into contact with. Unfortunately, for him, he seems to be cursed with the Shit Finger syndrome. What ever he touches has systematically turned to shit over the last 8 or so years. You have to read the real history of this creep to begin to get the scope of his vile corrupt touch of evil that he seems to infect everything around him with. The Chiracs hate him, but the curse of right wing politics made him necessary to Jacques and Madame Chirac...why do they hate him? in the 1990's Nicolas seduced their daughter, Claude and they blame him for the suicide of their son in law. The Sarkozy mess is deeper still when you realize that he rose to power with the help of the CIA. His step mother married Frank Wisner, Jr, the #2 of the CIA in the 1970's...that is just the tip of the sleaze...you can read it here in Operation Sarko by the great French Journalist, Theirry Meyssan.
Mr. Obama, don't touch any of the shit the Sarkozy's gave you! It's infected with pure evil. Actually, I had to research this story. And I realized that the French Press and Huff Post printed the sensationalized version of the events. Yes, Carla and Nicolas gave the Obamas a lot of swaggy presents after the G-8 Summit in 2011, but in reality, they were never really acknowledged by the Obamas. In fact he was told that to return or refuse them would be a diplomatic faux pas. So he turned them over to the National Archives and the General Services Administration. He did declare them which is how the press got wind of the Sarkozy's largess. Even just receiving this pile of expensive crap carried a curse, because though, it was reported accurately in the foreign press, in France, Sarko and Carla are still trying to play it as if the Obamas are their buddies...Obsession, Oh the stench of it!

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